Tom was flying in front of me to my left. We both had PW-8s. We were
heading toward Uniontown, Pa. They were opening a field there. We were
going to stunt for them. We were flying 7,000 feet high in a milky
autumn haze. The rolling Ohio country beneath us was visible only
straight down and out to an angle of about 45 degrees. Beyond that the
earth mingled with the haze and was invisible.
I saw a town over the leading edge of my lower right wing. I recognized
it as Akron, O. I pushed my stick forward and opened my throttle. I had
always wanted to jazz the fraternity house in a high-powered fast ship.
Down I came. Roaring louder and louder. I couldn't see a soul in the
yard of the fraternity house.
I missed the house by inches as I pulled sharply out of my dive and
zoomed almost vertically up for altitude. I looked back as I shot up
into the sky. The yard was full of fellows.
I kicked over and nosed down at the house again. I came as close to it
as I could without hitting it as I pulled back and thundered up into the
air.
I nosed over into a third dive at the house. As I pulled up this time I
kicked the ship into a double snap roll as I climbed. I didn't look
back. I just kept on climbing, heading for Uniontown. I overtook Tom a
little while later.
On my return trip from Uniontown I was forced down at Akron owing to bad
weather. Tom had gone back a day earlier than I. I was alone.
Friends of mine at the airport came up to me as I climbed out of my
ship. They asked me if I had flown over Akron in a PW-8 a few days
before. I said, "No. Why?" They showed me a clipping from a local
newspaper. It said: