I guess we can all get in a tailspin from time to time, and getting in them
is sure easy. But when you’re in an airplane that goes to chasing it's tail, now
that’s something else. It’s worse than any bucking horse you’ll ever ride, or
any nightmare you’ll sleep through. Since childhood I’d always wanted to learn
how to fly. Little did I know I should have looked in a mirror. I wasn’t born
with wings because God didn’t want me to fly.
When I was at Rancho Escondido in Marfa, Texas, I got a chance to buy a Piper
Super Cub. I thought that this was now my chance to fly, so I began taking
lessons. A Super Cub looks like a simple thing to fly, but it will eat your
lunch in a heartbeat. You can’t make any mistakes - the Cub is unforgiving, and
that could be fatal.
I did finally solo in it one windy Texas afternoon on the short ranch strip at
Escondido. I built a hanger there for the Cub's nest. I thought I’d mastered it.
I had a new instructor. I didn’t agree with my first one. He landed at the strip
one morning. We were going to fly to Alpine, Texas - or that was the flight
plan. Escondido had a short airstrip, so you have to do everything quick.
A Super Cub is a taildragger, meaning it has no front landing gear and only two
seats - one in the front for the pilot and one in the back, with controls for
both. Something was wrong with my nerves that morning. I shouldn’t have flown,
but I did anyway. We got in the Cub and taxied out on the strip. I knew I had to
give it full throttle to get off before I reached the end of the strip. When you
do that, it will turn the airplane to the hard right, so you have to give it
hard left rudder to keep it going straight. That is when the Cub and I got in a
battle and I was losing control. I was trying to get it off the ground, but I
had more forces fighting me. The instructor was fighting hard to keep the plane
on the ground. I froze, the instructor was scared and the Cub was confused. We
did get kind of airborne for a short time, until we met up with a barb wire
fence. That turned us right around, and we flew through the fence once again.
The ending was a nosedive to the ground. Thank God, neither of us was hurt. When
the dust settled, I looked around to see if the instructor was all right. He was
kind of white. He said that it was his sixty-fifth birthday, and he wanted to go
home. Then this is what he told me, " Danny, you know what - you were screaming
at the top of your lungs back there." I told him I’d had no idea, because while
frozen I guess my mind was a blank. Then he said I was screaming loudly, " Fly,
you son of a bitch, fly." Well, needless to say, I lost an instructor that day,
and had a crippled bird as well. So I went looking for a bird doctor, and I
found one in El Paso.
His name was Doc Willy, an old retired Veterinarian who’d quit doctoring cows
and started to rebuild crippled birds. Doc was quite a guy. He didn’t always
tell you the truth, but always a helluva good story. His place looked like a
junkyard of old crippled planes. He would go all over the country with a pickup
and trailer, buying up old wrecks. In West Texas, he was known as the white
man's "Sanford and Son".
So to make a long story short, I took my crippled Cub to the Doc to rebuild it.
He did, and it was a fine job. Then we got to talking and he convinced me that I
needed another plane that was easier to fly. I’d heard this before, so it made
sense to me. The plane he suggested was a Cessna 172, and I’ll be darned, Old
Doc just happened to have one. So we made an even swap. I was getting a newer
airplane, and the deal was made. I moved to Van Horn, Texas and leased a ranch
there. I got the Cessna to Van Horn and started to take lessons once again. Doc
was right, it was much easier to fly. I was feeling good in it. I guess that’s
the main reason I got it, since I was raised in the old school. If a horse bucks
you off, you get back on and ride it again. That is good theory when it comes to
horses, but doesn’t work well with airplanes.
I took about forty hours of lessons in the plane, and I was feeling comfortable
with it. Then we started doing the stalls, and no one likes those. They will
test your nerves to no end and the airplane will scream at you. We did several
low power stalls - you cut the power back almost all the way and turn the nose
to the sky. When the stall takes place, the engine will die and you’ll fall like
a lead balloon. You give it full power and you’ll drop about a thousand feet –
then the engine should restart. We did several of these, and all went well.
Then the next maneuver was the full power stall, and that’s the real test. You
give the airplane all of the power, then turn the nose towards the sky. It will
stall out, but if all goes right it won’t go as far.
We were at about six thousand feet that day, and that’s a good safe altitude for
stalls. I gave the Cessna full power, and could feel her body tremble as I
pulled back on the yoke. The plane began to shake, and then suddenly, as it
stalled something else happened. We were in a tailspin. The power popped my neck
like a whip. We were falling fast in a downward spin and I froze. The instructor
said to me, " Danny, give it to me." And now I thank God that, a thousand feet
from the ground, he pulled us out of it. I was frozen white and couldn’t talk
for awhile, but then I came around. I asked the instructor to just let me fly
the plane for a while. Then I landed it, never to fly again. I put it up for
sale, and that was a hard sell. Finally, I found some men in Australia who
wanted to buy it. Fill the plane with a gas can and fly it over there. It was a
suicide mission at best, but at this point I didn’t really care as long as I got
my money.
But, when they tried to get it through customs, it wouldn’t pass the test. When
old Doc Willy had rebuilt it, it wasn’t all in line - it was crooked. And when
we did the stall, since it was not in line, it went into a tail spin.
So I guess there are several morals to this story----when you look in the
mirror, try to see what God wants you to be. Listen to your heart and soul and
don’t let you mind play tricks on you. If God has your soul and heart, then
in your mind you know he is with you. This was my lesson, as God told me I
wasn’t born to be a bird. As I look into the mirror of my soul, a bird isn’t
what I see.