Page:The Fun of It.pdf/39

Rh open space on Wilshire Boulevard, surrounded by oil wells. The pilot of the airplane has since be­come famous as one of the greatest exponents of speed in the world. His name is Frank Hawks and he holds more records for fast flying than any­ one else.

As soon as we left the ground, I knew I myself had to fly. Miles away I saw the ocean and the Hollywood hills seemed to peep over the edge of the cockpit, as if they were already friends.

“I think I’d like to learn to fly”, I told the fam­ily casually that evening, knowing full well I’d die if I didn’t.

“Not a bad idea”, said my father just as casually. “When do you start?” It would need some inves­tigation I told him, but I’d let him know shortly. Mother seemed equally non-combative.

There were no regular schools at the time, and instruction was mostly given by men who had re­turned from the war. Within a few days I had signed up for lessons, and went home with the proposition that somebody pay for them.

“You really weren’t serious, were you?”, my father said in surprise. “I thought you were just wishing. I can’t afford to let you have instruction.”

I saw if he had ever liked the idea, he was com­pletely unsold then. Evidently, he thought that if he didn’t pay, I would not fly. But I was deter­mined, and got my first job—in the telephone com­pany, it was—to pay for the lessons I so dearly wanted.