Beauty

My 11 year old granddaughter, Katie QuJie, is going to be in a beauty contest called the Miss Huntertown Heritage Pageant. She already has her ‘Sunday best’ dress that is a bright red satin, sleeveless, and has a pretty rhinestones bow and seam-line at the waistband. She will have two other wardrobe changes... school clothes and play-ware.. She will strut her stuff 2 or 3 thimes, doing a dance and being interviewed in the red satin dress.

Needless to say, I’ll be heartbroken if she doesn’t win all the marbles :-)

Gut Feeling

Intuition is knowing something for certain without knowing it for sure. It’s a ‘gut feeling’ I often experience; which, when it happens, delivers an answer or decision that I somehow know is correct.

Fun

     This pile of junk was once a 16 year old boy’s pride and joy. A 1929 Model ‘A’ Ford Roadster; completely rebuilt, souped-up a little, new tires and painted red with black fenders. It would hold five fun loving teenagers comfortably, but often carried more with lap-sitters. It was ideal for joy riding; going to strip-mine ponds for a swim, matinee movies at Linton, or to the roller-skating rink at Elnora.... And best of all, for moon-light rides with Margaret Beth.
     After a battle with a large oak tree, that demolished the radiator and twisted the front end out of line, it was no longer worth repairing.... The photo taken a year or so later shows the consequence.

My Story

The previous post about my last flight as an Air Force pilot was taken from the last page of an autobiographical story that I wrote more than thirty years ago. The story tells about a whirlwind romance and my flying experiences during WWII...... I quit flying airplanes October 12, 1945. but the romance continues.

October 12, 1945

With the war being over, my assignment was to ferry pursuit type aircraft from factories to the Reconstruction Finance Company in Walnut Ridge, Arkansas for mothballing. I truly enjoyed flying single engine fighter aircraft, but.often I would be gone a week or more just to get in a couple of hours flying time  I had been married to Lomie for a little more than nine months and I was gone from home more days than I had with her. .

On October 12, 1945 - I deadheaded in a C-47 to Hunter Field at Savannah, Georgia to pick up a P-51D to be flown to Walnut Ridge, Arkansas. Although I had less than 12 hours flying time in a P-51, it was my all time favorite airplane, I was looking forward to flying one again. Also, I thought it would give me the opportunity, to make a stop in Atlanta to call on Frances Littleton, Lomie’s best friend, who stood with us when we were married last December.

After landing at Hunter Field and signing the proper papers and filing my flight plan, I walked out to the beautiful new airplane that was waiting for me to fly it to Walnut Ridge. I slipped on my parachute and climbed into a Mustang’s cockpit for the first time in over three months and stared at an instrument panel turned unfamiliar with time. Though I was intimate with many airplanes, for the first time, it dawned on me that to be distant from the airplane one is about to fly does not invite longevity..

Tsik, tsik, tsit, and at last, a rumble from the P-51's Rolls Royce engine; the rpm turned round on its tiny dial. So much of flying is habit. Once one learns an airplane, our hands and eyes know how to make it fly long after our minds have forgotten. Had someone stood at the cockpit and asked me how to start the engine, I couldn’t have said..... only my hands that finished the starting sequence knew what they had done.

The perfume of burning high-octane fuel sifted into the cockpit ---- memories of a hundred other flights with it. But for some reason or other, this flight seemed special... as if I was trying to escape.... But escape from what? Is escaping and running away the meaning of flying?. And if I can escape, what am I to find????

I taxied to the runway; saw a few cars stop at the airport fence to watch. There wasn’t much for them to see. I pointed the Mustang’s nose down the white center line, locked the canopy and pressed full throttle. A few seconds later we were airborne. Wheels up..... with free sky and airspeed, flying the P-51 was a delight..

The flight to Atlanta was very pleasant. However, after getting clearance from Atlanta tower to land on runway 17, events for the worse began happening. I badly overshot the field on my landing attempt — something I didn’t recall ever doing before. I made a slick landing on my second attempt, but it did not erase my disgust and feeling of shame when I reported to operations. However, my spirits began to brighten a little with the thought of getting to see Frances again... I found a pay phone; placed a call to her — no answer — and fifteen minutes later; still no answer. After the third call without an answer, with deflated spirits again, I went to operations to file a flight plan – destination Walnut Ridge.

I taxied out to the runway, and got clearance for take-off. — sped down the runway — up and away. The remainder of the flight to Walnut Ridge was routine — but my joy of flying had diminished considerably. It was as if the go-around incident at Atlanta was sort of an omen, trying to tell me something.

After landing at Walnut Ridge and getting my delivery receipt, I deadheaded back to Romulus in a B-25 that was going that way. I signed in with Romulus operations, then before going home, I decided to check the bulletin board; something I very seldom did because most of the notices pertained to bachelor pilots. This time, however, staring me straight in the face, was a notice in bold letters: PILOTS ELIGIBLE FOR DISCHARGE. My name was on the list.. I asked myself, “Is that the answer to the Atlanta omen?”

“Know when enough is enough, Kenny. When an end is reached there will be a new beginning.” I knew at once, it was time for me to quit flying!

The P-51D was the last airplane I flew. I was separated from the service on October 30, 1945 at Chanute Field, Illinois — the very same place I enlisted nearly 6 years before. I had enough ‘leave time’ to make my official discharge date to read January 6.1946. My orders read: “At midnight on the day you return home, you will revert to inactive duty. Your commission will remain in force during the present emergency and up to six months thereafter unless sooner notified.”

Mind Game II

Two days ago, I wrote that for ‘peace of mind’ I had quit watching Fox News. I need to clarify that a bit: If I decide to watch TV news again, it will be Fox News. Listening to Glen Beck and Bill O’Reilly is far better than listening to the one-sided rantings of the likes of Rachel Maddow and Keith Overton on MSNBC . It’s just that I’ve found all four of them to be extremely biased, and I am not fortunate enough to have ‘A Built-in, Shockproof Shit Detector’. Therefore, for ‘peace of mind’, I’ve decided, at least for the time-being, to quit watching all cable TV News....

Brothers and Sis

This photo of Lomie and two of her brothers was taken in 1985

From left to right: Newel, Lomie and Harris. Both brothers are now deceased.

Mind Game

     For the past year or so, my general outlook on world conditions has been getting dark and gloomy. It looked like the whole world was falling apart; especially within our government and financial institutions!
     Last week, I decided I did not want to feel this way any longer. Soooo.... I quit watching Fox News.  I’m already pleasantly surprised.... I feel much better :-)

Sisters

This is a photo taken in 1941 of my wife Lomie and her sisters. Wish I had a clearer picture but this is the best I have. The girls, left to right, are Marvis, Lomie, Evalou and Venola. Lomie is the only one still living.

Outrage

I’ve been overwhelmed by an all-consuming sense of outrage lately. I’m angry all the time over stuff I really don’t know anything about or if it actually affects me. Do you suppose it could be because I’ve been watching too much of Glenn Beck and Bill O'Reilly? :-)

Smokey

Smokey is a stray cat that has been hanging around our front door for over two years. I haven’t seen him for at least ten days. It would probably be best if he never returns; it’s against association rules to feed strays. But I have to admit, I really miss him. I enjoyed feeding, petting and talking to the big ole tom-cat several times a day. I hope he returns.... just to know that he is still alive and well.

Papa Tucker

     Lomie and I made at least one visit to Alabama each year. We never missed a July 4th family reunion as long as Mama and Papa Tucker were alive. Our visits usually lasted at least one week each time.
     Mama Tucker accepted me in the family from the first time we met, but Papa Tucker seemed more distant. It wasn’t until our third visit that Papa began to warm up to me a little bit. It started one morning when we were setting out on the front porch together. He took out his watch to see what time it was. It had stopped! He wound and shook and it; it still wouldn’t start. I asked if he would like to go into town to see if we could get it fixed. “Yes”, he said, ‘But I want to drive.”
     So, we jump in his pickup and head toward Centreville. We had not gone more than a mile until he noticed a large rattle snake crossing the road. I don’t know whether it was his driving skill or pure luck, but Papa ran over the snake’s head, hitting the brakes at the same time. He got out of the truck and took a tire tool to finish killing the rattler. I was stunned and a bit skittish; snakes scare the hell out of me. Papa picked up the big rattler and threw it in the back of the pickup.
     We went on into town and drove up in front of the Centreville Press. Papa got out and went in, bringing a reporter out with him. Papa picked up the snake by the tail and raised it above his head to show off its full length. The reporter ran back in and got a cameraman. We got our picture taken together with Papa giving me the honor of holding the rattler’s tail above my head; showing that it was over six feet long. I kept a copy of the Centreville Press article for several years. I wish I still had it, but it probably got lost in our move to Florida. .
     After the excitement, we went to a drug store that had watches for sale. They told Papa they couldn’t fix his watch... I already knew they couldn’t or wouldn’t... So, I bought him another, almost exactly like his broken one for about $3. Papa and I were finally beginning to be good friends! We and his boys had a lot to talk about for the rest of my visit.

The Tucker Family

This photo taken in 1941 is of  Mama and Papa Tucker with their 11 children. My wife Lomie is in the front row, second from the right. She and I attend 50 consecutive Tucker family reunions (1946-96) 

Lomie is the only one that is still living.