-- A life-long love for flying and airplanes --

Love Those Planes

I was mowing the lawn the other evening and a low flying helicopter flew over me and hovered not far away. I stopped mowing and stood there with my mouth gaping open in fascination. My angle was poor for seeing the people inside, but I just know if I’d been able to see the pilot and I knew he could see me, I would have been waving like a kid. As a matter of fact, I felt like a kid standing there in awe.

When I was a little kid growing up in the ‘40s, planes flying over our little town were rare. When we saw one fly over, we’d run and wave at it and holler, "Give me a ride, give me a ride!" Then we’d stop and stand there looking up into the air with our mouths gaping open.

I had my first plane ride when I was about 10. A celebration was coming to town -- the Town Frolic -- and my friend Bill and I knew there were going to be plane rides, so we started saving our money. Also, we practiced many days for the three-legged race, won it at the Frolic and picked up a few dollars in prize money. So we went out to the airport and had our plane ride. We flew in an old two-wing plane with open cockpits. The wind was blowing in our faces, and we even flew upside down. We couldn’t talk to one another, but we were thrilled.

My next plane ride was with my dad when I was 12. The year was about 1949. My dad needed a truck for his bulk oil and gas business and in those days you didn’t just go buy a truck, you ordered on and you waited. When Dad’s truck finally arrived, he had to go to St. Paul to get it. So we flew from Bismarck on a commercial plane that seemed huge but probably didn’t seat more than 30. I was thrilled about two things -- I got a ride on a big plane and I was pleased that my dad had taken me along. While we were in the Cities we got to see the Minnesota Gophers play a football game (remember Leo Nomellini, Clayton Tonnemaker and Billy Bye? -- we saw them) then we drove home in the new truck. Not like Disney Land, but a grand experience for a 12-year-old at that time.

About two years later, I spent part of a summer with my friend Truman working as a flag boy or spotter for a crop sprayer. The sprayer pilot was from the hills of Arkansas and he couldn't subtract 15 from 30, (Truman and I watched him put 30 pencil marks on the side of the plane, then cross out 15 of them and count the marks that were left.), but he could fly like an ace. He came skimming across the top of a grain field, actually brushing the ground from time to time, then got to the end of the field and cranked it straight up to clear the power line. The fascination with planes was still there.

When I was about 19 I took Air Force tests to see if I might qualify for pilot training, but I couldn’t get past those color charts. When you're color blind, no amount of glaring, staring, will power or brighter light will enable you to see the numbers that everybody else can see in those colored dots. And if you can’t see the numbers, you can’t fly Air Force planes.

But I have flown. I called my friend, Jeff, to do an aerial photo job for me and when I met him at the airport he asked, "Are you flying or am I?" I said, "You are -- I don’t know the first thing about flying." But before the project was completed, he’d flown and I’d taken pictures, then he taught me to fly (but not take off or land), so I flew and he took pictures. While I was flying I was as thrilled as I’d been when I rode in that first biplane.

When it comes to planes, I’m still a boy. I love to read about Charles Lindbergh and Amelia Earhart and I can’t resist a fighter plane movie. So when you fly over me in your ultralight, sitting there in the open with nothing but wings, a frame, a seat and an engine, you will have my full attention. That will be me running below you with my mouth open in awe and hollering, "Give me a ride, give me a ride."