1/17/40: Gone with the Wind is released.
1/17/40
Sweetheart Darling:
What goes on! I’ve written at least three letters since the 9th, all of which should have gotten there by the fifteenth. I’ll answer your questions briefly.
- Hunches—forget them—if anything ever happens down here you’ll hear about it all too soon. Wilson was killed on Wednesday, funeral Sunday, forgotten Monday. Anyhow, I don’t expect to get hurt. Careful, competent, pilots die of old age.
- Letters—nope, you haven’t said anything that would bother me. I think your letters are all that could be expected of the sweetest little wife in the world.
- Busy—Being excused from radio code leaves me a little free time. I’m not busy, just damn lonesome.
Okey doke on the coat. Maybe if I get stationed in Alaska, which is probable, I can shoot a caribou or sea lion or something for a new fur!
Honey, we only have two more big fences to clear at Randolph! 40 hour and final checks, and the instrument flying check. From my instructor’s attitude, I should not have much to worry about. The end at Randolph is near, for we can’t change anything more after the 20th, and we’re getting a lecture on “commissions” on Thursday.
Our boy McGovern is running around with a very sober face these days. He ran out of gas a couple of days back and came down as shown. [See original letter above] First he knocked off the top half of a tree. Then he removed all of the wires on a hi-tension line. Then he removed the front and back fences in a farm yard. After crossing a road, he eliminated a section of the big steel fence around Randolph. At this point, Mac steps from the plane and fills out the Form I (flight report). The ship had no wings, a bent prop, no covering on fuselage, half of the tail surface gone, and several minor damages. McGovern, the lucky Irishman, didn’t have a scratch! I guess that proves part of the Air Corps song, “nothing can stop the Army Air Corps.”
Yesterday, Ruegg [sp?] ground-looped (loss of control after landing) right in front of me while I was landing, but I had enough speed to gun the motor and clear him. He spun all the way around at 50 mph and all it did was bend one wing slightly. Believe me, Toots, these ships are really built.
You’d imagine from the above that all we do here is have accidents. On the other hand, one minor one per week is exceptional. Estimating roughly, our class alone makes 750 landings per day, uses 4800 gallons of fuel, and flies 28,800 miles. If you can drive a car (5)(28,800)=144,000 miles with only a scratched fender (which is equivalent to our safety record) you’re doing darned well.
The enclosed poem might be moderately amusing. You’d like Dr. Still—his sermon was good. Show it to Spank with my regards.
Thank Willy for the letter. Tell him we had a tail cut off in the primary and the fellow made a safe landing!
It’s about time for class. This letter mailed now (8 A.M.) won’t leave Randolph until 5 A.M. tomorrow morning. We only send mail into town once per day.
Lots of love, Cy.
Note new address on envelope.