AN AIRPLANE LANDS AMID THE PINES

It was a quiet Saturday afternoon in the spring of 1932. Mamma was in the new kitchen making a chocolate cake for Sunday, my father was getting a shaved and haircut at the barber shop, and my sister and I were entertaining ourselves in the yard. We chanted, “Doodle-bug, doodle-bug, your house is on fire,” while with a tiny stick we tried to coax a grayish bug to ascend from its home beneath the sand.

Upon this tranquil scene, with other people of De Funiak Springs similarly not too occupied, there appeared an airplane, an unusual sight for our Northwest Florida Panhandle town. It flew low circling the houses around the lake, the town's centerpiece, and then over the business section. Every time it made a circle it flew lower and sounded louder

People came out of their houses asking one another, "Who is that?", and “What's he up to?” 

I don't recall having seen an airplane before this except for newspaper photographs of Col. Lindbergh beside "The Spirit of St. Louis”, and the time one flew over us as we drove into Pensacola. 

As neighbors gathered to watch the plane, speculation began as to what this was all about. Someone told of airplanes with aviators called “barnstormers" going from town to town taking people for rides. Perhaps this was one of the barnstormers. Someone else said, "Whoever he is must be crazy flying so low." Mr. Murray, who lived next door, calmly walked out of his house, joined us, and said, “It's got to be either Dan Hughes or the Savage boy.” Everyone knew about these local men who were fliers in the United States Army. 

About that time Daddy drove up. With brakes screeching he called out to my mother, my sister Chris and me, "Come on, jump in. That's Dan Hughes and he's going to land at Argyle. Let's go see him." While my sister and I scrambled into the back seat, Mamma was calmly reluctant. "Malcolm, I'm not dressed to go out and besides, I've just taken a
cake out of the oven. I'll need to ice it soon." 

"You always look pretty," Daddy coaxed. "And certainly this is more important than the cake. How many times have you seen an airplane up close?"

Mamma tossed her apron onto the porch and we took off for Argyle, which was less than five miles down the main highway, the old Spanish Trail. In those days one could leave a house with doors and windows wide open without fear of anyone's burglarizing it.

Daddy drove faster than I ever recalled. Since the airplane was still flying low over the whole town, he hoped to beat it to Argyle so we could watch it land. Mamma questioned my father as to how he knew who it was and where it would land. 

"One of the Andrews’ boys, neighbors of the Hughes, was in the barbershop and told everybody Dan was expected some time soon. Said Dan had told his folks he'd buzz the town, so someone could come pick him up." 

“But there's no landing field at Argyle," Mamma continued.

"I know. He's going to land wherever he sees a clearing in the woods. Remember that stand of pines they've just cut a little west of Argyle? That's where people think he'll have to land, unless he chooses the highway. Ina government plane, I don’t think he'll do that."

Argyle was the village where my father was born. His father had owned sawmills and a great deal of land. Daddy knew every lot and timber section, so he had a good idea exactly where that clearing was.

Sure enough, the plane seemed to follow the line of cars now headed out of town for Argyle. After we turned off the highway and parked among pine trees next to the clearing, other people kept driving in. Daddy got out of the car and began greeting people.

"Might know you'd beat everybody out here, Malcolm," said his cousin and good friend, Olin Campbell.

"Why, thank you, Olin," my father replied in exaggerated manner. "But Bob McCaskill got here ahead of everyone."

“No,” said Mr. McCaskill. "Emery Campbell was the first. When word drifted down from the barbershop to Marvel Warren's Drug Store, where Emery was observing a domino game, he made a beeline out here.”

"Is that so, Emery?" Daddy asked as Mr. Emery Campbell walked up. "You mean you did not even stop to say good-bye to the boys.?"

"You know better than that, Malcolm. When those boys have a hot game going, no one interrupts. Why, the whole town could burn down, and they wouldn't stop playing."

All the while the men talked and laughed, everyone watched the sky looking for the airplane.

"Look, there he is. Think he can make it through that narrow opening in the trees?"

“Well, it doesn't look like he has much choice."

"How long's Dan been flying?"

"I don't know exactly. The story I heard was that he was at Palmer College playing football in probably 1926 or '27, when he hurt his back. His father sent him to a hospital in St. Louis for the back problem. When the father went to see how he was recovering, he found Dan taking flying lessons."

“Wonder how far he's flown today?"

“I guess he's coming from Texas. Seems to me I heard he was stationeg

at San Antonio."

“How fast can that plane go?"

"Oh, maybe 150 miles an hour."

“I'm not sure I'd want to be in the air in that thing.”

"Well, it's a vast improvement over the planes our men flew against the Kaiser in the War. You really had to be a daredevil to go up in those early planes."

"Here he comes! He's gonna’ make it this time."

With that the men walked right out into the clearing. My sister and I stood on the running board of the Chevrolet, craning our necks in the direction of the plane. Mamma stayed in the car.

The airplane sounded more quiet as it approached. We watched as the wings wobbled up and down, then side to side a bit, and then steadied as it got closer to the ground. It bounced along when the wheels hit the uneven ground, coming to a stop just at the end of the clearing. I'd been watching with my hands partially covering my eyes so that if it hit the trees or crashed on the ground in the final seconds, I wouldn't have to see it.

"Hot dog!" someone shouted. Everyone cheered and we knew Dan Hughes had landed safely. The men ran out to greet him and look at the plane.

My sister's comment was, "It looks like it has a windmill on the front.” I thought the wheels looked small for the size of the plane. Now that it was on the ground, the plane looked much larger than when it was in the sky. Also, instead of one pair of wings, it actually had two, one on top of the other on each side of the body of the plane.

The aviator climbed out of the open air seat and removed his goggles and helmet, which looked like a bathing cap. He just lightly touched the wings as he jumped to the ground, where the men all crowded around to slap jum on the back and express their admiration.

While the men and boys were talking and examining the airplane, my sister and I sat on the front fenders of our car and began to plait the long pine needles which lay in abundance on the ground under those fragrant trees. We were so familiar with this practice that we didn't have to watch every move our fingers made, but could also keep an eye on the commotion out by the plane. Mamma was talking with Mrs. Thompson, who was telling how her son, Hillard, was crazy about airplanes, reading about them all the time and that nothing would do but “to come tearing out here to watch this one land.”

Just then her son, who'd been out on the field, came running back to announce, “It's a Curtiss P-6 Hawk with a twelve cylinder liquid cooling engine. I saw a picture of it in Scientific American."

"Why does it have such a long name?" I asked.

"Because," Hillard explained, pleased to show off his knowledge,

“Curtiss is the airplane builder. P stands for pursuit, I think, since it's an army plane, and I guess they just like the name, Hawk. He was doing some gliding like a hawk just before he landed."

“Are all planes named for birds?" I asked, getting more interested.

"Some of them are. Curtiss has another one called ‘Sparrowhawk’ and there's one called ‘Robin'."

"Do they all have a windmill on the front?" my sister asked.

"A windmill!" Hillard responded with a mixture of scorn and incredulity. "That's a propeller. Don't you all know anything about airplanes?”

"Girls just aren't as interested in these things, Hillard," his mother said. "Come along, we have to be getting home."

Pretty soon, Daddy came back to the car. He told us that Dan's folks had arrived to take him home for the evening, and that he'd actually flown all the way from Michigan with a stop in Montgomery for re-fueling.

"Is Mr. Hughes just going to leave the plane out here on the field?” we asked.

"Yes," Daddy replied. “Nobody'll bother it. Anyway, no one around here knows how to fly.”

"With so little room how will he ever get it into the air when he leaves?" my mother asked.

"They were discussing that. Dan says it won't be easy. They plan to place logs on the ground in front of the plane. Then, Dan said if five or six men will hold down the tail while he revs up the engine, he thinks he can take off and just clear the tops of the trees. He got volunteers from that carload of Palmer College boys from town, who drove out in the Model T. |p, a wonder they weren't killed packed into that car and some of them standing on the running boards."

"Well, girls," my father said, turning to us. "Think you'll remember the first airplane you ever saw?"

"Yes, sir," we answered.

“And that Dan Hughes is a very brave man," I added.

Cars had begun pulling out of their side-by-side parking places with people calling out cheerful good-byes after the exhilarating afternoon's experience.

"So long, Malcolm. See you in church.”

‘T'll be there, Olin, though it can't match this for excitement."

"Malcolm," Mamma said quietly, "we don't go to church for entertainment."

"I know, but it certainly could be a lot livelier. It'd be nice if occasionally the sermon contained some surprises. Just suppose the minister! had been out here today. I'll bet he could've then preached a really good sermon on the text from Isaiah, ‘Ye shall rise up with wings as eagles.’ T° soar above these depression times, now that’s an inspiring thought.”

As we turned onto the highway which paralleled the railroad tracks my sister who had been looking out the back window called out, "Daddy, Daddy, here comes the train."

"OK," said Daddy. "Let's see if we can beat it to town. We may not bé able to fly like Dan Hughes, but we can try to out-run the L. & N. Hang 0M éverybody."

As the engineer came alongside our car, he blew the whistle and waved My sister and I waved back. Daddy had his head crouched down over the steering wheel pretending he was a race car driver, a sight which always made my mother laugh. I think that was because my father did not look the part in his straw hat, high starched white collar and tie. But he did put his foot down harder on the accelerator. We didn't even miss a powerful engine, or wings or a windmill up front. It felt as if we were flying as we raced down the road.