Chuck began to disappear on the job for greater and greater lengths of time. No problem - I managed to cover for him. Finally, he told me what was up: he was learning to fly! He was going up to the Danbury Flying Field afternoons and taking lessons. His first "flight" is instructive...      

         True to character, he just began "hanging around" when the pilots gathered and was always in the crowd when a cowl was up on a plane. Not long after this, one of the pilots said to him,

         "Hey, buddy! How'd you like to go up?"

         "Fine."

         "Hop in - be out in a minute"

         (Pilot returns - climbs in).

         "Take her down to end of runway".

     Chuck, who had never been in a small plane, but had been reading books (lots of them!), started the engine okay and got lined up on the runway.

         "Don't forget your carburetor heaters," said his companion.

     Chuck looked around the unfamiliar dash and its controls. He saw two knobs marked "Carb Heat". He twisted both...

         "O.K.! Take 'er up!"

         Down the runway they roared - straight at a wall of trees coming at them. At the last moment, Chuck pulled back on the stick and Zoom! - the plane sailed into the air and over the wall of trees.

         "WOW!" screamed his companion. "WOW! What a takeoff! You know for a pilot, you're really pretty rough...".

         I asked Chuck, at this juncture,

         "What did you say?"

         "Told him I was no pilot. Had never been in a plane."

         "What did he say?"

         "Nothin'. Nothin' at all. Just swallered and looked out the window..."

         I was sworn to secrecy. Chuck did not want Pop to learn of his extra-curricular activities. He was afraid that if he did, he (Pop) would go up to the Field, and pick up Chuck's Log Book - kept in a wall rack with the other students' books. Without his book, he couldn't continue to fly.

         Sometime later, I was called into George's office for some business matter. As I sat down, George had been leaning forward from his desk, and plop! - a small booklet fell out of his coat pocket and landed on the floor in front of him. He hastily scooped it up - but not before I saw it was a Student Pilot's Logbook. I assumed the fat was in the fire...

         "Well, I see you found out about Chuck's flying..." I said.

         He looked at me with a funny expression on his face. Then, furtively, he said,

         "Chuck? Chuck's learning to fly? Well - whadda ya know? (Pause) That's a hot one! Don't say anything to Ruthie or Chuck or anyone now, Bernie - but that wasn't Chuck's Logbook I just dropped. It was my own!"

         Saints preserve us, thought I. And that's how I became a go-between in the funniest father-son relation you ever heard. Those two kept their "secrets" from each other - but checked all the time through me as to the other guy's progress. Has Pop finished engine maintenance yet? Has Chuck done meteorology yet? And so on. Most important: Has (either) solo'd yet?

         I don't remember who did first - but soon - both had completed their courses and solo'd. Shortly after this, everyone 'fessed up and we were back to normal. At this point, Pop bought a plane: a used Tri-Pacer, I think they call it. Over at some field in Duchess County or somewhere over there. He kept it down near Haverstraw. Now, when you solo, as I remember the deal, you can go up and fly - but until you get your full pilot's license, the law requires you to stay in line-of-sight contact with the airport.

         This nicety was lost on the Rhines, father and son. Now that they knew how to operate the controls and more or less take off and land in one piece - why, in their minds they were pilots and further study was superfluous. They began to fly in ever-widening circles around the airport - and soon dispensed altogether with all "rules". They flew their plane as they drove their cars: free and unfettered - as God had meant Man to do since Time began....

         Wow! The adventures of that time...

         (Chuck - late for work one morning) "Lord-God, Bernie - I flamed out over the Bridgeport Reservoir!"

         "That a fact?" (I didn't even turn around from my desk)

         "What'd you do?"

         "Had to open the door and step out on the float to get my hand on the prop..."

         Cool!

         And so it went. The Old Man took care of his possessions - so the plane was always fueled, oiled up, and clean and ready to go. Chuck, however, was given to flying on empty tanks (no molasses tin aboard here), landing in mud puddles and not cleaning up afterwards , and all such free-spirited type thing. Had he had a flyer's cap, he would have worn it sideways...

         This pissed the Old Man mightily - so it became a game of how and where he could "hide" the plane on the local airports so Chuck couldn't find it. But find it Chuck always would. I tell you with those two guys in the air most of the time, I became a one-man wonder back at the office and put out all the magazines myself with only the help of the old widows, school teachers and other hacks that made up our staff...

         But the payoff came one hot, sulfurous summer afternoon. "Pop" left early that day and he was flying the plane back to Haverstraw from Danbury. We all never quite knew what happened - but we think he almost hit a commercial airliner out over the Hudson River! We know he was in a heavy thunderstorm and making heavy weather of it.

         He was kinda white and peaked for a few days after that. Then he abruptly sold the Tri-Pacer and retired - permanently - from flying. This automatically clipped his fledgling son's wings, too, and activities returned to more familiar terrestial surroundings..