Friday, August 21, 2015

Flying

I always wanted to fly.

That lasted until I was 11-or-12-years-old, and I returned to school and couldn't read the blackboard.

Glasses.

Slowly dawning recognition that military pilots, which after all is the easiest way to get into the air, must have perfect vision.

Now a person can slip in for laser surgery and eliminate the need for corrective lenses. Not then.

I wanted to fly the airplane shown, a Lockheed U-2, carrying itself far, far above the normal range of aircraft. No fighter planes for me. No bombers.

Why?

Ask Freud. 

A withdrawn personality? Introversion? 

I did fly. Across the US in a DC-3. Then across the ocean in a, I think, DC-4, or as the military designated it, since it was a military aircraft, the C-54. From New York. To Maine. To Gander, Newfoundland. To Shannon, Ireland. To Frankfurt, Germany.

And then in a 4-passenger Cessna from Springfield, Missouri to Omaha, Nebraska and back again 3 months later.

But never in a U-2.
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