You know it ... "Canada is the better America".
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
But apart from the Nation mentionned in the P-51 story - here is another
off-topic,
give-you-the-goosebumps-story:
This was told by the son of Karl Hich, Captain of the LZ127 - the most
successful
of all German Zeppelins. The Airship (yes ... ship at 236 Meters length) has
circumnavigated the world - just imagine: 101 hours from Germany to Tokyo
nontsop
- and travelled to the Arctic:
On a cruise from Europe to Southern America the ship halted at 150 Meter
altitude
above the South Atlantic and the Captain stopped the Maybach engines. The sun
was about to set.
The windows were opened and Arthur Rubinstein played Beethoven's moonlight
serenade
on the aluminum grandpiano aboard.
Who would have loved to be there ?
be well,
<Thomas, N81EU>
> ----- Original Message -----
> From: "Tom Friedland" <96victor@gmail.com>
> To: europa-list@matronics.com
> Subject: Re: Europa-List: A P-51 Fly-by Story Retold
> Date: Tue, 7 Mar 2006 08:17:10 -0800
>
>
>
> I wonder what Lea McDonald says about America today...
>
> Tom
>
>
> On 3/6/06, Steve Crimm <steve.crimm@stephenscott.com> wrote:
> >
> > steve.crimm@stephenscott.com>
> >
> > While off topic, we all can just imaging being on the tarmac and watching
> > the air show.
> >
> > Steve
> >
> >
> > > Below was sent by an Air Force friend. Don't know who
> > > this P-51 veteran pilot was in the story, but the
> > > article was written by a Canadian named Lea MacDonald
> > > who recalled witnessing a P-51 takeoff when he was a
> > > young 12 year old boy. The story is woven with
> > > language that if you just close your eyes you can
> > > imagine that you can hear the whine of that powerful
> > > Merlin engine! Enjoy.
> > >
> > > By Lea McDonald ( at www.rense.com)
> > >
> > > It was noon on a Sunday as I recall, the day a Mustang
> > > P-51 was to take to the air. They said it had flown in
> > > during the night from some US airport, the pilot had
> > > been tired. I marveled at the size of the plane
> > > dwarfing the Pipers and Canucks tied down by her, it
> > > was much larger than in the movies. She glistened in
> > > the sun like a bulwark of security from days gone by.
> > >
> > > The pilot arrived by cab paid the driver then stepped
> > > into the flight lounge. He was an older man, his wavy
> > > hair was grey and tossed . . . looked like it might
> > > have been combed, . . say, around the turn of the
> > > century. His bomber jacket was checked, creased, and
> > > worn, it smelled old and genuine. Old Glory was
> > > prominently sewn to its shoulders. He projected a
> > > quiet air of proficiency and pride devoid of
> > > arrogance. He filed a quick flight plan to Montreal
> > > (Expo-67, Air Show) then walked across the tarmac.
> > > After taking several minutes to perform his
> > > walk-around check the pilot returned to the flight
> > > lounge to ask if anyone would be available to stand by
> > > with fire extinguishers while he "flashed the old bird
> > > up . . . just to be safe." Though only 12 at the time
> > > I was allowed to stand by with an extinguisher after
> > > brief instruction on its use -- "If you see a fire
> > > point then pull this lever!" I later became a
> > > firefighter, but that's another story.
> > >
> > > The air around the exhaust manifolds shimmered like a
> > > mirror from fuel fumes as the huge prop started to
> > > rotate. One manifold, then another, and yet another
> > > barked -- I stepped back with the others. In moments
> > > the Packard-built Merlin engine came to life with a
> > > thunderous roar, blue flames knifed from her
> > > manifolds. I looked at the others' faces, there was no
> > > concern. I lowered the bell of my extinguisher. One of
> > > the guys signaled to walk back to the lounge, we did.
> > >
> > > Several minutes later we could hear the pilot doing
> > > his pre flight run-up. He'd taxied to the end of
> > > runway 19, out of sight. All went quiet for several
> > > seconds, we raced from the lounge to the second story
> > > deck to see if we could catch a glimpse of the P-51 as
> > > she started down the runway, we could not. There we
> > > stood, eyes fixed to a spot half way down 19. Then a
> > > roar ripped across the field, much louder than before,
> > > like a furious hell spawn set loose---something mighty
> > > this way was coming. "Listen to that thing!" Said the
> > > controller. In seconds the Mustang burst into our line
> > > of sight. Its tail was already off and it was moving
> > > faster than anything I'd ever seen by that point on
> > > 19. Two-thirds the way down 19 the Mustang was
> > > airborne with her gear going up. The prop tips were
> > > supersonic; we clasped our ears as the Mustang climbed
> > > hellish fast into the circuit to be eaten up by the
> > > dog-day haze.
> > >
> > > We stood for a few moments in stunned silence trying
> > > to digest what we'd just seen. The radio controller
> > > rushed by me to the radio. "Kingston radio calling
> > > Mustang?" He looked back to us as he waited for an
> > > acknowledgment. The radio crackled, "Kingston radio,
> > > go ahead." "Roger Mustang. Kingston radio would like
> > > to advise the circuit is clear for a low level pass."
> > > I stood in shock because the controller had, more or
> > > less, just asked the pilot to return for an impromptu
> > > air show! The controller looked at us. "What?" He
> > > asked. "I can't let that guy go without asking . . . I
> > > couldn't forgive myself!" The radio crackled once
> > > again "Kingston radio, do I have permission for a low
> > > level pass, east to west, across the field?" "Roger
> > > Mustang, the circuit is clear for an east to west
> > > pass." "Roger, Kingston radio, we're coming out of
> > > 3000 feet, stand by." We rushed back onto the
> > > second-story deck, eyes fixed toward the eastern haze.
> > > The sound was subtle at first, a high-pitched whine, a
> > > muffled screech, a distant scream. Moments later the
> > > P-51 burst through the haze . . . her airframe
> > > straining against positive Gs and gravity, wing tips
> > > spilling contrails of condensed air, prop-tips again
> > > supersonic as the burnished bird blasted across the
> > > eastern margin of the field shredding and tearing the
> > > air.
> > >
> > > At about 400 Mph and 150 yards from where we stood she
> > > passed with an old American pilot saluting .
> > > .imagine . . . a salute. I felt like laughing, I felt
> > > like crying, she glistened, she screamed, the building
> > > shook, my heart pounded . . . then the old pilot
> > > pulled her up . . . and rolled, and rolled, and rolled
> > > out of sight into the broken clouds and indelibly into
> > > my memory.
> > >
> > > I've never wanted to be an American more than on that
> > > day. It was a time when many nations in the world
> > > looked to America as their big brother, a steady and
> > > even-handed beacon of security who navigated difficult
> > > political water with grace and style; not unlike the
> > > pilot who'd just flown into my memory. He was proud,
> > > not arrogant, humble, not a braggart, old and honest
> > > projecting an aura of America at its best. That
> > > America will return one day, I know it will.
> > >
> > > Until that time, I'll just send off a story; call it a
> > > reciprocal salute, to the old American pilot who wove
> > > a memory for a young Canadian that's stayed a
> > > lifetime.
> > >
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