Wilson glanced up at him. “Yeah, that’s fine with me. I’ll pay for it. Ol’ Sparky is getting a little ragged around the edges so I suppose we could give him some help. Say, Otto, speaking of finances, didn’t you say that your sister managed the books for your farm?”
“She does. She’s quite good at it.”
“Ask her if she would keep our books. I had a guy doing it for me and he was dipping into the till. He won’t be doing that no more. He won’t be doing nothin’ no more, if you catch my drift.”
Otto nodded and thought that he didn’t want to know what had happened to Wilson’s financial guy.
“I’ll ask her, Mr. Wilson. I’m sure she’ll be able to help you out.”
Wilson rose from his desk and clapped Otto on the shoulder. “That’s my boy! Tell her I’ll pay her good. She won’t regret it. You’ve been such a good worker; I’m sure she is as well.”
“She is that, Mr. Wilson.”
“Well, why don’t you practice some flying? I’ll call about the paperwork and see if you’ll need to go to Madison or wherever for the exam. I’ll let you know.”
While Sparky didn’t have that many students those days, the little airport was busy. Some of the wealthier men in town, including Betty’s father, had bought aircraft and kept them there. Mr. Ross hired a pilot who came in when he needed to go to Minneapolis on business. They flew a beautiful silver twin-engine Beechcraft. Otto was itching to get his hands on it, but he wasn’t certified for twin engine aircraft. Maybe one day, he thought.
He saw the Beech on final and thought that Mr. Ross would be showing up soon. The sliver craft touched down smoothly and taxied up to the hangar. The pilot swung it around smartly and chopped the throttles. Otto rushed over to the door as it opened. Ross’s pilot, Don Libeau, had gotten to know Otto in the past few weeks.
He reached up and took Libeau’s flight case from him. “Hi, Mr. Libeau! How are you! Come into the office and I’ll get you a sandwich and something to drink. Would you like the usual?”
“Hey, Otto! How are you, kid? I’d love a ham sandwich and some coffee if you have some made fresh.”
“I just made a fresh pot and made the sandwiches this morning. Is Mr. Ross coming soon?”
Libeau looked at his watch. “I meet him in half an hour,” he said. “Let’s get that food, OK? I didn’t have time to get something to eat before I left. Top off the tank and sweep out the carpet before Mr. Ross gets here, will you?”
“Sure will, Mr. Libeau. How are things in Minneapolis?” Libeau lived in the city and kept the aircraft there. It was easier to have maintenance done at the larger airport.
“About the same, Otto. Thanks for asking.”
Otto got Libeau his sandwich and coffee, and the pilot sat down at a table in the outer room that stood outside Wilson’s office. Otto didn’t see Wilson and supposed he was over having a drink with Sparky.
He got the fuel cart from the side of the building, rolled it over to the Beechcraft and filled the tank, taking care not to overfill it. He grabbed a broom from the hangar wall and swept down the red carpeted aisle. Since he had a few minutes, he went into the cockpit and sat in the pilot’s seat for a moment, running his hands over the throttles and looking at the instruments. Everything looked familiar but also different. Otto was building his time in a two-person Piper Cub, painted “Piper Yellow.” It wasn’t the fastest thing in the sky, but it was good for putting around in. Still, it would be so great to fly something like the plane he was sitting in. In time, Otto, he told himself. Get your instructor’s license and then see about a multi-engine ticket.
“How do you like it, kid?” Libeau had finished his sandwich and coffee and stuck his head into the cockpit.
Otto started and jumped up from the seat. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to see what it was like to sit here.”
“It’s OK, kid. I was the same way once. In fact, you remind me of myself when I was starting out.”
“Mr. Libeau, it must be so swell to fly an airplane like this one. She’s a beaut.”
“Well, it’s a job, I suppose, but I understand what you’re saying. And I have a feeling that some day you’ll be flying something even bigger than this.”
“Gosh, I hope so,” Otto said, threading past Libeau and down the aisle. He walked over to the Piper sitting by the hangar and began his preflight. The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step, he thought. Or a single flight. He completed his inspection, climbed into the cockpit, pulled the choke, set the throttle, got out, pulled the prop through one revolution and then gave it a sharp swing. He backed away from the spinning blade as the engine caught. He jumped in the cockpit and taxied out to the runway.
Otto checked the few instruments on the Cub’s panel and then advanced the throttle. The little yellow plane bounced and vibrated along the grassy surface for a bit and then lifted its tail When he could feel the controls lighten, Otto pulled back on the stick and the Cub was airborne, headed on a slow climb to some white clouds drifting along in the bright blue sky. Otto turned toward Pioneer Lake, not too far away, and was soon moving along above the streets of well-kept businesses and houses. He could see the mansion—for that was what it was—Betty lived in, the high school, the lumber yard, and all the rest of Main Street. Cars creeping along the road looked like insects.
Flying was pure freedom for Otto. It always had been, and every flight brought something new. A bird, perhaps a falcon, paced him for a while as he flew over the town limits. The bird suddenly dove and was gone, evidently spotting some prey far below. He kept going for a while, enjoying a feeling of freedom from his concerns—Hans, Maria, the farm, his relationship with Betty—they all fell away in the sky. After a while, he reluctantly turned 180 degrees back toward the airport. He entered the traffic pattern, upwind, crosswind, downwind, base, final approach and landed smoothly taxiing to the hangar. He cut the engine and sat there a while, enjoying the feeling he always had when he finished a flight. He pulled his log book out of his pocket and put in the date, the time he was aloft and, under comments, “Nice flight.” Most of the comments said something similar. He noticed that the Lockheed was gone. He wasn’t sure what Mr. Ross did in Minneapolis, but thought it was something related to banking. He would be back later that evening. Otto made a mental note to talk to Wilson about lights for the field. That would be a big improvement. He walked toward the office.
***
A week later, as Otto was washing some of the aircraft tied down outside the hangar, he heard the unmistakable sound of a large rotary engine which meant it belonged to a large airplane. He moved to one side of the hangar so he could see what produced such a noise.
A silver aircraft of a type he hadn’t seen before turned on base leg. It looked to be the sleekest aircraft he had ever seen. As he watched, it turned smoothly onto final and made about the best landing he had ever witnessed. Whoever was flying it was one fine pilot. Otto knew of only one pilot who could fly like that--Charles Lindbergh, but what would Charles Lindbergh be doing at little Pioneer Lake? It wasn’t possible. Well, he would find out who it was soon enough.
The big plane taxied in and pulled to a stop by the hangar. The pilot threw back the canopy and climbed out. He removed his helmet, goggles and gloves and slid down the wing to the ground. Otto went over to him and just about fainted. It was Charles Lindbergh! He would have recognized that famous face and piercing blue eyes anywhere! He felt as if he couldn’t speak.
“Hello, young man,” Lindbergh said. “Can I get something to eat? And can you refuel my plane?”
“Yessir, Colonel,” Otto returned. “We have some ham sandwiches I just made up and some coffee that’s not too old. I’ll go get the refueling wagon.”
“And could you point the way to the bathroom?” The famous aviator smiled.
Otto pointed. “It’s through that door in the ready room. You can’t miss it!”
Lindbergh walked somewhat stiffly in the direction of the office. Otto followed him, pulling out the ham sandwich from the refrigerator. He poured some coffee from the urn into one of the white china cups they used. He set both on a tray and had it ready when Lindbergh came out.
“If you wouldn’t mind—what’s your name, young fellow?”
“It’s Otto, sir, Otto Kerchner.”
“Well, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to take my sandwich and coffee and eat over by the airplane. I don’t want a lot of people knowing I’m here, although you’re the only one I see at this point.”
“Yessir, I’ll take your tray, and the only people here are my boss and the chief pilot and they’re both, uh, asleep. I’ll keep anyone else that shows up away.”
“Thank you, Otto. I appreciate it. You seem like a sensible young fellow.”
Otto and Lindbergh walked back over to his aircraft. Lindberg sat on the wing and tore into the sandwich, taking occasional sips of coffee.
Otto ran over and got the refueling cart and ran the hose to the filler hole in the Lockheed. He turned the crank and quickly transferred the fuel to the aircraft’s tank. He pulled the hose out when he was done and coiled it neatly on the cart.
Lindbergh was finishing his sandwich. “Well, I’d better get on to Minneapolis. It has been nice to stop here. Is this a good place to live?”
“I think so, sir. It’s quiet and there’s a lot to do if you like the outdoors.”
“Do you like airplanes, Otto?”
“Do I ever, Colonel Lindbergh! And I’ve been a big fan of yours since I was a kid. I got my private pilot’s license four years ago and I want to be a flight instructor.”
“Very impressive,” said Lindbergh. “I hope it works out well for you. I’d better be on my way.” He reached out and shook Otto’s hand. “It has been a pleasure meeting you. Happy flying to you.”
Otto took his hand, feeling the firm grip. “The pleasure is all mine, sir. I can’t believe you flew into our airport.”
“Oh—one thing more, Otto. If you would, please don’t say anything about my presence here to anyone. The reason I’m on this trip is very secret and it would be better if no one knew I was in the area.”
That meant he couldn’t tell anyone he had met Lindbergh. Well, he would know it and that was what counted. “I won’t tell a soul, Colonel.”
Lindbergh put one foot on the wing of the fighter. He took the gloves he had pulled off in the cockpit and tossed them to Otto. “Here you go. A present from one pilot to another. I have a spare set in here.”
Otto examined the well-worn gloves. What a treasure, he thought. He would keep them forever. He held them tightly as Lindbergh closed the cockpit cover. The engine fired up on the big aircraft. Lindberg looked over and snapped a salute to Otto, who returned it.
The silver airplane taxied out to the end of the grassy field. Lindbergh held it there for a few seconds, testing the controls and then advanced the throttle. The big radial ran up to takeoff power. It was about the smoothest and most resonant engine Otto had ever heard.
Lindbergh ran the airplane down the field, rotating it smoothly into the air. He climbed rapidly for altitude and waggled his wings as he disappeared to the west. Otto felt as if he hadn’t breathed the entire time the great aviator had been there. All he could think was oh wow oh wow oh wow.
***
Shortly after Otto’s encounter with Lindbergh, he began training for his instructor certification in Eau Claire. Once a week, on Friday, he flew the Cub to the airport and spent the morning training in a Piper J-5, a more powerful and roomier version of Otto’s J-2 Cub. He quickly caught on to what his instructor showed him, and after minimal instruction time, he was certified. He returned to Pioneer Lake Airport and took up the bulk of flight instruction. He didn’t see much of Sparky, who continued to live at the airport, or Wilson either, but they were both there.
Otto had a string of undistinguished students. Most of them would take far more than the average instructional time, but Otto didn’t mind. Wilson certainly didn’t mind, as long as the money kept rolling in.
***
The war in Europe escalated, as Germany sent waves of bombers night after night in attacks that came to be known as the Battle of Britain. Otto listened to the BBC, which continued to broadcast even as the raids turned their targets from airfields to cities and towns in early September. He was mesmerized by an entire nation under attack. Mata left when he tuned in the big radio in the living room, saying she couldn’t bear to hear about more death and destruction.
She also refused to sit through the newsreels when they went to a rare movie, preferring instead to visit in the lobby with some women she knew until the feature had begun. She went to movies for escape, not for information, she told Otto.
Otto tried to sign up for the Army Air Corps in September when he was in Eau Claire on some airpost business. The sergeant told him there was no need for more pilots at present funding levels. If war came, they would need his piloting skills and those of many more men. That promise had to be good enough for Otto for the moment.
Otto and Mata sat in the living room as was their custom on Sunday afternoons, listening to the radio. Otto nodded over the paper and Mata busied herself with some mending. Maria remained sitting at the dining room table, expectantly watching the door to the outside. Hans had gone to sleep in the bedroom after lunch.
Their customary program was interrupted by an announcement:
From the NBC Newsroom in New York: President Roosevelt said in a statement today that the Japanese have attacked (the) Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, from the air. I’ll repeat that, President Roosevelt says that the Japanese have attacked Pearl Harbor from the air. This bulletin came to you from the NBC Newsroom in New York.
There was a moment of silence. Than Mata said, “Otto, did you hear that?”
“Yes, the bulletin woke me up when it came on.”
“What do you think will happen?”
“I think there will be war.”
“Oh, no…”
“We have to fight now. They’ve attacked us.” He stood up. “I need to get out to the airfield. It should be secured and there’s no one there on Sundays.