"Has everyone checked in?"
There was a chorus of "Yes, sir."
"Good. I'm Captain Anderson, your chief instructor. This hotel is fifteen minutes from the airport. A bus will pick you up at six o'clock every morning. Get a good night's sleep. You're going to need it."
And he left.
The following morning we were picked up by an Army bus and driven to the airfield. It was much smaller than I had expected.
Captain Anderson was waiting for us. "Follow me," he said.
He walked over to a nearby building and we followed him inside. The building had been turned into a school, with rooms converted to classrooms.
When we were seated, Captain Anderson said, "You're about to embark on a six-month flying course." He paused. "But because there's a war on, we're going to do it in three months. You're going to have classes in map reading, aerodynamics, weather, navigation, cross-country flight planning, and engine theory. You're going to learn the Morse Code and how to pack your own parachutes. Each class will have a different instructor. Any questions?"
"No, sir."
Our first class was in aerodynamics. The class lasted for an hour. When it came to an end our instructor said, "I'm going to pass out your textbooks on aerodynamics. I want you to answer the questions in each Chapter from one to twenty. That's your homework. Come in with your answers tomorrow. Dismissed."
I riffled through the textbook. There were long questions after every chapter. I would probably be up late.
Our next class was navigation. An hour later, when the class was over, our instructor said, "Take your textbooks and work on pages one to one-fifty. Answer all the questions."
We looked at one another. This was getting to be a heavy load.
The third class was engine theory. It was very technical and I made voluminous notes. When we were finally ready to leave, the instructor said, "Your homework is to read the text and answer the questions from page one to page one hundred twenty."
It was all I could do not to laugh. There was no way to cope with this mountain of homework and we were not through with our classes yet. The last class was parachute packing - a complicated and tedious task to learn, especially after a long day.
We were beginning to understand what Captain Anderson had meant when he said, It's a six-month course, but you're going to do it in three months. I think every cadet was up until four or five in the morning, trying to complete the homework.
Every day the routine was the same. We would finish our classes and go out to the field to become acquainted with our planes. I would be flying Piper Cubs, propeller planes with the instructor and the pupil side by side.
All of us had come here because we wanted to learn to fly, but the homework finally became so onerous, keeping us up till three or four o'clock every morning, that we kept hoping our flights would be delayed so that we could finish the homework.
I had been assigned to Captain Anderson. He watched as I packed my parachute for my first flight and put it on. We got into the plane.
"Observe everything I do," he said.
I watched as Captain Anderson skillfully took off. "You have to remember two important things. Number one is swivel. Keep your head turning all the time, looking around to see if there are any other planes near you. The second lesson is to coordinate your speed with your altitude, so that you're never in danger of crashing."
As we rose higher and higher, I realized that the airfield was completely surrounded by mountains. When we had climbed to seventy-five hundred feet, Captain Anderson said, "Now we're going to do some spins," and the plane began to circle down in quick spins. That was when I learned I had a problem. I got airsick.
Captain Anderson looked at me in disgust. I was flushed with embarrassment.
The following day, we did stalls and cloverleafs and I was sick again.
When we landed, Captain Anderson said, "Did you have breakfast this morning?"
"Yes, sir."
"From now on you will not eat anything until lunchtime."
That meant nothing to eat from dinner the previous night until one-thirty the next afternoon.
The first time Captain Anderson had me take the controls, all feelings of airsickness left me. From then on, when I was piloting the plane, I felt wonderful, concentrating on what I was doing.
Every week I called Richard at Gracie's, and Natalie and Marty, to let them know I was all right. Everything seemed to be fine there and I assured them that I was going to be the flying ace of World War II.
One day Richard called. "I have some news for you, Sidney. I just enlisted."
For a moment my heart stopped. He was too young to - and then I realized he was no longer a little boy. I said, "Richard, I'm proud of you."
One week later, he was on his way to boot camp.
Regularly, during our training, Captain Anderson would turn off the ignition without warning.
"Your engine just died, Sheldon. Make an emergency landing."
I looked down. There was no place to land. But I could tell by his expression that that was not what he wanted to hear. I gradually lost altitude, until I could see a suitable place for a landing.
As I started to land, Captain Anderson switched on the ignition. "Good. Take it up."
On the day Captain Anderson said, "You're ready to solo, Sheldon," I was filled with excitement.
"Be sure to coordinate your altitude and speed."
I nodded, strapped on my parachute, and got into the plane, alone for the first time. The other flight groups were watching. I started taxiing down the field and moments later I was in the air. It was a fantastic feeling. A feeling of freedom. A feeling of breaking the bonds of earth and soaring into a new world. A feeling of not getting airsick.