George Weiss, one of the boys that kick the _Daily News_ photographic
ship around into position for the aerial photographs that appear in New
York's picture paper, told me this funny one he experienced with the
late Commander Rogers of the navy:
Commander Rogers had flown way back in the early days of Wright pushers.
He saw George in Washington several years ago and asked him if he could
fly him up to his home at Havre de Grace, Md. He assured George that
there was a field there right beside his house that they could land in.
He said that he had landed in it himself.
George took him up in his Travelair cabin ship. He arrived over the
Commander's house and the Commander pointed out the field. "It's full of
cows," George objected. "That's all right," the Commander told him,
"just buzz the field a couple of times and somebody will come out and
chase the cows away."
George did, and sure enough somebody came out and chased the cows off
the field.
"I still can't land there," George remonstrated. "The field is too
small."
"Sure you can," the Commander assured him; "I've done it."
George circled the field again. He said it looked like a good-sized
pocket handkerchief to him and was surrounded by tall trees.
"Are you sure you've landed there?" George insisted.
"Sure, I have," the Commander reassured him. "Go ahead, you can get in
it."
George thought to himself that if the Commander had got in there, by
golly, he could too. He said he finally squashed down over the trees,
falling more than gliding, and dropped into the field with a smack that
should have cracked the ship up but didn't. He stopped fifty feet from
the row of trees by standing on his brakes and cutting the switches. He
said he didn't know how the hell he was going to get out of the place
without dismantling the ship.
That night, in the Commander's house, over a drink, George asked him,
"Come, now, Commander, tell me the truth. Did you really land in that
field?"
"Certainly I did," the Commander said. "It was back in 1912, and I was
flying a Wright pusher." George sneezed into his drink. The Wright
pushers land so slow they can be flown off a dining-room table.
"And do you remember those trees around the field?" the Commander asked.
George remembered. "Well, they were only bushes in 1912."
"LOOK WHO TAUGHT HER"
I was trying to teach my wife to fly. I thought every flyer's wife
should know something about flying. It would be so convenient on
cross-country trips if Dee could spell me off on the controls. I was
having very little success. In the first place, Dee's eyes weren't good,
which is a decided disadvantage, and in the second place she just
couldn't seem to catch on. She had no coordination. I sweated and
struggled and cursed. "Don't skid on the turns," I moaned. "The rudder
and the stick must be used together. If you put the stick to the right,
push the right rudder. If you put the stick to the left, use the left
rudder." And the ship would grind around on another skid.
Dee didn't take her flying as seriously as I did. She didn't
particularly want to learn to fly except to please me. I thought if I
could instill in her a sense of shame at her lack of coordination maybe
she would improve. I picked a day when she was more than usually bad.
The plane had been in every conceivable position but the right one. She
had skidded and slipped and wobbled all over the sky. My temper was
getting the best of me.
"Dee," I said, "haven't you any pride about learning how to fly? Other
women learn how. Look at all the girls who fly, and fly damn well. Look
at Anne Lindbergh, for instance. She has been doing a wonderful job on
that Bird plane. She solos all over the place, and she only took it up a
little while ago."