The Skyland post. [volume] (West Jefferson, N.C.) 193?-1988, 1944-12-14

wouldn't slip on the sidewalk and
break his back in four places.
I sat motionless in the cockpit.
The sun, now almost at its zenith,
had burned the freshness out of
the morning. A hot wind was
raising the dust in swirls. The
world was an old, repeated thing,
shorn of novelty. I shuddered to
contemplate the tattered leftovers.
Of adventure and gallantry as
Arthur's knights knew it, nothing
remained but misery and sickness
much sickness-much sickness.
And it would get worse and
worse.
With effort I hauled myself
from the plane and settled dizzily
to the ground. David Munk shut
fled up.
"Ole son, it looks as if you wuz
rung out" he said.
DRY as a bone," I confessed.
David" I asked, raising my
head, 'how do you like flying?"
"Well," he drawled, "Ah'm not
so shot in the tail with it as some
of the other boys. It's no straw
berry festival. Them flynn ma
chimes ruin nah nerves"
whats wrong?" I asked. ]
felt cheated.
"It's too much like work,
Munk criticized. "Ah worked be-
fore once. All didn't like it then
and All don't change much from
Eyear to year."
Munk had a constant picked
outlook that rarely let him down
never envied him more.
From the direction Of the road
a familiar harsh voice hollered
''Hey, Mack, all aboard if you're
going back with Ben Hur."
It was Fearless indulging his
whimsy. He noticed my distress
!"Oh, sick, huh, Mack? Happens
to the best. C'mon, c'mon get of
the canvas-it's good for you
Mack, best thing for va"
"You too?" I cried. I put my
head between my knees and
retched.
After ten periods of instruction
cadet is considered safe for his
first solo, an experience, he is
given to understand, that is com
parable to going over Niagara in
a barrel. Mr.. CLOSEUP abandoned
the rough and ready tactics of mi
tiation and conscientiously point
ed me for the Great Day. Little
by little confidence returned. By
the second flight I was sitting Sc
curely in the cockpit without
clawing at the upholstery, and on
the third I opened my eyes. Re
lations between myself and the
plane, however, never amounted
to anything like boon companion
ship. Mutual trust was lacking.
For my part, I always suspected
the assembled nuts and bolts, and
if the airplane had any sense it
watched me like hawk.
Landings were the first obsta-
Gle. The procedure was to take
off, and make a climbing turn to
the right or left in accordance
with the course rules, level off at
five hundred feet, cut the throttle
at the runway's end, make gen.
tie approach and land. We had
not been five minutes in the air
on the first instruction when Mr..
CLOSEUP called over the gosport:
Cali right, keep the air speed
constant, keep the wings level,
and don't cross the controls. You
got it," he cried, waving his hands
over his head.
Judging from this madcap ges-
ture that nobody was at the helm,
I grabbed the stick and stepped
on the right rudder as if it were
a poisonous spider. The plane
skidded.
"Just fly the machine. Don't
sprain it." called Mr.. CLOSEUP.
could maintain something like
level flight for a while, but then
wing would dip and the plane
would edge slyly off to one side.
It was disconcerting to have the
controls at my beck and call and
yet have no influence over the
proceedings. I felt like a COVER
ness of faulty character victimized
by hellion charges who have dis
covered their keepers blind spot
and fiendishly exploit the ad-
vantage. When I banked to the
right, the plane went thirty de-
grees past my intention. The al
timeter registered alternate gains