Read Online Sojourners of the Sky by Clayton Taylor - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Clayton Taylor
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Don’t pay him any mind,” replied Bill.
“What’s the deal with him anyways?” asked Jack.
“Let’s go have lunch and I’ll tell you,” said Bill.
The group put down their tools and, with the exception of Jack, eagerly made their way to the house. Jack trailed the group, constantly turning to look over his shoulder, wondering if the weirdo next door was still spying on them.
After momentarily closing his eyes and silently saying grace, Bill quickly shifted his eyes toward his wife, hoping for some guidance. He knew it was a story she didn’t want to hear. But when she turned away, showing no sign of emotion, he took it as a sign to proceed.
“When John and I were kids, we were the best of friends. We did everything together. One hot summer afternoon a barnstormer appeared in the sky out of nowhere. He zoomed in low over our heads and then nearly hit a grain silo. His engine was racing and smoke was billowing from the bottom of his airplane. He pulled up and then disappeared behind some trees. The two of us ran as fast as we could because we thought the pilot was in trouble. It looked like a crash was imminent.”
“What’s ‘imminent’ mean, Grandpa?” asked Jack.
“It means something is about to happen,” answered Bill. “Anyway, just when it looked like he was about to crash, the smoke stopped and he pulled the airplane straight up. For the next ten minutes we stood there watching this daredevil pilot execute all manner of loop-de-loops and rolls. I have to tell you, our jaws were hanging wide-open as we watched that fearless man with a leather cap on his head, defy both gravity and death. We were awestruck. It was the first time either of us had ever seen a real airplane. It was simply breathtaking. When the show was over, he landed in a field just outside of town. The two of us ran over and proceeded to pester him with question after question. The entire time we talked, both John and I gently rubbed our hands over his wood and cloth biplane. We didn’t realize it just then, but seeing that small yellow airplane perform incredible aerial stunts before our eyes was all it took to plant the aviation seed inside of us.”
“But, Grandpa, wasn’t your dad a pilot?” asked Jack.
“Yes, he certainly was,” replied Bill. “My dad was a pilot for Pan Am, but he rarely spoke about his job when he was at home. I knew my dad enjoyed flying, but I think he preferred to keep his two lives separate. Before that barnstormer flew into town, I never thought much about what my dad did for a living. And I’m quite sure John Tacker never had any reason to give airplanes any more than a passing thought. Yup, that tiny canary-colored airplane with two wings, flying freely above the Earth, ignited a passion in us both, that’s for sure.
We ran home that day, hoping to get the two dollars it would take to ensure a ride in the man’s contraption the following morning. But it was the waning days of the Depression and money was still pretty scarce. We both had a small stash of coins under our beds, but it wasn’t enough. We put what we had together, along with what little we could pry from our parents, who by the way had no idea what it was going to be used for, but still came up thirty cents short.
We showed up the next day prepared to do our best begging. The pilot smiled and chuckled as we took turns wearing him down. We weren’t sure if we were making any headway because he just sat there the entire time tinkering with his machine. I’ll never forget looking into his squinting eyes, wondering what made him tick. He was a man of the skies: a Sky God. Well, a god with oil stains on his face and a big bushy mustache.
Our ride through the crystal clear skies lasted for only a few minutes. Sitting together in the forward cockpit, both John and I hung on for dear life. Unfortunately, I don’t remember much of it anymore. But I can tell you that I was both thrilled by the experience and scared to
“What’s the deal with him anyways?” asked Jack.
“Let’s go have lunch and I’ll tell you,” said Bill.
The group put down their tools and, with the exception of Jack, eagerly made their way to the house. Jack trailed the group, constantly turning to look over his shoulder, wondering if the weirdo next door was still spying on them.
After momentarily closing his eyes and silently saying grace, Bill quickly shifted his eyes toward his wife, hoping for some guidance. He knew it was a story she didn’t want to hear. But when she turned away, showing no sign of emotion, he took it as a sign to proceed.
“When John and I were kids, we were the best of friends. We did everything together. One hot summer afternoon a barnstormer appeared in the sky out of nowhere. He zoomed in low over our heads and then nearly hit a grain silo. His engine was racing and smoke was billowing from the bottom of his airplane. He pulled up and then disappeared behind some trees. The two of us ran as fast as we could because we thought the pilot was in trouble. It looked like a crash was imminent.”
“What’s ‘imminent’ mean, Grandpa?” asked Jack.
“It means something is about to happen,” answered Bill. “Anyway, just when it looked like he was about to crash, the smoke stopped and he pulled the airplane straight up. For the next ten minutes we stood there watching this daredevil pilot execute all manner of loop-de-loops and rolls. I have to tell you, our jaws were hanging wide-open as we watched that fearless man with a leather cap on his head, defy both gravity and death. We were awestruck. It was the first time either of us had ever seen a real airplane. It was simply breathtaking. When the show was over, he landed in a field just outside of town. The two of us ran over and proceeded to pester him with question after question. The entire time we talked, both John and I gently rubbed our hands over his wood and cloth biplane. We didn’t realize it just then, but seeing that small yellow airplane perform incredible aerial stunts before our eyes was all it took to plant the aviation seed inside of us.”
“But, Grandpa, wasn’t your dad a pilot?” asked Jack.
“Yes, he certainly was,” replied Bill. “My dad was a pilot for Pan Am, but he rarely spoke about his job when he was at home. I knew my dad enjoyed flying, but I think he preferred to keep his two lives separate. Before that barnstormer flew into town, I never thought much about what my dad did for a living. And I’m quite sure John Tacker never had any reason to give airplanes any more than a passing thought. Yup, that tiny canary-colored airplane with two wings, flying freely above the Earth, ignited a passion in us both, that’s for sure.
We ran home that day, hoping to get the two dollars it would take to ensure a ride in the man’s contraption the following morning. But it was the waning days of the Depression and money was still pretty scarce. We both had a small stash of coins under our beds, but it wasn’t enough. We put what we had together, along with what little we could pry from our parents, who by the way had no idea what it was going to be used for, but still came up thirty cents short.
We showed up the next day prepared to do our best begging. The pilot smiled and chuckled as we took turns wearing him down. We weren’t sure if we were making any headway because he just sat there the entire time tinkering with his machine. I’ll never forget looking into his squinting eyes, wondering what made him tick. He was a man of the skies: a Sky God. Well, a god with oil stains on his face and a big bushy mustache.
Our ride through the crystal clear skies lasted for only a few minutes. Sitting together in the forward cockpit, both John and I hung on for dear life. Unfortunately, I don’t remember much of it anymore. But I can tell you that I was both thrilled by the experience and scared to
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