Evening star., 1941-12-07

DETROIT Dec. cit was hard for
Alex Papana to remember when the
resentment against airport ambulances
begal. yelling up in him.
They were always there, those ambu-
lances, waiting, waiting for the moment
when the cunning of his mind and
fingers would not be equal to the emer-
gency.
They were there with their doctors
and nurses efficient and patient. When
he few he could see them far below,
their tops shining like the backs of
beetles, and when he landed he would
glance toward the ambulances, waiting
as always, and say to himself. "Nu m au
avut.''
Freely translated from his native Ru-
rnanian, 1t meant, They didn't get me-
Now, as he strobe out on the concrete
apron at the Wayne County Airport,
where his big plane rested, he caught
a glimpse of the ambulances out of the
tail of his eye. The ship was loaded
to almost twice its normal weight for
test hop.
There were fire trucks waiting. too,
but he did not mind the fire trucks so
much They only fought the fires when
an airplane crashed. The ambulances
had a more sinister function. They
probed into the remains of an airplane
and plucked out the body of the pilot.
Sometimes the pilot would still be
oli,e ambulance would c1anC
away to the hospital, its gong announcing
the successful termination of its waiting
period The doctors and the nurses and
the stretcher-bearers were happy that
their patience had been rewarded.
Or. so it seemed to Alex Papana.
Maybe his hatred of ambulances went
back to that time at Brasov, Rumania,
when he climbed to $4,000 feet in new
fighter and carbon monoXide gas from
the engine. seeping into the cockpit,
almost killed him. Back on the ground
he had muttered as he was hauled from
his cramped quarters, "Nu mau avut"-
they didn't get me.
Ambulances in Audience
Eleven hundred gallons good" he said
10 the crew servicing his plane.
Getting the heavily laden machine of
the ground was one thing. Getting 1t
back down again involved dumping most
of the contents Of the fuel tanks aloft.
The wheels we're not built to take the
landing impact of such an overload. An
ingenious device had been installed in
the nose to rid the ship of its excess fuel
In midair When Mr.. Papana pulled a
trigger. a cylinder of carbon dioXide-in-
nocuous relative of the deadly carbon
monoxide-would open the dump valves
and flush the tanks clean.
The wind is down the long runway"
observed a mechanic. You are all set"
Mr.. Papana nodded. so I see, are
our friends the ambulances." He smiled
briefly. One must not take off, he
confded, without ambulances in the au-
dience" He began fastening the straps
of his parachute. 1T would violate the
social conventions
"How's thatP" asked the Greaseban.
mo matter" responded Papana, Il am
.ust talking"
He climbed aboard, worming his way
through the narrow aisle between the
fuel tanks in the cabin. He settled him
self into the cockpit. The engines
spluttered, caught, roared.
At the end of the runway he swung
around cross-wind and locked his brakes.
He ran up his engines, checking mani
fold and oil pressures, tachometers
magnetoes, and both oil and cylinder
head temperatures. He switched on his
radio.
"Papana to control tower Papana to
tower, l am ready for my test flight"
Tower to Papana, everything is clear,
go ahead"
He opened the throttles slowly. Until
he gained speed and the wind began
laving his ailerons, rudder and elevator,
he would have little control over the
ship.
He gave the left engine bit more
fuel than the right one. That over