What, You Want Me to Fly?: A Super Chicken Learns to Fly!

By Norma Jean Mason

The book is neither a tale of instruction nor a recommendation regarding flying. It can only be described as an amazing journey taken by an ordinary women. As she had an obvious fear of heights, the book reveals how she was tricked by her flying-loving husband into learning how to fly airplanes! Never in her wildest dreams could she imagine sitting in the left seat of a small airplane, experiencing extreme terror as the plane leaves the ground for the first time. Share the cockpit with her on a solo flight when she encountered powerful winds gusting near forty-five knots that exceeded anything she had encountered, with her instructor aboard. Today, in 2018, we can celebrate with her as she is as comfortable behind the wheel of an automobile as she is in the cockpit of an airplane.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LifeRich Publishing
• Release date: May 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9781489721228

Norma Jean Mason

Norma Jean Mason kept a record while she was learning how to fly in the 1970's. Her diary, apparently forgotten and gathering dust somewhere, recently surfaced. Her children reminded her she had accomplished something special when she was a young wife and mother (earning a pilot's license) and encouraged her to bring it to life as they thought it had historic as well as nostalgic value.

Book preview

What,

You Want Me

to Fly?

A Super Chicken Learns to Fly!

Norma Jean Mason

Copyright © 2019 Norma Jean Mason.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

LifeRich Publishing is a registered trademark of The Reader’s Digest Association, Inc.

LifeRich Publishing

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4897-2124-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4897-2123-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4897-2122-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019902851

LifeRich Publishing rev. date: 5/14/2019

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PREFACE

Thanks, Corby, for sticking with me every step of the way, and devoting so much of your time to make sure this book got published. I know your Dad would have been proud of you for helping me finish this book!"

Thanks to my granddaughter Erika Proctor (erikaproctorphotography.com) for working with her Dad Corby, and creating a wonderful book cover, and picture of the author!

FORWARD

Concerning ordinary automobile accidents, (unless truly catastrophic) little press is ever reported. However, on the other hand, any incident and/or accident involving aircraft; no matter how small or insignificant, seems to have earned a permanent place on prime-time news!

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my late husband, Melvin Jacob Mason; aka Mel. One of his goals was the wild blue yonder as he had lofty aspirations of becoming a licensed pilot. Unfortunately, he focused all his attention on the lone obstacle to reaching his goal; me. At that time, Mel was of the preposterous mindset that I would eventually become interested in flying. This concept was beyond ridiculous as he was aware I had a morbid fear of heights and avoided flying unless absolutely necessary.

To avoid revealing the ups and downs encountered, let it be said that basically this journal is a love story. Not love of a man for a woman, but a man’s love of flying. Without this insatiable love of flying on the part of my husband, which you will witness as it unfolds, no sacrifices would have taken place. Therefore, the desired outcome would not have become a reality. It is a story of hard work and determination, heroism and cowardice, pressures and encouragement, triumphs and failures; and most of all, confidence and faith. Yes! Faith of a loved one for a loved one, and faith in one’s self.

Learning to fly was both a struggle and an enormous pleasure. I hope you enjoy reading about the trials and tribulations of a ¹Super Chicken on her way to becoming a licensed private pilot, as much as I enjoyed doing it! Happy flying!

Norma Jean Mason

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Animated illustration contributed by graphic artist, Mary Campbell Gartner

CONTENTS

Chapter 1   Morbid Fear of Heights

Chapter 2   Enrolling In Ground School

Chapter 3   What, You Want Me To Fly?

Chapter 4   Antics At The Airport

Chapter 5   Meet Some Of The Local Pilots

Chapter 6   Up In The Air!

Chapter 7   Trip To The Control Tower

Chapter 8   Deadly Pilot Errors!

Chapter 9   Hangar Flying

Chapter 10   FAA Private Pilot Exam

Chapter 11   First Solo Flight

Chapter 12   All In A Day’s Work

Chapter 13   Fatal Plane Crash!

Chapter 14   Dual Cross-Country Instruction

Chapter 15   Solo Cross-Country Trips

Chapter 16   Solo Cross-Country Controlled Fields

Chapter 17   Flight Review

Chapter 18   Check Ride

Epilogue

Part 1   After The License

Part 2   Tribute To John Hudolin

Part 3   Remembering Rosie The Riveter

Part 4   From Then To Now!

CHAPTER ONE

Morbid Fear of Heights

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Afraid to ride the cable car, I decided to run to the next attraction. Having been talked aboard for the return; it appeared to be a huge mistake judging from the grimace on my face!

The article in the morning paper caught my eye. A man in Italy cancelled his attempt to swim the 68 miles from Mariotti to Portovenere, Italy because his wife burned his wet suit and flippers, saying she didn’t want to be a widow! There except for the grace of God, go I, I thought as I sipped my second cup of coffee. I was enjoying the solitude of my kitchen following the hectic departure of five males for work or school at annoying intervals.

My story was the same, only the sport was different. Instead of swimming, it was flying. Ever since close friends of ours were killed in a fiery plane crash last year, I had become more terrified than ever of flying.

We live in Sterling Heights, a large suburb northeast of Detroit, Michigan, in Macomb County. Our late friends lived across the runway from us up north where we all owned cottages or cabins on the Home Acres Sky Ranch. The sky ranch is a small airport and residential compound sub-divided by taxi-ways and private lots about 200 miles from our home, in Lake City, Michigan. My long-desire was to someday have a vacation home on the water, but because my husband’s interest was in flying, I decided to go along with him at the time and buy property at the sky ranch. Not only because it was beautiful; but it was ideally situated a few miles from a large inland lake, Lake Missaukee. At the time, to own property at the sky ranch the owner’s only request was the buyer hold at least a student pilot rating. It seemed everyone and his brother expressed interest in buying property there.

Our friend, John Lemon, the ill-fated pilot referred to earlier, had been a safe pilot over 35 years. Fog, they say, blanketed the area that night as they were returning to the Detroit area, and apparently contributed to the crash.

Johnny, as he was called by his friends and family was licensed to fly by visual flight rules only (VFR); he was not instrument-rated (IFR). An article appeared in a local newspaper described the accident. It was hard to read. Johnny was Mel’s co-worker and fellow pipefitter. He also was the one that told us all about available property at the sky ranch. Lots were inexpensive, and it was home to many flying-oriented activities.

Until we bought our own property across the runway from the Lemon family, it didn’t take long to fall in love with the place. In retrospect, I personally never saw the sky ranch as an airport per se, but as an ideal refuge from hectic city life; never entertaining the thought that the sky ranch would be a future threat to my safe cookie-cutter lifestyle.

The airport bordered the Huron National Forest on one side, and the rural countryside on the other. If you followed its many cow pastures, barns, and hayfields on the road, it would soon take you right into the warm and friendly small town of Lake City, population circa 800. Also, in its favor, Lake City was blessed by being on the water’s edge of Lake Missaukee.

Before this horrible turn of events, Mel and I and the kids took several trips up north as guests of the Lemon family, often staying with them at their quaint living quarters, a one-story cottage which faced the main runway. Personally, to be honest, I was literally blind-sided by the wide-open spaces, fresh air, and the beauty of the countryside that Home Acres Sky Ranch had to offer.

IN SUMMING UP, the Lemon’s (Johnny and Marie) and the Whites (Jack and Jean) were returning from a relaxing weekend up north having left on a Friday and returning home Sunday night.

Unfortunately, visibility was almost zero around the time of the crash, (10:00 p.m.) resulting in Mr. Lemon hitting a tree and crashing to the ground.

It appears they were coming in for a landing when the plane clipped a large tree and crashed to the ground. So close yet so far. They were only ½ mile northeast of the runway. As Johnny was not instrument-rated he was making a non-precision approach. Authorities said there was no evidence of communication between the plane and the airport. At the time visibility at the airport was only one quarter mile, and planes took off and landed using instruments. What a tragedy!

Basically, Home Acres Sky Ranch was first and foremost an airport. The oversized 65’ foot wide taxiways of lush green sod, in front of the sub-divided lots for sale and the many already established home sites were indeed there for one reason, to accommodate aircraft personnel. Running parallel to each taxi-way there was a rear access road to get to and from your residence, should you drive up instead of fly to the sky ranch.

It was a genius idea for like kind to enjoy and be able to hone their craft without complaints from the non-flying public. The home owners here eventually formed an association called The Home Acres Sky Ranch Association. Matching blue and white windbreaker jackets were provided with the logo The Airport Gang with names on the jackets for one and all who wanted one.

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L to R: Ladies at the Fly-In Breakfast. That’s me in between 2 pilots from Macomb Airport. Jim and Mary Cook enjoying the sights. The sky ranch in the distance. Fly-In attendees in front of big hangar. Home Acres modest office sign. The Airport Gang’s logo.

The Home Acres Sky Ranch Association took care of all business related to flying. Whether it was regarding flight safety, fly-in breakfasts, pig roasts, or deciding on arrangements to fly to the annual EAA (Experimental Aircraft Association) Convention in Oshkosh, Wisc., the association kept pilots and their families informed and entertained.

The Fixed Base Operation (FBO) on the property was operated by the owners of the sky ranch, George and Lois Haveman, who had a large white two-story home on one corner of the airport. The compound also had an enormous hangar, gas pumps, and office on the premises. Flying lessons in fixed wing, and glider know-how were also offered. Occasionally a charter flight could be arranged. Under these circumstances, with the death of our friends still fresh in my mind, you can understand my horror and disbelief when Mel announced he was going to continue flying until he earned his private pilot’s license.

He already had student pilot status, with a few hours logged under his belt. I was so prejudiced, he may as well have said he was climbing to the top of the Empire State Building for the sole purpose of jumping off! I equated flying with signing one’s death warrant! Please don’t make me a widow with these four boys to raise, I pleaded. He only laughed. When my tears didn’t work, I flew into a blinding rage. I am ashamed to say, I grabbed a butcher knife from the kitchen, and began chasing him. He ran out the door, jumped into his van, ending my hot pursuit; and drove straight to the airport. Being 6’3" tall, and weighing over 200 pounds, he certainly wasn’t afraid of me; but he wasn’t taking any chances! I eventually cooled down.

But I continued to sabotage his efforts. I did everything in my power to disrupt his progress. I left scathing messages of condemnation on the refrigerator door, in his tool box, on the steering wheel of his van. I even penned threating words on the toilet tissue in the bathroom! (In looking back, I can’t believe I was so juvenile). The messages offered him various ultimatums; such as, If you don’t quit flying, I’ll divorce you! Other times, I was more subtle, managing to successfully poison the younger children’sminds about the evils of flying! They became thoroughly indoctrinated and began to believe something terrible would happen to Daddy if he continued to fly. Naturally then, while Daddy was dressing on Saturday mornings to keep his flying appointments, Tim and Chris, ages 4 and 6, would throw their little bodies to the floor writhing in grief. While clutching his pant legs, they would wail, Please don’t go, Daddy! You’re gonna die! After a few episodes of this ridiculous display of emotion, and the ensuing embarrassment of dragging two little kids halfway down the driveway once a week, he finally gave up. Score: One for the House!

Of course, my calling him a selfish, squandering, egomaniac wasn’t conducive to his having a pleasant flight either. However, I must have reached his psyche. You see, before he got this ‘crazy notion’ about pursuing flying gung-ho in his head, I was under the delusion we were the perfect couple. We shared and did everything together. We were two peas in a pod, and flying lessons were the weeds sprouting up in my garden of life. A man thinks twice about throwing several good years of marriage down the drain. He decided the heated arguments weren’t worth the wasted adrenalin. I won, I guess; but did I really? His love of flying may have been suppressed, but obviously still smoldered. I found out later, anyone who has had his head in the clouds can never really come down to earth again!

Several months went by with no mention of flying. Of course, with only my husband gainfully employed as a pipefitter journeyman in the building trades, and with four kids and a wife to support on a tight budget, he didn’t press.

One day in December 1972, an advertisement for adult enrichment classes came in the mail. I noticed Aviation Ground School was being offered at the local high school. After making a mental note of it, I wadded it into a ball; and in my finest basketball form, pitched it into the nearby trash can. Later, my conscience started to get the best of me.

I began to feel guilty and pondered, Other men get to do what they want, I rationalized. His own brother, Myron owns a 30’ sailboat, and is an avid sailor. He and his wife, Mary also belong to The Commodore’s Club" and enjoy sailing along with their two children.

Other guys hunt, fish, bowl or golf. Some do all these things and more and still appear to have satisfying and enjoyable family lives. Too, one couple in our neighborhood are archery buffs, the wife having won the Michigan State Woman’s Championship more than once. Don’t get me wrong, though. Mel is no panty-waist or anything like that. I’m sure my peace of mind meant more to him than learning how to fly and earn a private pilot’s license. So, I decided once and for all to relent. I would no longer stand in his way!

I felt pretty smug when Mel came home from work, hiding his gift behind my back. (I had to go through a lot of trash to find the wrinkled brochure and iron it out). Handing him the Adult Education Schedule, I casually mentioned about the ground school class being offered, and he should enroll. No way, he said nonchalantly, I want YOU to enroll. You could have knocked me over with a silk flying scarf! I burst out laughing! I was literally in a state of shock! Did he take leave of his senses? Had he gone mad?

You’ve got to be kidding. I gasped.

Now, fully recovered that he was no longer interested, I questioned, Why me? I certainly do not want to learn how to fly, and I am certainly not interested in learning about airplanes! Besides, I argued, I can’t go to a class like that by myself with a group comprised mostly of men! (The men part didn’t bother me, I was just making an excuse).

Why not? He shot back. Once you understand the whys and wherefores of lift, and the safety factor of the dual ignition system, you wouldn’t be so uptight in an airplane. All you worry about is, ‘what if the engine quits? What if the prop falls off?’ You would understand certain aircraft maneuvers, and what keeps a plane airborne. You would get a good understanding of flight and so on.

Hmmm….I never looked at it that way before. His enthusiasm was not only genuine but quite contagious. The more I entertained the thought about my attending ground school, the more the thought appealed to me. I felt limp inside when I realized he cared enough about me to want me to share his passion. Well, okay, then – so be it! It would be quite a stretch on his part to be sure, looking after four active boys once a week.

Plato once said, A boy is of all the wild beasts, the most difficult to manage. So, if Mel was willing to spend every Thursday night for 10 weeks with four wild beasts (five; counting, Ziggy, our French Poodle), who was I to stand in his way? It wouldn’t mean going up in an actual airplane or anything foolish like that, I rationalized, probably have to just watch a few videos about flying and play the role. I had to admit one thing. It sounded more enticing than the other classes offered on that schedule; such as, cake decorating, flower arranging or ceramics! I’ve heard of the pinch hitter course that is altogether different. The passenger learns to land the plane should anything happen to the pilot. But I’m guessing ground school was what pilots need to know to earn a private pilot license. The whole idea began to take on prestigious overtones.

Didn’t I take 14 weeks of Standard & Advanced First Aid with my oldest son Mike, when he wanted to become a ski patrolman? (He never did). Didn’t I take lessons for two years on a new Baldwin Organ when Mel wanted me to develop my hidden talent and become a virtuoso? (I never did). Then there was the time I enrolled in the State College of Beauty Culture with the aspirations of becoming a hairdresser. (I never did).

My oldest sister Rose was already a graduate with honors and earned 2 free tuitions to the State College of Beauty Culture for anyone of her choice due to her superlative talents in the field of Cosmetology. Unfortunately, she chose her two younger sisters; Yours Truly, and our middle sister, Joan. I was 14 years old and Joan was 15. We were a walking disaster. We not only had no talent in doing hair as Rose (to the chagrin of our instructor) but also displayed no sense of discipline and were soon fired. We were told to pick up our tools (Manicure Sets) and leave!

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Obviously this particular tuition was wasted on me

Another time, I was accepted to a prestigious nursing school in downtown Detroit to become a registered nurse. (I never did)!

I had already passed the written exam and was fitted for a uniform when I learned I was pregnant with my third child. I ended up withdrawing from the program as babysitting would have been a problem. Thank God there’s no way I can goof up my membership to the health spa! The only thing I haven’t tried, it seems, is dog walking or cooking classes.

Fortunately, our two oldest sons, Mike and Corby, ages 16 and 15, are extremely well-rounded and extroverted. I have always attributed their talents to their being exposed to a multitude of outlets for draining off excess energy. They say, ‘idle hands are the devil’s workshop’ and I’ve certainly found that to be true. Therefore, we’ve kept them busy.

From boy scouting, to scuba diving, from water skiing to snow skiing, from music lessons to motorcycles, from track and field activities, to Junior Olympics and on to the Explorer’s Club; which is an extension of the Boy Scouts, they were kept busy! The last adventure took them out West for two weeks where they learned to set up camp and cook outdoors. They paddled 50 miles down the Buffalo River in a canoe with others, as well as rappelling down cliffs (rated according to difficulty). It was during this adventure I realized there’s little their short lives have not touched nor experienced. Our motto around the Mason compound has always been, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

So, what’s one more thing for Mom to put her hand to; if I’m ever to be successful in keeping up with the gang. I’m OK with your suggestion honey, I conceded. I’ll make a deal with you. If I can find just one friend to attend classes with, I’ll do it!

Wow! You’d think he’d just won the Lottery! He grabbed me, picked me up, and began twirling me around and around the kitchen; all the while obviously very happy! I’d say he was pretty ecstatic. When he finally put me down, I vaguely recalled my neighbor Marlee had a sister, Jane who was taking flying lessons. I’ll give her a call tomorrow.

CHAPTER TWO

Enrolling In Ground School

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Recommended study materials and flight paraphernalia

MARVELOUS, WAS JANE’S RESPONSE over the phone when I told her about Aviation Ground School. I enrolled a while back when we lived in Jackson, she said. But hubby Dan, got a new job here, in Utica, so I had to drop out. Great! Convenient for me. (We lived within 15 minutes of one another). So, we signed up in January 1973. We were quite the pair. Jane is a short, cutesy blonde, with a go-getter personality. Her large sapphire eyes are planted in a wide-open face of ivory soap. If the world could harness her vitality, there would never be an energy shortage!

In contrast, I’m tall and broad-shouldered. My continental heritage gave me high cheekbones and blue eyes. My long hair is bottle-bright auburn, (for now) and I was last in line when they passed out dimples and only got one. When you meet me, if my smile’s slightly asymmetrical, you’ll know why. Jane is 28 years old, and I’m pushing 38.

Registration night rolled around, and we were ready. We approached the registration desk and handed the man in charge our applications. Out of the blue, with a cynical tone to his voice, he said, Oh, let’s see now, more hot-shot pilots, huh? Wow! That remark did something to me. It shot straight to the base of my brain, tickled my hypothalamus, and inflated a dormant ego. I felt ten feet tall!

We found our way to the classroom and took our seats. The first session we were introduced to the ground school instructor, a Mr. Richard E. Martin, with The Skylark Flying Service out of Detroit City Airport. The instructor immediately turned our attention to the first chapter in the Sanderson Flight Manual, Introduction to the Airplane. He was a nice, well-groomed looking gentleman, median height and build, with a warm smile.

He looked to be about 45-50 years old. His thick blonde hair matched his mustache and complimented a pair of deep blue eyes. This first session we were advised to purchase the ‘exciting’ Sanderson Private Pilot Manual, which we did. With it we received 10 weekly tests, workbook and the following reference material:

Daily Weather Maps and Weight & Balance Forms

Flight Plans, Weather Log & Navigation Log Forms

Application for Restricted Radiotelephone Operator Permit

Two Sectional Aeronautical Charts

One Exam Answer Form (for final test)

One Brochure on Pilot Supplies

One Certificate to be signed by instructor: (certifying successful

completion of the study of aeronautical knowledge required