<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.0 Transitional//EN">
<HTML><HEAD>
<META http-equiv=Content-Type content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1">
<META content="MSHTML 6.00.2800.1528" name=GENERATOR>
<STYLE></STYLE>
</HEAD>
<BODY bgColor=#ffffff>
<DIV><FONT face=Arial>
<DIV><FONT color=black size=2><SPAN style="COLOR: black">I'm not big on
forwarding emails, but my father forwarded this one to me and I just have to
share it.</SPAN></FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT color=black size=2><SPAN
style="COLOR: black"></SPAN></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT color=black size=2><SPAN style="COLOR: black"> This is a story
about a vivid memory of a P-51 <BR>and its pilot by a fellow when he was 12
years old <BR>in Canada in 1967. <BR> It was noon on a Sunday
as I recall, the day a <BR>Mustang P-51 was to take to the air. They said
it <BR>had flown in during the night from some US air-<BR>port, and the pilot
had been tired.<BR> I marveled at the size of the plane
dwarfing the <BR>Pipers and Canucks tied down by her. It was much <BR>larger
than in the movies. She glistened in the sun <BR>like a bulwark of
security from days gone by.<BR> The pilot arrived by cab, paid
the driver, then <BR>stepped into the flight lounge. He was an older
<BR>man, his wavy hair was gray and tossed - looked <BR>like it might have been
combed around the turn <BR>of the century. His flight jacket was checked,
<BR>creased, and worn - it smelled old and genuine. <BR>Old Glory was
prominently sewn to its shoulders. <BR>He projected a quiet air of
proficiency and pride <BR>devoid of arrogance. He filed a quick flight
plan <BR>to Montreal (Expo-67, Air Show) then walked <BR>across the
tarmac.<BR> After taking several minutes to perform his
<BR>walk-around check the pilot returned to the flight <BR>lounge to ask if
anyone would be available to stand <BR>by with fire extinguishers while he
"flashed the <BR>old bird up . . . just to be safe." Though only 12
at <BR>the time I was allowed to stand by with an extin-<BR>guisher after brief
instruction on its use -- "If you <BR>see a fire, point, then pull this lever!"
I later <BR>became a firefighter, but that's another
story.<BR> The air around the exhaust manifolds shim-<BR>mered
like a mirror from fuel fumes as the huge <BR>prop started to rotate. One
manifold, then <BR>another, and yet another barked -- I stepped <BR>back with
the others. In moments the Packard-<BR>built Merlin engine came to life
with a thunder-<BR>ous roar, blue flames knifed from her manifolds. <BR>I
looked at the others' faces, there was no con-<BR>cern, so I lowered the
bell of my extinguisher. <BR>One of the guys signaled to walk back to the
<BR>lounge. We did.<BR> Several minutes later we could hear
the pilot <BR>doing his pre flight run-up. He'd taxied to the <BR>end of
runway 19, out of sight. All went quiet for <BR>several seconds, we raced
from the lounge to the <BR>second story deck to see if we could catch a glimpse
<BR>of the P-51 as she started down the runway. We <BR>could not. There we
stood, eyes fixed to a spot half <BR>way down 19. Then a roar ripped
across the field, <BR>much louder than before, like a furious hell spawn <BR>set
loose---something mighty this way was coming.<BR> "Listen to
that thing!" Said the controller. In <BR>seconds the Mustang burst into
our line of sight. <BR>Its tail was already off and it was moving faster
<BR>than anything I'd ever seen by that point on 19. <BR>Two thirds the
way down 19 the Mustang was <BR>airborne with her gear going up. The prop
tips <BR>were supersonic; we clasped our ears as the Mus-<BR>tang climbed
hellish fast into the circuit to be eaten <BR>up by the dog-day
haze.<BR> We stood for a few moments in stunned silence
<BR>trying to digest what we'd just seen. The radio con-<BR>troller rushed
by me to the radio. "Kingston tower <BR>calling Mustang?" He looked back
to us as he <BR>waited for an acknowledgment. The radio crackled, <BR>"Go
ahead Kingston." "Roger Mustang. Kingston <BR>tower would like to advise
the circuit is clear for a <BR>low level pass." I stood in shock because the
control-<BR>ler had, more or less, just asked the pilot to return <BR>for an
impromptu air show!<BR> The controller looked at us.
"What?" He asked. <BR>"I can't let that guy go without asking . . I
couldn't <BR>forgive myself!" The radio crackled once again, <BR>"Kingston, do I
have permission for a low level pass, <BR>east to west, across the field?"
"Roger Mustang, the <BR>circuit is clear for an east to west pass." "Roger,
<BR>Kingston, I'm coming out of 3000 feet, stand by." <BR>We rushed back onto
the second-story deck, eyes <BR>fixed toward the eastern
haze.<BR> The sound was subtle at first, a high-pitched
<BR>whine, a muffled screech, a distant scream. <BR>Moments later the P-51
burst through the haze, her <BR>airframe straining against positive Gs and
gravity, <BR>wing tips spilling contrails of condensed air, prop-<BR>tips again
supersonic as the burnished bird blasted <BR>across the eastern margin of the
field shredding <BR>and tearing the air.<BR> At about 400 mph
and 150 yards from where <BR>we stood she passed with an old American pilot
<BR>saluting . . . imagine . . .
a salute. I felt like <BR>laughing, I felt like crying; she glistened, she
<BR>screamed, the building shook, my heart pounded, <BR>then the old pilot
pulled her up . . . . and rolled, <BR>and rolled, and
rolled out of sight into the broken <BR>clouds and indelibly into my
memory.<BR> I've never wanted to be an American more than
<BR>on that day. It was a time when many nations in <BR>the world looked
to America as their big brother, <BR>a steady and even-handed beacon of security
who <BR>navigated difficult political water with grace and <BR>style; not unlike
the pilot who'd just flown into my <BR>memory. He was proud, not arrogant,
humble, not <BR>a braggart, old and honest, projecting an aura of <BR>America at
its best. That America will return one <BR>day, I know it
will.<BR> Until that time, I'll just send off a story; call it
a <BR>reciprocal salute, to the old American pilot who <BR>wove a memory for a
young Canadian that's stayed <BR>a lifetime.</SPAN></FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT color=black size=2><SPAN
style="COLOR: black"></SPAN></FONT> </DIV></FONT></DIV></BODY></HTML>