I grew up on Air Force bases. At one, our backyard abutted a potato field that went all the way to the ramp where it seemed like mile after mile of little jets were parked. The potato field was our baseball field when the potato plants were plowed down and when a foul ball (or homer) bounded onto the ramp, we chased after it and were, in turn, chased off by the APs. Dad dragged us out to climb on little jets and sometimes big ones whenever there was an Open House. The ramp was inevitably hotter than Hades and the sun beat down unmercifully. Boring. After a few minutes, I begged to go home. Dad was always surprised and disappointed. He had been responsible for maintaining the avionics on those craft and he was proud of it.
I should be afraid to fly. My first flight was in a propeller-driven airplane across the Atlantic to England. We were delayed by one day as they were repairing one of the engines, and boarded 24 hours after our originally scheduled departure. The flight that was scheduled for that day departed minutes before our flight, so we sort of had a companion flight. About halfway through the 17-hour flight, somewhere over the Atlantic, each airplane lost one screaming, fiery engine and slowed down considerably. Scary. We carried on to Ireland where our pilot performed what I now know was an emergency descent into Shannon Airport. Everyone on board was throwing up. They were flights filled with military families joining their fathers and husbands. We were stranded in Shannon overnight with fifty hungry, wet, sick babies while two engines and mechanics were flown to us from the US. Fortunately, the flight to England and the return flight three years later were uneventful.
It never occurred to me that girls could fly an airplane or that girls who wore glassed could ever fly an airplane. So, I decided to become an astronomer. Along the way, after graduating from High School, I went to see an Air Force recruiter to see whether I could follow in Dad's footsteps and become a radio mechanic since we couldn't afford to send me to college to become an astronomer. No. Girls can only become a nurse or a clerk in the Air Force, I was told. Bummer. So, I shelved that idea and sold newspapers.
I married one of those GIs I met in England. He loved airplanes and arranged for us to fly to our honeymoon in a small plane. Pouring rain put a damper on that idea and Mom drove us to Pennsylvania instead. After we moved to Oklahoma and my husband became an avionics mechanic at American Airlines, he occasionally arranged for us to fly as passengers in a friend's small airplane to some gathering or to take photos of our house. Noisy. Boring.
Fast-forward over twenty years. I have a new husband and live in New York. Although I have a college degree, I will never be an astronomer, but I have a very good job. Our family are mostly in Oklahoma and California. We spend every vacation flying American Airlines back home to visit the kids and parents and frequently spend the night at one airport or another waiting for weather or trying to fit airline schedules to visit out-of-the-way family.
One stormy night, we found ourselves trying to sleep on the floor of a terminal at LAX with a carry-on bag for a pillow amid the burr of floor polishers and hopelessly dishonest announcements of imminent flights. We could manage an airline better than this, we decided. We had known by 3:00 that afternoon that gales would not let up and we would not get to Sacramento the same day. Why couldn't the airline just send us off to a hotel?
We did eventually get a room and a flight and Hubby's mom, ever the busy body, arranged for us to fly with her friend in his two-seater open-air acrobatic biplane to an olive orchard about 50 miles away. Hubby flew there. I flew back. After taking off, the pilot said to keep the airplane pointed to Mount Lassen and then told me when to turn toward the airport to fly the downwind and base and final and he would land. As it turned out, I was too short and could not see the ground well enough to fly a pattern, but, would you believe it? I COULD FLY AN AIRPLANE! AND IT WAS FUN!
When we got back home and picked up the box of mail that had accumulated, a postcard dropped out. It offered a Discovery Flight for $25 at the local airport. That was the start of a whole new way of life. Dad would be thrilled!
I should be afraid to fly. My first flight was in a propeller-driven airplane across the Atlantic to England. We were delayed by one day as they were repairing one of the engines, and boarded 24 hours after our originally scheduled departure. The flight that was scheduled for that day departed minutes before our flight, so we sort of had a companion flight. About halfway through the 17-hour flight, somewhere over the Atlantic, each airplane lost one screaming, fiery engine and slowed down considerably. Scary. We carried on to Ireland where our pilot performed what I now know was an emergency descent into Shannon Airport. Everyone on board was throwing up. They were flights filled with military families joining their fathers and husbands. We were stranded in Shannon overnight with fifty hungry, wet, sick babies while two engines and mechanics were flown to us from the US. Fortunately, the flight to England and the return flight three years later were uneventful.
It never occurred to me that girls could fly an airplane or that girls who wore glassed could ever fly an airplane. So, I decided to become an astronomer. Along the way, after graduating from High School, I went to see an Air Force recruiter to see whether I could follow in Dad's footsteps and become a radio mechanic since we couldn't afford to send me to college to become an astronomer. No. Girls can only become a nurse or a clerk in the Air Force, I was told. Bummer. So, I shelved that idea and sold newspapers.
I married one of those GIs I met in England. He loved airplanes and arranged for us to fly to our honeymoon in a small plane. Pouring rain put a damper on that idea and Mom drove us to Pennsylvania instead. After we moved to Oklahoma and my husband became an avionics mechanic at American Airlines, he occasionally arranged for us to fly as passengers in a friend's small airplane to some gathering or to take photos of our house. Noisy. Boring.
Fast-forward over twenty years. I have a new husband and live in New York. Although I have a college degree, I will never be an astronomer, but I have a very good job. Our family are mostly in Oklahoma and California. We spend every vacation flying American Airlines back home to visit the kids and parents and frequently spend the night at one airport or another waiting for weather or trying to fit airline schedules to visit out-of-the-way family.
One stormy night, we found ourselves trying to sleep on the floor of a terminal at LAX with a carry-on bag for a pillow amid the burr of floor polishers and hopelessly dishonest announcements of imminent flights. We could manage an airline better than this, we decided. We had known by 3:00 that afternoon that gales would not let up and we would not get to Sacramento the same day. Why couldn't the airline just send us off to a hotel?
We did eventually get a room and a flight and Hubby's mom, ever the busy body, arranged for us to fly with her friend in his two-seater open-air acrobatic biplane to an olive orchard about 50 miles away. Hubby flew there. I flew back. After taking off, the pilot said to keep the airplane pointed to Mount Lassen and then told me when to turn toward the airport to fly the downwind and base and final and he would land. As it turned out, I was too short and could not see the ground well enough to fly a pattern, but, would you believe it? I COULD FLY AN AIRPLANE! AND IT WAS FUN!
When we got back home and picked up the box of mail that had accumulated, a postcard dropped out. It offered a Discovery Flight for $25 at the local airport. That was the start of a whole new way of life. Dad would be thrilled!
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