The Man Called Brown Condor (10 page)

“It's a good day for flying.”

John stood when he heard the familiar voice.

“The air is smooth, but remember what I told you, John. Your first lesson won't be. You're the first colored person ever accepted here and some of the guys don't like it. I won't be your instructor. We're given a list of students and you weren't on mine. I expect whoever draws you will try to shake you up, wring you out. Most think you'll quit after that. Don't. Just hang in there. If you get sick, get sick. Plenty have before you. But if you really want to fly, take whatever they dish out and you'll get through.”

“I won't let you down, Mr. Henderson.”

Bill nodded and continued toward the line shack to pick up his second student of the day.

John knew his passing the written exam had come as a surprise to the school's staff. He could tell by the grudging way he was informed he had passed. There had been no congratulations, no welcome to the school. “I don't know how, but it says here you passed the written. Pay your fees up at the front office. When you bring me the receipt, I'll give you a training schedule.”

Johnny heard a voice behind him. “You have to be Robinson. I don't see any other nigger around here.”

Robinson jumped to his feet, hurt, trying to hide anger, afraid to lose his chance to fly. He took a deep breath and turned around to face a tall, sandy-haired man he judged to be in his thirties. “Yes, sir, I'm Robinson.”

“My name is Snyder. I want you to know I didn't volunteer to teach the first black at Curtiss-Wright. Your name turned up on my list. Some guys think it's going to be a big joke, and that the joke's on me. They're wrong. I'm not a very funny guy. If business was slow, I might put up with a poor student, nurse him along. But business is good. I don't turn out fly-babies like a factory. In the war, I saw more so-called pilots killed by lack of flying ability than by the enemy. My students learn to be good pilots or I don't pass them. I don't like clowns, Robinson, and I won't be made a fool by one. If you really want to be a pilot, I'll know soon enough, but if you're out here just to make yourself a big nigger with the girls on Saturday night, you better quit now and save your money. In the meantime, you'll call me Mr. Snyder. If you have anything to say, let's hear it now.”

John shook his head from side to side and remained silent.

“What's that?”

“No, sir, Mr. Snyder.”

“That's better. Follow me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jack Snyder carried a paper sack. John followed him toward a biplane parked on the grass. After John conducted a pre-flight inspection of the plane and answered questions to Snyder's satisfaction, the instructor reached in the sack and pulled out a flying helmet and goggles. “This is yours. You'll be charged for it. Every student has his own. You'll notice it has nipple fittings on the ear cups connected to rubber tubes leading to a ‘Y' fitting. When you get in the cockpit, you'll see a rubber tube leading from the front cockpit. Hook the tube to your ‘Y' fitting. It's called a Gosport tube. Normally, each pilot has a speaking horn connected to the other pilot's helmet for communication. Notice that in this case, you do not have a speaking horn. I can speak to you, give you instructions during the flight. You cannot speak to me as I won't need your advice. If I tell you to take the controls, you do so and let me know you have them by wiggling the stick. At that time I'll tell you what I want you to do. If at any time while you have the controls I wiggle the stick, you will immediately release the controls to me. Is everything clear up to now?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Snyder.”

“It better be. I had a student freeze up on the controls once. He damn near killed us both. You've passed the ground school so I'm told. I assume you know something about what makes a plane fly and what the controls are for. You're going to take off, climb to thirty-five hundred feet, do some turns, some straight and level, climbs and descents, and some stalls in order to give you a feel for the aircraft, introduce you to all the maneuvers you studied in the book. Remember, if I wiggle the stick or you feel me on the controls, let me take over. Any questions?”

“No, sir.”

“Then crawl into the rear cockpit. A lineman will give us a prop. I assume you know the drill.”

Before getting into the front cockpit, Snyder checked to be sure John's safety harness was securely fastened. He motioned over a lineman, got in the front cockpit, and fastened his own seat belt.

The lineman called out, “Off and closed.”

Snyder spoke into the Gosport tube, “Answer him, Robinson!”

John went through the starting procedure. “Off and closed.”

The lineman called, “Brakes and contact!”

This training plane had a tail wheel and small heel brake petals on the floor beneath the rudder controls. John pushed the brake petals, cracked the throttle opened, switched on the magnetos and repeated, “Brakes and contact.”

The lineman swung the prop. The air-cooled, radial engine caught after one or two smoky burps and settled down to a throaty, syncopated rhythm, giving off the peculiar hot oil smell John had noticed in Robert Williamson's WACO.

The faraway sound of Snyder's voice coming through the speaking tube instructed John to stay lightly on the controls through the taxi and takeoff.

Snyder began to taxi the plane in a snake-like “S” course down the field. “Notice with the tail on the ground you can see nothing directly ahead because the plane's nose blocks your vision. That's why we ‘S' taxi so you can see ahead a few degrees off each side of the nose as we work our way forward. On the takeoff roll, as we gain speed, you push the stick a little forward to lift the tail. Stay off the brakes! Once the tail comes up you can see straight ahead over the nose. The same holds true for landing. Once you flare for landing, you won't be able to see a thing ahead. You'll have to use your peripheral vision to keep the plane rolling straight with rudder until it has slowed enough to taxi ‘S' turns safely.” Snyder's voice sounded funny coming through the Gosport tube as he continued to shout commands

Snyder let John try his hand at taxiing. The voice again, “Even out your ‘S' turns, Robinson! You're all over the place!” Jack Snyder took back the controls. At the far end of the field he turned the plane completely around to check the sky for landing traffic. Satisfied, Snyder turned the plane upwind. “Stay lightly on the controls during the takeoff, get the feel of them,” the Gosport voice ordered. Snyder advanced the throttle. The plane had hardly lifted into the air when John felt the stick shake. The voice from the little tube, shouting over the engine and wind noise, commanded, “You have the airplane. Climb to four hundred feet and turn to the left ninety degrees. Then climb to eight hundred feet and turn forty-five degrees to the right and climb straight ahead to thirty-five hundred feet. Don't let the nose get above the horizon and keep an eye out for other planes!”

John put his left hand on the throttle, his right on the stick, his feet on the rudder petals, and began a timid turn to the left.

“Use your rudder, damnit!” shouted the voice in his ears. “Watch the nose! You're letting it drop.” A moment later, “Now the nose is too high.”

Each comment was followed by an unmistakable firm corrective movement of the controls momentarily over-riding John's stiff, clumsy attempts to perform the maneuvers. After a period of too much up followed by too much down, John began to settle the plane into a more or less steady climb.

“Robinson,” the little voice returned. “Don't you think we could stop climbing now? We're at four thousand feet. I told you to level off at thirty-five hundred feet. Ease off that throttle and get back down to thirty-five hundred.” There was a pause, then, “Don't dive it, damnit!” It was followed by, “Now you're climbing again. Get this thing in a glide and hold it with a steady airspeed! Show me you know the difference between a glide and a dive.”

With much effort at changing altitude while watching for traffic and checking the altimeter and airspeed every few seconds, John found himself proudly flying straight and level at thirty-five hundred feet. The feeling was short-lived.

The commands came fast and often. “Turn to the right. Rudder, damnit! Use the rudder! You have to use the rudder and the stick together. Now turn left. Watch the nose! Use the stick! Get this thing back to level! Look at your airspeed, for Christ's sake! You're supposed to be at thirty-five hundred feet, so get the hell back up there!”

John was sweating and doing his own share of swearing, more at himself than at the voice that constantly assaulted his ears over the roar of the engine.

“All right, Robinson, let's try a few stalls. You studied about stalls in the book? Too little airspeed and/or too great an angle of attack and the wings stall. Remember? You now have the opportunity to study them up close.” Johnny felt the stick move back. The plane changed from level flight to a nose-high attitude. “Okay, you take it and hold it there.” The stick wiggled. John grasped it and put his feet back on the rudder pedals. “When you feel the plane buffet and the nose begin to drop, remember to move the stick forward, get the nose down, add power, and get the wings flying again. You've got the airplane.”

John felt it was the other way around. The plane began to buffet and suddenly the nose fell out from under him. At the same time, the left wing dropped and was followed by a sickening descent that left John's stomach somewhere above. His eyes wildly stared over the nose straight down at the earth.

His first reactions were all wrong. He jerked back on the stick, forgot to push in the throttle, and tried to pick up the low wing with aileron instead of rudder. He felt a great desire to wet his pants.

The voice again, “Get that nose down! Give it full throttle! Get this thing flying again! Use a little rudder. I said a little! Get off the ailerons! You put in too much rudder or aileron in a stall and you'll wind up in a spin, maybe on your back.”

John pushed the stick forward. With the earth rising rapidly toward him, it seemed an unnatural thing to do, but he did it and held the stick there. He got off the aileron and remembered to use a little opposite rudder to get the low wing level. The airspeed began to build and he was flying again but in a dive. He eased the throttle back a little.

“All right. Now ease the stick back and get us level again.”

With the ground still rushing up at him, John pulled the stick back too rapidly and too far. The G-force of the pullout pushed him down in his seat; his cheeks began to sag.

“Ease it, damnit! You jerk back on the stick like that in a high speed dive and you'll get a secondary stall or pull the wings off this thing.”

John eased the stick pressure and found himself in straight and level flight. He was much relieved—for the moment. For the first time he looked out at the beautiful sky and the green fields below. The tension in his mind and body began to fade. He was flying!

Then the voice came at him again. “Okay. Now let's try a power-on stall from a climbing turn, shall we?”

Robinson's stomach, which had only just caught up with him, tightened in a knot as he reluctantly eased the plane back to altitude. Following instructions, he found himself at full power in a steep climbing turn to the left. When the buffet began and the nose dropped, John thought he would be ready—terrified but ready—and he was. He got the stick forward, left the power at full, and managed to catch a wing drop, bringing the plane back to normal straight and level flight.
Oh! Please let's go home now
. He was worn-out.

“That was better,” the voice said. “Now let's try one to the right.”

John groaned and felt his stomach do a flip. As instructed, he pushed the throttle full forward and began a steep climbing turn to the right. This time, just as the plane began to buffet, Snyder slammed the right rudder pedal full forward. The plane whipped viciously over on its back. The nose dropped straight toward the earth, which began spinning rapidly before the wide-eyed stare of the panic-stricken Robinson.

John couldn't help but cry out, his shout torn away into the screaming wind. He felt himself pressed down into his seat. He could barely hear the amazingly calm voice from the tube. “Rudder, damnit! Left rudder! We're in a spin to the right. Neutralize the stick! Pull the throttle back! Do it now! You hear me, boy?”

The “boy” got through to him. John shouted in his mind,
I'm not a nigger, you hear me?
Anger overcame fear and John's mind began to work again. He pushed in full left rudder, relaxed back pressure on the stick, and pulled the throttle off. At first nothing happed. The plane continued its sickening rotation as it spun toward the earth. Panic clawed at him but he held opposite rudder and neutral stick. It's what the book said to do. The rotation began to slow. Another turn and the plane stopped spinning, airspeed increased, and with shaking knees and hands, John eased the plane back to level flight.

“All right,” the voice said. “There's the field over there to the left. I'll take it now. You follow me through on the controls and pay attention to the landing pattern, left downwind at eight hundred feet, turn left base down to four hundred feet, turn final for the last four hundred feet. You got that? And don't forget to look for traffic. I don't care to die in a midair collision. And keep your feet off the brakes.”

John released what had been a death grip on the stick. He was covered in sweat. His mouth was dry as cotton. He could feel the convulsions rising up from his stomach. He leaned over the edge of the cockpit and vomited in mixed agony and relief. The spittle was sucked from his lips by the slipstream rushing past. The contents of his stomach flowed back down the fuselage. Spittle spread over his chin, cheeks, and nose like rain over a windshield. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and wiggled the stick to let Snyder know he was still willing to fly. Surprisingly, Snyder let him fly down to landing pattern altitude before taking over. Robinson kept his hands and feet on the controls to get the feel of landing.