CloudDancer
Registered User
L. Ronstadt - J. Ingram Duet
This "Chronicle" (sort of) ORIGINALLY started out as a simple reply to
Flying Miss Daisy's post on the "I'm From the F.A.A....." thread :-?
Said he'd tried to make use of my prolonged "hold" on the story to see if there was any knowledge of "the man under the sack' to be found in Texas.
What with Texas bein' so BIG , durn NEAR HALF the size of God's Country (Alaska) I though maybe Ah'd throw 'im a bone and give him a HINT in case he finds hisself in the Lone Star State agin' with nuthin' to do but try to sniff out my originals.
Ergo......this turned into today's literary efforts. Which has plumb wore me out again. So...as soon as I get done laundering the strawberry jam outta' my sheets .....I believe I will call a cab and go practice my OTHER favorite pasttime ....again ....some more..... ENJOY!!
*************************
Flying Miss Daisy -
Yes indeed. You ALL have been VERY patient and good-humored about my "dry spells" (WRITING dry spells...that is).
I don't know WHY they occur as they do, but as I warned Steve when he set up this forum, my "creativity" comes in "spurts" . The stories were written in true life long ago....the problem for me; is in finding the right "word smithing" to relate them in a way that will HOPEfully make you LAUGH ....which is the main IDEA and my motivation for the "Chronicles".
Ever so often it just seems to take me a while to find the right....
SOMETHING...whatEVER it is.
As to your "research" trip to Texas....I am curious....where you able to find any traces of the young "CloudDancer"??
I will give you a hint for next time you are in the Lone Star State.
The genesis of the "Chronicles", a "intervention of Fate", stroke of Luck, Karma.....or what have you was a chance meeting of a teen-aged "CloudDancer" with "Dan Gunderson" of Kotzebue.
This chance meeting occurred when Dan, tired of dining at the airport café at Meacham , rented a car and got on the nearest freeway determined to find a different restaurant to dine at. He was in FTW at Meacham to earn his ATP having come all the way from OTZ lured by the old Ed Boardman's ad in Flying magazine. 8)
After over a week in the airport motel and terminal coffee shop he was restless and bored. :roll: He found the nearest freeway (remember...this was 1973) and proceeded to timidly (being a little SHORT of "freeway" experience" in OTZ) enter the traffic which he found to be VERY intense and MUCH to his dislike.
He THEREfore determined that the would EXIT the madness at the FIRST sign of a decent restaurant.
It so happened that, at that very moment, young CloudDancer was sitting in a restaurant of a well-known national chain having a last cup of Joe before a fourth and FINAL visit to the army recruiter’s office where he was to sign enlistment papers in the next couple of hours.
This particular restaurant had played an EXTREMELY significant role in young CloudDancer’s life since it opened in early 1970. CloudDancer had wiled away hundreds of hour as a “customer” swilling iced tea after Civil Air Patrol meetings, search and rescue missions, and weekend bivouacs where we honed our skills. Hours spent antagonizing the poor waitresses as I and my fellow Kay-dets (including HvyJet who was usually by my side) discussed our dreams of future flying fame and glory and just talked airplanes in general.
Indeed it was in this SAME building in which a young CloudDancer bussed tables, swept floors and washed dishes for many months to earn the dollars and pennies which were poured into my first flight ratings.
Why, one Eve, when ALL the waitresses except ONE failed to show up for work, it was our young protagonist who, on his night OFF, went home; donned clean black pants and a white shirt and returned to the restaurant to don a waitress apron.
The customers and enjoyed the spectacle of our bewildered young airman-to-be giving his all for the cause. Their patience was remarkable as was their generosity. My $57.50 in tip money for a four-and-a-half hour “shift” (until the 10P.M. girls came in) bought another four hours of dual for my commercial.
But of course we’re talking about meeting “Dan Gundersen”, the SECOND most life-impacting significant event associated with that dining establishment.
The manager of this place owned a Cessna 172 and he an I would quite often spend some of his slow time in flying discussions and we were doing so this day. You see, I had decided to enlist for the V.A. benefits as I saw no other way to effectively achieve my career goals in a timely fashion. However...enlisting in the ARMY was a BIG step that I must admit I was torn about (given the time-frame in our country’s history).
Into this moment, having spotted the large sign visible from the freeway blundered “Dan Gunderson”.
As I had cup after cup of coffee and chatted about flying Cessna 172's with *****, the manager “Dan Gunderson” sat a few feet away and 90 degrees facing us at the other counter and listened intently (and noticeably) but remained completely silent as the thirty minutes passed in which he consumed his meal.
Then standing next to me only a couple of feet away as he paid his bill at the register, I could FEEL his stare as I KNEW he was taking glances at me. And after he walked out, ***** and I watched him climb into his brand new Yellow, brown, and cream Plymouth Omega (a rental) and watched him drive away. We BOTH thought the guy was a LITTLE ....WEIRD ya’ know?? I mean, he was REALLY paying attention to our conversation ya’ KNOW?? Weird..huh. Oh well. He’s gone.
While I decide to have a SEVENTH and FINAL cup of coffee (procrastinating) and talk my decision over with ***** one last time; unbeknownst to me, “Dan Gunderson” has gone down the street and, spotting a Dairy Queen sign, gives in to his ice cream craving.
And, as he sits inside the DQ methodically destroying a banana split with extra whipped cream and nuts he is mulling not only HIS future, but the future of his family’s flying service back home in Kotzebue.
He and brother “Rod” have been mulling over the idea in recent weeks of hiring a pilot as they quite often lose trips for lack of help, and had just yesterday decided over the phone that “Dan” should look for a “suitable candidate” while down south. This, despite the fact that the FIRST and only OTHER pilot they had hired just the previous week was from Texas and had just quit with no notice in a dispute over “maintenance procedures” (see “If You EVER Do THAT Again”).
“Dan” was truly at a LOSS as to how to hire someone and WHAT he was looking for.
He kept thinking back to the kid he had listened to talking in the restaurant. MAYbe he might be okay. MAYbe inexperience was a GOOD thing. We could teach him RIGHT. He didn’t really sound like he was too convinced about that Army thing. But would he want to GO to Alaska.
A hundred different thoughts raced through his mind as the three piles of soft ice cream and their toppings of chocolate, pineapple, and strawberries began to mingle and melt into a cold, sweet soup in the plastic ‘boat” serving dish.
Unable to reach a LOGICAL conclusion “Dan” decided to rely on FATE. As he slurped the last of the ice cream down he made a decision.
He would drive the two blocks back to the dining establishment where he had seen the kid. If the kid was still there....he would talk to him, and if he liked what he heard 8) he would offer him a job. If the kid was gone....well...then, HE must not have been the guy they needed.
Meanwhile (back at the ranch) CloudDancer has had all the coffee he wants at this sitting, knowing full well the last two cups were pure procrastination. Four years as an Army Warrant Officer in return for the V.A. benefits that would pay for all his ratings and college and then.... look OUT American, Delta, Braniff, TWA, Eastern, PanAm, Western and all...here will come
CLOUDDANCER!! WHO will be the LUCKY airline that GETS him!!
The nagging thought that SOMEhow he MIGHT actually have to spend the whole four years flying them damn fling-wing UH-1's or Chinooks bothered him ONLY a little. After all, the recruiting officer had rePEATedly ASSURED him that the TOP TWO PER CENT of each class was guaranteed FIXED WING assignments. And with your fixed wing experience you should be a “shoe-in”.
And of course, our Cloudy, with his VAST experience of all of 243 hours at the time, and the cockiness of youth figures his in the top 2% of all pilots anywhere ANYway 8) ....so...no PROOOOblem...right?!?!
With a sigh of resignation, our fledgling aviator slides his empty cup across the counter, arises from the stool and slides his hand into his pocket fishing for his wallet. ****, the manager, straightens up, unfolds his arms and extends his right hand saying.... “No. This cup is on me, my friend, and best of luck” as a firm handshake is exchanged.
At the swinging glass door CloudDancer stops for a moment and turns around and looks about the restaurant, empty but for a couple of other mid-afternoon coffee drinkers and two waitresses.
***** looks at him, not having moved from the spot where they shook hands. As CloudDancer’s glance comes to ***** he says.... “Boy.....I’ve had a lot of history here...See ya.” and walks out the door.
The parking lot all but empty I walk the twenty or so paces to my car door in deep reflection of my life thus far. My left hand grasps the car door handle to yank upward and release the door and at that exact moment behind me I hear a
HONK!....HONK!....HONK!HONK!HONK!HONK!HONK!HONK!
I stop and look over my right shoulder to see WHAT the hell all the honking is aBOUT!!
I am FLABBERGASTERED to the that SAME WEIRD guy from in the restaurant a while ago sitting out in traffic honking his horn...which he STOPS doing when he sees me turn around and look at him!
Wha...the HELL??
He is sitting awaiting the opportunity to make a left turn back into the parking lot where I stand now puzzled as heck and he is holding his left arm out the window, seemingly pointed at ME, palm forward like a traffic cop.
I look curiously around me and, as I knew, I am alone with my car in the parking lot. So across the some twenty-five of thirty yard distance I put the most quizzical look on my face, poke myself in the chest with my right index finger and mouth the word “ME???”
The old guy in the Omega, glancing repeatedly forward looking for a break in the oncoming cars so he can turn in now nods his head rapidly up and down and turns forward again.
Now, I KNOW Momma CloudDancer always told me NOT to talk to strangers....and so far...THIS guy CERTAINLY QUALIFIES. But, I can’t help it (sorry Ma)...I gotta’ get this guy’s story. I lean against my closed car door and fold my arms across my chest.
He pulls in three spots over and gets out and I study him walking around the back of his car toward me. A good six inches shorter than I and slightly roly-poly I look him down and up.
As my eyes rise to his face again I lean forward off my car as he sticks his hand out in greeting. His eyes dance in amusement at my look of obvious bewilderment, but his goofy grin is almost immediately infectious. “Hiya” he says quite calmly. “My name is Dan.”
“Hey Dan. My name is CloudDancer. What can I DO ya’ for?” which gets a chuckle from him.
So HE says...”So. You’re a PILOT, huh?”
And now Chronicle readers, as one of my all TIME favorite story-tellers is wont to say......
“And NOW....you know........ the REST of the story”
(credit: Paul Harvey)
And THAT dear friends.....is how I came to be.....with YOUR support
Your Humble Scribe,
CloudDancer
Flying Miss Daisy's post on the "I'm From the F.A.A....." thread :-?
Said he'd tried to make use of my prolonged "hold" on the story to see if there was any knowledge of "the man under the sack' to be found in Texas.
What with Texas bein' so BIG , durn NEAR HALF the size of God's Country (Alaska) I though maybe Ah'd throw 'im a bone and give him a HINT in case he finds hisself in the Lone Star State agin' with nuthin' to do but try to sniff out my originals.
Ergo......this turned into today's literary efforts. Which has plumb wore me out again. So...as soon as I get done laundering the strawberry jam outta' my sheets .....I believe I will call a cab and go practice my OTHER favorite pasttime ....again ....some more..... ENJOY!!
*************************
Flying Miss Daisy -
Yes indeed. You ALL have been VERY patient and good-humored about my "dry spells" (WRITING dry spells...that is).
I don't know WHY they occur as they do, but as I warned Steve when he set up this forum, my "creativity" comes in "spurts" . The stories were written in true life long ago....the problem for me; is in finding the right "word smithing" to relate them in a way that will HOPEfully make you LAUGH ....which is the main IDEA and my motivation for the "Chronicles".
Ever so often it just seems to take me a while to find the right....
SOMETHING...whatEVER it is.
As to your "research" trip to Texas....I am curious....where you able to find any traces of the young "CloudDancer"??
I will give you a hint for next time you are in the Lone Star State.
The genesis of the "Chronicles", a "intervention of Fate", stroke of Luck, Karma.....or what have you was a chance meeting of a teen-aged "CloudDancer" with "Dan Gunderson" of Kotzebue.
This chance meeting occurred when Dan, tired of dining at the airport café at Meacham , rented a car and got on the nearest freeway determined to find a different restaurant to dine at. He was in FTW at Meacham to earn his ATP having come all the way from OTZ lured by the old Ed Boardman's ad in Flying magazine. 8)
After over a week in the airport motel and terminal coffee shop he was restless and bored. :roll: He found the nearest freeway (remember...this was 1973) and proceeded to timidly (being a little SHORT of "freeway" experience" in OTZ) enter the traffic which he found to be VERY intense and MUCH to his dislike.
He THEREfore determined that the would EXIT the madness at the FIRST sign of a decent restaurant.
It so happened that, at that very moment, young CloudDancer was sitting in a restaurant of a well-known national chain having a last cup of Joe before a fourth and FINAL visit to the army recruiter’s office where he was to sign enlistment papers in the next couple of hours.
This particular restaurant had played an EXTREMELY significant role in young CloudDancer’s life since it opened in early 1970. CloudDancer had wiled away hundreds of hour as a “customer” swilling iced tea after Civil Air Patrol meetings, search and rescue missions, and weekend bivouacs where we honed our skills. Hours spent antagonizing the poor waitresses as I and my fellow Kay-dets (including HvyJet who was usually by my side) discussed our dreams of future flying fame and glory and just talked airplanes in general.
Indeed it was in this SAME building in which a young CloudDancer bussed tables, swept floors and washed dishes for many months to earn the dollars and pennies which were poured into my first flight ratings.
Why, one Eve, when ALL the waitresses except ONE failed to show up for work, it was our young protagonist who, on his night OFF, went home; donned clean black pants and a white shirt and returned to the restaurant to don a waitress apron.
The customers and enjoyed the spectacle of our bewildered young airman-to-be giving his all for the cause. Their patience was remarkable as was their generosity. My $57.50 in tip money for a four-and-a-half hour “shift” (until the 10P.M. girls came in) bought another four hours of dual for my commercial.
But of course we’re talking about meeting “Dan Gundersen”, the SECOND most life-impacting significant event associated with that dining establishment.
The manager of this place owned a Cessna 172 and he an I would quite often spend some of his slow time in flying discussions and we were doing so this day. You see, I had decided to enlist for the V.A. benefits as I saw no other way to effectively achieve my career goals in a timely fashion. However...enlisting in the ARMY was a BIG step that I must admit I was torn about (given the time-frame in our country’s history).
Into this moment, having spotted the large sign visible from the freeway blundered “Dan Gunderson”.
As I had cup after cup of coffee and chatted about flying Cessna 172's with *****, the manager “Dan Gunderson” sat a few feet away and 90 degrees facing us at the other counter and listened intently (and noticeably) but remained completely silent as the thirty minutes passed in which he consumed his meal.
Then standing next to me only a couple of feet away as he paid his bill at the register, I could FEEL his stare as I KNEW he was taking glances at me. And after he walked out, ***** and I watched him climb into his brand new Yellow, brown, and cream Plymouth Omega (a rental) and watched him drive away. We BOTH thought the guy was a LITTLE ....WEIRD ya’ know?? I mean, he was REALLY paying attention to our conversation ya’ KNOW?? Weird..huh. Oh well. He’s gone.
While I decide to have a SEVENTH and FINAL cup of coffee (procrastinating) and talk my decision over with ***** one last time; unbeknownst to me, “Dan Gunderson” has gone down the street and, spotting a Dairy Queen sign, gives in to his ice cream craving.
And, as he sits inside the DQ methodically destroying a banana split with extra whipped cream and nuts he is mulling not only HIS future, but the future of his family’s flying service back home in Kotzebue.
He and brother “Rod” have been mulling over the idea in recent weeks of hiring a pilot as they quite often lose trips for lack of help, and had just yesterday decided over the phone that “Dan” should look for a “suitable candidate” while down south. This, despite the fact that the FIRST and only OTHER pilot they had hired just the previous week was from Texas and had just quit with no notice in a dispute over “maintenance procedures” (see “If You EVER Do THAT Again”).
“Dan” was truly at a LOSS as to how to hire someone and WHAT he was looking for.
He kept thinking back to the kid he had listened to talking in the restaurant. MAYbe he might be okay. MAYbe inexperience was a GOOD thing. We could teach him RIGHT. He didn’t really sound like he was too convinced about that Army thing. But would he want to GO to Alaska.
A hundred different thoughts raced through his mind as the three piles of soft ice cream and their toppings of chocolate, pineapple, and strawberries began to mingle and melt into a cold, sweet soup in the plastic ‘boat” serving dish.
Unable to reach a LOGICAL conclusion “Dan” decided to rely on FATE. As he slurped the last of the ice cream down he made a decision.
He would drive the two blocks back to the dining establishment where he had seen the kid. If the kid was still there....he would talk to him, and if he liked what he heard 8) he would offer him a job. If the kid was gone....well...then, HE must not have been the guy they needed.
Meanwhile (back at the ranch) CloudDancer has had all the coffee he wants at this sitting, knowing full well the last two cups were pure procrastination. Four years as an Army Warrant Officer in return for the V.A. benefits that would pay for all his ratings and college and then.... look OUT American, Delta, Braniff, TWA, Eastern, PanAm, Western and all...here will come
CLOUDDANCER!! WHO will be the LUCKY airline that GETS him!!
The nagging thought that SOMEhow he MIGHT actually have to spend the whole four years flying them damn fling-wing UH-1's or Chinooks bothered him ONLY a little. After all, the recruiting officer had rePEATedly ASSURED him that the TOP TWO PER CENT of each class was guaranteed FIXED WING assignments. And with your fixed wing experience you should be a “shoe-in”.
And of course, our Cloudy, with his VAST experience of all of 243 hours at the time, and the cockiness of youth figures his in the top 2% of all pilots anywhere ANYway 8) ....so...no PROOOOblem...right?!?!
With a sigh of resignation, our fledgling aviator slides his empty cup across the counter, arises from the stool and slides his hand into his pocket fishing for his wallet. ****, the manager, straightens up, unfolds his arms and extends his right hand saying.... “No. This cup is on me, my friend, and best of luck” as a firm handshake is exchanged.
At the swinging glass door CloudDancer stops for a moment and turns around and looks about the restaurant, empty but for a couple of other mid-afternoon coffee drinkers and two waitresses.
***** looks at him, not having moved from the spot where they shook hands. As CloudDancer’s glance comes to ***** he says.... “Boy.....I’ve had a lot of history here...See ya.” and walks out the door.
The parking lot all but empty I walk the twenty or so paces to my car door in deep reflection of my life thus far. My left hand grasps the car door handle to yank upward and release the door and at that exact moment behind me I hear a
HONK!....HONK!....HONK!HONK!HONK!HONK!HONK!HONK!
I stop and look over my right shoulder to see WHAT the hell all the honking is aBOUT!!
I am FLABBERGASTERED to the that SAME WEIRD guy from in the restaurant a while ago sitting out in traffic honking his horn...which he STOPS doing when he sees me turn around and look at him!
Wha...the HELL??
He is sitting awaiting the opportunity to make a left turn back into the parking lot where I stand now puzzled as heck and he is holding his left arm out the window, seemingly pointed at ME, palm forward like a traffic cop.
I look curiously around me and, as I knew, I am alone with my car in the parking lot. So across the some twenty-five of thirty yard distance I put the most quizzical look on my face, poke myself in the chest with my right index finger and mouth the word “ME???”
The old guy in the Omega, glancing repeatedly forward looking for a break in the oncoming cars so he can turn in now nods his head rapidly up and down and turns forward again.
Now, I KNOW Momma CloudDancer always told me NOT to talk to strangers....and so far...THIS guy CERTAINLY QUALIFIES. But, I can’t help it (sorry Ma)...I gotta’ get this guy’s story. I lean against my closed car door and fold my arms across my chest.
He pulls in three spots over and gets out and I study him walking around the back of his car toward me. A good six inches shorter than I and slightly roly-poly I look him down and up.
As my eyes rise to his face again I lean forward off my car as he sticks his hand out in greeting. His eyes dance in amusement at my look of obvious bewilderment, but his goofy grin is almost immediately infectious. “Hiya” he says quite calmly. “My name is Dan.”
“Hey Dan. My name is CloudDancer. What can I DO ya’ for?” which gets a chuckle from him.
So HE says...”So. You’re a PILOT, huh?”
And now Chronicle readers, as one of my all TIME favorite story-tellers is wont to say......
“And NOW....you know........ the REST of the story”
(credit: Paul Harvey)
And THAT dear friends.....is how I came to be.....with YOUR support
Your Humble Scribe,
CloudDancer