Chapter Two - "...Someday You May Want to Write a BOOK"
So there we stood in the gate area. The last of the revenue passengers strode confidently through the doorway, disappearing into the darkness of the unlit and gently downward sloping jetway, headed for the forward entrance of the Delta Airlines Boeing 727-200 trijet.
Poppa CloudDancer stood motionless, his hands jammed into the pockets of his trousers. Half-turned away, he gazed sightlessly out the floor-to-ceiling terminal windows, feigning interest
in the beehive of activity surrounding the belly of the sleek turbojet. Baggage carts and beltloaders, catering and refueling trucks all bustled about in their carefully choreographed dance of aircraft flight preparations. I suspect he may well have been remembering his own first huge step away from home and into a big world. He must have been feeling the very same feelings
his father felt that day so long ago in 1940, when he and Gramma CloudDancer took him to the train station, a 19 year old, freshly inducted raw U.S. Army recruit, in a world marching inexorably toward war.
Shoulders almost touching…next to him Momma CD stood ramrod straight directly facing me. I found myself unable meet her steadfast gaze. But even with my head turned only slightly away, out of the corner of my eye, I could detect the oh-so-slight quivering of her lower lip as she raised her arm to reach across the small intervening space between us. Gently brushing the mop of hair off my forehead she muttered softly “You NEED a haircut. Is there even a
barbershop in this Kotzebue place you’re going?” The word “Kotzebue” came out almost dripping with resentment. An undeserved and completely unearned prejudicial
pre-dislike
for this place and some man named Dan Gunderson, who had
somehow brainwashed her only child into thinking he could become an Alaskan “bush pilot”.
Truth be known, for all of Dad’s concern, it was Mom who even more clearly understood the perils
toward which I was rushing headlong, overflowing with both the invincibility and ubiquitous ignorance
of youth. For it had only been a brief six years earlier that Momma CloudDancer had fought tooth-and-nail for a week with my father, to get him to cave in and finally sign the permission slip required by the Civil Air Patrol allowing me to take my first flying lessons right after my 13[SUP]th[/SUP] birthday. He had been deadset against it, having absolutely ZERO confidence in light aircraft at the time. This attitude was rooted in the 30+ year old memories of my mother’s own piloting experiences in World War II as a Civilian Air Patrol pilot and WASP trainee.
Coming back to Roosevelt Field in her J-3 Piper Cub after a U-boat hunting mission, a young Momma CloudDancer-to-be found a bit more crosswind than she could handle, but was out’a gas and darkness was fast approaching. She groundlooped ‘er purty bad, although both she and her swabbie (U.S.Navy seaman) observer walked away unscratched. And when word reached my Dad overseas he sent back a written ultimatum to his intended. It was (
thankfully for Yer’s Trooly) the ONLY ultimatum my dear mother ever bowed to, issued by any man in her life including
her father. He wrote “The future mother of my children will not be gadding about the sky in some flimsy kite! It’s either me or those damn airplanes.”
Yet while successful in deterring his spouse-to-be’s passion for flight, here he finds the same disease infecting the fruit of his loins now, decades later and ten times worse it seems. And apparently, there is no stopping this kid. So while Dad was seriously concerned about me…Momma CloudDancer was flat out scared for me. And me?
With 263 hours now in my logbook (counting this morning’s instrument checkride of course!) I was bursting with self-confidence in anticipation of officially launching my flying career just a few hours hence. Of the three of us, apparently I was the only one who wasn’t getting all emotionally wrapped up in what was to me simply a great exciting adventure.
At last…there were no other passengers left to board the plane. Possibly another dozen people milled about the departure lounge waiting to watch the pushback and taxi-out of the long aluminum tube now containing their cherished loved ones and friends. Turning finally to look Mom square in the eyes, I tried desperately to convey an air of nonchalance intended to disguise the bubbling cauldron of great excitement and slight UN-self-acknowledged fears that churned within. And a little too loudly I said “Well! Time for your son to go start his aviation career!”
I saw her lower lip begin to quiver even more. Oh LORD! “Please….PLEASE Dear God” I silently prayed, “DON’T let her lose it he….”. Aaahh CRAP! There she goes! The shoulders start heaving…the tear ducts spring open
….and the sobbing starts. But…I gotta’ give her credit. She gave it hell trying not to! “You better be EXTRA CAREFUL! And if you don’t like it come HOME right away. I love you SO MUCH! I mean it! Fly careful! And call us every time you land.” This was followed instantly by a stern admonition from Poppa CloudDancer. “Don’t you ever forget how you were raised and what is important. Say your prayers. Go to church. And do what your mother said. Fly CAREFUL”.
Then came the hugging and
part. Okay. I admit it. I only just barely kept my **** together during that part. But somehow I held on, keeping my inner emotions in check as I beamed radiant smiles at both my parents. Hugging each of them tighter than I could ever remember having done so before, I said the same thing quietly to both. “I love you so very much. And don’t WORRY too much. I promise I’ll be careful.”
They walked with me toward the jetway door, one on each side of me, stopping together a couple of yards short of the doorframe. I took two more steps before stopping and turning to say “I love you. I’ll call you tonight.” I spun around quickly, stepped through the doorway, and started down the thirty yard long or so carpeted gentle slope. And the very moment I passed through that doorway… an overwhelming rush of emotions finally broke through.
My plan…yes…the
PLAN I had come up with upon meeting Dan Gunderson a few weeks earlier was plain and simple. I would go to this Kotzebue, Alaska place for six months. JUST six months. I was doing this for only two reasons. Pilot-in-command flight time in my logbook and some BIG BUCKS in my bank account. That’s it. Just six months and I’ll be back!
I don’t know how it happened…but I know it did. And…even as I sit here and
…I remember what it felt like as if it was yesterday. Having taken no more than two steps past the doorjamb…I was completely overwhelmed. The cauldron within bubbled over. I somehow
knew that…plan or no plan…crossing that threshold had somehow changed my life…and my future forever. I’m truly mystified how I knew it in that very instant. But believe me…I did. And the realization of that thought so clearly…stunned me.
Jetways were still a pretty new-fangled contraption in 1973. Although carpeted…it was far from what you see at DFW today. It wasn’t even internally lit. I walked deeper into the darkness as the light entering the jetway behind me from the terminal faded. And somehow…thoughts of my plan were washed away in a sudden cascade of rushing thoughts from every corner of my brain. Crazy thoughts even. Who will FEED me? Who will wash my clothes for me? What kind of place will I live in? What if I get sick?! Who will take
CARE of me for chrissakes? All these exploded into my consciousness in just the first five or ten steps into the growing darkness as I literally “aimed for the light at the end of the tunnel”. And then came the tears. Oh my God! I was starting to
cry for chrissakes!
About two-thirds of the way down the jetway, just as the light from the ramp end was staring to pierce the inky blackness, I heard my father’s voice as he hollered “Hey SON!”
I stopped and spun on my heels. I will never…ever…forget the image that greeted my eyes for as long as I shall live. Mom an’ Pop CloudDancer stood side-by-side in the boarding door. They were standing each with an arm wrapped around the other. The light from behind them made them simply two completely black silhouettes. Not a feature was visible. Not a color. Only daylight in the doorframe, and this black silhouette. And I knew instantly that I appeared the same to them. Thank GOD they couldn’t see the tears rolling down my cheeks!
“Yeah Dad” I barely managed to croak this out past this HUGE lump in my throat that had appeared instantly out of nowhere! “What’s up?” I asked. It would be over thirty-five years before I would realize that my father’s response was in actuality a prophesy. His loud voice echoed down the jetway as he said “You ought to keep a diary. Someday you may want to write a
BOOK.” This evoked a good laugh from Yer’s Trooly. It momentarily opened the “safety valve” on the pressure cooker of my internal turmoil. I chortled loudly in return. “Yeah Dad! As if THAT will ever happen….BYE!”
I turned back to take the final few steps to the entrance of the Boeing machine and with one hand I reached up as I walked and wiped away the few teardrops remaining on both cheeks and wipe the snot that was beginning to drip from my nose. Heaven forbid anyone should see THAT! ;-)
CloudDancer
for the next four daze. Will 
out behind the woodshed. Personally...I figgered I wuz still a good two, if not three weeks short of bein' due for my every-other-month "carpet dance". 
But, as you KNOW...my "sense of humor" DOES seem to have the rare detractor.
from EVERbuddy! Chief Pilots! The COMPANY shrink...the aero-MEDICAL sawbones...the F.A.A. Approved SHRINK.... Jeeez!:help
an' see what's really going on" checks; a requirement through at least June 2015 if I wanna' keep my medical. (Ah'm actually starting to wonder if it's WORTH it?! But I felt that way LAST June too...)
rehab...but...I am in a monotonou....I am in a monogulous...uuuhhh...I started a malnumero....I have a SERIOUS GIRLFRIEND! 
(pitcher attached) And it seems that if Ah want to KEEP her...which does have several benefits at this stage in my life...SHE requires some "maintenance" on a regular basis as well!!
