Read Online The Man Called Brown Condor by Thomas E. Simmons - Free Book Online

flying. Not too smooth but it’s not falling out of the sky.
    The stick wiggled in his hand. John let go and held both hands up in the slipstream before taking hold of the sides of the cockpit once again. The flight steadied into a graceful, sure path as Robert took control.
    The nose dropped smoothly. Wind began to whistle past the bracing wires between the wings as speed increased in a dive. Johnny’s eyes widened at the sight of the earth coming up toward him. He tightened his grip on the sides of the cockpit. A few moments later, he was pressed deep into his seat as Robert pulled back on the stick bringing the plane’s nose sharply up. As the horizon again came into view, John, still pressed firmly into his seat, felt and heard the engine roar to full throttle. The nose rose steeply past the horizon, past the vertical. The world was upside down. John was momentarily light in his seat as Robert relaxed a little back pressure over the top of a graceful loop. Oh! Lord Jesus! As the plane screamed down the back side of the loop he shouted into the wind, “God Almighty!” Once again he was pressed into his seat and felt his cheeks sag a little as Robert pulled out of the back side of the loop to level flight.
    â€œYeah! Oh yeah !” John hollered. He held up both hands with his thumbs straight up. Robert laughed and performed another loop followed by a sweeping barrel roll.
    After nearly an hour, the sun was low on the horizon when they entered the landing pattern and flew downwind parallel to the field. John looked down to see the Jenny taxiing toward the hangar as the last of Percy’s passengers moved along the fence toward their car. Robert gently banked the WACO, first turning base and spilling altitude, then turning upwind to line up on final for the landing. With the engine throttled back to idle, Robert brought the WACO over the fence. Easing the stick back, he held the plane just off the ground. As speed bled off, the WACO settled gently onto the grass, the main wheels and tail skid touching simultaneously in a perfect three-point landing. After a short roll, Robert taxied to the hangar, swinging around in one last blast of the propeller so that the tail faced the opening as he shut down the engine. The propeller ticked over a last few revolutions. Then silence, sudden and complete.
    John sat in the cockpit almost afraid to move least he lose the moment and awake from a dream. His ears rang from the engine’s roar. His body relaxed in the absence of movement and vibration. His goggles now felt uncomfortably tight and his bare head tingled from the wind buffet. His nostrils filled with odors emanating from the hot engine, dormant except for an occasional “tick” common to the cooling of a hot engine pot.
    â€œRobinson? Robinson, are you all right?”
    â€œWhat? Oh! Yes, sir!” Johnny replied. “I don’t think I’m ever gonna get this smile off my face. I mean, there’s nothing like it, is there? Nothing as free.”
    Robert grinned. “Now get down from there and help put this thing in the hangar.”
    Together they pushed the WACO tail first into the hangar and walked around the corner of the building in time to see Percy driving off with the young Sunday School teacher. Robert walked toward the motorbike parked near John’s car.
    â€œHold on, Mr. Robert.” Out of gratitude and respect for the man who had taken him on his first flight, John had reverted to his Southern roots and the way he would have addressed a white man back home. “Do you think I could learn to fly? I mean, well, I know I can learn, but can I get someone to teach me?”
    â€œSure. Why not?” Robert looked back at John. “Oh, I see.” Robert paused. “You learned to be a mechanic.”
    â€œYeah, but that was at a Negro college. Do you know any Negroes enrolled in flying school? Any being taught by private lessons?”
    â€œCan’t