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| 1931 Bird Biplane |
It was in the
spring of 1937 that my interest in aviation increased to a near obsession. I had always liked airplanes and Charles
Lindberg was my idol. I had a “Lucky
Lindy” brown leatherette aviator’s helmet that I almost always wore during the
winter. I read World War Flying Aces
pulp magazines avidly and would always stop whatever I might be doing to watch
when very infrequent airplanes flew overhead.
One time before he
left for Washington, my father dropped Richard and me off at a little silent
movie theater on the square in Greenfield to see the original version of Howard
Hugh’s film “Hell’s Angels” twice, but not because of Jean Harlow. We did not think she amounted to much at
all. To us she was just a blonde woman
that looked like a grownup version of our cousin Mary Catherine and who had the
same kind of high-pitched voice. We sat
through it again just to see those old airplanes dogfighting, the zeppelin getting
shot down, and the German bomber episode.
Anyway, in the
spring of 1937, Grandpa, Grandma, and I went to Springfield one day. Grandma had been poorly and she had to have
some tests at the hospital as I recall.
They told Grandpa it would take a couple of hours so he asked me if I
would like to go to the zoo or something.
I asked if, instead, we could go to the Springfield Airport to look at
airplanes up close.
In those days
Spring Airport was just a big level grass field with a row of wooden hangars
along one side. There were no airplanes
parked outside and, to my disappointment, none were flying. Grandpa went to a little office and asked a
man there if there was an airplane I could look at somewhere. He directed us to one of the hangars which had
the door standing open.
I got goosebumps
on my arms when we walked into that hangar and there sat a beautiful open-cockpit
biplane. It was shiny red and it and the
whole hangar had a heady aroma compounded of airplane dope, grease, gasoline,
and rubber.
I suspect that my
eyes were as big as saucers. I walked
around to the front of the airplane and it had an honest-to-goodness radial
engine. I had read all about that sort
of thing. It seemed like a big airplane
and engine to me then but in later years when I was flying myself I concluded
that it was a little Bird biplane with a small five-cylinder Kinner
engine.
While I was gaping
in awe and reverently stroking the taut fabric of the wing covering, the man
from the office came in. He watched me
for a minute then came over and said, “You want to sit in the cockpit, kid?”
I could only grin
at him delightedly as he boosted me onto the lower wing then helped me get into
the back cockpit. He pointed out the
instruments and controls and let me wiggle the stick so I could see the
ailerons move.
I was in seventh
heaven and I am sure it plainly showed.
As the man helped me out of the cockpit I asked, “Can you fly this here
airplane, mister?”
He nodded. “Yes, it belongs to me.”
When I was back on
the dirt floor of the hangar, I turned back to the man and said emphatically, “I
aim to fly one of them airplanes someday!”
He grinned and
whacked me on the shoulder. “By god,
boy, I bet you will, too! You got the
right look.”
