“I have been asked, if these are stories true, to the best of my memory, they are. In my first couple of war stories, men that served with me corrected what I saw against what they saw; I had not written them as if they were the “God” truth; I realize facts have many strange twists, which is why they are stories. “

When either you don’t have enough sense to be afraid, or you have been fearful too many times that playing around with it makes you unafraid. While in Seattle, Washington, I decided to learn to fly. Galvez flying school at Boeing field was my choice. Al Baldwin, a chunky middle age man with no sense of humor at all, was my instructor. On my first flight walking around the plane, checking to make sure it could fly, was too quick for him. He made me get out and walk around the plane again and check the fuel for water. I jumped back into the plane again. He says he didn’t see you review the rudders; do it again. Hey, I am 24 years old, Vietnam Vet 3 kids, and a wife; I am not interested in playing games, I tell him. Mr. Boyanton, this isn’t a game; you must check the plane thoroughly on every flight. Do you understand, “OK,” I checked the rudders.

MY SOLO FLIGHT, I fly us over to Renton field, a very short distance from Boing field. Al gets me to line up with the runway I make a couple of touches, and goes ,on the third time I land and take him to the tower. He gave me words of encouragement and asked if I was sure I was ready to solo; hell yea, I have 10 hours of flying time. I call ground control to get clearance to the runway, then call the tower to obtain permission to take off. I feel the Cessna 152 lunge forward with the power added, and off I go; the plane lifts off the ground I am truly flyng by myself. Al tells me to make two touches and goes and, on the second one, to land and pick him up at the tower; I said ok; I felt like I was free from the world. I loved being in the air by myself; it felt natural. Al Baldwin, on my second approach to the runway, reminds me to land and come to the tower; I tell him “NO” I will do one more; he tells me no, you land and come to the building. I add power, and off I go for the third and final time. AL is beside himself. I see him walking outside the tower as I remove the power and stop the plane; he enters the plane, telling me he would fly us to Boing field and I was grounded for a week, no flying.

The following day I am there at 5 am, but no one arrives until 8:45; I take the keys to the Cessna, and off I go in the sky. I can’t tell you how much I loved flying. It was such a relief from everyday life. I land at 7 am, park the plane, and enter it into my flight book, my first ever, just me in charge of the flight. I did this for the next three weeks until Al looked at my flight book and called me, do not fly without my permission. The following day I arrived at 9 am to see the owner and his people that run the school and my instructor. Mr. Boyanton, one more not following the rules, you will be barred from the school, do you understand, yes. I turn around with all looking at me and sign the book to take the Cessna 172 out to fly; no one says a word; they all look stunned. I had never been checked out in the 172, but it is almost like the 152. I flew off only to have Al Baldwin radio me to return to the school; I did, and in about an hour, he was not happy; why so long getting back? Me, hell, I don’t know. (three miles from the airport is the maximum they wanted students pilots to fly. He was not happy. (but like all good capitalists, they liked the money)

Flying each morning, I have acquired over 87 hours of flying time. My brother_in_law wants to go up with me (it isn’t allowed as a student pilot.) He jumped onto the plane Saturday morning at about 6 am; I decided to go to Tacoma, Washington, and practice touch and go. I had gone to Tacoma a few times before knowing the end of the runaway had a 500-foot drop-off; after making a couple of touch and goes, I decided to touch down far down the runway, let the plane fall off the end of the runway and recover it on the way down from the cliff. I remember the plane losing airspeed, falling off the end of the runway, and plunging toward the ground; I finally got airspeed and recovered control of the aircraft again. Someone at Tacoma airport takes the tail number and calls the school that I was acting dangerously.< more trouble. I did scare myself this time, but my brother-in-law believed in me 100 percent; not scared at all and not very bright.

My almost removal from flight school, my brother-in-law and I decided to land on a beach and get a beer; it didn’t end well the plane almost flipped on landing. This wasn’t the most significant problem after walking up an incline to a bar,my knowledge of tides hadn’t entered my mind, after hours of drinking and playing high pool high tide had moved in. The wheels of the plane were underwater. It took the whole bar to help us take the aircraft up a 45-degree incline and tie it off. Once we had the plane secured, we went back to the bar and played pool and drank beer. I slept on the pool table that night, and my brother-in-law slept on a couch they had in another room. The following day the tide was out, and we decided to try and fly off. I held the brakes and entered full flaps, and released the plane, and it jumped quickly off the ground but did not have enough to stay in the air. I try again; this time, I am barely flying above the beach but running out of room, so I have to head out into the Pacific ocean. The waves were just beneath the wheels, and it didn’t look good; after a few minutes, I could move some of the flaps up and get some airspeed. It was very nerving, to say the least, but we made it. ( the plane out overnight cost me a ton of money and another week of not flying.

I never wanted to get my private license only to fly. My wife would never let the kids do any more than ride in the plane on the taxi strip. I became bolder and bolder with flying. I had one adventure after another with my brother-in-law; we landed bedside a truck stops to buy fuel , we stuck the plane in a marsh that took a car to come into the woods to pull us onto the hard grass, to name a few.

My flying ended; one cold morning decided to fly down the coast of Washington towards Vancouver, Canada. Flying around islands and just having a good time, I noticed we had burnt way too much fuel and would have to refuel before making it back to Boing field, I looked at the map, and we were almost into Canada, so I decided to go to the Vancouver airport where we would eat and refuel. Needlessly to say, this is the main airport; the tower instructs me to land mid-runway and go left on such and such turn and stop at the next runway for instruction to the terminal, dam I lot to remember. My airspeed is too high to land my plane mid-runway, and this shakes me a little. I finally stopped at the end of the runway. I asked the tower to direct me to the restaurant parking for the airport, it was like driving back to Washington, but we finally parked.

Our food arrived, and we were joking around about the flight when four or five well-dressed men walked into the cafe. They started talking to people at each table. I tell my brother-in-law they are looking for someone, that is for sure. One of those men walked up to the table ask us where we were from; I told him, Seattle, “how did you get here, he asks” I pointed to the Cessna in the parking lot “stand up” what for, “stand up” as he helps me up more than I desire. Now, my brother-in-law and in handcuffs, everyone in the cafe looked at us as if we were Al Capone. I noticed, looking out the window, many police cars around our plane. I am taken to one room, brother-in-law to another, “why are you in Canada” he asks, to eat and get fuel, “let me see your pilot license” I don’t have one; I am a student pilot, “Oh my GOD, where are the drugs on the plane” what drugs? With this answer, he gets up and walks out of the room. Their talk with my brother-in-law is even less productive.

Still, in handcuffs, we walked to our plane to see the seats outside the aircraft, and dogs and men were all over the plane. The man in charge of the “big cheese” walks over and asks, “did we drop the drugs off before we landed “ NO, I explained we have no drugs. The one detective looks at us and proclaims, I don’t think the boys had drugs; I believe they a stupid but not drugs. Us still handcuffed, them talking about our fate, which seems to be not decided when this one cop comes over and tells me, man, you are in big trouble when you get back to Boeing field. They un-cuff us as the men are re-installing seats back into the plane. The head man in charge tells us to follow this Cessna 172 out of Canada air space and not to come back “ever” yes, sir. Everyone leaves the 172 taxies down the strip when I realize I have not gotten the fuel; I try to contact the lead plane, but we must be on different radio frequencies; at this very moment in time, I see the fueling area and turn-that direction to get fuel, the lead plane I guess gets to the end of the runway for take-off before we can make contact on the same frequencies. I tell him I am at the fueling area as he is lifting off the ground; a few minutes later, 200 or more cop cars are headed our way, this time, they are not happy at all, and again, they search the plane. Still, again, nothing; I fuel the aircraft as they talk; daylight is almost gone, and I have minimal night flying and landing, so that is crossing my mind. This time all radios are on the same frequencies; we have a plane in front and one following, leading us away from Canada.

The trip back to Seattle was uneventful until I contacted Boeing field tower to get instructions to land; yes, Cessna 126578, you have permission to land on any runway of your choice and welcome home; you are expected, I believe. Hmmm never had a tower say that before. Pulling up to the school, this side of the building is glass, so they can see anything leaving or coming back. I have my welcome home committee waiting. I was handed my flight book, and some sharp parting words of no meaning turned to my brother-in-law, and he busted out laughing.

Closing note; My wife, on returning home to add to my misery, was lecturing me that I was way too reckless in the car, much less a plane; the kids need a dad alive, not dead. I decided to end my flying career and take up golf.