I wonder what Lea McDonald says about America today...
Tom
On 3/6/06, Steve Crimm <steve.crimm@stephenscott.com> wrote:
>
> steve.crimm@stephenscott.com>
>
> While off topic, we all can just imaging being on the tarmac and watching
> the air show.
>
> Steve
>
>
> > Below was sent by an Air Force friend. Don't know who
> > this P-51 veteran pilot was in the story, but the
> > article was written by a Canadian named Lea MacDonald
> > who recalled witnessing a P-51 takeoff when he was a
> > young 12 year old boy. The story is woven with
> > language that if you just close your eyes you can
> > imagine that you can hear the whine of that powerful
> > Merlin engine! Enjoy.
> >
> > By Lea McDonald ( at www.rense.com)
> >
> > It was noon on a Sunday as I recall, the day a Mustang
> > P-51 was to take to the air. They said it had flown in
> > during the night from some US airport, the pilot had
> > been tired. I marveled at the size of the plane
> > dwarfing the Pipers and Canucks tied down by her, it
> > was much larger than in the movies. She glistened in
> > the sun like a bulwark of security from days gone by.
> >
> > The pilot arrived by cab paid the driver then stepped
> > into the flight lounge. He was an older man, his wavy
> > hair was grey and tossed . . . looked like it might
> > have been combed, . . say, around the turn of the
> > century. His bomber jacket was checked, creased, and
> > worn, it smelled old and genuine. Old Glory was
> > prominently sewn to its shoulders. He projected a
> > quiet air of proficiency and pride devoid of
> > arrogance. He filed a quick flight plan to Montreal
> > (Expo-67, Air Show) then walked across the tarmac.
> > After taking several minutes to perform his
> > walk-around check the pilot returned to the flight
> > lounge to ask if anyone would be available to stand by
> > with fire extinguishers while he "flashed the old bird
> > up . . . just to be safe." Though only 12 at the time
> > I was allowed to stand by with an extinguisher after
> > brief instruction on its use -- "If you see a fire
> > point then pull this lever!" I later became a
> > firefighter, but that's another story.
> >
> > The air around the exhaust manifolds shimmered like a
> > mirror from fuel fumes as the huge prop started to
> > rotate. One manifold, then another, and yet another
> > barked -- I stepped back with the others. In moments
> > the Packard-built Merlin engine came to life with a
> > thunderous roar, blue flames knifed from her
> > manifolds. I looked at the others' faces, there was no
> > concern. I lowered the bell of my extinguisher. One of
> > the guys signaled to walk back to the lounge, we did.
> >
> > Several minutes later we could hear the pilot doing
> > his pre flight run-up. He'd taxied to the end of
> > runway 19, out of sight. All went quiet for several
> > seconds, we raced from the lounge to the second story
> > deck to see if we could catch a glimpse of the P-51 as
> > she started down the runway, we could not. There we
> > stood, eyes fixed to a spot half way down 19. Then a
> > roar ripped across the field, much louder than before,
> > like a furious hell spawn set loose---something mighty
> > this way was coming. "Listen to that thing!" Said the
> > controller. In seconds the Mustang burst into our line
> > of sight. Its tail was already off and it was moving
> > faster than anything I'd ever seen by that point on
> > 19. Two-thirds the way down 19 the Mustang was
> > airborne with her gear going up. The prop tips were
> > supersonic; we clasped our ears as the Mustang climbed
> > hellish fast into the circuit to be eaten up by the
> > dog-day haze.
> >
> > We stood for a few moments in stunned silence trying
> > to digest what we'd just seen. The radio controller
> > rushed by me to the radio. "Kingston radio calling
> > Mustang?" He looked back to us as he waited for an
> > acknowledgment. The radio crackled, "Kingston radio,
> > go ahead." "Roger Mustang. Kingston radio would like
> > to advise the circuit is clear for a low level pass."
> > I stood in shock because the controller had, more or
> > less, just asked the pilot to return for an impromptu
> > air show! The controller looked at us. "What?" He
> > asked. "I can't let that guy go without asking . . . I
> > couldn't forgive myself!" The radio crackled once
> > again "Kingston radio, do I have permission for a low
> > level pass, east to west, across the field?" "Roger
> > Mustang, the circuit is clear for an east to west
> > pass." "Roger, Kingston radio, we're coming out of
> > 3000 feet, stand by." We rushed back onto the
> > second-story deck, eyes fixed toward the eastern haze.
> > The sound was subtle at first, a high-pitched whine, a
> > muffled screech, a distant scream. Moments later the
> > P-51 burst through the haze . . . her airframe
> > straining against positive Gs and gravity, wing tips
> > spilling contrails of condensed air, prop-tips again
> > supersonic as the burnished bird blasted across the
> > eastern margin of the field shredding and tearing the
> > air.
> >
> > At about 400 Mph and 150 yards from where we stood she
> > passed with an old American pilot saluting .
> > .imagine . . . a salute. I felt like laughing, I felt
> > like crying, she glistened, she screamed, the building
> > shook, my heart pounded . . . then the old pilot
> > pulled her up . . . and rolled, and rolled, and rolled
> > out of sight into the broken clouds and indelibly into
> > my memory.
> >
> > I've never wanted to be an American more than on that
> > day. It was a time when many nations in the world
> > looked to America as their big brother, a steady and
> > even-handed beacon of security who navigated difficult
> > political water with grace and style; not unlike the
> > pilot who'd just flown into my memory. He was proud,
> > not arrogant, humble, not a braggart, old and honest
> > projecting an aura of America at its best. That
> > America will return one day, I know it will.
> >
> > Until that time, I'll just send off a story; call it a
> > reciprocal salute, to the old American pilot who wove
> > a memory for a young Canadian that's stayed a
> > lifetime.
> >
> >
>
>
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