Here's one for you.
I can remember as a little kid (about nine) sitting by the window just behind the right wing of a DC-3 when the pilot tried to start the big round engine. It cranked, it banged, and it stopped. Something ran out of the tail pipe and formed a puddle under the wing. The pilot hit the starter again and this time it banged, it popped and fire poured out the exhaust and set fire to the quart or so of fuel on the ground. This was not the kind of airport that had a guy with a fire extinguisher standing there to put it out. The runway was made of that metal matting with the holes cut in it, the stuff the Army used during WWII. I was just about out of my seat when my mother pushed me back down. In those days you could look out the windshield or walk up and talk to the pilot any time you wanted. The co-pilot leaned over to the pilot who slowly brought the RPMs up on that engine and blew the fire out and brought the engine back down to an idle. He did it like it happened every day.
If only I was as interested in aviation in those days as I am now, it would be great to go back and fly in a Connie, DC-3, or the Pan Am Stratocruiser again. I sure would pay more attention to the line of war birds parked on the edge of the field and not be wondering if someone was going to buy me a Coke when we got inside.
Oh well, sometimes we get wiser in our old age and sometimes we dont.
Richard
N99904
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