rough draft of my book, "Have Goggles, Will Travel"

[AAC Cadet Leader]

The Kari-Keen Man ~
After lunch we headed back to get my bags out of the Luscombe Silvaire from where it was tied down in the grass along the runway, and we stopped to talk to the man with the pretty little Kari-Keen parasol–type single seat monoplane, who I’d seen arguing with Doug Combs at Oshkosh a few days ago.

The Kari-Keen man was on his way west through Minnesota and North Dakota, but there was barely enough room for himself in his tiny plane, so I didn’t have to bother asking, and if it had been a two-seater, I wouldn’t have taken a ride from him even if he had offered me one.

There were four other people standing around his aeroplane when we walked up to admire it and they were talking about some of the winning planes at Oshkosh. Not realizing that I had seen his heated argument over Doug's use of slotted screws on his Luscombe Phantom restoration, the Kari-Keen man started bad-mouthing Doug with these guys. In Doug's absence, I entered the conversation and defended his choice. This greatly upset Kari-Keen.

"Why you're just a no-nothing little brat girl and what in the hell do you know about airplanes!?" Kari-Keen said to me, snidely.

[AAC Cadet Leader]

He was so mean, that mean Kari-Keen.



He wasn't in a good mood when he talked to my pilot Michael, either.

[AAC Cadet Leader]

Originally Posted by Kilian

Very nice, i like the Oshkosh pictures and the SE-5 replica. Do you know when the airshow from the poster with bold red letters was? Crawford is only 20 minutes drive from Alliance - and there is Fort Robinson State Park. I must have passed there several times but most of the time we took a parallel route via Chadron.

regards
Kilian

hi killian, i wish i'd gotten to fly fred's SE-5 replica! oh well...

i just now went back and added beneath the poster. thanks for your interst.

[AAC Cadet Leader]

The Kari-Keen Man continued...
“Not nearly what you know, mister. I’m sure of that.”

“How old are you, young lady?!” he demanded.

“I’m eighty-seven,” I said with a smile.

He looked at me with a sickened look of puzzlement.

Then I reached into my canvas bag and pulled out the antique pilot license I carry around for a conversation piece. It's a doctored-up license from 1930 with a small sepia photo of me rubber cemented on it, and held in an original leather case with the gold embossed words, ‘Pilot License’ on the outside. I opened it up and showed him.

“See?” I said, “Right here it says, ‘Date of Issue May 1, 1930, age 29.’ So if I was 29 in 1930, that makes me eighty-seven now. I’ve been flying even longer than you have, mister!”

Here, he wanted a fight, and I was funning with him. He didn’t even crack a smile. His face turned redder and more confused. Then as I launched into my five minute-long Frozen Barnstormer tale that goes with the antique pilot license, he got even angrier with me.

“That license is illegal!” he reprimanded.

“Yes, I know, but it’s just for fun,” I said with a big smile.

Then I pulled the license out of the case, and turned it over to show him the back of it. My handwritten words on the back read, ‘This license is not valid and is intended for amusement purposes only!’

Now, normally, if I see I'm bothering someone, I’ll try to make amends quickly, but this guy was mean to me and I did not like him, either. And I was having too much fun now to stop. I proceeded to pull out my authentic FAA Commercial Pilot Certificate and handed it to him. He examined it.

“See? That’s my real one!” I said. “…But that one’s illegal, too, because I’ve never signed it!” I said, laughing.

“Well? Why haven’t you!?” he said, incensed.

“I don’t know. Just haven’t gotten around to it yet, I s'pose.”

“You’re full of **** young lady!” he spat, getting up and tossing my real license back at me.

That was where we left it. I hope I never meet this man again and I’m sure he feels the same about me.

[AAC Cadet Leader]

The Cab Lady ~
The long week at Oshkosh sleeping on the ground a few of the nights and talking to around six hundred different people had me physically and mentally drained. I know it was that many people, because I just counted up all of the name and quote cards I collected there. Add the miles of walking around Oshkosh in one hundred degree plus heat, I was dead tired. And this last episode with the Kari-Keen man didn’t help my mental state any.

After waving goodbye to Michael La France as he left the ground and started his climb out, passing the little Portage County Airport office, I found the restroom in the building and changed out of my vintage barnstorming clothes and into my plain shorts and plain t-shirt to take a break from having to explain the antique togs and what I was doing. I needed the break badly.

For most of an hour, I used the pay phone outside the old office building and dialed up the few Minnesota numbers I had on my master list and came up with answering machines and pilots with modern airplanes only. None of the people I spoke with were able to come up with other names or phone numbers of vintage aeroplane people from western Wisconsin or anywhere in Minnesota. It was time for a break.

I decided to take it easy for a little while to try to regain some of my sanity and physical energy. I would splurge on a motel room with a soft bed, a hot bath, a color TV set and the use of a washer and dryer. Though I usually don’t like hotels and motels because of the isolation I feel when I stay in them, isolation was exactly what I needed at this time.

The nice lady running the Portage County Airport FBO, doubled her duties from the same counter and desk, dispatching the two or three cabs over the radio for the Portage Cab Company. I asked her if there was a driver available who could take me to the finest cheap motel in town and she told me she’d be happy to take me herself in a few minutes as she was about to head out to pick someone else up on the other side of town. I loaded my bags and myself into the cab outside and breathed a sigh of relief as she drove me away from the airfield. I was so exhausted.

“So, where are you from?” she asked.

“Cleveland,” I answered.

I hoped the brevity of my answer might stop her from asking more. I really didn’t want to explain as it’s what I’d been doing a hundred times a day for the last six days at Oshkosh and a mere twenty times a day for the last two months before that.

“So, what brings you to Portage?” she asked with genuine curiosity.

I thought for a few seconds before answering.

“Oh, just sort of traveling around,” I said, making the understatement of the year.

I felt I was being unfriendly not explaining more, but I really, really needed some quiet respite. Shortly thereafter, the Cab Lady stopped at a doctor’s office to pick up an elderly woman with a cane. For the balance of the ride to my motel, the woman told the Cab Lady and me all about her ailments and her long list of prescriptions. I thought to myself how oddly refreshing it was to listen to someone talk about their medical problems for a change.

The motel was nice. It was simple and typical. It was a rectangular room with two queen size beds for just me, a big dresser with a bible in the drawer, a telephone, a TV set on a lazy susan and a remote channel changer on top and a plastic ice bucket with a plastic bag in it. And: a bathroom. A real bathroom with a bathtub and shower, just for me - how very nice! That, alone, after a week sharing porta-potties with the masses at Oshkosh was worth at $37 per night.

I did my laundry, watched a little TV, took a hot bath, then died happy, clean and relaxed on one of the soft beds. Sixteen hours later, the telephone woke me.

“Hello, this is the front desk. Are you Martha Esch?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Miss, do you realize your check out time was an hour ago?” the clerk informed me.

“You’re kidding - no,” I answered, “What time is it?”

“One PM,” the desk clerk said.

“Holy cow! You’re kidding! I’ve never slept this long before in my life! I’m sorry, I think I’ll stay one more night,” I told her.

“You can’t,” she said, “We’ve got a convention coming in and we’re all booked up. We need you out of your room soon, so we can get it ready for our next guests.”

“Oh, darn, okay. Are you sure you don't have any other rooms available for me?” I pleaded.

"Nope. We're full-up. Sorry."

Still half-asleep, I dreamed another minute or two of having just one more luxurious day of cushy slumber, but then forced myself up trying to convince myself that I’d best be getting back to the roughin’-it lifestyle of a Barnstormer. The ‘no room at the inn’ message was a signal to me that this was meant to be, and is one of the many lessons in all of this. So, ‘go with the flow,’ I told myself. After all, if I’m going to earn my ranks as a Barnstormer I’ve got to live like one!

I packed my bags, called Portage Cab. The friendly Cab Lady answered and said she’d be at the motel to pick me up in ten minutes. It was a hot and beautiful day outside. When she picked me up, she asked me if I wanted to go back to the airfield.

(continued...)

[AAC Cadet Leader]

The Cab Lady continued

“Not just yet,” I said, “Are there any swimming lakes or swimming pools in this town?”

“We’ve got both,” she said proudly, “There’s a little park with a swimming area and beach about a mile from here. And there’s a municipal pool about five miles that way,” she said, pointing to the left out her window.

“Ooo, a beach! I’ll take the beach!”

She dropped me off and helped me carry my bags down the hill to the sandy beach that had about a dozen or so people, mostly teenagers enjoying the water and sunny afternoon.



“Would you like me to pick you up later to go back to the airport?” she asked me in a concerned and caring way, placing my bags she'd carried gently on the sand.

“Well, thanks, but no, I don’t think I’ll be ready to go back to the airfield just yet. Think I’ll just roll out my sleeping bag here on the beach tonight after dark after everyone leaves. I’ll call you to come get me in the morning.”

“Oh, honey, are you sure?” she said with worried concern.

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll be fine,” I said, “don’t worry a thing about me. I've slept on beaches before at night. This is Portage, Wisconsin, remember?”

“Well, yes it is. Okie dokie, dear. But I’ll stop by at six on my way home - just in case you change your mind, alright?”

“Alright, thanks,” I said.

continued...

[AAC Cadet Leader]

continuing...The Cab Lady, the Ex-Con...

She walked back up the hill and left.

I went up to the restrooms and put my suit on, then went back down and took a nice dip in the lake. The fresh water felt so good in the relentless heat wave. When I got out, the lifeguard lent me his deflated raft to put down on the beach and lie on as I didn’t have a beach towel. I did have a small towel in my bags, but didn't want to get it all sandy.

I got my journals out, lay down and started writing a couple of pages, then fell asleep. Even after sleeping sixteen hours straight in the motel room, I was still tired enough to fall asleep again.

Awhile later, I heard someone over top of me, whispering my name.

“Martha”

I opened one eye and saw the Cab Lady standing above me.

“Hi, is it six o’clock already?” I asked her.

“No, dear, it’s only four-thirty. I just came down here to warn you that after I dropped you and your bags off earlier and walked back to the cab, a nasty-looking man at the top of the hill began asking me who you were and where you were from and if you were traveling alone... I told him I didn’t know anything about you.”

“Yikes! You mean that creepy-looking guy up near the restrooms?” I asked.

“Yes!" she continued, “And then I called the police when I got back to the office. They said they couldn’t do anything about him because all he did was ask me questions about you. He’s still up there on the hill by the parking lot – and I think he’s an ex-con!”

“Still up there, huh?” I said.

“Yes he is. I think you shouldn’t stay here tonight. You know, if you don’t have a place to stay, you could stay in our back office at the airport. We have a couch in the back room there. It’s nothin’ fancy, but the pilots that fly in sometimes stay there. You could stay there tonight if you wanted… My husband and I own the Cab Company and manage the airport office, too, so it would be okay and you’ll be safe there.”

“Really? Fantastic! That’d be great! I’d like that very much and I appreciate your kind offer,” I answered.

Angels looking out for me again, I thought to myself. The best part about this is that this woman doesn’t even know anything about me, really. And her airport couch is the perfect place for me to sleep. She doesn’t even know about my barnstorming thing or even that I’m a pilot – ha! Couldn’t be better!

This is more proof that there are so many genuinely good people out there who really have generous hearts when it comes to helping out a total stranger. So, go with the flow, Martha, and realize when you've got it good. Don’t worry, because when things go wrong or get really difficult, a change will come to make it better. Things always work out they way they are supposed to. This is another lesson I am learning.

continued…

[AAC Cadet Leader]

continuing The Cab Lady...

So, the sweet Cab Lady took me back to Portage Airport and Cab Company, and there I resumed my calls on the payphone outside. I dialed up all the numbers I'd tried the day the before to which I had come up with answering machines. Again, I had no luck for one reason or another. Another lesson learned: When it isn't happening in the direction you want, try another direction.

I got out my Rand McNally and studied the page that shows the whole country on it and reviewed my meandering inked line in and out of nineteen states so far… That next logical direction at this time would be… Illinois. I hadn’t been there yet.

My master list of contacts had Captain Chuck Downing and one or two other names listed for Illinois. Before I began the journey, Captain Downing had written me a nice invitation to fly with him in his Meyers OTW. He was another of good ol’ Lee Spencer’s subscribers. I made the call to Captain Downing and as easy as pie, he said he’d come get me tomorrow at ten in the morning. Done deal.

Phone call finished, ride scheduled, I could relax again. I went inside and sat in the main lobby area on the big, long vinyl couch that looked like it came out of a restaurant somewhere. I settled into it, cross-legged and continued my journal entries where I had left off writing at the beach. There was an oscillating fan on a stand in the middle of the room to keep the hot air moving around. I was still in my shorts and t-shirt and every now and then I had to lift up my thighs and wipe the sweat off the backs of them with a paper towel as they kept sticking to the vinyl couch.

There were three or four pilots, a line boy and one or two other people in the lobby area as it seemed to be the central socializing place. The Cab Lady encouraged the hangar talk from behind her counter, while every now and then talking on her radio handset to her two cab drivers.

Throughout all the social activity, I was quiet, keeping completely to myself, absorbed in writing in my journal, yet enjoying listening to the hangar talk all around me.

My sentences were flowing out of my pen, onto my journal pages at a fast pace and I had the greatest train of thought going when just then…

continued...

[AAC Cadet Leader]

... and the Incessant Talker

A man entered the building and exclaimed, “YOU!”

I looked up from my notebook and saw he had stopped in the doorway and was pointing at me like a hunting dog.

“What?” I said quietly.

“You! You’re the girl that’s hitchhiking around the country in old planes, aren’t you! I saw you on the news at Oshkosh. I’m right, aren’t I?” he said as if he had just solved the answer on the old TV game show, ‘What’s My Secret?’

“Uh, yeah,” I said.

Oddly, I felt like I had just been caught robbing a bank. He had recognized me out of my barnstorming clothes and none of the others there knew, including my good friend, the Cab Lady.

“Why aren’t you wearing your clothes?!” he announced loudly.

“I beg your pardon, sir, I’m fully dressed!” I answered.

The others in the room were all laughing and wondering what in the world this guy was talking about.

“You know what I mean,” he said.

Then he looked at the others, still laughing, but with looks of puzzlement. Then he extolled my complete account of what I was doing, where I had been, where I was trying to get a ride to next, some of the pilots with whom I had flown, what unusual planes I’d flown in so far, my pilot ratings, where I went to college…even that I grew up next to Cleveland Hopkins Airport. It felt very strange to hear someone whom I’d never seen before in my life, telling these people more about me than some of my friends know. While I was very flattered by his apparent interest and enthusiasm for what I was doing, at the same time, his exposing me blew the lid off my anonymity and just put an end to my quiet writing time.

Then, without any encouragement from me, I turned into a sounding post for him. As I sat there with my notebook open on my lap, and my pen in my hand, trying to look obvious that I wanted to continue with my writing, he ignored my non-verbal cues and spent the next forty-five minutes standing directly in front of me, telling me about every great aviator he ever knew and their respective war stories. And that,

“You MUST meet So ‘n So, an old pilot, before you leave here – he lives just a few miles from here… He deserves a chapter in your book!”

This man barely took a breath between sentences. You know the type – they talk continuously and leave oral commas, never bringing down the ends of their sentences. This way it makes it very hard for anyone to enter the conversation as it seems like it would be interrupting their monologue. After a while I just tuned out what he was saying and watched his mouth move, talking at me, telling me all the important and enlightening aviation information I was ever going to hear, so I had better pay attention.

I tried to figure out when he inhaled during all of this, and stopped giving my little occasional courtesy nods while he talked because I had a feeling they might be encouraging him further. Inside my head as he went on and on and on, I cried, “Mister, will you just please shut up…PLEEEEEZ! SHUT UP!!!!!!”

Then he suddenly stopped jabbering and asked me a question, which woke me up from my dream of screaming at him.

Hesitantly, I asked, “Uh, what did you ask me?”

“Did you meet So ‘n So at Oshkosh?”

“I don’t know, the name doesn’t ring a bell,” I said.

“Oh, well. Then, you missed the whole program!” he proclaimed.

“Yeah, darn it.”

~

[AAC Cadet Leader]

Mom's Log
Day 73
Monday, August 8
Wisconsin to Illinois
At Portage Airport (1-608-742-****), Martha was waiting for Chuck Downey from Chicago (Downer’s Grove). See letters 6-25-88—to pick her up. He called and said there was a line of thunderstorms approaching and would not arrive until 4 p.m. Two TV stations (ABC channel 27 and NBC from Madison, Wisconsin) were arriving in fifty minutes to interview Martha and Downey.

Martha regretfully informed them when they arrived that the gentleman flying in from south of Chicago in his very rare Meyers OTW to take her to the next place, wouldn’t be arriving for approximately five hours. The news crews chose to wait it out anyway. In the meantime, they took Martha to a nearby restaurant in Portage, and bought her lunch. When Chuck Downey arrived the film crews taped his landing (a good one), Martha meeting him, and they taped their take off and departure, too.

Duane Cole (60 yrs old), from Texas, an aerobatic instructor and famous air show pilot stopped at Portage airport for gas on his way back from Oshkosh where he performed. Martha is a big fan of his and she talked with him and got his autograph on her silk scarf. He also took the Air Adventurers pledge and she gave him a membership card.




Martha stayed at Downey’s overnight in their estate home on an airfield, in Downer’s Grove, Illinois. Charlie Downey, Jr., Chuck Downey’s son, is taking Martha to West Lafayette, Indiana on Tuesday afternoon in the 1941 Meyers OTW. OTW stands for Out To Win.

Day 74
Tuesday, August 9
Illinois to Indiana
Bill Thornberry will send Martha’s newspaper she left at his house. Charlie Downey, Jr. and Martha landed at Aretz Airport in Lafayette, Indiana.

Bill Thornberry in his 1948 Navion flew Martha to Westfield, Indiana and landed at Wilderness Field, which he owns. Age 57—very interesting person-also owns a magnetic and plastic sign shop. He is prominent in the Aero Club of Indiana and he introduced her to the group of around 250 members at their monthly meeting—formal banquet. Her talk went well and she recognized a number of people there that she had met at Oshkosh!

Thornberry’s introduction began, “I have the distinct pleasure of being her 81st pilot in her 21st state.” Martha stayed in the Thornberry’s guestroom this night. The meeting was at the Sheraton in Indianapolis.

Day 75
Wednesday, August 10
Indiana
Visited downtown Indianapolis and Fred Jungclaus’ Art Studio and then to Martinsville where Fred had a party for her with a few friends in the evening.

Day 76
Thursday, August 11
Indiana to Illinois

Jake Atterberry in his Stinson 108 Station Wagon took Martha to Beardstown, Ill. TV 8 CBS videotaped the take off. Jake and his friend Larry with the same kind of plane flew in formation and buzzed the airfield after take-off, for the cameras. Martha stayed at Mark Vincent’s home In Rushville, Illinois. He is the Sheriff of the town, 28 years old, and is the oldest son of her friend, Johnny Vincent, the Skywriter for Rosie O’Grady’s in Orlando. Mark Vincent will send us Martha’s box she is packaging with her souvenirs from Oshkosh, extra papers and clothes which add about ten pounds to her luggage from Rte. 2 Box 99A Rushville, IL. 62681.

They landed at Beardstown Airport an abandoned airfield where Johnny was the manager. Mark has a big beautiful brick house in Rushville, built in 1914 that he is restoring that was the Schuyler Hotel at one time. He also lives in it. [In the front parlor room, Mark has about a dozen Victrola, wind-up record players, on which he plays old records from the 1920’s.]