My First Airplane                                                                                   December 10, 2019

 

The kid was running at his full speed down the dusty country road, shouting as he went. His loud shouts were filled with excitement. Before we knew what he was saying, we began to move off the porch and to the white fence by the road. As he came nearer we could make out his words.

 

“An airplane! An airplane! In Smith”s pasture.” he alerted us as he went by to inform other neighbors.

 

“Let’s go. Bob. Come on.” Pop said as he moved toward the gate, joining other people headed to Smith’s farm.

 

The gravel road gathered more people as we neared the grassy pasture. Some were farmers in their overalls. Some from the town were in their casual slacks and plaid shirts. Most were men with a few women in their summer cotton dresses and wearing bonnets. A gaggle of kids were running ahead of everyone else. 

 

My young mind was trying to figure it out. “An airplane? What’s an airplane?” I’m sure I had heard the word, but I didn’t have a clear idea of what it was. After all, I had just turned six.

 

There, close to the barbwire fence along the road, sat the focus of the excitement, a plane. It had two wings with wires running between them. A bright red stripe adorned the side and black soot trailed the silver tubes from the engine compartment. Behind two small curved windshields were two seats, one behind the other. At the very front was a carved piece of wood, that reached almost to the ground and way up in the air. There was a lingering smell of gas and oil. The whole thing looked enormous to this small boy.

 

Standing close was the pilot, answering hundreds of questions. His black leather jacket had a whte wool collar all the way around the neck. It was too warm for that jacket so he had unzipped it. His black shiny boots had his pants legs tucked inside.

 

Hanging close by on one of the wing wires was his leather cap with the goggles attached.

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Men were getting as close to him as they could. There was almost something magical in his magnetism. He would smile then look intense demonstrated flying with hand motions filling in the details. 

 

I let loose of my father’s hand. He moved toward the pilot. I moved toward the plane. I ducked under the wing. I tried to look inside but was too short. I wanted to touch it. I put my hand out slowly. A farmer grabbed by wrist and warned me and the rest of the kids, “Look but don’t touch.” 

 

I walked beside the balloon tires, much larger than our automobile’s. I walked along the side looking at the fabric indentures between the ribs. I moved to the back where a little wheel was holding up the rear with its large elevators that were gently moving up and down in the breeze. I stood behind the tall tail wondering why it was divided down the middle. I proceeded up the other side until I reached that large propeller. Again, I wanted to place my hand on the plane and feel the smooth wood.

 

I now knew this is the object that can defy gravity and play with the clouds. I knew this was the magic carpet that could challenge the birds for their freedom in the sky. I knew this was the escape from the bumpy dusty roads to the freedom of following the breezes.

 

Before I had finished my third trip around, the pilot helped a person onto the wing then into the back seat. He handed him a matching cap and goggles. He reached in and fastened something across his waist.  The pilot didn’t get in, but leaned into the front cockpit and moved a few things around. When he climbed down, he instructed everyone to move back. He went to the massive propeller, slowly pulled it around a couple of times, then reached as high as he could and gave it a hard pull, lifting one leg off the ground as if he might spin around with it. 

 

Suddenly there was a burst of noise. Black smoke rolled from the chrome tubes at the side.  The pilot ducked under the wing and spring onto it and bounced into the cockpit. He quickly made an adjustment to slow the engine down, then signaled to the farmer to pull the chocks from the wheels. Carefully the farmer ducked, ran in a squat and yanked the blocks out. 

 

The pilot looked around, waved to the spectators, then revved the engine again, swinging the craft around and moved to the far end of the pasture. 

 

I took Dad’s hand again. I could hardly breath as the plane turned around to face us. The noise increased. The plane started moving faster and faster. The crowd began to split down the middle as the plane grew closer. Before he reached us, the wheels left the ground and he was in the air. We waved and shouted as he went by. He waved back by dipping one wing and then the other. 

 

My dad began to lead me back down the dusty road as I tried to continue to look over my shoulder to see if he was coming back. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to see more of that plane. I wanted to climb into that back seat and put on that leather cap. I wanted to feel the wind and go over the heads of the gathered crowd.

 

In that brief time, I decided that I didn’t want to be just a passenger. I wanted to be the man in the leather jacket with the funny cap and those strap on glasses. I wanted to take that big machine from the earth and disappear into the sky. That little boy did not give up on that moment of decision for the rest of his life. 

 

Twenty-four years later, at Ford Island on Oahu, the instructor climbed from the Cessna 150, said, “Take it around a couple of times.” and closed the door. Alone, I gunned the engine, pulled back on the yoke, and was lifted into the reality of the dream.

 

Psalm 139:9-10 If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.

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