“Once the wings go on, they never come off whether they can be seen or not. It fuses to the soul through adversity, fear and adrenaline, and no one who has ever worn them with pride, integrity and guts can ever sleep through the ‘call of the wild’ that wafts through bedroom windows in the deep of the night. When a good flyer leaves the ‘job’ and retires, many are jealous, some are pleased and yet others, who may have already retired, wonder. We wonder if he knows what he is leaving behind, because we already know. We know, for example, that after a lifetime of camaraderie that few experience, it will remain as a longing for those past times. We know in the world of flying, there is a fellowship which lasts long after the flight suits are hung up in the back of the closet. We know even if he throws them away, they will be on him with every step and breath that remains in his life. We also know how the very bearing of the man speaks of what he was and in his heart still is.

Because we flew, we envy no man on earth.”

Wealth enters a person’s life not through bank statements or stock portfolios. It is through the accumulation of memories of family, friends and experiences. Sharing sunsets on Cadillac Mountain Maine, early mornings on the Grand Canyon and the rocky beaches of Alaska, with family and friends are truly priceless and irreplaceable. Today July 17, 2018 is a red letter day on my calendar. Three years ago today November “Five Zero One Two” November returned to the Tampa Bay area. Holding the reins of a light airplane 1000 feet over Clearwater Beach at sunset is also one of those experiences. There are many that have cleared a path before me, Lilienthal, the Wright brothers, Lindberg and of course my own father. They have left behind the gift of flight, to experience the rumbling of the wheels as they fall silent and the earth begins it’s leisurely retreat. They’ve enabled me to look beyond Mountains that instead of blocking my path,  slowly drift beneath me. I am deeply filled with gratitude and indebted to a gift I cannot repay. Tailwinds to all . 

 September 5th 2016 is the 115th Anniversary of 13 striking cigar workers returning to Key West Florida. All had been forcibly removed from their residence. Ominous and veiled threats revealed their lives were in great danger. One of those 13 was José Fueyo, my great grandfather. My other great-grandfather Fermin Souto said goodbye to his mother at the age of 12 and left for the “New World”. There is no evidence that he ever saw her again. Three generations later their descendants live in a completely different world. Let us not forget the hardships and endured sacrifices made so that we all could live a better life. Let’s take a moment from our busy schedules and read the account of Mr. Luis Barcia, look at their pictures and reflect how grateful we all really are. One day I will take my family to Villoria Spain and stand in the church San Nicolas where José Fueyo is pictured so many years ago. We live in a life of great comfort and are light years away from their difficult lives in rural Spain and early America.

“Now, in the moonlight, he seemed the symbol of the hard-bitten veteran. He was the true professional, challenging the greatest expanse of the atmosphere. He was helmet and goggles, fabric covered wings, Wright Whirlwind engines, leather and oil. He was cow pasture landings and loops over Sunday crowds. He was of Curtis Condors and the strumming of flying wires. There was now a special determination in the cant of his head, the fighting pose of a pilot in bad weather when instruments were new and help from the ground unavailing.

“He was distance in height and independence in a lonely sky – and he was uncertainty and sadness because too many of his comrades were lost to inexplicable fortune.

“He was wind and rain, thunder and terror, humility and pride. In this magically illuminated moment, he was all of these things, though only a trifle of his soul could be seen.”

Ernie K. Gann

“Fate is the Hunter”

Flight of nostalgia. Built in 1937 in Santa Monica California. Flying passengers in 2015.

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Impressions of a Pilot

Flight is freedom in its purest form,
To dance with the clouds which follow a storm;
To roll and glide, to wheel and spin,
To feel the joy that swells within;

To leave the earth with its troubles and fly,
And know the warmth of a clear spring sky;
Then back to earth at the end of a day,
Released from the tensions which melted away.

Should my end come while I am in flight,
Whether brightest day or darkest night;
Spare me your pity and shrug off the pain,
Secure in the knowledge that I’d do it again;

For each of us is created to die,
And within me I know,
I was born to fly.

Gary Claud Stokor

I circled with a hawk one day that soared about the fields and streams.
I heard the sounds of wings at play and I saw a view just made for dreams.
The beauty stretched for miles around with nature in her brightest gown.
When winter’s snow piles round my door and summer skies have gone away,
I’ll dream about that sun-lit day and then my heart leaps up on high to where the hawks and
eagles fly.

“My sun is set, My day is done. Darkness is stealing over me. Before I lie down to rise no more, I will speak to my people. Hear me, my friends, for it is not the time for me to tell you a lie. The Great Spirit made us, the Indians, and gave us this land we live in. He gave us the buffalo, the antelope, and the deer for food and clothing. We moved our hunting grounds from the Minnesota to the Platte and from the Mississippi to the great mountains. No one put bounds on us. We were free as the winds, and like the eagle, heard no man’s commands. Shadows are long and dark before me, I shall soon lie down to rise no more. While my spirit is with my body the smoke of my breath shall be towards the Sun, for he knows all things and knows that I am still true to him.”

Red Cloud

“Five Zero One Two November”

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On relocating to Pinellas County in 1979 I was introduced to two remarkable gentleman, Arnold Allen and Oran Barber. They shared hangar number 10 at the Clearwater Airpark. Arnold held a master’s degree in biology and was a teacher in Pinellas County. Oran was a farmer from Indiana,  relocating to Clearwater for his wife’s health. Pilots from the 40s and 50s they flew before autopilots, radar and GPS. Not warming to modern technology they spent their retirement years re-creating the aircrafts of their youth. Prototypical grandfatherly types they were soft-spoken, kind and patient. Incapable of putting on airs these unpretentious gentlemen created an atmosphere in hangar 10 that was a magnet for aviators of  the old-school . Generous in sharing their wisdom they garnered over the years and instilling it in the next generation. Working from plans and occasionally wind damaged aircraft, beautiful classic and antique aircraft were to emerge every couple of years. One of these was a Bakeng Duce N5012N in December of 1983.  After spending years working under a sign that said “good enough isn’t” Arnold’s workmanship was evident. Age and finances had precluded Arnold from flying for many years. When “One Two November” was completed, it flew over the horizon with a new owner.  Recently I discovered “One Two November” for sale. I unhesitatingly purchased it, and will be bringing it home again. I developed my passion for antique/classic aircraft from my father and gentlemen like Arnold and Oran. I will wear the scarf and goggles and have the good fortune to watching the setting sun from 1000 feet over the Gulf and recall days gone by. Endless memories that will overflow the cockpit and spill into the slipstream past tail and into eternity. Life is Good.

Jades 1st Birthday doing what she loves the most, playing in the water! She absolutely loves the pool as evident by these pictures. All dogs went for a swim. . . some remain unconvinced. Good time had by all. Thanks to my wife Kathy and daughter Kelsey.  Special thanks to David, Nancy & Michael Smith for hosting.

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