Finally, I got a phone call from an ag operator located in Brownfield, Texas. Mr. James Gandy was the fellow's name. His pilot had quit him and he was desperate to find another one to finish the season. I immediately told him that I would catch the next plane out before the day was out, which I did. When I arrived in the Lubbock airport, he picked me out of a crowd of deplaning people. Having given him no description of myself, I asked him how he knew who I was in that crowd and he grinned and said, "You just looked like a hungry airplane driver." I laughed and said, "I didn’t know it showed but you are right."
A New Old Plane
Mr. Gandy hustled me into his pickup and we hightailed to Brownfield, about a thirty- or forty-minute drive. He drove directly to his private landing strip and so help me, there was a Stearman spray plane sitting at the loading pit with the engine running. The loading man saw us coming and began pumping chemical into the plane. My usual method if I was going to fly a plane that was new to me, I would first take the plane up and fly it around a bit to familiarize myself with the ship before flying it loaded. James said, "To heck with that. I have farmers lined up and champing at the bit for a spray plane because the bugs are eating their crops up as we speak."Mr. Gandy was not a pilot himself so he didn’t know that it was good practice to fly the plane a bit before going to work in it. Anyway, I didn’t argue. I pulled on my crash helmet, buckled myself in and yelled to the ground man to pull the chocks from the wheels. I eased the throttle forward, taxied to the strip. I checked the magnetos, cycled the prop and aimed the ratty old Stearman down the strip. I shoved the throttle open and left mother earth. The plane was sluggish and I had my hands full keeping her in the air.
James had given me directions to the first field to be sprayed, where flagmen were waiting on me. It was about 4:30 in the afternoon when I began and I worked until almost dark. I don’t believe I ever started a job so quickly. The farmers were jumping up and down to get fields sprayed and I needed the money. While working, I familiarized myself with the quirks of the old bird, making a mental note of things that must changed first thing in the morning. I could have filled a page full of notes with things that were wrong with it. But believe it or not, I earned over a hundred dollars before I quit that first evening.
Next morning, I was out at the strip and with tools furnished by Gandy, I did mechanical work on the old worn out plane. There were several farmers on hand as well. To say they were anxious is a huge understatement. I put in a full day and again flew until visibility was gone.
The next day was a repeat. But come the third day I put my foot down. I told James I was not going to fly the ragged old plane again until several big problems were fixed. James and I and a helper worked until noon to repair what was urgent. From then on, we would work after dark on the old gal and finally got her flying reasonably well.
Even if it was the worst ag plane I ever had to fly, it was some of the easiest flying otherwise as the fields were very large and had no obstructions of any kind. In a very short time, I earned enough money to take me through the winter so I didn’t grumble overmuch. Also, James was easy to work with. Several interesting incidents occurred that I recall.
Not Ready for Solo Flying
One occurrence I thought worth recording was the fact that although James was not a pilot, he bought another airplane, almost by accident. Got it from a friend who knew a friend and the price was dirt cheap. It was a low-wing, two place, open cockpit, nice little Ryan ST Aeroplane with a five-cylinder engine. One day James told me about the plane that he had just bought and wanted me to go get it and fly it back to our strip, which I did.He had decided it was time for him to learn to fly. Seeing as how I had an instructors’ license, I would be the instructor, OK? Right.
So, one Sunday afternoon I placed him in the front seat and I climbed in the back seat. We took off and I flew around a bit, then let him fly the plane a short while just to get the feel of his new toy. Then I would land and give him instructions as to what we were going to do next. Because there was no way we could talk to each other in the air, we worked out a number of hand signals so we could communicate while in the air. This went on for a several days until he was able to fly well enough to keep the little ship on an even keel and make turns right and left, climb and descend, etc.
With this bit of experience James, being an impatient sort, begin to pressure me to let him fly solo. I argued, "James, you are not ready to solo yet." But he was completely confident he was up to the challenge.
After much arguing I said, "OK, OK, I tell you what, if you can taxi the ship down to the far end of the strip with enough speed to lift the tail off the ground and then stop and turn around and taxi all the way back at the same speed with no problems, I’ll turn you loose."
He was sure he could handle it. He climbed in, took the controls in hand and started down the strip which was lined on each side with three foot tall cotton stalks. As he picked up speed, he pushed the stick forward and lifted the tall wheel off the ground. From that point on it was a circus. He quickly lost control and swerved out into the cotton. The prop began cutting a path through the three-foot high cotton, slinging cotton stalks and bolls into the air like a huge lawnmower!
After a wild run through the cotton, he finally gained control enough to turn the plane around and get back on the strip. Then the plane went zipping across the strip and plunging into the cotton on the opposite side, making another 180-degree turn. The plane crossed the strip again and plunged back into the cotton on the original side once more. Finally, he had enough presence of mind to close the throttle. The tail came back to ground and he regained control.
He very slowly taxied back up the strip here I was standing. He shut the engine off and climbed out. Walking up to me with a very determined look on his face, he announced, "I’m going to sell the blankiddy-blank piece of junk," then turned on his heels and stalked off to the office.
He wasn’t kidding. He never set foot in it again and he did sell the cute little Ryan. I guess he thought he was born knowing how to fly an airplane.
Cantankerous Characters
While I am on the subject of flying for James Gandy and company, I might mention that the office of this company was a sort of gathering place for some of Brownfield's strange characters. As an instance, one day we were sitting around not very busy since it was getting close to the end of the season. A pickup pulled up in front of the office and a very big feller came stomping in, walked up in front of James' desk, placed his fists on his hips akimbo and announced in a loud voice, "James, I came here to whup yore hide!" James looked up at him and said, "Are you serious or just mad?""I am serious, and mad too!"
It was sort of funny because James acted as though this was a routine thing and in a matter of fact way said, "Well, if you are serious let's go out back so no one can see us and interfere." The big feller pointed to the door and said, "Be my guest."
They casually walked out back and James said, "Since this is your fight you can throw the first punch." Whereupon the big guy swung his big fist in a haymaker aimed at James' face. James ducked the fist and caught the big feller with a quick left-handed jab to the chin, which connected with a loud pop and the fight was on. They went at it hook and tong. Trading blows, ducking and dodging, grunting and growling. I could tell right off that this was not James' first fisticuff engagement.
The big guy swung his oversize fits with a lot of power but just couldn’t seem to connect with a solid blow. He did land one solid punch and put James on the ground but he was quickly on his feet again and with a hard punch to the belly and a solid blow to the jaw which put the big feller on the ground. Before the big boy could recover, James kicked him on the side of the head with his boot which seem to stun him and then James kicked him in the crotch which doubled him up in pain. As he tried to get up, James slammed another fierce blow to the temple which put him back on the ground and more or less took most of the fight out of him. He just flopped over on his side and groaned. That was the end of the fight.
They were both breathing heavily. James extended his hand and helped big guy up. He was dazed and his nose was dripping blood and he had several cuts and bruises on his face. James said, "Had enough or shall we continue?"
The big guy grunted and said, in a matter of fact way, "I guess I’m whupped." There was an outdoor faucet and short hose lying close by and James picked it up and washed big guy's face off. This seemed to revive him and he said, "Maybe I ain’t whupped," and he acted like he wanted to make another go of it but James said, "Naw, Hank you're done. You might as well go home."
Big Guy said, "Yeah, guess you are right," as he crawled into his truck. He then stuck his head out the window and said, "James I want you to know that this ain’t over." James said, "Well, when you think you need some more persuading, I’m ready day or night." The Big Guy drove off. James turned to me and said, "What's funny is I don’t know what he was ticked off about. He never said and I didn’t ask."
For all I knew, they were once good friends.
Hammer Head Into the Ground
Another interesting event while I was in Brownfield, I thought I would mention. There were several other crop-dusting operators working in the area and we pilots would usually eat morning and evening meals at the same restaurant. As usual when pilots get together there is a lot of lying and bragging and swapping yarns, etc. One of the pilots who was called Morse was known for flying low and fast and making very quick turn-arounds at the end of each swath.This type of turn was generally known as “Hammer Head” turn. The method was to pull straight up at the end of the swath until the airplane was basically hanging on the prop, and on the ragged edge of a stall the pilot shoves in full rudder and the plane tend to slide sideways until it is headed straight down and plunges earthward until the pilot pulls back on the stick as the plane pick up enough speed to recover flight but headed in the opposite direction. If done correctly, it was a very quick way to reverse directions. Needless to say, it must be done exactly right or bad things happen - like colliding with planet earth, nose first. I myself could do this but knowing it was cutting things pretty close I seldom did it unless I was showing off.
Well Morse, was quite pleased with himself because he was known for doing this on a regular basis and couldn’t help doing a bit of bragging now and then. Several of us pilots warned him that he was going to make a misstep one of these days and end up on the wrong side of the grass. He would just laugh and make some idiotic statement about his wonderful flying ability.
Sure, enough he was working a field about a half mile from the one I was on and about his second or third pass he drove his nice blue painted plane into the ground at a very acute angle which was almost straight down. I didn’t actually see him crash but as I made my next pass I saw a small cloud of dust arising from the cotton at the edge of the field, and as I looked closer I saw the blue tail of the plane sticking skyward in the middle of the dust cloud. I pulled up and flew over to the crash site and Morse was climbing out of the wreckage. He was walking around so I figured he wasn't hurt too bad. Also, there were several ground vehicles racing to him so I continued my work.
Morse didn’t show up for evening meal and some of the other pilots thought he might be in the hospital. Next morning, he was at the breakfast table and was complaining of a great deal of soreness here and there on his body. The word got around that the plane was a total loss and Morse was not with us anymore. Probably fired.
