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      Conclusion            123

In spite of now having two children, our move from Brigham City to Denver was a relatively easy one from the standpoint of moving our possessions.  Wally and Esther had been living in a house owned by the Sycamores (if that is the proper name).  The house had been converted into two apartments.  When the other apartment had been vacated, the Loewens suggested we move into it.  We did and, after a time, sold our trailer.  We really enjoyed having the ease of frequent contact with them. 

When Tom was born, May 7, 1946, we named him John Thomas.  (We had considered naming him Jonathan Thomas.)  The Loewens’ firstborn, also named John, was about Roger’s age.  Perhaps it was to avoid confusion we started calling our new son, Tommy. 

With the hospital closing down, one after another our friends returned to their prewar homes.  We were especially sorry to see Wally and Esther leave.  We would have liked them to move to Denver.  They said we should move to California.

We could have left Brigham City a little earlier than we did, but the move might have triggered Tom’s birth somewhere between Brigham City and Denver.  As it was, we made that move very soon after Tom was born (Carmen thinks it was only eight days - I thought it was about three weeks). 

By now we had sold our Chevrolet coupe and had purchased a 1940 Plymouth two-door sedan, believing that the back seat of a two-door sedan was safer for small children.  For moving we bought a luggage trailer.  Using the car and trailer we were able to move all our worldly possessions.  The trip was so uneventful that neither of us remembers anything about it other than the fact that it occurred so soon after Tom’s birth.

Carmen’s mother had experienced a lot of changes during World War II.  In 1942 she was divorced, and her daughter married on December 31^st.  In November 1943 her expecting daughter returned to live with her.  In May 1944 her first grandson was born.  In November of ’44 her daughter and grandson left for Brigham City.  Now, in May 1946, her daughter, son-in-law and two grandsons returned to live with her for a time.

While overseas I had come to a firm conviction - what the world needed more than anything else was biblical Christianity.  Yes, there was a need for doctors, teachers, wise and righteous legislators, judges, and officers in executive positions. Also people were needed in all kinds of productive activities in agriculture, science and manufacturing.  There was no end to the areas in which one could be active in subduing and governing the earth to the glory of God, but what the world needed above everything else was the gospel, the good news which is revealed in the Bible.  The Bible, God’s special revelation of Himself and of His will, tells us the only way that we can be in a right relationship with Him for time and eternity, and how we are to behave in our relationships with our fellowman and God’s creation.  

My few years in the army had put me into contact with many ungodly people!  Except for the free time, which was not very much throughout cadet training and RTU (Replacement Training Unit) training at Greenville, I had no choice as to my compatriots.  Because of God’s common grace, many unbelievers are comparatively moral, ethical people.   On the other hand, there are those whose self-centeredness permeates their lives and makes them obnoxious to those around them and, sometimes, even to themselves.

Even though one didn’t have a choice about who would be one’s tent, room or crew mate, one had choices as to what he would say during his contacts with others.  Sometimes we really got to know one another.  One’s character became known.  Facades became apparent.  Genuineness became evident.  Christians had excellent opportunities to speak to unbelievers who would never enter a chapel or seek out a chaplain for spiritual concerns. Conversions took place through a Christian’s presenting the gospel and the Spirit’s working in that hearer’s heart.

When we returned to Denver, I sought work that would be aviation related.  Having seen that a Christian layman sometimes had evangelistic opportunities not available to clergymen, I determined that as a layman I would serve within the church however the church wanted to use me, believing I would have many opportunities to make fruitful contacts in whatever work I would do. 

Although I really wanted to make my living as a pilot, because of my physical limitations many piloting jobs would not be open to me.  Besides, there were many, many non-limited pilots seeking work as pilots.  Additionally, I had the impression that Carmen now didn’t want me to make my living as a pilot.

A Door Opens

            Soon I saw an ad in the Denver Post, an aviation-related business was for sale.  Carol Brown wanted to sell the Brown Parachute Service in order to buy a sail boat that he would use for shipping between some South Pacific islands. 

Following WW II, flight schools had sprung up throughout the nation.  Flight training could be obtained via the G.I. Bill.  The minimum requirements for a flight school could be met by a flight instructor with a suitable airplane available.  Included in the minimum requirements were at least two appropriate parachutes.  At that time, one of the requirements for obtaining even a private pilot’s license was to demonstrate the ability to recover from spins.  And, at that time, the CAA (the precursor of the FAA) required parachutes to be worn for any acrobatic maneuvers, including spins.  For parachutes legally to be worn available for possible use, they had to have been inspected, repacked and determined usable within the last 60 days.  The main income for the Brown Parachute Service was from inspecting, repairing and repacking of flight school parachutes. 

The sale price was $5,500.00.  Carol would work with the buyer to enable him to obtain a parachute rigger’s license - a CAA requirement for anyone preparing parachutes for use by others.

It did not take long to decide to buy the business.  Although we had saved money from the time I was in cadet training, needing to borrow in order to make the purchase, we obtained a bank loan. 

An air show was to be held at Stapleton Airport while I was in the process of preparing to obtain my rigger’s rating.  Faye Cox, a petite woman of about 40 summers, was scheduled to jump each of the two days of the show.  She would leave the jump plane at 10,000 feet, would free fall with smoke bombs attached to her feet, would spin one way for awhile, would spin the other way for awhile, then would open her parachute about 1,000 feet above the ground.  She did not plan to land on her feet!  She had broken her ankles so many times that she had changed to an unorthodox landing practice.  She would land on her knees, her knees protected by thick sponge-rubber pads.  These would be her 542nd and 543^rd jumps, intending the 543^rd to be the last jump of her career. 

The back pack, as well as the emergency chest pack that she would use for the jumps, had the conventional round 24-foot canopy.  A 24-foot canopy would allow the jumper to fall more rapidly, and thus hit the ground harder, than would a 28-foot canopy.  The thinner air at Denver’s elevation likewise would lead to a harder landing. 

Under Carol’s watchful eye I packed the parachute for Faye’s jump, and I went to the airport to witness it.  The smoke bombs made her fall visible.  Almost certainly we would not have seen her free fall otherwise.  The corkscrew smoke patterns, as she rotated one way then the other, were impressive.  However, during the latter part of her free fall as her figure rapidly became larger in my view, I became anxious.  In my mind I was saying, “Pull, pull!!”  Finally I saw the silk stream above her, it blossomed beautifully and she made a safe knees landing, well-placed before the viewing crowd.  

Following that jump I repacked the ‘chute for the next day with a little less trepidation.  That also went well, and, as far as I know, as she had planned, that was her last jump.

Black Parachute Service

Brown Parachute Service became Black Parachute Service under the management of a newly-licensed rigger – me!  But soon I was forced to move the loft.   It had been in a rented building on East Colfax Avenue.  The owner of the business next door, who may have been the owner of the building, intended to expand his store.

A parachute loft had unique requirements.  Before a ‘chute was repacked it had to be hung up and aired 24 hours for each 30 days since it was last packed.  The rented building had a basement, so the ‘chutes were hung from the ceiling and extended down into the stair well. Also a 40 foot table was required on which to stretch out parachutes for repacking.  I began a search for a new place in which to carry on my new business.  Obviously not every building available for rental had facilities that would meet the CAA’s requirements.

Unrestricted Commercial Pilot

July 1, 1946 I began a new piloting endeavor.  If possible I wanted to be able to fly planes in addition to those with a right hand throttle. On that date I had my first dual in a Piper J-3 Cub with Grace Birge (a former WASP, I believe) as my instructor.  On three flights Eddie Mehlin, one who graduated from West High School some time before I did, was my instructor.  He had known Twila when she was working for the CAA.  On July 25^th I had my check ride with Inspector Heefner. To demonstrate that I could handle either a joystick or a yoke (control wheel) with my right hand, I flew both a J-3 Cub and a Cessna 140 from the right seat.  As a result I had my commercial license with no restriction because of my right arm.  I received a permanent waiver based upon demonstrated performance. 

April 1, 1947 I earned my first money as a commercial pilot, the princely sum of $10.00.  Don Vest, who had been a used car dealer, had become a used plane dealer.  Primarily he was buying war surplus trainers, bringing them to Denver and selling them all over the nation.  Early in the morning on this date at Hayden Field I, together with several other pilots, climbed aboard a war surplus AT-17 for a flight to Cimmaron Field at Oklahoma City.  There I was assigned an unlicensed Vultee BT-13.  I had a ferry permit for the flight.  I don’t believe the plane had a battery.  At any rate it had to be hand propped.  A 450 h.p. engine is not easily hand propped, but the one who had the responsibility to do so, did it very well. 

My first hop was a very short one, to El Reno.  I think there were four of us who took off from there in BT-13’s.  At Johnson, Kansas we were to land for fuel.  On final I approached at the speed we used to use in basic, 90 mph.  I touched down but decided I was traveling too fast too far along the short runway, so I went around.  The second time I touched down closer to the approach end of the runway.  The brakes on my plane were very poor, the left one being almost non-existent.  I was still rolling too fast as I neared the far end of the runway - I would not be able to stop on the runway.  Using the right brake and the steerable tailwheel I was able to turn onto the taxiway going the opposite direction where I finally got slowed down to a taxi speed.

As I recall, all four of our planes had to be hand propped, and again mine was the last.  I think the first plane was flown by one who was making this particular flight frequently.  The rest of us simply followed him, but not in anything that I would call a formation.   Either I was using a lower power setting or my plane was slower than the others.  After a time I lost sight of the last one ahead of me.  I had a sectional (an aeronautical chart) and had been keeping track of where I was, so I was not concerned about getting lost.  Besides, approaching Denver from the east one would have no business being in the air as a pilot, if he failed to find the Denver metropolitan area, even in 1947.

The Move

Sky Ranch Airport was a new, attractive airport that was still being developed east of Denver.  It was their management’s desire to offer as complete aviation services as possible.  When I spoke to them about my need to relocate the parachute service, immediately they indicated they would like to have me there.  They had built several houses on the airport.  They were to be occupied by some of their personnel.  I would have been pleased to occupy one of them, if it would be available.

As I was talking with customers about my pending move, one of them was very definite about his feelings.  He said that he wouldn’t do business with me if I were to locate at Sky Ranch.  I believe the owner and developer of Sky Ranch was quite wealthy, and this customer, though his business was not in the Denver area, evidently considered Sky Ranch would be presenting unfair competition. 

My customers, with a few exceptions, were flying school operators in Colorado, northern New Mexico, western Kansas, southwestern Nebraska and Wyoming.  Sometimes, when business brought them to the Denver area, my customers would bring their ‘chutes to me or pick them up from me.  Usually they and I used Railway Express for shipping.  Sometimes a bus company would be used.

Not long after I was on my own in the business, another rigger offered to buy the business from me.  I was not the least bit interested in selling at that time, but I did agree to hire him.  The volume of business did not merit the work of two riggers, so it wasn’t too long before I was alone again.

Hangars 5 and 6 were the two largest hangars on Stapleton Airport.  I believe they had been built for and used as a modification center for B-17’s during WW II.  After the war, Continental Airlines occupied Hangar 6.  Included in their space was an area that had served as the first aid station for the modification center.  Although originally it had opened into both hangars, for Continental’s purposes the door into Hangar 5 was kept closed.  However, Continental wasn’t using that space, and they were willing to rent it to me at $75 per month.  (I think I had been paying $40 or $45 on east Colfax.)  In that area the ceiling was high enough there would be no problem hanging the ‘chutes, and the required 40 foot table would fit easily.  I was pleased with the arrangement and took advantage of the opportunity.

It may have been the 6^th of November 1946 that Denver received 26 inches of snow in one storm.  I got around easily with chains on our ’40 Plymouth.  Several times I helped people get unstuck, usually at intersections.  This occurred as I was preparing to move to Stapleton.  As I recall, there was a fair amount of snow remaining on the ground when we made the move.

Tension and Routine

Although there was always a certain amount of tension inherent in my business, overall I enjoyed the work.  The main source of tension was the realization that perhaps sometime someone would jump one of the ‘chutes I had packed, and there would be some kind of a problem.  Although I was quite aware of my own fallibility, I was confident that, by my being very careful, any problem that might arise would be for some reason other than my packing error.

We had the business open Monday through Saturday.  When necessary, during business hours, I would lock up and leave a note and I would do the various things that were necessary away from the loft, such as pick up or deliver parachutes at the flight schools in the Denver area.  I can’t remember positively how many airports existed in the Denver area then.  I can think of eight.

One non-business activity that I would take care of during business hours when necessary, was transporting Carmen and the boys to doctors’ offices, etc.  Carmen had not learned to drive, and she didn’t want to learn.  I believe I gave her a little instruction while we were in Greenville - very little.

Apart from Sundays, we had no time off except on holidays.  For the most part we used the holidays for time for the family to be together. 

A Different Kind of a Move

During 1947 we bought a house at 1982 Wabash, just across the road from the south edge of Stapleton Airport.  The alley of the next block west of us was lined up with Stapleton’s north/south runway.  (On one occasion, probably the only time it happened, a B-36 was going to land at Stapleton.  The east/west runway was deemed the runway on which it should land.  However, when the B-36 arrived in the area, the wind was blowing so hard out of the north that it was decided the landing must be made to the north.  Realizing that it was going to land that way, Carmen walked across the street to the alley so that she would be directly underneath the giant B-36 as it was almost down to the ground as it approached to land.)

A Young Elder

Although our activities at church were mostly limited to Sundays, I did not refuse to do what I was asked, up to a point.  That point was that I was asked to consider becoming ordained as an elder.  My reluctance was two-fold.  I felt I was too young to be an elder, and there were positions the church held, with which I didn’t agree. The Reformed Presbyterian Church of North America, often identified as the Covenanter Church, had five positions not held by Presbyterians generally.  1. In worship services singing only metrical versions of the Psalms.  2. No instrumental music to accompany the singing.  3. Close communion (to partake of communion one must be a member of the RPCNA).  4. Neither holding a governmental office nor voting for persons to hold an office requiring swearing allegiance to the Constitution of the U.S.  (One could hold an office if a modified oath was used.)  5. A member must not be a member of a secret society.

Position 5 was not an issue, as far as I was concerned.  I had never given much thought to the matter, and I had no interest in becoming involved in any secret society.

In regard to position 4, it was not held for lack of patriotism!  I considered the church to be quite patriotic!  The church supported amending the preamble to read, “We, the people of the U.S.A., devoutly recognizing the kingship and authority of the Lord Jesus Christ, do ordain and establish the Constitution of the U.S.A.”  I may not have quoted it precisely, but this is its essence.  The church was concerned to acknowledge such truths as Jesus expressed in Matthew 28:18 where Jesus said, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.”

Elder David McFarland came to our home to discuss my unwillingness to become an elder.  Finally he persuaded me.  I don’t believe my youth bothered me as much as did my problems with the church’s distinctive principles.  Mr. McFarland said my position would not be a problem to the local session (the local church’s governing body, made up of the pastor and the ruling elders).  He said that they also had reservations about the distinctive principles.  To this date I don’t have confidence that I did the right thing by being willing to become an elder under those circumstances.

Opportunities

My business gave me opportunities to present the gospel to unbelievers.  Why does one use a parachute, apart from air shows or recreational jumps?  Is it not to save one’s life, should an occasion call for it?  I did have opportunities to discuss death, and what follows death.  I believed firmly that God, who is indeed a loving God, is also absolutely just.  All of us have done wrong and have failed to do what is right.  We deserve to be punished.  We deserve to be separated from the absolutely holy God now and for ever.  The good news is that God has provided a remedy.  God the Son, via the virgin birth, took our nature.  He, Jesus the Christ, lived a sinless life.  His life’s record is laid to our account if we repent of our sins and trust in Him.  But He suffered on the cross as if He were the worst of criminals.  In fact, on the cross He received the righteous wrath of the Father, He was abandoned by the Father.  Remember, He cried out, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”  There He paid the penalty for the sins of all who repent of theirs and trust in Him as their sin-bearer.  His abandonment was horrendous, but it was brief.  Though He died, on the third day He rose from the grave, somehow physically different, but still the same God-man.  If the Lord Jesus Christ does not return in our lifetime, we will die; but all who repent of their sins and trust in Him, likewise will be resurrected to newness of life.  I knew and believed these things.  I did speak with customers about them, but often they would offer objections I couldn’t refute or ask questions I couldn’t answer adequately.

Bonnie

February 26, 1948 our last child was born, a daughter, Bonnie Lynn.  Being pleased with our experiences with two sons, I wouldn’t have minded having another son.  On the other hand I was very pleased when I learned that this one was a girl!  She was very precious to us then; she remains very precious to us as I write this!

More Flying

            March 31, 1948, following having both ground and flight instruction, I became what is now called a CFI, a Certificated Flight Instructor.

Following Twila’s graduation from high school and prior to WW II it seemed that Twila was always taking classes of some kind.  Following the war, having served in the army, Twila was eligible for schooling under the GI Bill.  In about two and a half years, June 1, 1948 she graduated from Geneva College, the Covenanter college in Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania.  If at all possible, for her sake, I wanted to be present for her graduation.  Financially we were in no position for me to be there, but I thought of a possible way to arrange my transportation at least one way - ferry a plane east for Don Vest.

May 28, 1948 I took off from Hayden Field for North Carolina in an unlicensed war surplus Cessna AT-17.  I didn’t have a multi-engine rating, but I could fly it legally, since I was flying without passengers.  Although the plane was unlicensed, it was legal for me to fly it, for I had a ferry permit.  There were good reasons for it not to be licensed.  I can’t list all the things that would have had to be done for it to be licensed, but one thing I can say for sure, it was lacking a magnetic compass.  That it had no radios was of little concern to me, but not having a compass made cross-country flying more of a challenge.

Don gave me $100 with which to buy fuel for the flight.  I think he told me he was receiving only $350 for the plane.  To conserve fuel, depending on an easterly wind flow, I chose to fly at 10,000 feet.  Also I used low power settings.  I had been told to expect to have enough fuel for two and a half hours at normal settings.  Using lower settings my ground speed would be slower, but I would get more miles to the gallon.

Much of eastern Colorado and Kansas, as is true in other states in that region, has easily recognizable section lines.  Many roads and fence lines run directly east/west or north/south.  I had

drawn a course line on a sectional, and to follow that line all I had to do was cross each section line at the proper angle.  It was almost as easy and precise as holding a compass heading.  

For my first stop for fuel I had chosen Hays, Kansas, near the dairy farm we had left in the spring of ’28.  That flight took three hours.  My log book doesn’t tell me why, but my next stop was at Salina, Kansas after a 45 minute flight.  Evidently fuel wasn’t available at Hays but I ascertained that I had sufficient fuel remaining to go on to Salina.  By now I had a better idea as to how much gas I was burning at the low power settings.

Presently I can’t say where I planned to make the next stop.  From Salina I again climbed to 10,000 feet.  By this time the sky was overcast, but the ceiling was well above me and visibility was almost unlimited.  I had come into a part of the country that has roads, railroads, rivers and streams that go in all directions.  No longer were there section lines -my ground-bound compass - so I merely held what I considered to be the approximate heading I needed to stay on course.  By carefully comparing what I saw along the line on my chart with what I could see on the ground, and making appropriate corrections, I was able to keep on my course. 

Slightly to the right of my course I saw a large lake.  Search as I would, I could not find a corresponding lake on my chart.  The lake was so large I was confident it would be visible on my chart.  I spent a long time futilely looking for it on my chart.  When I finally gave up looking for it, I discovered that nothing I could see on the ground corresponded with what I could see on the chart.  For years I had believed there was no excuse for getting lost in flight.  Now I was lost! 

At some point along the way, and I’m confident it was after I was aware that I was lost, I saw fabric pealing back on the top of the left wing between the left engine and the fuselage.  I was wearing a favorite parachute that I had been keeping for my own use (I still have it as I write this).  Don Vest had told me not to be too concerned about preserving the airplane, to not hesitate to bail out if there arose a situation that might better be solved by bailing out.  The fabric pealed back slowly until it reached what I remember as a vertical pipe.  At that part of the wing, the fabric was covering plywood, so there didn’t seem to be much reason for concern.

Since the sun no longer was visible and there were no section lines identifiable, I merely held what I thought was the proper heading to take me along my course.  I was confident I would come to a major river or some other indication that would lead me to an airport.  (This was before there were interstate highways that can be helpful today.)  I did come to a large river, which I now know to be the Wabash River.  I followed it until an airport came into sight at Mt. Vernon, Indiana.  My flight time from Salina to Mt. Vernon was five hours ten minutes.  One hundred gallons of fuel were required to fill the tanks.  I had landed with twenty gallons remaining. 

            The mechanic at Mt. Vernon doped the wing fabric back into place, indicated I should have no further concern about it and charged me only for the fuel.

The three hour five minute flight from Mt. Vernon to London, Kentucky, where I stayed over the weekend, was uneventful.

Sunday is the Christian Sabbath.  The Westminster Confession of Faith indicates that the Bible teaches, This Sabbath is then kept holy unto the Lord, when men…do not only observe an holy rest, all the day, from their own works, words, and thoughts about their worldly employments and recreations, but also taken up, the whole time, in the public and private exercises of His worship, and in the duties of necessity and mercy.  Believing this, I stayed in London and attended worship services.

To me, the speech of London’s natives sounded Southern.  I believe it was the pastor who related a visit he had, I think it was in Alabama.  He spoke of the amusement he had experienced, listening to the speech of those he was visiting.  On my way out I did not tell him I had just had an experience similar to his.

It seems I could write a book, just telling what I would do differently if I could live my life over again.  This is one of those things.  I would have had the plane’s tank filled Saturday night rather than waiting until Monday morning.  Later I learned that it is better, in order to avoid water condensation occurring in the tanks, to leave the tanks full whenever possible.  On this occasion, however, there was another reason it would have been better to fill the tanks Saturday night.

At the airport Monday morning there was only one employee who could attend to my fuel needs.  He also was a flight instructor, and he was scheduled to fly with a student.  He insisted he could not pump fuel for me until he had finished his schedule with the student. 

At my place of business in Denver a year or two later I learned that at that time he had a grudge against his employer, and he delayed refueling me as an attack against his boss.  I do not recall why he was in Denver or if he just “happened” to come across me or he had specifically sought me out.  All I remember for sure was that he needed money to get home.  He promised he would repay me after he returned home.  There was no question, I didn’t want to loan him any money!  I did loan it, however, and in time I received repayment.

At London, Kentucky on May 31^st this instructor did touch-and-go’s with his student until his time was finished, while I was waiting impatiently for fuel.  I don’t recall how long my departure was delayed, and I don’t really know how different it would have been if I had been able to get away as early as I had planned, but being delayed was only the beginning of that day’s problems.

Before long I began encountering clouds at my cruising level.  Should I go under them or above them?  Again, because of desiring the advantage of west winds at higher altitudes, I chose to go above the clouds.  Before long the scattered clouds became broken clouds, then undercast clouds.  At that time I reversed my course and, at the first opportunity, descended below the clouds and resumed my east-southeast course.

Precisely where I encountered mountains, I cannot say.  By Colorado’s standards these were not high mountains, but under the circumstances these were more formidable than the Rockies would be on a clear, calm day.  The overcast was low enough to cover the tops of these mountains.  There was no way legally or safely for me to enter the clouds.  The mountain ridges were nearly perpendicular to my desired course.  I turned and flew parallel to the first ridge.  After a time I came to a gap.  I flew through the gap and continued on that heading until I was forced, by another ridge, to turn again.  I flew parallel to that ridge until I came to another gap.  I followed that procedure again and again, making some progress in the general direction I wanted to travel.

All of this time I was flying low enough and close enough to the mountains that I could not take time to look at my charts, so once again I didn’t know where I was.  Although I tried to balance my north-northeast flights with my south-southwest flights, under the circumstances there was no way to be confident that I was progressing on my desired course. 

What if I had engine trouble?  This twin Cessna, even when the engines were new, was not expected to hold altitude on one engine, even at sea level.  The props could not be feathered, so the drag of a windmilling prop would help insure that, in the event of the failure of one engine, one direction was certain, DOWN!  At least the “glide” could be stretched considerably, as long as the other engine was functioning properly.

In the event of engine trouble, I would have to pick a place for an off-airport landing.  I was too low to bail out.  Especially while transitioning gaps, often there was a smooth-flowing river with long enough straight stretches to allow a ditching.  The main problem with ditching, if the river was deep, was that exit from the twin required going back into the passenger compartment and opening the door.  What if the door was jammed by the ditching?  And if it was not jammed, would I have enough one-armed (plus a little right-armed) strength to open it against the water pressure?  (Yes, the pressure would not be a problem AFTER the cabin was filled with water.)

Sometimes I passed over rather small cultivated fields.  I eyed many of them with the thought of their possibly being a reasonable place for a forced landing.  In most cases a gear-up landing would probably have been my choice.

Throughout this time of flying along the ridges and through the gaps, even though I was low enough to do so, I didn’t see another human being or a car or tractor or boat.  The only evidence of human existence I recall, was cultivated fields.

Because I was spending no time looking at my charts, I didn’t realize I had flown beyond my charts’ limits.  I was confident that, so long as ceiling, visibility and fuel permitted me to continue my procedure, eventually I would come to something I could follow that would lead me to an airport.

Suddenly, without my following a larger river or highway or railroad tracks I spotted a hard-surfaced landing strip.  The runway didn’t appear to be very long, but I didn’t feel choosy.  Seeing no aircraft movement on the ground or in the air around me, I made a short pattern, having only to make a 180 degree turn from my cruising heading, and pasted my wheels very close to the near end of the runway and had no trouble slowing to taxi speed on the runway.

When I swung the plane around to park on the ramp, my propwash blew out the office’s large plate glass window.  I don’t remember whether or not I was being directed into the parking place, but when I offered to pay for its replacement I was told, “No.” 

Where was I?  Franklin, North Carolina.  There is no way determining how far I had flown  between London and Franklin, but my log book says the flight took two hours, twenty five minutes.  Direct flight distance was about 135 miles.

By this time my money was running low.  I didn’t see how I could buy gas for the remainder of the flight and still have enough to pay for my transportation to Pennsylvania and return to Denver.  I wired Don Vest, requesting additional funds.  His response was, “Negative!”  I talked at length with the young pilot who evidently was in charge and perhaps was the operator of the business.  Eventually he offered to provide enough gas for the rest of the trip, and I could pay him after I returned to Denver.  We looked at the sectional, and he assured me that it wouldn’t be difficult to fly to my destination (as I write this I don’t remember what it was), even without a compass. 

It is with shame that I admit that I had lost confidence in my ability to go on.  I owed it to Don Vest and to the plane’s purchaser to deliver it as agreed, but I was afraid to go farther.  My failing to do so has bothered me throughout the intervening years.

When it was evident that I was going to leave the plane there, the operator offered to take me to the nearest city at which I could catch an airline flight to Pittsburgh - Asheville.  He took me in a North American Navion (a new, post-war complex four-place plane with some appearance resemblance to the North American P-51 fighter) and did not charge me for the flight!  The next airline flight to Pittsburgh was not until the next morning, so I stayed in Asheville overnight.

It was afternoon when I arrived at Geneva College on the day of Twila’s graduation. I thought I had arrived in plenty of time for the evening’s ceremonies. It was then I learned that graduation had taken place that morning!  I am sure she was disappointed, but, to her credit, over the years she did not remind me of my failure to be there on time. 

Twila had been a special person in the eyes of the students and to the staff as well.  Geneva College was celebrating the 100^th anniversary of it’s founding.  Twila had been chosen May Queen, and in conjunction with the centennial celebration a booklet had been produced.  A large picture of Twila graced the booklet’s cover and within her picture were the words, “Twila Black Says.”   (I don’t remember what she said in the booklet.)

This misadventure ended via a train ride back to Denver.  One thing I had learned, never attempt a long cross country over unfamiliar territory without a compass!  (It takes a lot to convince some people, doesn’t it?)

Airplane Owner

There were at least three reasons I had for a procedure I had begun in my business.  I won’t try to weight their priorities, I’ll just name them.  (1) To provide better service.  (2) To increase the number of parachutes inspected, repaired and repacked each day.  (3) To enable me to fly.  Instead of waiting for my customers to ship their ‘chutes to me, I would fly to their airport and pick up their ‘chutes when they were due for servicing.  To help cover my expenses, for the extra service I charged approximately the same amount as they would have paid for shipping some other way.  At first I used a rented Cessna 140, but its rental cost made me think I should do it another way - have a plane of my own.

My business put me in a position giving me many opportunities to learn of planes for sale.  I came across one opportunity that couldn’t be ignored.  One of my customers had five parachutes, each of which was in need of a new harness and a pack, but they didn’t really need five.  The deal we agreed upon was:  in exchange for my providing two new parachutes, they would give me the five old ones and an unlicensed BT-13.  For two hundred dollars they agreed to remove the instrument panel and controls from the rear cockpit, line the rear cockpit with plywood so I could use it for carrying parachutes, paint the plane’s exterior and license the plane.  In preparation to use the plane as an instrument trainer, the former owner had overhauled the flight instruments.  The plane was in Colorado Springs but they would ferry it and do the work in the Denver area.  My total investment would be the two new ‘chutes and the $200 for making it usable.

My choice of color for the plane was cream, and I had them paint a crimson stripe from nose to tail.  As far as I was concerned, it was beautiful.

Between the time I had agreed to buy the BT and all the work was done on it, the flight school changed hands.  When I went to the airport to pay my bill and pick up the plane, the new owner asked what had been the agreed price for the work on the plane.  I told him $200.  He told me it had cost them more than that to do the work.  Readily understanding how that would be the case, I told him I was willing to pay more.  He asked me, was $200 really the price agreed upon?  When I reaffirmed that it was, he said he wouldn’t take more than that!

It can be said that the $200 is all it cost me.  The pack and harnesses of the five old ‘chutes were useless, but I cut up the five 24-foot diameter silk canopies and their lines and sold the pieces bit by bit.  Also I sold some of the instruments that had been removed from the rear cockpit.

When how cheaply the work was done is taken into account, it is not surprising that some of the paint on leading edges came off the first time I flew in rain.  Apart from that, everything went well in my use of the BT.  Every flight I made in it was a business-related flight.  (One time Carmen rode with me, but I either picked up or delivered ‘chutes on that flight.)  Even though the engine was a 450 h.p. engine, my total cost per hour was less than proved true in any other airplane I owned.  I cruised at a low power setting, but probably the main reason the average cost per hour was lower, was because I didn’t keep it very long, so I didn’t have a second annual and no other maintenance was needed while I had it.

To avoid the extra cost of obtaining a permit to operate the transmitter for radio communications and the possible cost of repairs to make the radio usable, I didn’t use the radio.  Even though I was operating out of Denver’s Municipal Airport (which became Stapleton Airport) I didn’t have to have a radio.  At that time all one had to do was observe and obey light signals.  At no time was I delayed in taxiing, taking off or landing because I was not using a radio.  However, when I was planning to sell the plane, I did get the radio licensed.  It turned out that no repairs were needed.  It worked fine.  And the cost of the permit was minimal. 

No repairs?  No, I believe there was only a very minor repair needed.  I had the plane tied down on the concrete apron north of Hangar 6.  One night there was a very high wind - perhaps it was one associated with a thunderstorm.  The wind was strong enough that it moved the P-38 that was sitting (not tied down, I think) next to my BT.  My tiedown ropes broke, and the plane was blown backwards against the concrete curbing.  Some part of the tailwheel was damaged, but the repair was not costly.

When I sold my BT, it sold readily at my asking price, $350.00!

A New Experience

Fairly early in my operating the parachute service, a United Airlines stewardess asked me to teach her, and to make arrangements for her, to make a parachute jump.  She said that every time as she was watching the ground, as they were climbing out after departure and as they were descending for landing, she would think that she would like to make a parachute jump.  She said she only wanted to make one.

I had never made a parachute jump.  What I had been taught, as I was training, was minimal.  In my short experience in preparing to be a rigger and in my contact with jumpers I had learned a little more.  A brief, helpful movie or two that came with the business also had added a little information.  However, I didn’t really feel qualified to prepare anyone else for anything other than an emergency jump.  On the other hand, at that time I didn’t know any local jumpers to whom to send her. She was determined to make a jump, and I figured it would be better that she receive some training rather than risking her arranging for a jump somewhere without any training.

The stewardess was a good student.  She was quick to comprehend what was presented to her, and she remembered what she had been taught.  When the time approached for her to jump, I arranged for her to be taken up from and land near Sky Ranch Airport.  Sky Ranch didn’t have many options available as jump planes.  I chose one that I figured would be an easy one from which to depart, an Ercoupe (a low wing plane with a canopy that could be opened in flight). 

When the time came for her jump, as I watched from the ground I thought they had reached the altitude and the approximate release point, but no figure was seen falling from the plane.  After several minutes had relapsed again they were at what I thought was the appropriate point, but this time I saw a figure falling from the plane.  Very soon I became concerned, for no parachute had blossomed.  Then I did see silk streaming, then burst into its proper hemisphere, and I resumed breathing.  I ran to her landing spot and found that everything was all right except for a cut lip.  Then she told me about the delays.

The first time she got out on the wing, the airstream forced her back against the rear frame of the canopy, and the auxiliary parachute was caught inside the frame.  With her standing on the wing and struggling to move against the airstream to release the auxiliary, the plane lost perhaps a thousand feet.  Her body was spoiling some of the lift, and she was adding a lot of drag.  She got back into the cockpit, and they climbed back up to the predetermined jump altitude.

On her second attempt to leave the plane she was successful.  The reason for the delay in opening her ‘chute was that she did what I had taught her.  I told her that, if she should be tumbling after leaving the plane she should stop the tumbling before pulling the ripcord.  She had tumbled, and she had followed my instructions as to how to stop the tumbling, so she fell farther than I had expected before opening her ‘chute.  She was pleased with the outcome, and so was I, and that was the last I saw or heard from her.

Before long I had another female customer.  She was working her way through college by making parachute jumps at air shows.  I don’t remember for sure whether she had her own jump outfit or she rented mine, but I’m fairly confident she rented mine.  For a time there were many air shows throughout the region, so she jumped rather frequently.

Another woman came to me, requesting instruction and the use of my ‘chutes for a single jump.  During WW II she had packed parachutes for the army.  She not only wanted to make the jump, but she also wanted to pack the jump ‘chute herself.  She was a grandmother!  However, she was relatively young for a grandmother - 43.  

“Grandmother’s” training period was quite different from that of the stewardess - frustrating.  She would ask questions that indicated she hadn’t heard, or perhaps understood or remembered the answer to which she had already been exposed.  Before long I began to wish she wouldn’t pursue it further.  Probably I should have told her I wouldn’t continue to help her toward her goal.  However, she wanted so badly to make one jump, I proceeded with preparations.

When it came time for “grandmother” to pack her ‘chute for the jump (I had planned to oversee that packing very carefully) she admitted she was too nervous to do the packing.  That suited me fine (not the nervousness, but her not doing the packing).

On the day planned for the jump I didn’t answer the telephone two or three times.  The next time it rang I answered it, and, sure enough, “grandmother” was calling.  I refused to go to the airport for the jump, but evidently that didn’t bother her.

This certainly was not an ideal situation.  I didn’t really want her to jump, again it was the 24 foot ‘chute (which would let a jumper down at a higher speed), and “grandmother” was somewhat overweight.  Every other factor being equal, she would descend faster than a lighter person.

Following her jump, a picture featuring her adventure appeared on the front page of THE DENVER POST.  Although she pulled a tendon in one knee, she was pictured standing, holding the canopy and smiling.  Why did she injure her knee?  She told me that she realized she was soon going to reach the ground, and she wanted one last look at the gorgeous white canopy contrasted with the beautiful blue of the sky, and she wasn’t prepared to hit the ground when she did.  She said she didn’t realize how fast she was approaching it.

An observer had a slightly different story.  He said it appeared to him that, at the last moment, she drew up her legs as if she was trying to avoid hitting the earth. 

At least her injury was a minor one, and she accomplished something she had wanted to do for a long time.  I expect her grandchildren will always think there was something special about their grandmother.

A Malfunction

In the parachute business there was always the possibility of a parachute malfunction, even with consistently careful, proper packing.  One day, at the FAA’s behest, I accompanied an inspector, one with whom I had a good relationship, to Pueblo.  The FAA had received a report of a jumper’s having had a problem in a jump using a parachute I had packed.  The report was that a panel had ripped.

As we drove toward Pueblo we discussed the situation.  The jump had been made with a seat pack, the type I had sat upon in all my military piloting.  Although they had saved many pilots’ lives, they were not ones recommended for premeditated jumps.  Back packs were much to be preferred.  Seat packs, probably because of their position on the body and because of the way they were contained in the pack, were much more likely to have a line over the canopy.  A line going over the canopy during opening could rip a panel or panels.  If the line didn’t remain over the canopy, though the descent might be more rapid than usual, the jumper might land unhurt. 

When we examined the ‘chute it was evident a line had gone over the canopy.  There were friction burns, and one panel was ripped.  I think it was ripped all the way from the skirt to the apex, nearly twelve feet in length.  This was a relatively old silk canopy, and the panels were straight-cut.  Straight-cut panels each were made from one piece of cloth.  Panels that were cut on the bias were made up of three separate pieces.  If one or more of the three pieces was ripped, the rip would go no further than to the seam through which the shroud lines ran, a rip of perhaps three feet at most.  In this case the jumper undoubtedly landed harder than he would have with an undamaged canopy, but as it was he was unhurt.

Personally I was completely satisfied that my packing was not at fault, that the problem had occurred because of the limitations of the seat type ‘chute.  Both the jumper and the inspector also were satisfied, and that was the last I heard about it.

Another incident didn’t have as happy a conclusion!  At an air show in Nebraska a jumper was killed.  The report was that he had been hanging by a rope below the airplane as they approached the airport, but he lost his grip while over terrain that was higher than the airport.  The ‘chute was deploying when he hit, but it had not slowed him enough to save his life.

This parachute had been packed by another rigger, but the FAA brought it to me for my assessment.  With it they brought another of the same type, one that had been packed by the same rigger on the same date.  These parachutes, though back packs, again were a type that I would not have recommended for premeditated jumps.  (I much preferred the Pioneer P3-B that I always wore for emergency use, and it was a kind I recommended for premeditated jumps.) 

Although the opened ‘chute, bloodied and with small pieces of flesh, smelled horribly, I could find no reason to blame the ‘chute or its packer for the jumper’s death.            

Upon opening and examining the unused ‘chute I found minor discrepancies in the way it had been packed, but I didn’t believe those discrepancies, had they been present in the used ‘chute, would have affected the outcome materially.  As far as I was concerned, the tragic death occurred because the jumper was too low when his fall began.  I believe that was what the FAA concluded also.

My “Klasse” Customer

Walt Klasse was a farm boy (young man) from Iowa who came to Denver, evidently because of his love of parachuting.  Whenever he could, he would make jumps at air shows, but he also made other jumps, simply because he wanted to. 

Walt wanted me to construct “bat” wings of canvas, so he could “fly” and maneuver as some other jumpers had done.  Having had no experience with that type of thing and not wanting to contribute to the possible death of him and/or spectators, I refused to attempt to design and construct such a thing. 

On the other hand I did agree to arrange a break-away arrangement whereby, at an air show, he would jump, open a ‘chute, fall from that ‘chute either as soon as it opened or soon thereafter, then open another ‘chute after falling free for a time.  This would be done with three ‘chutes so that the emergency chest pack would still be available should there be a problem with the second ‘chute. 

Walt came up with the idea that he and I should put on an air show featuring parachute jumps, including the break-away act.  I said, “No.”  There was simply too much involved.  It was impractical, as far as I was concerned.  Walt was persistent.  He said he would do all the advertising.  Finally I agreed to go ahead with the idea.  Somewhere along the line Colonel Madsen, a colonel in the Civil Air Patrol, got wind of our plans.  Madsen, a self-taught acrobatic pilot, owned an AT-6 with a smoke capability for air show acts.  He persuaded us that he could be an asset to our show.

At this time I did not own a plane, so I rented a Piper PA-12 Super Cruiser to use as our jump plane.  One generous owner of a Waco UPF-7, a prewar open cockpit biplane, offered his plane for our use in the show.  On the day of the show, July 22, 1949, he offered to allow me to fly it for jumps, but I declined the offer.  If I had had recent Stearman time I probably would have accepted the offer, but I didn’t believe it would be wise for me to check myself out before an air show audience in a type I had never flown.  (I believe we did discuss the idea of taking Walt up without anyone seeing there were two occupants in the plane, do a loop from the top of which Walt would fall out, he would free-fall and finally open his ‘chute.  In the meantime I would fly the plane, trying to imitate a pilotless airplane, and disappear behind the flattop mountain to the west of the airstrip.)

We had arranged to use an airstrip, Creighton Field, just east of Table Mountain, near Golden.  This was to be a one-day show, on a Saturday afternoon.  At show time only a handful of people had shown up.  Col. Madsen offered to go up and do some acrobatics and perhaps attract more paying customers.  I agreed, but it didn’t seem to help.  

Perhaps it could be said the show wasn’t a total flop.  The parachute jumps went off without a hitch, no performers, helpers or audience members were hurt, and no airplanes were damaged.  During Col. Madsen’s aerobatic display I was the narrator, and I didn’t identify correctly each of his maneuvers.  Gate receipts didn’t pay for all the expenses, and I ended up paying all that Madsen charged for his act.

A Foolish, Costly Decision

Walt wanted to learn to fly.  At one time someone spoke to me about his choice of flight instructors.  They said he wasn't satisfied to fly with an ordinary instructor.  It is true that the one with whom he flew was not ordinary.  I don’t remember his name.  He had raced planes in the ‘20’s.  He owned a stock Stearman which he flew, at least briefly, almost every day.  Near the end of his daily flight he would shut the engine down, would slow the plane for a long enough time to stop the prop’s windmilling, would make a deadstick landing, and usually he would coast to a stop rather close to the office building. This took precision!  (This was at Ruston Airport on North Federal Boulevard.) 

For years among pilots there has been a saying, “There are old pilots, and there are bold pilots, but there are no old, bold pilots.”  Walt’s instructor told me, “I am the last of the old, bold pilots.”

Rarely did the Denver area have zero, zero conditions, i.e. ceiling zero, visibility zero.  It was reported that Ruston’s weather on this day was nearly that bad, perhaps visibility about a quarter mile, when Walt and his (old, bold pilot) instructor took off.  I’m confident the Stearman had only the minimum instruments that are required for any airplane to be flown in day VFR conditions.  No matter how experienced and proficient one may be, one simply cannot maintain control for long without at least minimum instrument assistance when one cannot see something stable outside the aircraft.  Both Walt and his instructor were killed when they crashed, probably less than a minute after take off.

Walt was a simple, likable person.  What bothered me most about his death was a failure on my part.  One time when we were driving somewhere together we were discussing life after death.  He made a statement that I believed was not true, but at that time I didn’t know how to deal with it.  He said something like this, “I expect God will accept you if you do the best you can.”  I know now that God’s requirement is a simple one - perfection.  Not one of us meets that requirement.  The Lord Jesus Christ is perfect.  If we repent of our sins and trust ourselves to Him, His perfection is laid to our account.  I had an excellent opportunity to present the gospel, the good news about Jesus Christ, and I failed to take advantage of it.  Didn’t I know that Jesus said, “No one comes to the Father except through me?”  (John 14:6b.)  Or what Peter said, “Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to men by which we must be saved?”  (Acts 4:12.)

At the time of Walt’s death he owed me some money for packing his ‘chutes.  I also had one of his ‘chutes in my loft.  When his parents came to pick it up, I didn’t tell them about his debt.  I guess I didn’t want to add to the loss they already had experienced.  Also I may have felt that they held me somewhat accountable for his death, in that I was one who had participated with him in his involvement with this crazy thing, parachute jumping.

A Bitter Winter

Evidently I sold our BT-13 in November 1948.  During that winter I made several trips via our 1940 Plymouth to pick up and deliver ‘chutes in eastern Colorado and western Kansas.  During that, and the following winter, the region had a number of blizzards.  I think it was during the first of those that several people died.  The day started out as shirtsleeve weather.  A number of people were caught far from home and unprepared for being stranded in blizzard conditions. 

The following things occurred during these blizzards:  In Wyoming (I think it was near Cheyenne) one home had a room fairly well filled with fine snow that had blown through the door’s keyhole.  In eastern Colorado or western Kansas I saw a plane, probably a Taylorcraft or an Aeronca Chief with both wingtips touching the ground.  It was hangared in a lean-to with the open side facing east.  Fine snow had blown in through the back of the hangar and had piled up on to the wings until the wing struts gave way.  Farm fields were bare, but snow drifted into some roads, making them impassable.  Drifts as high as telephone poles were reported.  The Air Force, or perhaps the National Guard, dropped bales of Hay from C-47’s to cattle and deer.  I believe there was some loss of life as school busses were trapped away from any place of shelter.

None of my trips were made during any of the blizzards, but some of them were made when, apart from trees, buildings and some of the road tracks, nothing but white was to be seen.  I dressed warmly and had blankets, candles, food and water.  If I should be stranded I believed I could survive for days.  Although I carried chains, which I had used often in Denver, I don’t recall using them on any of these trips.  Not once was I unable to travel according to my plan.

Stinson 10A

An airline pilot owned a Stinson 10A, a simple prewar three-place plane powered by a Franklin 90 h.p. engine.  He had the Franklin replaced by a Lycoming 125 h.p. engine.  Following his death his wife put it up for sale.  I bought it for $750.

The Stinson had no radio.  For carrying parachutes I would remove the right and the very small rear seat.  To save weight, and the cost, I didn’t have a battery installed.  That made hand-propping necessary.  When no competent person was around to prop it for me, I would do it myself.  The parking brake lock worked well, I would chock the wheels when chocks were available, I would use a seat belt to tie the yoke back, and I would tie a parachute shroud line to the throttle and extend the other end of the line out the open left door.  Having learned the appropriate throttle setting for starting the engine I never needed the line to reduce the power after starting.  I don’t recall ever having a problem starting that engine.

With the more powerful engine, the Stinson performed rather well in the mile high Denver area.  I had no problem climbing to a reasonable jumping altitude with the right door off.  With the right door removed, it served reasonably well as a jump plane.