My dad dreamed as a child about flight and early on turned his inventive mind towards planes, and sticking fast, became an aeronautical engineer - getting to do what he loved for the rest of his life. He always claimed 
a connection to the Wright brothers. Apparently one of his Mother’s relations had been married to Orville or Wilbur or something, the thread was thin and tenuous, but we gripped it tightly. He grew up reading the classics, but was always thinking of the future, gravitating towards Buck Rogers and John Carter of Mars, and eventually shifting to Heinlein and Asimov. Our attic was filled with musty yellowed copies of Analog, Argos
y and Amazing Stories and we would shuffle thru them, reading short stories about spaceships and robots when other families read Zane Grey and Mickey Spillane. Dreaming of the future, he helped to make it,desi
gning planes his entire life, from the Flying Tiger to the Stealth Fighter. And yet, it wasn’t until the late 80’s that he finally visited Kitty Hawk - the Mecca of aerospace. To view the path and feel the breeze must have been a moment of triumph for him, coming full circle as he did. They stopped off in Iowa on their way home, in part to visit and also so that Dad could recuperate from a bu
g he may have caught on those historic winds. They had photos to share with us and developed them at our local one-hour shop. The manager was so taken with one of Dad's ocean photos that he asked if he could post it on the bulletin board. That honor probably gave my Dad more joy and pride than any award from art competitions ever gave me. It is for me, a treasured shot , although almost eclipsed by his photo of Mom with a camera sneaking up on a gull.
a connection to the Wright brothers. Apparently one of his Mother’s relations had been married to Orville or Wilbur or something, the thread was thin and tenuous, but we gripped it tightly. He grew up reading the classics, but was always thinking of the future, gravitating towards Buck Rogers and John Carter of Mars, and eventually shifting to Heinlein and Asimov. Our attic was filled with musty yellowed copies of Analog, Argos
y and Amazing Stories and we would shuffle thru them, reading short stories about spaceships and robots when other families read Zane Grey and Mickey Spillane. Dreaming of the future, he helped to make it,desi
gning planes his entire life, from the Flying Tiger to the Stealth Fighter. And yet, it wasn’t until the late 80’s that he finally visited Kitty Hawk - the Mecca of aerospace. To view the path and feel the breeze must have been a moment of triumph for him, coming full circle as he did. They stopped off in Iowa on their way home, in part to visit and also so that Dad could recuperate from a bu
g he may have caught on those historic winds. They had photos to share with us and developed them at our local one-hour shop. The manager was so taken with one of Dad's ocean photos that he asked if he could post it on the bulletin board. That honor probably gave my Dad more joy and pride than any award from art competitions ever gave me. It is for me, a treasured shot , although almost eclipsed by his photo of Mom with a camera sneaking up on a gull.
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