I read Bax's column again last night, again. It gives me the "flying is
just soooo cool, and I'm truly blessed to be a pilot" feeling, just like
R.B.'s J.L. Seagull does every time that I read it. It only added to my
alignment with all other fanatical pilots like us who can't imagine that
their flying desires will ever be satisfied.

Someday... hopefully many years from now, when the time is right and the
winds are calm... I will humbly ask Eddie Stinson or one of his sisters to
check me out in their pristine Gullwing Stinson Reliant. Wally Beech will
be there and when the mood is right, like a young ramp rat I'll beg him for
the privilege of washing his big Wright 420 Staggerwing for a short ride
with him.

Jimmy Franklin and Bobby Younkin will have joined up with the Charlie
Hilliard, Leo Loudenslager, Duane Cole, the Great Waldo Pepper, and others,
to put together a Best of the Master's Show. God will have given Bob
Hoover, and everyone else, permanent medical certificates and Bob will be
there teaching aerodynamics and energy management along side Bernouli and
Newton.

Howard Hughes will spend eternity comfortably doing what he loved,
unfettered by politics, unhaunted by voices, and unlimited by budgets and
finances. The Hercules will fly high and often, giving rides and amazing
the masses. The phrase "Spruce Goose" will be forgotten by all, never to be
spoken again.

I fear by the time that day comes that Dick and Burt will be there. I'll
gladly stand in line for a few minutes of their time... after all, what will
time mean? Time will mean nothing, and maybe this will be the greatest
feature of heaven. So many heros.... so many great airplanes.... and all
the time in the world for each of them. Everyday will be the Golden Age of
Aviation.

Jim