“OK, kid, more next week. I need a drink,” Sparky said, and wandered off to his room beside the office. Wilson came out of the door.
“How was it, kid?”
“It was great, Mr. Wilson,” Otto smiled.
“Well, old’ Duncan ain’t much to look at, but he’s a fine pilot. You’ll learn a lot from him.”
“Yessir,” Otto murmured, thinking that he could hardly wait for next week.
The lessons proceeded, week after week. Sometimes Sparky kept them up for a couple of hours. Otto learned about altimeter settings, carb heat, mixtures, coordinated turns, slipping, stall recovery, and point-to-point navigation. One day they flew down to Madison, had a sandwich at the counter there, refueled, and flew back to Pioneer Lake. Duncan let Otto handle the takeoff and landing, grunting with satisfaction as Otto managed his first landing with only one bounce. They taxied to the hangar.
“All right, kid, why don’t we go up again tomorrow and shoot some takeoffs and landings?”
“Sounds great to me, Mr. Duncan. Won’t that be more than one lesson this week, though?”
Sparky clapped him on the back. “This one’s on me, kid. You’ve been a good student. Wish everyone had your natural talent.”
“Thanks, Mr. Duncan! I appreciate that!” Otto hopped on his bicycle and pedaled for home. He pretended he was flying.
The next day dawned clear and bright with just a touch of chill in the air. Otto rushed through his chores, picked up his lunch pail from his mama and biked over to the airport. Dew still stood on the aircraft tied down at the field. He went into the office to check his task list for the day. In Wilson’s florid script was a single notation: “Go flying!”
Otto sat impatiently in the chair in the office, waiting for Sparky to make an appearance. After a while, he came out of the back room, yawning, with his hair disheveled. “Hey, kid, you’re here early,” he said to Otto.
“It’s nearly ten o’clock, sir,” Otto ventured.
Duncan cocked an eye toward the clock above Wilson’s desk. “So it is. Wanna go flying?”
“You bet!” Otto exclaimed.
“Wal, help me find my helmet, then.” Otto reached over to the desk and handed Duncan the filthy scrap of cloth. “What’s that doing there?” Sparky pulled the helmet on and started out the door to the Fleet. Otto trotted along behind him.
They preflighted the airplane and Duncan climbed into the rear cockpit while Otto propped the engine. The prop swung through one arc and then the engine caught. Sparky blipped the throttle as Otto clambered over the side into the front cockpit, pulled on his helmet and adjusted his goggles over his eyes.
“Take ‘er out and take ‘er up!” Sparky shouted. Otto taxied to the end of the field, “S” turning as Duncan had taught him. He lined up in the center of the grassy expanse, pushed the throttle forward and began his takeoff roll.
The Fleet moved slowly at first, and then accelerated as the tail came up. Otto made small inputs to the rudder once they were underway to keep the nose straight. He felt the ship lighten, and as the airspeed reached 100, pulled back lightly on the stick. The wheels ceased vibrating and they were in the air. Otto thought that he would never tire of that sensation, of breaking free of Earth and soaring with the birds. He grinned widely, pulling the airplane into a right hand bank to exit the traffic pattern. Behind him, Duncan looked first to one side and then the other.
They flew on for about five minutes and then Sparky called back, “Go ahead and land.”
Otto was puzzled; usually they stayed up longer. Maybe something was wrong with Sparky. He made a 180 degree turn and was soon on final to land.
Otto cut the throttle and drifted down, flaring perfectly onto the grass. He taxied to the hangar. Sparky climbed out of his cockpit and Otto was pulling off his helmet when Duncan put a hand on his shoulder. “Keep that on. Take ‘er up.”
Sparky jumped off the wing onto the ground. Otto couldn’t speak. Sparky wanted him to solo! Was he ready? Would he forget anything?
He nodded to Sparky, who stood watching him. He advanced the throttle and was soon lined up on the runway. He ran through the familiar pre-takeoff routine, pushed the throttle forward and was off, rolling along the grass, feeling the Fleet lift its tail up and then ease into the air. He was flying again, but this time by himself. He felt such a sense of freedom. He could go anywhere and do anything, he thought, but then reminded himself that it wasn’t his aircraft and that he was limited by the amount of fuel on board. But the whole world was out there and he could go and do what he pleased—within limits. He did some banks and turns for sheer joy for about half an hour and then recalled that his lesson time was about up. He brought the ship around on a heading for the airport, knowing that he would remember these moments as long as he lived.
Too soon the field came in sight and he lined up into the wind. The Fleet slid smoothly down its descent path, flared and touched down smoothly. Otto taxied to the terminal, thinking he should get one of those white silk scarves so he would
look
like an aviator. He turned in front of the hangar and chopped the throttle.
Sparky and Wilson came toward him. Sparky carried a pair of scissors; Wilson had a bottle of scotch in one hand and three glasses in the other. Otto wasn’t sure what would happen next.
He climbed out of the cockpit. Wilson put the bottle and glasses down and took Otto’s hand in both of his. “Way to go, kid! You did it! This calls for a celebration.” He took the bottle and unscrewed the top.
“Hold on there, Wilson,” Sparky exclaimed. “First things first!” Wilson put the top back on the bottle and watched intently. Duncan pulled Otto’s shirttail out and cut it off with the scissors. “There you go, kid. A souvenir of your solo! We’ll all autograph it when we get back in the office.” He handed Otto the scrap of material as Otto wondered how he was going to explain to his mama why his shirttail had been cut off. He decided to tell the truth.
Wilson poured a glass half full of scotch and handed it to Otto. “Here you go, kid. Drink up! Here’s to you and to many good flights!”
“Mr. Wilson, I don’t drink. I’m underage,” Otto protested.
“This isn’t drinking, this is celebration,” Wilson laughed, pouring a glass for Duncan and one for himself. Sparky eyed the drink as if he had never seen good whiskey, which he probably hadn’t. Otto sighed and took a small sip from his glass. It tasted like the turpentine smelled that they used on the farm. He let it slip down his throat and started coughing. Wilson and Duncan had already pounded theirs down. Duncan smacked Otto on the back. “You learned how to fly, now you gotta learn how to drink!” he exclaimed, and he and Wilson laughed uproariously. Then they went into the office and took turns signing the tail of Otto’s shirt. He placed it in the basket of his bicycle and rode home.
Mama immediately noticed what had happened to his shirt when he came in the door. She didn’t miss much. “Otto, where is the rest of your shirt?” The look on her face meant it was unlikely that she would not believe any story he could make up, so Otto’s resolve to tell the truth was affirmed.
“They cut it off after I soloed today, Mama! I soloed!”
Maria looked puzzled. “You do this and they cut off your shirt? I do not understand…”
“It’s a custom—a tradition among pilots. When you solo, they cut off the bottom of your shirt and then everyone signs it. See?” He held up the autographed shirttail for her to see.
“Yes, I see, but I think it a very strange custom to cut up a perfectly good shirt that I worked for hours to sew for you.”
“I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t mean to spoil the shirt.”
Maria sighed. “Well, I suppose you didn’t do it. But the next time you solo, wear an old shirt.”
Otto thought of explaining that this only happened the first time you soloed but decided not to say any more and went to his room. There he laid the shirttail out on his bed and admired it. He could fly by himself now. He could hardly wait for Saturday to come when it would be time for him to fly again. Life was good.
Otto knocked nervously on the door of the biggest house in town. It belonged to Betty’s family, and he was here to practice dancing with her. He and Mata had practiced at home to the radio, but dancing with a pretty girl, even if she was your best friend, was different from dancing with your sister.
Mata was a very good dancer. Otto didn’t know how she had learned—it just seemed to be something that girls knew how to do. He hadn’t paid much attention to what she was doing in her room, but gathered that she had taught herself how to dance. In fact, she seemed pleased when he asked her to teach him. “Of course, Otto! I’ll be glad to,” she had exclaimed. That was a month ago, and they had practiced almost every night. Their mother looked on smiling while Papa hid himself behind his German-language newspaper.
So they practiced, although Mata had allowed that Otto would never be very good, but at least he wouldn’t cripple his partner by stepping all over her toes. He and Betty were going to the school prom at the end of May, and they had agreed to meet several times to practice dancing so they would be used to each other when the time came.
A uniformed maid answered the door. “Yes?” she queried.
“Hi, ‘mam, I’m Otto Kerchner, and I‘m here to see Betty.” He hadn’t expected a maid to open the door. This was really uptown.
“Please come in, sir. Miss Ross is expecting you.” The maid turned and walked away in such a way that Otto knew he was expected to follow.
Otto followed her past a large staircase, down a long hall and into a large room with floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall. The maid indicated with a gesture that he should sit on a sofa covered in a rich floral fabric. He took his seat as she glided silently out of the room.
After a minute or so, Betty came into the room. She was wearing a yellow dress Otto had never seen before. Otto stood up, and she took both his hands in hers. “Otto! Thank you so much for coming! This is going to be fun!” She let go of his hands and twirled around once. “How do you like my dress? It’s for the prom! I’m so glad we’re going together!”
Otto couldn’t speak for a few seconds. Finally he said, “It’s lovely, Betty. I’m glad we can practice before. That way we’ll dance better at the prom.”
Betty smiled. “Well, let’s get going, then, shall we?” She took him by the hand and led him to an open area. She went over to a small record player and started a record. The strains of a big band orchestra filled the room. Otto recognized the song, “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes.”
Otto put his right hand on Betty’s waist and held her right hand in his left. They stood for a moment to sense the beat and then Otto pushed lightly on Betty’s waist. They moved around the room, a bit awkwardly at first, but then more smoothly as they became accustomed to each other. Betty pulled him closer. “It’s easier when you hold me close,” she said. Otto felt faint for a moment as they continued to glide around the room. The music continued,
They said someday you'll find
All who love are blind
Oh, when your heart's on fire
You must realize
Smoke gets in your eyes.
“You’ve done this before,” Betty smiled.
“I’ve been practicing,” Otto admitted.
They practiced for about half an hour. Betty said, “Let’s take a break and have something to eat.”
“All right,” Otto said. She led him by the hand over to the sofa. A small bell was sitting on the coffee table. Betty picked it up and rang it. The maid Otto had seen earlier appeared at the door.
“Sarah, we’ll have our refreshments now.”
The maid nodded. “Yes, Miss Betty.” She left the room and came back in a few minutes with a tray laden with cookies and a carafe of coffee.
“You like coffee, don’t you?”
“I sure do,” said Otto. Sarah set the tray on the table and backed up.
“Will there be anything else?”
“No, Sarah, that’s all we need for this evening. Thank you.”
Sarah curtsied and walked smoothly out of the room.
“So, Otto, what do you plan to do after graduation?”
“Continue to work on the farm, I suppose. Mata thinks I should take some courses at the Ag school, but I don’t want that to interfere with my work at the airport.”
“Will you take me up some time?”
“I’d be glad to, Betty. I’ll have more time to do that after we graduate.”
“Sure. It’s a date, then.”
“What are you going to do, Betty?”
“Well, my father says I can work as a teller in his bank. But I have to be twice as good as anyone else since I’m the boss’s daughter.” She laughed. “There’s something I need to ask you.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“Would you mind if we drove my car to the prom? You’re planning to drive your father’s pickup, right?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Well, that’s fine, but I think my convertible would allow us to make a grander entrance. My father said you could drive it.”
“Gee, that’d be swell, Betty, but I wouldn’t want to take a chance of wrecking your car. It’s OK if you drive.”
“If you’d like.”
“I would like.”
They finished their snack and practiced dancing some more. About eleven, Otto said, “I’m going to have to be going, Betty. I have to be at the airport early on Saturdays.”
“Certainly. Thank you for a nice evening. You’re a good dancer.”
“So are you. Thank you for having me over.”
She walked him to the door. He stuck out his hand. “Well, good night, Betty.”
She looked startled for a moment, then took his hand and shook it. “Good night, Otto.”
***
They practiced their dancing a couple more times before the prom, and then the big night arrived. Otto dressed up in his Sunday suit. Mata was practically dancing with delight, waving her Brownie camera around. Otto posed for pictures in the living room. Maria looked at him with tears in her eyes. “You are so handsome, Otto.”
Hans held his paper in front of his face. He had told Otto that he regarded dances as frivolities that he would have no part of.