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PAGE TWENTY-FOUR THE SUNDAY TIMES, NEW BRUNSWICK You're Not Nervous Until You Land, Says Larry Woodruff, After Making His First Solo Flight in Airplane Aviation Writer for Sunday Times and Home News Reaches for Cigarette Only After Making Good Three-Point Landing Larry Woodruff, night editor of The Daily Home News, has been covering aviation activities for The Daily Home News and Sunday Times for the last year and a half. Recently he decided to learn to fly. He spent last week at the factory of Piper Aircraft Corp., in Lock Haven, Pa., world's leading manufacturer of light planes. While there he took a course of instruction and after completing the government-required eight hours of instruction, made his first solo flight. His impressions, as he remembers them while in the air on his first "solo," follow. —Editor's Note. By LARRY WOODRUFF It was nearing noon and my instructor, usually more than patient, was tiring visibly. And I was fast becoming disgusted with aviation. For an hour he had been leading me through landing practice, but the Piper Cub trainer just would not sit down smoothly in response to my inexpert hands. That day I could not achieve a three-point landing. First I would fail to level out in time and the wheels would strike the runway hard, bouncing the light airplane into the air in a dangerous attitude, from which it would be snatched by delicate use of stick and throttle in the hands of the instructor at the dual controls in the seat ahead of me. He'd shake his head and signal for another takeoff. My next attempt at a landing ended with me trying to stall the plane while it still had flying speed, resulting in an ugly rear into the air by the nose. Again the controls were snapped from my perspiring right hand and the instructor eased the ship to earth safely. Unhappy Moments This sort of thing continued—trying to land with one wing lower than the other, failing to compensate for drift during the important last seconds before touching down, failing to taxi straight after landing, etc.—until I was all set to give up my ideas of learning to fly. I was convinced I'd never execute a proper landing and I was sure my instructor would agree with me. We were coming in to land again. I decided it would be my last try. Surpisingly [[Surprisingly]] enough, it turned out rather well. The instructor didn't have to help me. A bit rough, perhaps, but not dangerously so. I taxied toward the hangar and as we neared the crossover strip on the runway the instructor closed the throttle, unclasped his safety belt, opened the cabin door and stepped out. I prepared to follow him. "Take it around," he commanded. I sat back, assuming he meant I should park the airplane in its usual port at the other end of the hangar. But no. He said I should FLY it around the course I'd become so familiar with—normal climb to 400 feet, 90 degree turn left, straight to north bank of Susquehanna river, 90 turn left, throttle back at 600 feet opposite the runway circle, turn left beyond the highway bridge, fly parallel to the telephone wires, turn left to approach the runway and land. "What the hell?" I thought, I'd probably be drafted in a month anyway, so I taxied to the end of the runway, looked about for approaching planes, lined up on the runway and opened the throttle. First Solo Flight The 65-horsepower engine lunged into action and forward pressure on the stick brought the tail up into flying position. We were riding fast on the wheels now and I began to feel buoyancy in the wings and the plane was trying to lift off the runway—the signal to aid it with light back pressure on the stick. We were in the air—or rather I was in the air and realizing for the first time the front seat was mighty empty. My first reaction was to be jittery about the black runway dropping from under me with the remainder of the flight depending upon me alone. The feeling of uneasiness left as soon as I began concentrating on my course and looking for the key positions to bring me to the approach at the proper altitude. After making the first turn I realized I was doing all right without the instructor—probably because I'd been trying too hard to please him. My only thought about his absence was that it made the instrument panel more visible and made it easier to check my airspeed, r. p. m. and altitude. At 600 feet, opposite the spot I'd chosen as the target for landing, I closed the throttle. The nose dropped below the horizon for the glide. As engine torque lessened I found I had to apply slight left rudder to hold my course. Two turns without power and I was heading for the runway. I was high and would have to side-slip to avoid overshooting. No, I was low and would undershoot if I did not use the throttle. No, it appeared I'd get in near the mark without resorting to these aids. Confident of Success I tried to worry about the impending landing, but found myself confident. After all, I'd had enough practice and I'd certainly be all right if I did as I'd been taught. The runway was coming toward me rapidly now and I began to level out of the glide. As the speed decreased I felt the plane begin to settle. I eased back the stick slightly and held it until nearly all the flying speed was lost. I felt the controls going soft, indicating the stall was near. I hauled the stick back slowly but steadily until it nearly hit my stomach. She held off for probably a second before settling on wheels and tail wheel simultaneously. We were rolling fast along the runway and as the speed decreased I ruddered to the sod to taxi to the hangar. It was not until I saw the instructor walking toward me that I fully realized I'd soloed. I began thinking of the things that might have happened and it was then I began to have trouble controlling my shaking hands. I reached for the engine switch and closed it. The instructor walked up to offer congratulations. I found I couldn't answer him for a few seconds. With jerky motions I climbed from the plane and walked to the hangar for a much-needed cigarette. Now I can begin to learn to fly. They say you don't until you've soloed. Narrow Escapes From Bombing London Vividly Described Missionary From Zarephath of "wan- bombing of at of was myself breaking into a cold sweat and then becoming uncomfortably warm. "A second bomb fell to our left a block away. This time the plaster from the ceilings in the two rooms fell in, but no one was hurt. There were other bombs, all perilously near. "Later, there was a great con- in front of our college We were told that a had fallen just across We snatched what few could, all the time blown to bits. Two are said to be suf- from the bomb were not everyone, so a shel- wait
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Article on bottom left corner transcribed at the end
