I'll never forget my first airplane ride. It was right after the war, probably the summer of 1946 or 1947. Someone had built a small airstrip alongside the Kentucky River and there were several small airplanes out there. So one Sunday afternoon, my father and I rode out there in the Hudson.

We had to cross a one-lane wooden bridge to get to the air strip. Before we were all the way across, I could see two small yellow airplanes sitting there in the grass. My father stopped to talk to a man who turned out to be a pilot, and I ran over for a closer look.

Before I knew what was happening, I was sitting in the front seat of a J3 Piper Cub, and the pilot was showing me how to secure the seat belt. Then he climbed in the back. A J3 Cub is a single engine, two place tandem, which means that the pilot sits behind the passenger. Another man appeared and closed the door. It was one of those lift-up doors that is hinged at the bottom. After the door was fastened, he walked around to the front and I heard the pilot say "contact." The man in front pulled the propeller down and stepped back. The engine started and the plane began to shake.

As we taxied down to the end of the strip, I saw may father standing by the car, grinning. In a few minutes he waved as we came buzzing by. I think we were off the ground at that point. Anyway we climbed to about 2000 feet and flew over the city of Hazard. I could see my house, my father's store, the bolder at the edge of the river where I liked to fish, and the high school football field. Everything down there looked like toys.

Every now and then the plane lurched like a car hitting a pothole. I turned and looked at the pilot who yelled, "Air pockets! Nothing to worry about!"

We did a few slow S turns over the town and returned to the air strip. I could see the Hudson on the ground and soon picked out my father standing nearby. As we neared the ground, we seemed to be going faster, but the air speed indicator showed that we had actually slowed. Then there was a slight bump and we quickly rolled to a stop.

After I got out I saw my father hand the pilot two dollars. It turns out that he was slipping away from the store every afternoon for a thirty minute flying lesson. So he knew it was something I would enjoy.

And even today, I never pass up a chance to go flying. I like the small planes best.
Howard