Subject: THE AVIATOR good photos/Story
Too good not to share, Great story !!
This is a good story about a
vivid memory of a P-51 and its pilot, by a fellow who was a 12 year old in
Canada in 1967. It was to take to the air that morning. They said it had
flown in during the night from some U.S. Airport, the pilot had been tired
and checked into a local hotel.[Image]
I marveled at the size of the
plane dwarfing the Pipers and Canucks tied down by her. It was much larger
than in the movies. She glistened in the sun like a bulwark of security
from days gone by.
The pilot arrived back that
morning by cab, paid the driver, and then stepped into the pilot's lounge.
He was an older man, his wavy hair gray and tossed. It looked like it might
have been combed, say, around the turn of the century. His flight jacket
was checked, creased and worn - it smelled old and genuine. Old Glory was
prominently sewn to its shoulders. He projected a quiet air of proficiency
and pride devoid of arrogance. He filed a quick flight plan to Montreal
(Expo-67, Air Show) then walked across the tarmac.
After taking several minutes to
perform his walk-around check, the pilot returned to the flight lounge to
ask if anyone would be available to stand by with fire extinguishers while
he "flashed the old bird up, just to be safe."Though only 12 at the time I
was allowed to stand by with an extinguisher after brief instruction on its
use -- "If you see a fire, point, then pull this lever!" The air
around the exhaust manifolds shimmered like a mirror from fuel fumes as the
huge prop started to rotate. One manifold, then another, and yet another
barked -- I stepped back with the others. In moments the Packard-built
Merlin engine came to life with a thunderous roar, blue flames knifed from
her manifolds. I looked at the others' faces, there was no concern. I
lowered the bell of my extinguisher. One of the guys signaled to walk back
to the lounge. We did]
Several minutes later we could
hear the pilot doing his pre flight run-up. He'd taxied to the end of
runway 19, out of sight. All went quiet for several seconds; we raced from
the lounge to the second story deck to see if we could catch a glimpse of
the P-51 as she started down the runway. We could not. There we stood, eyes
fixed to a spot half way down 19. Then a roar ripped across the field, much
louder than before, like a furious hell spawn set loose---something mighty
this way was coming. "Listen to that thing!" said the controller.
In seconds the Mustang burst
into our line of sight. Its tail was already off and it was moving faster
than anything I'd ever seen by that point on 19. Two-thirds the way down 19
the Mustang was airborne with her gear going up. The prop tips were
supersonic; we clasped our ears as the Mustang climbed hellish fast into
the circuit to be eaten up by the dog-day haze.
We stood for a few moments in
stunned silence trying to digest what we'd just seen. The radio controller
rushed by me to the radio. "Kingston tower calling Mustang?" He
looked back to us as he waited for an acknowledgment.The radio crackled, "Go
ahead Kingston."
"Roger Mustang. Kingston
tower would like to advise the circuit is clear for a low level pass."
I stood in shock because the controller had, more or less, just asked the
pilot to return for an impromptu air show!The controller looked at us.
"What?" He asked. "I can't let that guy go without asking. I
couldn't forgive myself!"The radio crackled once again,
"Kingston, do I have permission for a low level pass, east to west,
across the field?""Roger Mustang, the
circuit is clear for an east to west pass."
"Roger,
Kingston, I'm coming out of 3000 feet, stand by."
We rushed back onto the
second-story deck, eyes fixed toward the eastern haze. The sound was subtle
at first, a high-pitched whine, a muffled screech, a distant scream. [Image]
Moments later the P-51 burst
through the haze. Her
airframe straining against positive
Gs and gravity, wing tips spilling contrails of condensed air, prop-tips
again supersonic as the burnished bird blasted across the eastern margin of
the field shredding and tearing the air.
At about 500 mph and 150 yards
from where we stood she passed with the old American pilot saluting. Imagine.
A salute! I felt like laughing, I felt like crying, she glistened, she screamed,
the building shook, my heart pounded[
Then the old pilot pulled her up
and rolled, and rolled, and rolled out of sight into the broken clouds and
indelibly into my memory. I've never wanted to be an American more than on
that day. It was a time when many nations in the world looked to America as
their big brother, a steady and even-handed beacon of security who navigated
difficult political water with grace and style; not unlike the pilot who'd
just flown into my memory. He was proud, not arrogant, humble, not a
braggart, old and honest, projecting an aura of America at its best. That
America will return one day, I know it will. Until that time, I'll just send
off this story; call it a reciprocal salute, to the old American pilot who
wove a memory for a young Canadian that's lasted my lifetime.
"We Are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit
of Anyone Who Threatens It!"
Too good not to share, Great story !!
This is a good story about a
vivid memory of a P-51 and its pilot, by a fellow who was a 12 year old in
Canada in 1967. It was to take to the air that morning. They said it had
flown in during the night from some U.S. Airport, the pilot had been tired
and checked into a local hotel.[Image]
I marveled at the size of the
plane dwarfing the Pipers and Canucks tied down by her. It was much larger
than in the movies. She glistened in the sun like a bulwark of security
from days gone by.
The pilot arrived back that
morning by cab, paid the driver, and then stepped into the pilot's lounge.
He was an older man, his wavy hair gray and tossed. It looked like it might
have been combed, say, around the turn of the century. His flight jacket
was checked, creased and worn - it smelled old and genuine. Old Glory was
prominently sewn to its shoulders. He projected a quiet air of proficiency
and pride devoid of arrogance. He filed a quick flight plan to Montreal
(Expo-67, Air Show) then walked across the tarmac.
After taking several minutes to
perform his walk-around check, the pilot returned to the flight lounge to
ask if anyone would be available to stand by with fire extinguishers while
he "flashed the old bird up, just to be safe."Though only 12 at the time I
was allowed to stand by with an extinguisher after brief instruction on its
use -- "If you see a fire, point, then pull this lever!" The air
around the exhaust manifolds shimmered like a mirror from fuel fumes as the
huge prop started to rotate. One manifold, then another, and yet another
barked -- I stepped back with the others. In moments the Packard-built
Merlin engine came to life with a thunderous roar, blue flames knifed from
her manifolds. I looked at the others' faces, there was no concern. I
lowered the bell of my extinguisher. One of the guys signaled to walk back
to the lounge. We did]
Several minutes later we could
hear the pilot doing his pre flight run-up. He'd taxied to the end of
runway 19, out of sight. All went quiet for several seconds; we raced from
the lounge to the second story deck to see if we could catch a glimpse of
the P-51 as she started down the runway. We could not. There we stood, eyes
fixed to a spot half way down 19. Then a roar ripped across the field, much
louder than before, like a furious hell spawn set loose---something mighty
this way was coming. "Listen to that thing!" said the controller.
In seconds the Mustang burst
into our line of sight. Its tail was already off and it was moving faster
than anything I'd ever seen by that point on 19. Two-thirds the way down 19
the Mustang was airborne with her gear going up. The prop tips were
supersonic; we clasped our ears as the Mustang climbed hellish fast into
the circuit to be eaten up by the dog-day haze.
We stood for a few moments in
stunned silence trying to digest what we'd just seen. The radio controller
rushed by me to the radio. "Kingston tower calling Mustang?" He
looked back to us as he waited for an acknowledgment.The radio crackled, "Go
ahead Kingston."
"Roger Mustang. Kingston
tower would like to advise the circuit is clear for a low level pass."
I stood in shock because the controller had, more or less, just asked the
pilot to return for an impromptu air show!The controller looked at us.
"What?" He asked. "I can't let that guy go without asking. I
couldn't forgive myself!"The radio crackled once again,
"Kingston, do I have permission for a low level pass, east to west,
across the field?""Roger Mustang, the
circuit is clear for an east to west pass."
"Roger,
Kingston, I'm coming out of 3000 feet, stand by."
We rushed back onto the
second-story deck, eyes fixed toward the eastern haze. The sound was subtle
at first, a high-pitched whine, a muffled screech, a distant scream. [Image]
Moments later the P-51 burst
through the haze. Her
airframe straining against positive
Gs and gravity, wing tips spilling contrails of condensed air, prop-tips
again supersonic as the burnished bird blasted across the eastern margin of
the field shredding and tearing the air.
At about 500 mph and 150 yards
from where we stood she passed with the old American pilot saluting. Imagine.
A salute! I felt like laughing, I felt like crying, she glistened, she screamed,
the building shook, my heart pounded[
Then the old pilot pulled her up
and rolled, and rolled, and rolled out of sight into the broken clouds and
indelibly into my memory. I've never wanted to be an American more than on
that day. It was a time when many nations in the world looked to America as
their big brother, a steady and even-handed beacon of security who navigated
difficult political water with grace and style; not unlike the pilot who'd
just flown into my memory. He was proud, not arrogant, humble, not a
braggart, old and honest, projecting an aura of America at its best. That
America will return one day, I know it will. Until that time, I'll just send
off this story; call it a reciprocal salute, to the old American pilot who
wove a memory for a young Canadian that's lasted my lifetime.
"We Are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit
of Anyone Who Threatens It!"
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