Chapter 23

Which of course, shattered me.

And that almost cost me my pilots license. I got a royal ass chewing for losing my calm demeanor in the cockpit. The lecture included a bunch of ‘what ifs’ ... including passengers ‘if you were flying for one of the airlines.’

I wasn’t planning to make flying a career ... I just wanted to fly my mother’s airplane.

“What if you were flying in an airshow?” He asked. “Would you crash into the spectators?”

And a whole bunch of other hypothetical situations ... those two were the ones that I recall.

He let me land and do a couple of ‘touch and goes.’

I was terrified he was going to flunk me, but he said, “Follow me along on the stick, I want to teach you something.”

I had a professional lesson in acrobatics. I learned things you CAN NOT do with a bomber.

“Now, you do it,” he said.

I did ... not up to standard ... but good enough for my Fokker. It is very hard to be precise in a replica Triplane. Precise would get you killed in 1917. Spontaneous works wonders ... expanding the box. When we had used up three thousand bucks worth of fuel, it was time to land.

He requested my logbook, signed off, took out a blank license and inscribed it.

I could aviate ... legally.

My turn...”have you ever wanted to fly a basic machine?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like a SPAD ... or a Neuport ... Great War aeroplanes.”

“I’m building Pup ... there’s a lot more to building a replica than I thought.”

“Follow me home. I insist.”

“Bud ... full thousand hour.”

I meant that I was hiring Bud to total overhaul my Sandy. I had a remanufactured Wright twin Cyclone ... the original 2100 hp she came with. And anything he could think of to fix. I loaded up in my ‘34 and he followed. I don’t know what make or model car ... but it was blue.

“You live at an airfield?”

He was following ... I let him through the gate ... he questioned me as i was walking back to my car.

“Yes.”

And I lost him at the top of the hill.

I think there is going to be a ceremony ... a new pilot ceremony.

Mr. Examiner stopped at the top of the hill because there were all 36 Airdrome aircraft lined up ... by make ... in front of the hangar. My hangar. Oddly enough ... Fokker Dr1’s out-number the rest ... eight of us. Camel comes in at second place with seven ... of the remainder? no more than 3 by model.

Good gods...!

<Yes?>

‘You too?’

Surprise waved and Junior hugged me.

Mr. Examiner took one look, turned and asked, “You know these people?”

“The planes are all ultra lights ... everybody flies.”

“You could have gotten a license from the princess?”

“Yeah ... but I wanted a real license.”

Junior looked hurt.

“You always were stubborn,” she said.

Mr. Examiner said, “Junior’s cardtable licenses are good anywhere.”

“Not in the Fed A,” Junior said.

“Well, I wanted one good for the world.”

“You figure out what you want to fly?”

“You can do that?”

“I own the field ... these guys used to trailer their planes to find a place to fly. I’m not difficult to get along with ... but...”

“I understand ... it’s good to be king.”

“It’s better to be Princess,” Junior said.

It took about half an hour ... I resorted to bribery.

Mr. Examiner borrowed a Pup ... I took off in my Fokker. I got handed my ass. The man could improvise.