Save the Best for Last!

I know some of you may be tired of reading about airplanes; there is always one more airplane story to tell when you write about Tyre Denney.  This one may be the best of all; it is certainly the best DC-3 story and I had almost forgotten about it.  He wrote about this encounter many years ago in his weekly newpaper article:

I grew up near the Atlanta airport and I can still remember the sights and sounds of a Douglas DC-3 as its engines came to life and it took off into the sky.  The pilot would set the throttle for about 1200 rpms, the mixture control to "full rich", give it two shots of primer, and engage the starter.  After three blades had passed by, the ignition switch would be turned to "on" and, if everything went well, the engine would start.  The first three or four cylinders that fired would burn the excess oil and gas from the exhaust collector ring with a fearsome display of fire and smoke and noise.  Then, as the others began to fire, over 1,000 horses would settle down to a deep-throated roar, waiting for their counterparts on the other wing to come to life.  After that, it would take but a few minutes to taxi out to the active runway, usually 27 right, get tower clearance, set full flaps, push throttles and mixture controls to the firewall and release the brakes.  Then the beautiful bird would slowly gain speed and, leaving the awkwardness of its time on earth, climb majestically and gracefully into its natural habitat, the sky.

I saw one again last week.  Actually I heard it before I saw it.  It was a cool, crisp morning and my first thought was that I was hearing a big truck but the sound was coming from the wrong direction.  Then, as it got a little louder, I recognized the unmistakable sound of two Wright R 1830 aircraft engines spinning a pair of Hamilton-Standard propellers and a DC-3 began to take shape in the northwestern sky.  I just stood and watched.  The sun bouncing off the polished aluminum made my eyes water but I wouldn't look away for anything; a speck of history was cruising by at 130 knots. 

Nearly as old as I am, the airplane must have been at about 3,000 feet and on a heading of around 110 degrees going to who-knows-where in the southeast.  In less time than it takes to tell it, it was gone from sight.  The birds twittering in the trees soon drowned out the last faint sound of the engines my straining ears tried to pick up.  After a minute or so, I began to think about me.  I, too, am earthbound, awkward, often out of place; a misfit in a foreign land, a wandering pilgrim, a sojourner.  But I have the lively hope and blessed assurance that one day, as a child of the King, I will slip the bonds of earth and fly away home to heaven, my spiritual habitat.  Powered, not by a pair of Wright 1830s, but rather by God himself.

And he did just that.  And now you know the best DC-3 story that Tyre Denney ever told and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.