Re: OT: Old Airplanes And Old Aviators

[Guest guest]

I remember that plane very well. Hubby had a friend who had piloted one in

the war and years later bought one he flew to air shows.

rheumatic OT: Old Airplanes And Old Aviators

>A bit of an uplifter

>

>> Old Aviators and Old Airplanes.....

>>

>> This is a good little story about a vivid memory of a P-51 and its pilot,

>> as

>> told by a fellow who was 12 years old in Canada in 1967. You may know a

>> few

>> others who could and would appreciate it, as well.

>>

>> It was noon on a Sunday, as I recall, the day a Mustang P-51 was to take

>> to the air. They said it had flown in during the night from some U.S.

>> airport; the pilot had been tired and wanted to lay-over for the night. I

>> marveled at the size of the plane, now dwarfing the Pipers and Canucks

>> tied

>> down by her. It was much larger than in the movies, and she glistened in

>> the

>> sun like a bulwark of security from days gone by.

>>

>> The pilot arrived by cab, paid the driver, and then stepped into the

>> flight

>> lounge. He was an older man; his wavy hair was gray and tossed. Looked

>> like

>> it might have been combed, say .....around the turn of the century.

>>

>> His flight jacket was checked, creased and worn - it smelled old and

>> genuine.. Old Glory was prominently sewn to its shoulders. He projected a

>> quiet air of calm proficiency and pride devoid of arrogance. He filed a

>> quick flight plan to Montreal (Expo-67, Air Show) then walked across the

>> tarmac to the waiting old war bird.

>>

>> After taking several minutes to perform his walk-around check, the pilot

>> returned to the flight lounge to ask if anyone would be available to

>> stand

>> by with fire extinguishers while he 'flashed the old bird up'. .....Just

>> to

>> be safe.

>>

>> Though only 12 at the time, I was allowed to stand by with an

>> extinguisher

>> after brief instruction on its use. 'If you see a fire, point, then pull

>> this lever!' (...I later became a firefighter, but that's another story).

>>

>> The air around the 12 exhaust manifolds shimmered like a mirror from the

>> fuel fumes as the huge propeller started to rotate. One manifold, then

>> another, and yet another, coughed ...then barked in their wakenings. I

>> stepped back with the others, and in moments the huge V-12 Packard-built

>> Merlin 14-hundred horsepower engine came to life with a thunderous roar,

>> blue flames knifed from her exhaust manifolds, the concussion of the

>> exhausts shaking the air. Myself stunned, I looked at the others' faces,

>> but

>> there was seemingly no concern, so I lowered the bell of my extinguisher.

>> One of the other guys signaled to walk back to the lounge. We did.

>>

>> Several minutes later, we could hear the pilot doing his pre-flight

>> run-up.

>> He had taxied down to the end of runway 19, out of our sight. All went

>> quiet

>> for several seconds; we raced from the lounge to the second story deck to

>> see if we could catch a glimpse of the P-51 as she started down the

>> runway.

>> We could not.

>> But there we stood, eyes fixed to a spot half way down 19, waiting to

>> catch

>> that final glimpse of a veteran of the skies.

>>

>> Then a roar ripped across the field, much louder than before, like a

>> furious

>> hell-spawn set loose!! ....Something mighty this way was coming!!

>>

>> 'My God!! Listen to that thing!' said the controller. And in seconds, the

>> Mustang burst into our line of sight. Its tail was already off, and it

>> was

>> moving faster than anything I'd ever seen by that point on Runway 19.

>> Two-thirds the way down 19, the Mustang was airborne with her gear going

>> up.

>> The prop tips were now supersonic and we clasped our ears as the Mustang

>> climbed hellishly fast into the circuit ....only to be eaten up by the

>> dog-day haze.

>>

>> We stood for a few moments in stunned silence, still trying to digest

>> what

>> we'd just seen. Then the radio controller rushed by me to the radio.

>>

>> 'Kingston tower calling Mustang?' He looked back to us as he waited for

>> an

>> acknowledgment.

>>

>> The radio crackled, 'Go ahead Kingston.'

>>

>> ' Mustang. Kingston tower would like to advise the circuit is clear

>> for

>> a low level pass.'

>>

>> I stood in shock because the controller had, more or less, just asked the

>> pilot to return for an impromptu 'air show' !

>>

>> The controller looked at us. '...What?' He asked. '....I can't let that

>> guy

>> go without at least asking! I could never forgive myself !'

>>

>>

>> The radio crackled once again, 'Kingston, do I have permission for a low

>> level pass, east to west, across the field ?'

>>

>> ' Mustang, the circuit is clear for an east to west pass.'

>>

>> ', Kingston, I'm coming out of 3000 feet .....stand by.'

>>

>> We rushed back onto the second-story deck again, our eyes fixed toward

>> the

>> eastern haze. The sound was subtle at first, a high-pitched whine, a

>> muffled

>> screech, a distant scream in the morning air.

>>

>> Moments later the

>> P-51 burst through the haze. Her airframe straining against positive G's

>> and

>> gravity, wing tips spilling contrails of condensed air, prop-tips again

>> supersonic as the burnished bird blasted across the eastern margin of the

>> field, shredding and tearing the still air with a banshee scream of her

>> twelve cylinders.

>>

>> ....At about 400+ mph and 150 yards from where we stood, she passed with

>> the

>> old American pilot saluting us!! Imagine.... a salute ! I felt like

>> laughing, I felt like crying, she glistened, she screamed, the building

>> shook, my heart pounded.

>>

>> Then the old pilot pulled her up .....and rolled, and rolled ......and

>> rolled out of sight into the broken clouds ...and indelibly into my

>> memory.

>>

>> I've never wanted to be an American more than on that day. It was a

>> time

>> when many nations in the world looked to America as their 'big brother';

>> a

>> steady and even-handed beacon of security, who navigated difficult

>> political

>> waters with grace and style; not unlike the pilot who'd just flown

>> forever

>> into my memory. He was proud, not arrogant ....humble, not a braggart,

>> old

>> and honest, projecting an aura of America at its very best.

>>

>> That America WILL return one day, I know it will. Until that time, I'll

>> just

>> send off this story; calling it a reciprocal salute ....to the old

>> American

>> pilot who wove a memory for a young Canadian that has lasted a lifetime

>

>

>

> To unsubscribe, email: rheumatic-unsubscribeegroups

>

>

[Guest guest]

WOW Jeff,

I was working at Dorval Airport for Air Canada in 1967.There were

many such happenings that summer with wonderful old planes.I am sorry to

say that I missed this event,what a shame.That year is still magical for

me Lynne G/SD

Geoff wrote:

> A bit of an uplifter

>

> > Old Aviators and Old Airplanes.....

> >

> > This is a good little story about a vivid memory of a P-51 and its

> pilot,

> > as

> > told by a fellow who was 12 years old in Canada in 1967. You may know a

> > few

> > others who could and would appreciate it, as well.

> >

> > It was noon on a Sunday, as I recall, the day a Mustang P-51 was to take

> > to the air. They said it had flown in during the night from some U.S.

> > airport; the pilot had been tired and wanted to lay-over for the

> night. I

> > marveled at the size of the plane, now dwarfing the Pipers and Canucks

> > tied

> > down by her. It was much larger than in the movies, and she glistened in

> > the

> > sun like a bulwark of security from days gone by.

> >

> > The pilot arrived by cab, paid the driver, and then stepped into the

> > flight

> > lounge. He was an older man; his wavy hair was gray and tossed. Looked

> > like

> > it might have been combed, say .....around the turn of the century.

> >

> > His flight jacket was checked, creased and worn - it smelled old and

> > genuine.. Old Glory was prominently sewn to its shoulders. He

> projected a

> > quiet air of calm proficiency and pride devoid of arrogance. He filed a

> > quick flight plan to Montreal (Expo-67, Air Show) then walked across the

> > tarmac to the waiting old war bird.

> >

> > After taking several minutes to perform his walk-around check, the pilot

> > returned to the flight lounge to ask if anyone would be available to

> stand

> > by with fire extinguishers while he 'flashed the old bird up'. .....Just

> > to

> > be safe.

> >

> > Though only 12 at the time, I was allowed to stand by with an

> extinguisher

> > after brief instruction on its use. 'If you see a fire, point, then pull

> > this lever!' (...I later became a firefighter, but that's another

> story).

> >

> > The air around the 12 exhaust manifolds shimmered like a mirror from the

> > fuel fumes as the huge propeller started to rotate. One manifold, then

> > another, and yet another, coughed ...then barked in their wakenings. I

> > stepped back with the others, and in moments the huge V-12 Packard-built

> > Merlin 14-hundred horsepower engine came to life with a thunderous roar,

> > blue flames knifed from her exhaust manifolds, the concussion of the

> > exhausts shaking the air. Myself stunned, I looked at the others' faces,

> > but

> > there was seemingly no concern, so I lowered the bell of my

> extinguisher.

> > One of the other guys signaled to walk back to the lounge. We did.

> >

> > Several minutes later, we could hear the pilot doing his pre-flight

> > run-up.

> > He had taxied down to the end of runway 19, out of our sight. All went

> > quiet

> > for several seconds; we raced from the lounge to the second story

> deck to

> > see if we could catch a glimpse of the P-51 as she started down the

> > runway.

> > We could not.

> > But there we stood, eyes fixed to a spot half way down 19, waiting to

> > catch

> > that final glimpse of a veteran of the skies.

> >

> > Then a roar ripped across the field, much louder than before, like a

> > furious

> > hell-spawn set loose!! ....Something mighty this way was coming!!

> >

> > 'My God!! Listen to that thing!' said the controller. And in

> seconds, the

> > Mustang burst into our line of sight. Its tail was already off, and

> it was

> > moving faster than anything I'd ever seen by that point on Runway 19.

> > Two-thirds the way down 19, the Mustang was airborne with her gear going

> > up.

> > The prop tips were now supersonic and we clasped our ears as the Mustang

> > climbed hellishly fast into the circuit ....only to be eaten up by the

> > dog-day haze.

> >

> > We stood for a few moments in stunned silence, still trying to

> digest what

> > we'd just seen. Then the radio controller rushed by me to the radio.

> >

> > 'Kingston tower calling Mustang?' He looked back to us as he waited

> for an

> > acknowledgment.

> >

> > The radio crackled, 'Go ahead Kingston.'

> >

> > ' Mustang. Kingston tower would like to advise the circuit is clear

> > for

> > a low level pass.'

> >

> > I stood in shock because the controller had, more or less, just

> asked the

> > pilot to return for an impromptu 'air show' !

> >

> > The controller looked at us. '...What?' He asked. '....I can't let that

> > guy

> > go without at least asking! I could never forgive myself !'

> >

> >

> > The radio crackled once again, 'Kingston, do I have permission for a low

> > level pass, east to west, across the field ?'

> >

> > ' Mustang, the circuit is clear for an east to west pass.'

> >

> > ', Kingston, I'm coming out of 3000 feet .....stand by.'

> >

> > We rushed back onto the second-story deck again, our eyes fixed

> toward the

> > eastern haze. The sound was subtle at first, a high-pitched whine, a

> > muffled

> > screech, a distant scream in the morning air.

> >

> > Moments later the

> > P-51 burst through the haze. Her airframe straining against positive G's

> > and

> > gravity, wing tips spilling contrails of condensed air, prop-tips again

> > supersonic as the burnished bird blasted across the eastern margin

> of the

> > field, shredding and tearing the still air with a banshee scream of her

> > twelve cylinders.

> >

> > ....At about 400+ mph and 150 yards from where we stood, she passed with

> > the

> > old American pilot saluting us!! Imagine.... a salute ! I felt like

> > laughing, I felt like crying, she glistened, she screamed, the building

> > shook, my heart pounded.

> >

> > Then the old pilot pulled her up .....and rolled, and rolled ......and

> > rolled out of sight into the broken clouds ...and indelibly into my

> > memory.

> >

> > I've never wanted to be an American more than on that day. It was a

> > time

> > when many nations in the world looked to America as their 'big

> brother'; a

> > steady and even-handed beacon of security, who navigated difficult

> > political

> > waters with grace and style; not unlike the pilot who'd just flown

> forever

> > into my memory. He was proud, not arrogant ....humble, not a

> braggart, old

> > and honest, projecting an aura of America at its very best.

> >

> > That America WILL return one day, I know it will. Until that time, I'll

> > just

> > send off this story; calling it a reciprocal salute ....to the old

> > American

> > pilot who wove a memory for a young Canadian that has lasted a lifetime

>

>

[Guest guest]

Thanks for the memories of true patriotism. I remember that plane, I also

shared the same feeling of the 12 year old, when my father took , by brother and

I to the base where he was stationed during world war II. He was based in

Texas, before shipping out to the Philippines. I was just 4 and I can still get

the chills, just thinking about that day when the other soldiers and my dad

picked the 2 of us up and sat us on the wing of the planes used then. Dad was a

sergeant in the Army-Air Core.

Skip

rheumatic OT: Old Airplanes And Old Aviators

A bit of an uplifter

> Old Aviators and Old Airplanes.....

>

> This is a good little story about a vivid memory of a P-51 and its pilot,

> as

> told by a fellow who was 12 years old in Canada in 1967. You may know a

> few

> others who could and would appreciate it, as well.

>

> It was noon on a Sunday, as I recall, the day a Mustang P-51 was to take

> to the air. They said it had flown in during the night from some U.S.

> airport; the pilot had been tired and wanted to lay-over for the night. I

> marveled at the size of the plane, now dwarfing the Pipers and Canucks

> tied

> down by her. It was much larger than in the movies, and she glistened in

> the

> sun like a bulwark of security from days gone by.

>

> The pilot arrived by cab, paid the driver, and then stepped into the

> flight

> lounge. He was an older man; his wavy hair was gray and tossed. Looked

> like

> it might have been combed, say .....around the turn of the century.

>

> His flight jacket was checked, creased and worn - it smelled old and

> genuine.. Old Glory was prominently sewn to its shoulders. He projected a

> quiet air of calm proficiency and pride devoid of arrogance. He filed a

> quick flight plan to Montreal (Expo-67, Air Show) then walked across the

> tarmac to the waiting old war bird.

>

> After taking several minutes to perform his walk-around check, the pilot

> returned to the flight lounge to ask if anyone would be available to stand

> by with fire extinguishers while he 'flashed the old bird up'. .....Just

> to

> be safe.

>

> Though only 12 at the time, I was allowed to stand by with an extinguisher

> after brief instruction on its use. 'If you see a fire, point, then pull

> this lever!' (...I later became a firefighter, but that's another story).

>

> The air around the 12 exhaust manifolds shimmered like a mirror from the

> fuel fumes as the huge propeller started to rotate. One manifold, then

> another, and yet another, coughed ...then barked in their wakenings. I

> stepped back with the others, and in moments the huge V-12 Packard-built

> Merlin 14-hundred horsepower engine came to life with a thunderous roar,

> blue flames knifed from her exhaust manifolds, the concussion of the

> exhausts shaking the air. Myself stunned, I looked at the others' faces,

> but

> there was seemingly no concern, so I lowered the bell of my extinguisher.

> One of the other guys signaled to walk back to the lounge. We did.

>

> Several minutes later, we could hear the pilot doing his pre-flight

> run-up.

> He had taxied down to the end of runway 19, out of our sight. All went

> quiet

> for several seconds; we raced from the lounge to the second story deck to

> see if we could catch a glimpse of the P-51 as she started down the

> runway.

> We could not.

> But there we stood, eyes fixed to a spot half way down 19, waiting to

> catch

> that final glimpse of a veteran of the skies.

>

> Then a roar ripped across the field, much louder than before, like a

> furious

> hell-spawn set loose!! ....Something mighty this way was coming!!

>

> 'My God!! Listen to that thing!' said the controller. And in seconds, the

> Mustang burst into our line of sight. Its tail was already off, and it was

> moving faster than anything I'd ever seen by that point on Runway 19.

> Two-thirds the way down 19, the Mustang was airborne with her gear going

> up.

> The prop tips were now supersonic and we clasped our ears as the Mustang

> climbed hellishly fast into the circuit ....only to be eaten up by the

> dog-day haze.

>

> We stood for a few moments in stunned silence, still trying to digest what

> we'd just seen. Then the radio controller rushed by me to the radio.

>

> 'Kingston tower calling Mustang?' He looked back to us as he waited for an

> acknowledgment.

>

> The radio crackled, 'Go ahead Kingston.'

>

> ' Mustang. Kingston tower would like to advise the circuit is clear

> for

> a low level pass.'

>

> I stood in shock because the controller had, more or less, just asked the

> pilot to return for an impromptu 'air show' !

>

> The controller looked at us. '...What?' He asked. '....I can't let that

> guy

> go without at least asking! I could never forgive myself !'

>

>

> The radio crackled once again, 'Kingston, do I have permission for a low

> level pass, east to west, across the field ?'

>

> ' Mustang, the circuit is clear for an east to west pass.'

>

> ', Kingston, I'm coming out of 3000 feet .....stand by.'

>

> We rushed back onto the second-story deck again, our eyes fixed toward the

> eastern haze. The sound was subtle at first, a high-pitched whine, a

> muffled

> screech, a distant scream in the morning air.

>

> Moments later the

> P-51 burst through the haze. Her airframe straining against positive G's

> and

> gravity, wing tips spilling contrails of condensed air, prop-tips again

> supersonic as the burnished bird blasted across the eastern margin of the

> field, shredding and tearing the still air with a banshee scream of her

> twelve cylinders.

>

> ....At about 400+ mph and 150 yards from where we stood, she passed with

> the

> old American pilot saluting us!! Imagine.... a salute ! I felt like

> laughing, I felt like crying, she glistened, she screamed, the building

> shook, my heart pounded.

>

> Then the old pilot pulled her up .....and rolled, and rolled ......and

> rolled out of sight into the broken clouds ...and indelibly into my

> memory.

>

> I've never wanted to be an American more than on that day. It was a

> time

> when many nations in the world looked to America as their 'big brother'; a

> steady and even-handed beacon of security, who navigated difficult

> political

> waters with grace and style; not unlike the pilot who'd just flown forever

> into my memory. He was proud, not arrogant ....humble, not a braggart, old

> and honest, projecting an aura of America at its very best.

>

> That America WILL return one day, I know it will. Until that time, I'll

> just

> send off this story; calling it a reciprocal salute ....to the old

> American

> pilot who wove a memory for a young Canadian that has lasted a lifetime

[Guest guest]

_ Geoff,

_I really enjoyed your Pilot/Mustang story. It brought back a lot of

memories

for me.

Thanks,

________________________________________________________________________________\

___________________________________________________________________

Geoff wrote:

>

> A bit of an uplifter

>

> > Old Aviators and Old Airplanes.....

> >

> > This is a good little story about a vivid memory of a P-51 and its

> pilot,

> > as

> > told by a fellow who was 12 years old in Canada in 1967. You may know a

> > few

> > others who could and would appreciate it, as well.

> >

> > It was noon on a Sunday, as I recall, the day a Mustang P-51 was to take

> > to the air. They said it had flown in during the night from some U.S.

> > airport; the pilot had been tired and wanted to lay-over for the

> night. I

> > marveled at the size of the plane, now dwarfing the Pipers and Canucks

> > tied

> > down by her. It was much larger than in the movies, and she glistened in

> > the

> > sun like a bulwark of security from days gone by.

> >

> > The pilot arrived by cab, paid the driver, and then stepped into the

> > flight

> > lounge. He was an older man; his wavy hair was gray and tossed. Looked

> > like

> > it might have been combed, say .....around the turn of the century.

> >

> > His flight jacket was checked, creased and worn - it smelled old and

> > genuine.. Old Glory was prominently sewn to its shoulders. He

> projected a

> > quiet air of calm proficiency and pride devoid of arrogance. He filed a

> > quick flight plan to Montreal (Expo-67, Air Show) then walked across the

> > tarmac to the waiting old war bird.

> >

> > After taking several minutes to perform his walk-around check, the pilot

> > returned to the flight lounge to ask if anyone would be available to

> stand

> > by with fire extinguishers while he 'flashed the old bird up'. .....Just

> > to

> > be safe.

> >

> > Though only 12 at the time, I was allowed to stand by with an

> extinguisher

> > after brief instruction on its use. 'If you see a fire, point, then pull

> > this lever!' (...I later became a firefighter, but that's another

> story).

> >

> > The air around the 12 exhaust manifolds shimmered like a mirror from the

> > fuel fumes as the huge propeller started to rotate. One manifold, then

> > another, and yet another, coughed ...then barked in their wakenings. I

> > stepped back with the others, and in moments the huge V-12 Packard-built

> > Merlin 14-hundred horsepower engine came to life with a thunderous roar,

> > blue flames knifed from her exhaust manifolds, the concussion of the

> > exhausts shaking the air. Myself stunned, I looked at the others' faces,

> > but

> > there was seemingly no concern, so I lowered the bell of my

> extinguisher.

> > One of the other guys signaled to walk back to the lounge. We did.

> >

> > Several minutes later, we could hear the pilot doing his pre-flight

> > run-up.

> > He had taxied down to the end of runway 19, out of our sight. All went

> > quiet

> > for several seconds; we raced from the lounge to the second story

> deck to

> > see if we could catch a glimpse of the P-51 as she started down the

> > runway.

> > We could not.

> > But there we stood, eyes fixed to a spot half way down 19, waiting to

> > catch

> > that final glimpse of a veteran of the skies.

> >

> > Then a roar ripped across the field, much louder than before, like a

> > furious

> > hell-spawn set loose!! ....Something mighty this way was coming!!

> >

> > 'My God!! Listen to that thing!' said the controller. And in

> seconds, the

> > Mustang burst into our line of sight. Its tail was already off, and

> it was

> > moving faster than anything I'd ever seen by that point on Runway 19.

> > Two-thirds the way down 19, the Mustang was airborne with her gear going

> > up.

> > The prop tips were now supersonic and we clasped our ears as the Mustang

> > climbed hellishly fast into the circuit ....only to be eaten up by the

> > dog-day haze.

> >

> > We stood for a few moments in stunned silence, still trying to

> digest what

> > we'd just seen. Then the radio controller rushed by me to the radio.

> >

> > 'Kingston tower calling Mustang?' He looked back to us as he waited

> for an

> > acknowledgment.

> >

> > The radio crackled, 'Go ahead Kingston.'

> >

> > ' Mustang. Kingston tower would like to advise the circuit is clear

> > for

> > a low level pass.'

> >

> > I stood in shock because the controller had, more or less, just

> asked the

> > pilot to return for an impromptu 'air show' !

> >

> > The controller looked at us. '...What?' He asked. '....I can't let that

> > guy

> > go without at least asking! I could never forgive myself !'

> >

> >

> > The radio crackled once again, 'Kingston, do I have permission for a low

> > level pass, east to west, across the field ?'

> >

> > ' Mustang, the circuit is clear for an east to west pass.'

> >

> > ', Kingston, I'm coming out of 3000 feet .....stand by.'

> >

> > We rushed back onto the second-story deck again, our eyes fixed

> toward the

> > eastern haze. The sound was subtle at first, a high-pitched whine, a

> > muffled

> > screech, a distant scream in the morning air.

> >

> > Moments later the

> > P-51 burst through the haze. Her airframe straining against positive G's

> > and

> > gravity, wing tips spilling contrails of condensed air, prop-tips again

> > supersonic as the burnished bird blasted across the eastern margin

> of the

> > field, shredding and tearing the still air with a banshee scream of her

> > twelve cylinders.

> >

> > ....At about 400+ mph and 150 yards from where we stood, she passed with

> > the

> > old American pilot saluting us!! Imagine.... a salute ! I felt like

> > laughing, I felt like crying, she glistened, she screamed, the building

> > shook, my heart pounded.

> >

> > Then the old pilot pulled her up .....and rolled, and rolled ......and

> > rolled out of sight into the broken clouds ...and indelibly into my

> > memory.

> >

> > I've never wanted to be an American more than on that day. It was a

> > time

> > when many nations in the world looked to America as their 'big

> brother'; a

> > steady and even-handed beacon of security, who navigated difficult

> > political

> > waters with grace and style; not unlike the pilot who'd just flown

> forever

> > into my memory. He was proud, not arrogant ....humble, not a

> braggart, old

> > and honest, projecting an aura of America at its very best.

> >

> > That America WILL return one day, I know it will. Until that time, I'll

> > just

> > send off this story; calling it a reciprocal salute ....to the old

> > American

> > pilot who wove a memory for a young Canadian that has lasted a lifetime

>

>

[Guest guest]

Geoff... What a great story. My father was a navigator on a B52 bomber

during WWII. Two years ago a crew flew a restored B52 plane into the San

Francisco Bay area. My Dad (age 91) was taken out to see the old girl one last

time. He had been the oldest officer on his crew and most of the men called

him

" pops " . The men trusted him completely and even agreed to go in with a

skeleton crew and bomb some of Hitlers artillery positions when Navy crews were

unable to land on beaches. The old bomber flew at 200 feet over the ocean

and the enemy was unable to readjust their guns by the time the plane was upon

them. Taking out the guns saved an estimated 25% casualties and earned Dad

and his crew the silver star. My father refused to go inside the restored

plane but instead sat underneath her belly in a chair and told stories of his

men and the missions they went on. He had almost perfect recall (as a young

man he had total recall of everything he read..(.photographic memory)..and time

had only dulled it slightly. It was truly a great time in our Nations

history and those men who served were remarkable. Martha

In a message dated 1/24/2008 12:26:22 P.M. Central Standard Time,

geoff@... writes:

A bit of an uplifter

> Old Aviators and Old Airplanes... O

>

> This is a good little story about a vivid memory of a P-51 and its pilot,

> as

> told by a fellow who was 12 years old in Canada in 1967. You may know a

> few

> others who could and would appreciate it, as well.

>

> It was noon on a Sunday, as I recall, the day a Mustang P-51 was to take

> to the air. They said it had flown in during the night from some U.S.

> airport; the pilot had been tired and wanted to lay-over for the night. I

> marveled at the size of the plane, now dwarfing the Pipers and Canucks

> tied

> down by her. It was much larger than in the movies, and she glistened in

> the

> sun like a bulwark of security from days gone by.

>

> The pilot arrived by cab, paid the driver, and then stepped into the

> flight

> lounge. He was an older man; his wavy hair was gray and tossed. Looked

> like

> it might have been combed, say .....around the turn of the century.

>

> His flight jacket was checked, creased and worn - it smelled old and

> genuine.. Old Glory was prominently sewn to its shoulders. He projected a

> quiet air of calm proficiency and pride devoid of arrogance. He filed a

> quick flight plan to Montreal (Expo-67, Air Show) then walked across the

> tarmac to the waiting old war bird.

>

> After taking several minutes to perform his walk-around check, the pilot

> returned to the flight lounge to ask if anyone would be available to stand

> by with fire extinguishers while he 'flashed the old bird up'. .....Just

> to

> be safe.

>

> Though only 12 at the time, I was allowed to stand by with an extinguisher

> after brief instruction on its use. 'If you see a fire, point, then pull

> this lever!' (...I later became a firefighter, but that's another story).

>

> The air around the 12 exhaust manifolds shimmered like a mirror from the

> fuel fumes as the huge propeller started to rotate. One manifold, then

> another, and yet another, coughed ...then barked in their wakenings. I

> stepped back with the others, and in moments the huge V-12 Packard-built

> Merlin 14-hundred horsepower engine came to life with a thunderous roar,

> blue flames knifed from her exhaust manifolds, the concussion of the

> exhausts shaking the air. Myself stunned, I looked at the others' faces,

> but

> there was seemingly no concern, so I lowered the bell of my extinguisher.

> One of the other guys signaled to walk back to the lounge. We did.

>

> Several minutes later, we could hear the pilot doing his pre-flight

> run-up.

> He had taxied down to the end of runway 19, out of our sight. All went

> quiet

> for several seconds; we raced from the lounge to the second story deck to

> see if we could catch a glimpse of the P-51 as she started down the

> runway.

> We could not.

> But there we stood, eyes fixed to a spot half way down 19, waiting to

> catch

> that final glimpse of a veteran of the skies.

>

> Then a roar ripped across the field, much louder than before, like a

> furious

> hell-spawn set loose!! ....Something mighty this way was coming!!

>

> 'My God!! Listen to that thing!' said the controller. And in seconds, the

> Mustang burst into our line of sight. Its tail was already off, and it was

> moving faster than anything I'd ever seen by that point on Runway 19.

> Two-thirds the way down 19, the Mustang was airborne with her gear going

> up.

> The prop tips were now supersonic and we clasped our ears as the Mustang

> climbed hellishly fast into the circuit ....only to be eaten up by the

> dog-day haze.

>

> We stood for a few moments in stunned silence, still trying to digest what

> we'd just seen. Then the radio controller rushed by me to the radio.

>

> 'Kingston tower calling Mustang?' He looked back to us as he waited for an

> acknowledgment.

>

> The radio crackled, 'Go ahead Kingston.'

>

> ' Mustang. Kingston tower would like to advise the circuit is clear

> for

> a low level pass.'

>

> I stood in shock because the controller had, more or less, just asked the

> pilot to return for an impromptu 'air show' !

>

> The controller looked at us. '...What?' He asked. '....I can't let that

> guy

> go without at least asking! I could never forgive myself !'

>

>

> The radio crackled once again, 'Kingston, do I have permission for a low

> level pass, east to west, across the field ?'

>

> ' Mustang, the circuit is clear for an east to west pass.'

>

> ', Kingston, I'm coming out of 3000 feet .....stand by.'

>

> We rushed back onto the second-story deck again, our eyes fixed toward the

> eastern haze. The sound was subtle at first, a high-pitched whine, a

> muffled

> screech, a distant scream in the morning air.

>

> Moments later the

> P-51 burst through the haze. Her airframe straining against positive G's

> and

> gravity, wing tips spilling contrails of condensed air, prop-tips again

> supersonic as the burnished bird blasted across the eastern margin of the

> field, shredding and tearing the still air with a banshee scream of her

> twelve cylinders.

>

> ....At about 400+ mph and 150 yards from where we stood, she passed with

> the

> old American pilot saluting us!! Imagine.... a salute ! I felt like

> laughing, I felt like crying, she glistened, she screamed, the building

> shook, my heart pounded.

>

> Then the old pilot pulled her up .....and rolled, and rolled ......and

> rolled out of sight into the broken clouds ...and indelibly into my

> memory.

>

> I've never wanted to be an American more than on that day. It was a

> time

> when many nations in the world looked to America as their 'big brother'; a

> steady and even-handed beacon of security, who navigated difficult

> political

> waters with grace and style; not unlike the pilot who'd just flown forever

> into my memory. He was proud, not arrogant ....humble, not a braggart, old

> and honest, projecting an aura of America at its very best.

>

> That America WILL return one day, I know it will. Until that time, I'll

> just

> send off this story; calling it a reciprocal salute ....to the old

> American

> pilot who wove a memory for a young Canadian that has lasted a lifetime

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