Part Two
“Before I knew it I was in Miami, and as the train chugged past the airport I noticed a large crowd of people around a single-engine plane. I’ll tell you, Moose, there were police everywhere, politicians in suits strutting around (a scary sight for sure!) and a whole herd of newspaper men writing in their notebooks and popping camera bulbs like mad. When I slipped through the crowd I saw a women pilot and her male copilot.
“Dressed in a man’s leather jacket, wearing a leather football helmet, and sporting goofy goggles, she was waving to everybody as she was about to take off. The guy next to me said that she was famous, that she had been the first woman to fly across the Atlantic and now she was trying to become the first to fly around the world.
“Now, Moose, you know what it’s like when you get an urge to do something different, and, despite the risk, you just have to do it no matter what?”
“Sure, Unk, I felt that way when I threw those snowballs at the school windows but I did it anyway. And after I got those three whacks on the butt from the principal I sure lost the urge.”
“That's good; then you know how I felt when I saw that plane ready to take off. The plane was roped off from the public so I had to slide under when nobody was looking. I crept under the tail and went between the wheels to take a look at the underbelly.
“In those days I was really skinny so I was able to climb up into the angle iron of the landing apparatus. It was nice and cool up under there but the smell of oil got annoying, so I was about to hop off when the blamed thing started moving, and by the time I untangled my legs the plane, with that lady in the funny-looking outfit steering, was airborne.”
When Uncle Ernest went back into the bar to talk to Birdie and freshen his drink, I gazed out at the sights on the canal. The current was still flowing swiftly, carrying along assorted driftwood, foam-covered seaweed, and other debris as it swept past. Towards the left the jet-black drawbridge was raised to its height to accommodate the barge and tanker. I could see a line of cars on each side waiting for the bridge to lower.
To the right of the bridge was Schaefer’s restaurant, the old fine restaurant before it was renovated and corrupted into a high class eatery for the rich. None of the local folks could afford it after that. But the old Schaefer's made fine crab cakes and, Nina, let me tell you, they made the best sloppy Joe hamburgers I’ve ever sunk a tooth into. [To be continued Tuesday]
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