In another thread, people were discussing ducks, the amphibious troop carrier types, not the feathered ones. It reminded me of my experiences with one when I was a child and I wrote about that in that thread. It also reminded me of other childhood experiences and I thought of all the people here who I KNOW have their own stories that I, for one, would love to hear. So I start this thread in the hopes that YOU will grace us with your stories, kinda sitting-round-the-campfire like.
My Dad was different than other men of his times, post WWII. He was always self-employed because he couldn't stand working for anybody else. He was ahead of his time in many things. We were probably poor, didn't know it growing up though. But at one time, he somehow managed to buy a Twin Beech airplane, eight passenger twin engine. Now, realize that I was a girl with three brothers. I wore their hand me down jeans and high top tennies during a time when girls didn't wear jeans and high tops! We lived in a small house, no AC, drove an old beater car, grew our own food as much as we could. But we had an airplane! My Dad had his priorities straight!
So that summer, he decided rather than drive to Colorado for our annual camping trip, we'd fly (he was a fighter pilot in North Africa during the war). Now know that my Mother is dreadfully afraid to fly! How he talked her into that, I don't know. There were five of us kids. My older brother, who was probably about 16 at the time, sat co-pilot. We were flying along when suddenly the engine noise quit and all you could hear was the wind. Apparently, the gauge misread the fuel tank level (or something like that) and we ran out of fuel in that tank. I jumped up and secured the seat belts of my younger siblings, my Mom was frozen white faced in her seat. I looked over my shoulder into the cockpit and my brother was frantically cranking a handle up and down that was the mechanism that pumped fuel to or primed fuel lines. Dad switched to the other fuel tank and the engines started back up with a roar. The whole incident probably took less than 15 seconds.
I don't know why that was the first AND last trip we took in that plane. My Mom may have had something to say about that, I don't know. But since Dad's work was at a small airport, and We all helped him in his business, I was exposed to planes and flying at a young age. To this day, I have a love of small planes. Unfortunately, when I saw an old open cockpit biplane and told my Dad that someday I wanted to fly one, he told me "Girls don't fly." I believed him. I was so disappointed. My brothers got to do all the fun stuff! It was how it was back then. But a few years ago, I had the chance to fly as a passenger in one over Bar Harbor, Maine. And it was fantastic!
My Dad. So right in so many ways, and so wrong in others. But he and my Mom exposed us to so many different things and adventures, I have to thank them. A brother lived in a school bus for years. A sister on a sailboat for 18 months (she sailed from NY to the Virgin Islands by herself!), me in a van and drove from Texas to Alaska by myself, including the Haul Road all the way to Prudhoe Bay.
Lately, I've been thinking about that conversation in that hangar with Dad. You know, Dad? Times have changed. Girls fly now. I'm getting bored with vans...
My Dad was different than other men of his times, post WWII. He was always self-employed because he couldn't stand working for anybody else. He was ahead of his time in many things. We were probably poor, didn't know it growing up though. But at one time, he somehow managed to buy a Twin Beech airplane, eight passenger twin engine. Now, realize that I was a girl with three brothers. I wore their hand me down jeans and high top tennies during a time when girls didn't wear jeans and high tops! We lived in a small house, no AC, drove an old beater car, grew our own food as much as we could. But we had an airplane! My Dad had his priorities straight!
So that summer, he decided rather than drive to Colorado for our annual camping trip, we'd fly (he was a fighter pilot in North Africa during the war). Now know that my Mother is dreadfully afraid to fly! How he talked her into that, I don't know. There were five of us kids. My older brother, who was probably about 16 at the time, sat co-pilot. We were flying along when suddenly the engine noise quit and all you could hear was the wind. Apparently, the gauge misread the fuel tank level (or something like that) and we ran out of fuel in that tank. I jumped up and secured the seat belts of my younger siblings, my Mom was frozen white faced in her seat. I looked over my shoulder into the cockpit and my brother was frantically cranking a handle up and down that was the mechanism that pumped fuel to or primed fuel lines. Dad switched to the other fuel tank and the engines started back up with a roar. The whole incident probably took less than 15 seconds.
I don't know why that was the first AND last trip we took in that plane. My Mom may have had something to say about that, I don't know. But since Dad's work was at a small airport, and We all helped him in his business, I was exposed to planes and flying at a young age. To this day, I have a love of small planes. Unfortunately, when I saw an old open cockpit biplane and told my Dad that someday I wanted to fly one, he told me "Girls don't fly." I believed him. I was so disappointed. My brothers got to do all the fun stuff! It was how it was back then. But a few years ago, I had the chance to fly as a passenger in one over Bar Harbor, Maine. And it was fantastic!
My Dad. So right in so many ways, and so wrong in others. But he and my Mom exposed us to so many different things and adventures, I have to thank them. A brother lived in a school bus for years. A sister on a sailboat for 18 months (she sailed from NY to the Virgin Islands by herself!), me in a van and drove from Texas to Alaska by myself, including the Haul Road all the way to Prudhoe Bay.
Lately, I've been thinking about that conversation in that hangar with Dad. You know, Dad? Times have changed. Girls fly now. I'm getting bored with vans...
