P.J.: A Memoir
Chapter Twenty-one
“Gonna fly like an eagle, let my spirit carry me.”
- Steve Miller
As he was boarding the plane, P. J. instinctively looked to the left. The door to the cockpit stood open and the co-pilot looked up and gave him a wave. Molly Kathleen literally had to drag the boy down the aisle. P. J. asked a stewardess if he could watch the proceedings, but she said the pilots were pretty busy at the moment. She smiled at his eagerness and promised to ask the pilots if he could come forward later in the flight. He reluctantly followed Molly to his seat.
There were few people on the plane and P. J. was able to secure a seat next to a window just forward of the wing. It was quite warm in the plane and P. J. was delighted to discover the air nozzle above his head. He strained to adjust it so that it would cool his moistened brow. He turned to his grandmother seated next to him.
“Grandma, have you ever been on a plane before?”
“Lord, yes, child,” Molly responded with a nostalgic gleam in her eye, “but it was years ago. Airplanes have changed a lot since then. The first time I flew, it was in an old biplane with a man we used to call a ‘barnstormer.’ I was the first woman he had ever taken up in his plane and probably the first woman in the state to fly. My, but he was dashing in his leather jacket and white scarf! Of course, my mother, rest her soul, was horrified, but I thought it was wonderful. Such a sense of freedom!
“Back when your grandfather and I didn’t have to worry so much about money, we were aboard the first transatlantic passenger flight. The plane was much smaller than this one and it was quite an adventure when it ran into bad weather. We bounced around like a ping-pong ball! Your grandfather had had a few drinks by then and was whooping like a child on a roller coaster. I was terrified the plane would crash, but I didn’t let on.”
She smiled at P. J.
“Sometimes when you’re afraid, it helps to pretend that you’re not. Sometimes you can even convince yourself you’re not afraid. Anyway, the plane landed safely and we were all treated like heroes.”
She and P. J. both looked up to see the stewardess struggling with the heavy door. She succeeded in getting the door closed and locked, then gave herself a quick once over before commencing her pre-flight address. Most of the passengers had apparently flown before and didn’t look up from their newspapers and magazines. P. J. listened with rapt attention.
Partway through the talk, P. J. was distracted by a half-glimpsed motion outside the window. The propeller on the outboard engine was beginning to turn. The stewardess was immediately forgotten and P. J. watched the prop turn slowly. Then, with a roar that shook the plane, the engine caught and belched black smoke. The propeller became a shimmering silver disk. The procedure was repeated with the inboard engine. P. J. strained to see across the aisle as the other two engines were started. The stewardess came by to check his seat belt and P. J. almost reminded her to ask the pilot if he could see the cockpit. She was gone before he could speak.
He returned his attention to the window and the plane ponderously swung around and began to taxi toward the main runway. He felt Molly gently pry his fingers off the armrest between the seats. She leaned over and whispered into his ear not to be afraid.
“I’m not afraid, Grandma,” he replied, just fibbing a little. “I’m excited. I can’t wait to fly.”
Despite those reassurances, his hand went back to the armrest and his knuckles turned white. Benny had flown only once during the war. He also had a death grip on the armrest. He asked the stewardess for a shot of Jack Daniels, but she politely informed him that they were not allowed to serve alcoholic beverages until airborne. Benny rolled his eyes and grinned feebly at his son. As usual in moments of stress, Molly Kathleen radiated serenity.
The plane made a sharp turn and P. J. briefly spied the broad main runway stretching into the shimmering distance. The aircraft came to a stop and the noise increased as the pilot ran up the engines preparatory to taking off. P. J. could feel the plane strain against the brakes as the roaring of the engines reached a crescendo. Just when the plane seemed about to shake itself to pieces, the pilot released the brakes and the DC-7 leaped down the runway. P. J. could feel his heart pounding as if he had just run a mile. The runway raced by faster and faster. P. J. briefly wondered if they would run out of room before the plane took off. He felt the front of the aircraft lift slightly. There was a groin-tingling surge and P. J. knew he was flying. He turned excitedly to his grandmother and tried to make himself heard over the roar of the engines.
“We’re flying, Grandma, we’re flying!”
P. J. turned back to watch the ground fall away beneath them. He identified the little villages of Oneco and Samoset as they passed below. Soon they were above Manatee. He spotted the elementary school and felt like a bird just released from its cage. Then they were above the old Jimson mansion, plastic still covering the roof where the branch had come through. Molly Kathleen was leaning across P. J. and also saw the old house.
“Good riddance,” she breathed, as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
As they climbed out over the broad Manatee, P. J. spotted his friend the eagle cruising low over the water shopping for breakfast. He remembered his waking dream of flying like the eagle and realized it had come true. He was soaring among the clouds, free of the bonds that bound him to the earth. The plane flew into a fluffy white cumulus cloud and the river disappeared from view. P. J. had a premonition that he would never see the river again.
The ride got a bit lumpy as they flew through the cloud. P. J. looked at his grandmother anxiously. She smiled reassuringly and leaned over to be heard above the engines.
“Don’t worry, it’s just some updrafts in the cloud making the plane bounce.”
The plane broke into brilliant sunshine as she spoke. Towers of cumulonimbus stretched upward to the left and right as they gestated the thunderstorms that would bring relief to the heat below. In between clouds, P. J. saw vast stretches of flat land. The occasional geometric pattern of a citrus grove broke the monotony.
When they had attained cruising altitude, the stewardess started down the aisle with food and drinks. Benny, who had a bad case of white-knuckle fever, bought a couple of small bottles of Jack Daniels and said he would pass on the food. P. J.’s stomach emitted a growl worthy of a bear, reminding him of all the nervous energy expended this morning. Molly Kathleen lowered his tray for him and the stewardess set a small plate of steaming bacon and eggs before him. The boy was so hungry, he didn’t even stop to wonder how the stewardess had cooked for all the passengers in such a short time. He just dug in.
P. J. divided his attention between the plate and the window. Their route to Atlanta took them briefly out over the Gulf of Mexico. He watched the coastline drift beneath them and called Molly’s attention to the wake of a ship.
As the plane flew back over land once more, P. J. began to notice a puzzling change. The plane passed into the state of Georgia and P. J. could contain himself no longer.
“What’s the matter with the ground, Grandma? It looks red.”
Molly explained that the soil beneath them was very different from the sandy soil of South Florida. It was composed of a high percentage of clay mixed with oxides of iron that gave the reddish color. That led to lessons in geology and chemistry that kept the two occupied until a change in the pitch of the engines drew their attention away. The captain came on the P. A. system to announce that they were beginning their approach to Atlanta International Airport.
The stewardess was passing out chewing gum that P. J. waved off as he was too busy flying. Molly Kathleen gently suggested he take some and explained about differences in atmospheric pressure and eardrums. P. J. popped the gum in his mouth absentmindedly and was soon rewarded with a loud crackling in his ears. That made him pay closer attention to Molly’s informal physics lesson.
When he returned his attention to the window, the scene had changed from a detailed map to a recognizable landscape. P. J. watched as houses and factories grew larger and cars changed from ants to beetles scuttling along the highways.
The plane made a sharp bank to line up with the runway and P. J. edged back in his seat in reaction to the uncomfortable sensation of having the window almost directly beneath him. The suburbs of Atlanta raced below and suddenly the plane was above the runway. The DC-7 touched down with a gentle bounce and they were earthbound once again. Except for P. J. He had become drunk on the sensations of flight and was still swooping over Atlanta. His gaze was distant and Molly Kathleen had to shake him firmly when it was time to leave the plane. He was in such a trance he forgot that he hadn’t been able to visit the cockpit. His grandmother guided him down the ramp and into the terminal like a sleepwalker. It was several minutes before the bustle of the big airport snapped him out of it.
Benny, who was still mopping his brow from the strain of landing the plane all by himself, reminded them that they didn’t have much time to make the connection. He hustled them along through the crowds and it soon became apparent that he had no idea where they were going. Molly Kathleen told him in no uncertain terms to quit relying on his pathfinding skills and ask for directions. Fortunately, they were not far from their destination and got to the TWA gate with several minutes to spare. P. J. was still not quite on the ground as they followed a line of people out of the terminal and onto their new plane.
9:03:40 PM 
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