Met up with a sliver-haired aviator down at the grass strip today. He flew PT-19's for the first time in October of 1942. Soon to be 80 years old, he still had a current medical and license.
So we rolled out the Fairchild and took off into a slowly dying afternoon with a few scattered puffies at 3500 and a brisk North breeze. I asked him to show me "how it was" in those days when America was building it's Air Force.
Gladly taking command he first did a stall series to get the feel of this particular ship. Both Power-on & Power-off, Straight Ahead, Steep Climb, Approach Stall, Departure Stall he did them all smoothly and effortlessly. I never felt the need to even "twitch" at the stick and I doubt we lost more than 50 feet in a recovery.
Then into the "S" es across a road, Steep Turns, Chandelle's, Lazy Eight's, Pylon Eights...all with a subtle smoothness that made me wish I could use my feet like that.
Down into the weeds, as we strafed round hay bales, paused to say "hello" to a few of my friend's farmhouses and then back to crow-hopping the cornfields, pulling up to clear the tree rows. "Was this how you guys raided Hollandia?" "Pretty much. You had to pull up to drop the parafrags or you could nail yourself. Major Fain dropped his too low over some trees one time. Shredded the airplane and he almost didn't make it back. Once the arming wires pulled out, hitting anything would set them off."
Back to the quiet little grass strip where only a new Kitfox was in the pattern. The kitfox was pulling some tight patterns and the old fellow just said "how bout if we show him how it was in '42?"
20 landings in 45 minutes, with the kitfox pacing us around the pattern. That little field nearly averaged one landing a minute between the two of us. Atlanta or Chicago gets that kind of utilization. Not a bad landing in the bunch, either. Once again, a smooth, sure hand.
The tanks had not been full, so two hours put us into the reserve. We called "full stop" on number twenty, landed long to allow the Kitfox to get one more quick one and taxied to the hangar. It wasn't yet sundown, but it was that quiet time you feel as nature settles into the night.
We put the old Fairchild to bed and the old aviator said "that was about as perfect as it gets".
I replied, "Yes, it was. Dad, you still fly this thing better than I do!"
Yeah, I'm awfully proud of him and his generation.
