by Dan Verner
When all the players had run in from their positions, Coach Gregory looked around at them. “I will make my choices for the team this evening. Some of you were on the team last year. That does not mean you will be on the team this year. I will post the roster outside my door before school tomorrow. Now hit the showers! Good efforts today!” The boys scattered and the coach tucked his clipboard under his arm. Otto found himself conflicted as he took a shower. He loved working at the airport, but he also enjoyed baseball. He had talked to Wilson about just working Saturdays during the season, which was only twelve games. Now, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to make the team after all. Ah, well, he sighed to himself, he hadn’t made it yet.
***
Otto was glad the bus was early to school the next morning so he could see if he made the team. He went down the long hall that led to the coaches’ offices, his stomach in a knot, not knowing what he was wishing for. There taped to the wall beside the coach’s office door was the yellow sheet titled, “TEAM ROSTER: PIONEER LAKE SUPERIORS,” and there, number six on the list was his name: “Kerchner, Otto, SS.” He had made the team!
As Otto made his way back to his first period science class, he saw Betty at her locker. They had science together, so he went over to her. “Betty! I made the team!”
She smiled her radiant smile. “I’m so happy for you, Otto! When is the first game?”
“It’s in a couple of weeks. We have to practice every school day until then.”
Betty closed her locker, holding her books to her chest. “I’m glad you made it, Otto. I’ll come see you play.”
“That would be swell, Betty,” Otto murmured, and they walked together to science class.
Chapter 7
Flight Lessons—May, 1936
As it turned out, the baseball season was a disappointment. Otto did well, making a number of good plays and hitting .411, but the rest of the players weren’t that good. They lost all their games but one, which was a forfeit because the other team didn’t have enough players. Away games meant long bus rides, and while Otto enjoyed playing, he determined that he would rather be at the airport. Maybe he would play again in the future, but not any time soon. He fulfilled his obligation to the coach, cleaned out his locker and shook hands with Coach Gregory, who looked sad and discouraged. “Will we see you next year, Kerchner?” he asked.
“I don’t know, sir, I’m awfully busy at the airport.” And so, late in May, with school out, Otto worked every hour he could at the airport.
Wilson had hired a flight instructor, a World War I vet named “Sparky” Duncan. He was fond of the bottle, and often as not, Otto would find him asleep in a back room when one of his lessons showed up. Otto roused him, got him a wet towel to run over his face and guided him in the general direction of the plane.
Wilson never said anything about Duncan’s drinking; he even drank with him on occasion. The thing was, Sparky could be unsteady on his feet, but once he climbed into the cockpit, he was as steady as a rock. Otto didn’t get it, but then he didn’t have to. He propped the engine for Sparky and watched him taxi out lesson after lesson.
Wilson had bought a Fleet Model 1 twin cockpit biplane as a trainer, and Sparky stayed busy with lessons. One day, as Otto watched Sparky line up on the runway with another student in the front seat, Wilson came up.
“Say, Otto, would you like to learn to fly?”
Otto couldn’t believe his ears. “Would I! You betcha, Mr. Wilson! But I can’t afford it.”
Wilson chuckled. “Tell you what. I’ll give you one lesson a week instead of paying you until you get your license. Then you can rent the Fleet if you want to fly. Deal?”
Otto reached out and shook his hand. “It’s a deal, Mr. Wilson!”
His first lesson was the next day. Sparky was asleep in the back room, as usual. Otto went in and shook his shoulder. Duncan stirred and opened one eye. “Wha’ is it, kid?”
“Time for my lesson, Mr. Duncan.”
“Lesson? I don’t know nothin’ about no lesson.”
“Mr. Wilson said you would give me flight lessons.”
“OK, then kid, give me a minute.” He raised himself to a seated position and sat there for a long moment with this head down. Finally he stood up, unsteadily. Otto reached out a hand to keep him from falling.
Duncan waved him off. “I‘m OK. Just a little sleepy. Lessee, where’s my helmet? Oh, here it is.” He plucked a dirty cloth flying helmet from the bed and pulled it on. He went to a small cabinet hanging on the wall and took out a cleaner twin. “Here—you’ll need this. Some goggles, too. I think they’re in the airplane.”
Otto followed him as he walked unsteadily toward the hangar. The Fleet stood there in the darkness. “C’mon, boy, help me push it out.” He got on one side and Otto the other and together they pushed on the lower wing until the airplane was outside in the sunlight.
Suddenly Sparky was all business. “OK, first thing is to check your fuel.” He unscrewed a cap in front of the forward cockpit, went back into the hangar and returned with a stick about two feet long. He stuck it in the opening and pulled it out. It was wet nearly its entire length. “See, plenty of fuel.” Otto nodded.
“Next, we walk around the aircraft and make sure everything is still attached.” He and Otto made a circuit of the Fleet. Duncan pulled cables and manipulated control surfaces. When they returned to where they had started, he nodded and said, “Put your helmet on.” Otto complied and Sparky handed him a pair of goggles he had taken from the front cockpit. “Put these on when you get in. Now you prop the engine after I get in.” He climbed up the lower wing and threw one leg over the rear cockpit wall.
Otto knew exactly what to do. He went to the front of the aircraft. “Switch on!” Duncan called.
“Switch on,” Otto returned.
“Contact!”
“Contact!” With that, Otto put both hands on the upper portion of the wooden blade and pulled down hard, backing away as the prop swung through its arc. The engine caught, and Duncan revved it a couple of times. Otto went around and climbed in the front cockpit, putting his helmet and goggles on.
Sparky advanced the throttles, and they moved out to the takeoff zone.
“All right,” he called over the engine. “First, test your control surfaces. Make sure they’re all working like they should. Look around with me.” Otto twisted his neck first to the right and then to the left. He saw the ailerons move on the right wing, and then on the left as the stick beneath his legs moved.
“Put your feet on the rudder pedals but don’t press down. Just rest them lightly.” Otto did so and swiveled his head to the rear of the aircraft. He saw Duncan looking very serious, and, beyond him, the rudder moving left and right as the pedal deflected under his feet.
“Got it, kid?” Duncan shouted, and Otto nodded his head. “OK, here we go. Just put your hands and feet lightly on the controls.”
Otto did as he was instructed and Sparky advanced the throttle. The Fleet bumped out to the end of the runway area. Otto rolled and compacted the landing area regularly, so he was surprised at the unevenness of the field. The airplane thumped and shook as it made its way down the grass.
They reached the place where they would start their takeoff roll.
“Always look at the wind sock and take off into the wind,” Duncan instructed. Otto dutifully looked at the long white tube hanging from a pole by the hangar. No wind at all.
“There’s no wind so we’ll just take off from here. When we land, I’ll look at the sock again and land into the wind, if there is any.”
Otto nodded and looked forward. Duncan advanced the throttle and the Fleet bumped over the ground, slowly at first but more and more rapidly. They were moving along pretty fast and it seemed to Otto that the airplane was growing lighter as if it wanted to lift off the ground.
He felt the stick move back and the aircraft smoothly lifted from the ground, all vibration gone, and they climbed into the sky. Otto wanted to shout
for joy as they gained altitude. He looked back and saw the hangar and office growing smaller and smaller. Wilson came out of the office and waved at them. Otto waved back.
The silver aircraft banked to the right. Farmland lay all around them, different shades of green in the slanting afternoon sun. Otto saw their farm and the cattle calmly grazing. He remembered when the noise disturbed the herd, but they had made the adjustment and didn’t even look up as they flew over.
So this was real flying, Otto thought. He had dreamed about what it would be like for so long, and now he was doing it and it was even better than he imagined. It was like he was floating and free, up there with the clouds and birds. It was a wonder that anyone ever wanted to land.
The wings seemed to reach out for the horizon and Otto felt as if he could hold his arms out and touch the horizon on either side. There was nothing between him and that distant line, and he reveled in the sense of freedom and release.
Sparky straightened them out and shouted to Otto, “You take the controls. Just try to keep her straight and level and right-side-up.”
Otto grasped the stick more firmly. He felt the airplane nudge over to the right and brought the stick back to the left. The craft lurched to the left and he corrected to the right, this time skewing in that direction. He could hear Duncan laughing behind him.
“Just a gentle touch, kid. This ain’t no cow you have to push on to get her to move.”
After a few minutes Otto was able to hold the airplane in a reasonably straight line.
“Look down, kid,” exclaimed Sparky. Otto did, and gasped. The ground was a lot closer than it had been. “You’ve got to watch your altimeter or you’ll fly right into the ground. I have the controls.” Otto felt his stick move with authority as Duncan pushed the throttle forward and they climbed for altitude. He wracked the Fleet around in a hard turn that had them practically standing sideways on their wings. Otto looked down at the ground sliding by. His stomach heaved.
Sparky straightened the ship out and lined up on the field. He cut the throttle and they glided in on a smooth line for the landing area as if they were on a rail.
Otto watched the ground tilt toward their craft, and Duncan pulled back on the stick just before they would have flown into the ground. The ship stalled just above the ground and settled with a single bounce on the grass. Then they were rolling, slowing until they were moving along at a walking pace. Sparky pressed part of the right rudder pedal that controlled the brake on that side and the airplane turned toward the hangar. He advanced the throttle and soon they were parked in front of the hangar. Otto climbed out of the cockpit.
“Now, that last little bit right before we landed is called a flare,” Sparky told him. “You stall the aircraft right above the ground; it quits flying and if you do it right, you settle to the runway nice and easy. I bounced it once, not too bad, but a good landing don’t have no bounces.”
Otto nodded, speechless from what he experienced.
“Normally you don’t want to stall, but landing’s a special occasion. I’ll show you how to recover from stalls next week. Now help me push this thing into the hangar.”
Duncan took one wing and Otto the other. Together they moved the silver craft back into the darkness of the hangar.
“OK, kid, more next week. I need a drink,” Sparky said, and wandered off to his room beside the office. Wilson came out of the door.
“How was it, kid?”
“It was great, Mr. Wilson,” Otto smiled.
“Well, old’ Duncan ain’t much to look at, but he’s a fine pilot. You’ll learn a lot from him.”
“Yessir,” Otto murmured, thinking that he could hardly wait for next week.
The lessons proceeded, week after week. Sometimes Sparky kept them up for a couple of hours. Otto learned about altimeter settings, carb heat, mixtures, coordinated turns, slipping, stall recovery, and point-to-point navigation. One day they flew down to Madison, had a sandwich at the counter there, refueled, and flew back to Pioneer Lake. Duncan let Otto handle the takeoff and landing, grunting with satisfaction as Otto managed his first landing with only one bounce. They taxied to the hangar.
“All right, kid, why don’t we go up again tomorrow and shoot some takeoffs and landings?”
“Sounds great to me, Mr. Duncan. Won’t that be more than one lesson this week, though?”
Sparky clapped him on the back. “This one’s on me, kid. You’ve been a good student. Wish everyone had your natural talent.”
“Thanks, Mr. Duncan! I appreciate that!” Otto hopped on his bicycle and pedaled for home. He pretended he was flying.
Chapter 8
Solo—September, 1936
The next day dawned clear and bright with just a touch of chill in the air. Otto rushed through his chores, picked up his lunch pail from his mama and biked over to the airport. Dew still stood on the aircraft tied down at the field. He went into the office to check his task list for the day. In Wilson’s florid script was a single notation: “Go flying!”
Otto sat impatiently in the chair in the office, waiting for Sparky to make an appearance. After a while, he came out of the back room, yawning, with his hair disheveled. “Hey, kid, you’re here early,” he said to Otto.
“It’s nearly ten o’clock, sir,” Otto ventured.
Duncan cocked an eye toward the clock above Wilson’s desk. “So it is. Wanna go flying?”
“You bet!” Otto exclaimed.
“Wal, help me find my helmet, then.” Otto reached over to the desk and handed Duncan the filthy scrap of cloth. “What’s that doing there?” Sparky pulled the helmet on and started out the door to the Fleet. Otto trotted along behind him.
They preflighted the airplane and Duncan climbed into the rear cockpit while Otto propped the engine. The prop swung through one arc and then the engine caught. Sparky blipped the throttle as Otto clambered over the side into the front cockpit, pulled on his helmet and adjusted his goggles over his eyes.
“Take ‘er out and take ‘er up!” Sparky shouted. Otto taxied to the end of the field, “S” turning as Duncan had taught him. He lined up in the center of the grassy expanse, pushed the throttle forward and began his takeoff roll.
The Fleet moved slowly at first, and then accelerated as the tail came up. Otto made small inputs to the rudder once they were underway to keep the nose straight. He felt the ship lighten, and as the airspeed reached 100, pulled back lightly on the stick. The wheels ceased vibrating and they were in the air. Otto thought that he would never tire of that sensation, of breaking free of Earth and soaring with the birds. He grinned widely, pulling the airplane into a right hand bank to exit the traffic pattern. Behind him, Duncan looked first to one side and then the other.
They flew on for about five minutes and then Sparky called back, “Go ahead and land.”
Otto was puzzled; usually they stayed up longer. Maybe something was wrong with Sparky. He made a 180 degree turn and was soon on final to land.
Otto cut the throttle and drifted down, flaring perfectly onto the grass. He taxied to the hangar. Sparky climbed out of his cockpit and Otto was pulling off his helmet when Duncan put a hand on his shoulder. “Keep that on. Take ‘er up.”
Sparky jumped off the wing onto the ground. Otto couldn’t speak. Sparky wanted him to solo! Was he ready? Would he forget anything?
He nodded to Sparky, who stood watching him. He advanced the throttle and was soon lined up on the runway. He ran through the familiar pre-takeoff routine, pushed the throttle forward and was off, rolling along the grass, feeling the Fleet lift its tail up and then ease into the air. He was flying again, but this time by himself. He felt such a sense of freedom. He could go anywhere and do anything, he thought, but then reminded himself that it wasn’t his aircraft and that he was limited by the amount of fuel on board. But the whole world was out there and he could go and do what he pleased—within limits. He did some banks and turns for sheer joy for about half an hour and then recalled that his lesson
time was about up. He brought the ship around on a heading for the airport, knowing that he would remember these moments as long as he lived.
Too soon the field came in sight and he lined up into the wind. The Fleet slid smoothly down its descent path, flared and touched down smoothly. Otto taxied to the terminal, thinking he should get one of those white silk scarves so he would look like an aviator. He turned in front of the hangar and chopped the throttle.
Sparky and Wilson came toward him. Sparky carried a pair of scissors; Wilson had a bottle of scotch in one hand and three glasses in the other. Otto wasn’t sure what would happen next.
He climbed out of the cockpit. Wilson put the bottle and glasses down and took Otto’s hand in both of his. “Way to go, kid! You did it! This calls for a celebration.” He took the bottle and unscrewed the top.
“Hold on there, Wilson,” Sparky exclaimed. “First things first!” Wilson put the top back on the bottle and watched intently. Duncan pulled Otto’s shirttail out and cut it off with the scissors. “There you go, kid. A souvenir of your solo! We’ll all autograph it when we get back in the office.” He handed Otto the scrap of material as Otto wondered how he was going to explain to his mama why his shirttail had been cut off. He decided to tell the truth.
Wilson poured a glass half full of scotch and handed it to Otto. “Here you go, kid. Drink up! Here’s to you and to many good flights!”
“Mr. Wilson, I don’t drink. I’m underage,” Otto protested.
“This isn’t drinking, this is celebration,” Wilson laughed, pouring a glass for Duncan and one for himself. Sparky eyed the drink as if he had never seen good whiskey, which he probably hadn’t. Otto sighed and took a small sip from his glass. It tasted like the turpentine smelled that they used on the farm. He let it slip down his throat and started coughing. Wilson and Duncan had already pounded theirs down. Duncan smacked Otto on the back. “You learned how to fly, now you gotta learn how to drink!” he exclaimed, and he and Wilson laughed uproariously. Then they went into the office and took turns signing the tail of Otto’s shirt. He placed it in the basket of his bicycle and rode home.
