Chapter 21

Bill’s turn:

Sometimes I think that a big bit of enjoyment in my life is just seeing what’s gonna happen next.

Like the new airfield. That’s becoming the new office. That’s becoming the new homesite. All that sort of makes sense. Except for the fact that OUR local office will be located at the airfield, the mode is much like the Alabama operation.

So what happens next? Somebody brings in an old biplane. Then somebody comes and takes the old biplane away.

And Dan Richards and I are talking and the idea comes up to have a crawfish boil. “You know, a social. Get you and yours and Dave and his and Dan 3.0 and his, and whoever else. Buy crawfish. Boil ‘em. Have fun. Cindy and I’ll be there. And my brother-in-law’s already set up to boil for a crowd.”

So that’s what we’re doing. I added a few to the list – John Saucier, the guy who’s leasing the ponds on our land for crawfish farming. Damned straight he’s invited. He gave us a great deal -free crawfish.

Also, Russell Brown. He’s got an airplane, is gonna probably keep it here. Russell’s wife Colleen is a school teacher – middle school. There’s fodder for interesting conversation since I’m married to a high school aged girl and my daughter’s of the age for middle school and neither of them are in school. They’re doing some weird university thing.

And Mister Dukes is supposed to be here because – here’s today’s event – the Stearman we lost a month ago is being replaced by a ‘new’ one – rebuilt and upgraded, and Cindy’s flying it in and she’s intent on getting the old guy into the cockpit. He’d made a good living off flying those things in agricultural aviation – what we called ‘crop-dusting’ when I was growing up.

Haley sidled up next to me and over the roar of the gas burner boiling forty gallons of highly spiced water, said “Orderly chaos.”

“You said it,” I smiled.

“Look around. Everybody’s talking to everybody else.”

“That Saucier boy’s TRYING to talk to Deena but she’s fending him off.”

Cindy’s landing the Stearman after disappearing for a while with a smiling Mister Dukes in the front cockpit.

The speaker on the airfield’s radio squawks. “Dukes Field traffic, Extra six-six-hotel bravo three miles east for landing on one-eight.”

“Extra?!?” I said.

Dan 1.0 was standing next to me. “Hanna and Greg Bertrand. They have a flying service twenty-five miles up the road. She’s German.”

“Explains the accent.”

“She’s partially responsible for Cindy being what Cindy is...”

“Shoot ‘em down before they cross the fence,” I laughed. “Extra ... rings a bell.”

“Two seats. Theirs is a 300, so two hundred horsepower. Fully, god-awfully aerobatic. You’ll see.”

“Lemme go send Haley and Deena on an errand...”

“Bud,” I laughed. “You’re too late. They got it bad enough with that little red and white 152 over there. That thing...” he pointed to the plane getting closer, “is the aviation version of meth.”

Okay. MY airport. I walk over to the apron. I’m thinking this place hasn’t seen activity like this in forty years. A bright red mid-winged taildragger taxied up, two helmeted occupants under a bubble canopy. I waved, signaled, apparently effectively, putting them at the end of a line consisting of a Cessna 152, a Piper Warrior, a Cessna 180, and a hulking (in comparison) Stearman.

When the prop stuttered to a stop, the canopy flopped open and the occupants got out. Dan was there. “Bill, this is Hanna and Greg Bertrand. Folks, Bill Simon. He’s our local manager.”

Smiling faces. Greg looked long and hungrily at the Stearman. “Boy, that’s a memory,” he said. “Had two old 450s when I got out of the army. Made money...”

“I did not fly them,” Hanna sighed. Greg worried about me.”

“Now I regret it,” he said. “She outflies me in this thing any day of the week.”

“Hold that thought,” Dan said. “Hanna, Cindy’s...”

“Cindy’s HERE,” she chirped. “Hanna, let’s see ... Haley. She’s Bill’s wife. Deena, Bill’s daughter. Sandy. You’ll meet Dan 3.0 and Nina. Carlita. And Brindy.” She smiled. “Sisters, Hanna’s my first view into possibilities with wings on them.”

“C’mon, folks,” I said. “Crawfish in the hangar. Fly afterward.”

“Did somebody say they missed a chance to fly a Stearman?”

Hanna raised her hand. “My husband was afraid I would kill myself or damage his airplane.”

Cindy giggled, elbowed her Dan, said to Greg, “You gonna take ‘er up, or do I get to repay a very old debt?”

“Ain’t been in one in twenty years,” he said. “Better let you do it.”

“Good move,” Dan said. “She’s multi, instrument, instructor, and just completed a transatlantic ferry flight.”

Hanna smiled broadly. “I have planted a very good seed.”

I started to ask, but Haley beat me to it. “Does a German girl eat crawfish?” Innocent smirk.

“Yes, Haley. I have been subjected to Cajun food since I got here with Greg. Since I fed him blutwurst and other things in Germany, I was obligated.”

So we added the Bertrands to the crowd in the hangar. Thousands of crawfish met their demise to satisfy appetites. Boiled potatoes, corn on the cob – we did it up right.

After yet another flurry of activity, the detritus of the feast was cleared. I’d already called the waste disposal people and said a Monday run on our dumpster was mandatory.

Haley’s right, though. Wouldn’t cost too darned much to put a few outdoor amenities in like multiple sinks, prep tables and such. I was talking with Russell when I heard the distinct sound of a radial engine starting.

“Six hundred gallon tank. I got one sitting in the laydown yard across the river,” he said. “Get it steam-cleaned. Put a real fuel filter on it. Get one of the wholesalers to keep you supplied with 100 octane low lead.”

“And a pump,” I said.

“Easy shot,” he laughed. “We demoed a country store two months ago, and I have a pump just sitting there. Mister Dukes tore his fueling station down, but the power’s still there. That’s where you put it.”

“Heard my name,” Mister Dukes said, walking up.

“Yessir,” I said. “We’re talking about reworking your old fueling station.”

“‘Scuse me,” Haley said.

Mister Dukes smiled at her. “You itching for that Stearman, ain’t you?”

“Yessir,” she said. “Cindy’s gonna check me out in it.” She looked to me. “Right, babe?”

Russell laughed. “You gonna tell ‘er no?”

“Guess not,” I said.

“Uh, Mister Bertrand said he’d give me a ride in the Extra.”

“I give up,” I said.

“Thank you, babe!” and she tiptoed to kiss me on the cheek.

“That’d do it for me,” Mister Dukes said with a twinkle. My Betty was like that when we first met. I can close my eyes and she’s STILL that way.”

Deena waved as she scooted by. “I’m after Haley,” she grinned. Poor Matt followed, tongue hanging out, salivating at MY daughter.

Russell smirked. “They won’t be able to get radical with that Extra. It’s placarded against radical aerobatics with fuel in the wing tanks. I’ve flown with Greg. No way I’m going up with Hanna. She competes, does things with that little red airplane that some folks consider un-natural acts.”

Mister Dukes made another attempt at herding me and Dan 1.0 off to the side.

“You boys are plumb serious,” he said.

“About this field? You bet,” I said.

“We thought it made sense from a business standpoint if we just lean a little bit sideways and squinch our eyes,” Dan 1.0 said.

The old man smiled. “Yeah, son, there’s ‘business’ and there’s BUSINESS. That’s why I didn’t sell this thing to those developer bastards. All that money I DIDN’T make? Seein’ that little redhead in that Stearman, I’m paid. Sitting in that thing, back in the air. Pure dee premium.”

“Thought you’d get a kick out of it,” I said.

“More ‘n a kick, son. Daughter ‘n’ her husband had a fit. Ain’t none of their business, though, not as long as I’m alive and sane.” His eyes narrowed. “They’d be fillin’ in those ponds, run that Saucier boy off. Buildin’ crappy houses. This...” he nodded over his shoulder, “this is priceless. Tell me this ain’t your last one.”

“Maybe until it starts cooling off in the fall,” I said. “And we’re competing with Dan and the rest of ‘em in Alabama.”

“Y’all got something like this in Alabama, too?” Mister Dukes sounded incredulous.

“Yeah. Wally, the guy who came down when the Stearman got here, he’s got an ag business. Still got it, but we bought his place too. You oughta come see us there some time,” Dan said. “Matter of fact, if you’re interested, we can make it happen. Just need to look at some things. Fly you there and back...”

“In that 180 over there?”

Dan smiled. “IF that’s what you want. But we do MUCH better. Pilatus turboprop or one of the bizjets...”

“You boys got THOSE?”

“Deal fell into our laps. We do a bit of charter, a bit of cargo. Probably use the Pilatus. Door to door times would be better because we can’t take the jets into our field. They stay at Birmingham.”

“And the redhead ... Cindy, she’s rated?”

“Oh, yeah. Like I said,” Dan stated with obvious pride, “Multi, instrument, instructor, and LOVES it.”

“Look, guys, uh, Bill, did you look real good at the abstracts when you closed the deal on this place?”

“Not really, sir. Everything was up to date and legit, according to our lawyers.”

“Well, if you’d’ve looked, you’d’ve seen that I owned another plot south of this. All those other fields that Saucier farms. They’re mine.”

“He never said a word,” I said.

“He just pays the lease like ‘e always did. Tol’ me what’s been going on here. Now I’ve been here, seen you and your friends and your fam’ly and shared crawfish with you, and I don’t want that land down there at the other end of the runway going to my kids. I can just see this operation having to go to court to keep the approaches clear...”