Harry's lost airplane....

Harry always said there was never a damaged model airplane he couldn't fix, or a lost one he couldn't find.....on his last day.....it was most true indeed.

‘Harry’s lost model’

 

                 A tale by Stanley Swan

 

Harry started building and flying model airplanes at age nine. A child of the forties, Harry

and his young friends had to ‘invent’ most of their play things… it was before the days

of huge big box stores and world wide internet shopping. 

 

One of Harry’s favorite past-times was to build simple throw-in-the-air aircraft. Most were

built from light balsa wood and tissue paper, many fashioned after models he would see

in science magazines that he would pick up at the local hardware store. Harry built dozens

of planes over the years, right thru high school, two years of college and into his working

career as a draftsman.   He had to put his building on hold for a few years to take care of

an ailing wife and aging parents. He was never blessed with children, and Harry felt that

was one of his biggest failures….but he didn’t dwell on it….the Good Lord knew what was

best for him as he made his way through this life.

 

Harry’s health had been a bit of a challenge as well. Some eating disorders and a heart murmur

slowed him down a bit, but never stifled his love to fly his model planes.

 

Harry used to brag that he never crashed a plane he couldn’t fix…. or find a plane that had

been taken by the wind into the woods nearby.  Little did he know that this was to be very

prophetic indeed.

 

It was on a beautiful sunny day in late September when Harry was at his local flying

field with his buddy George. They flew their planes together frequently, each having

radio controlled planes fashioned after some of the fastest fighters of World War two.

As Harry was turning his P-47 Thunderbolt to make an approach to the grassy runway….

 his plane suddenly took a sharp turn to the right and went out of sight.

 

“Oh boy” he exclaimed to his buddy George….”might be awhile to find that one…it was

at about full power and had almost a full tank of fuel.”

Harry turned off his transmitter, sat down for a moment….and told George that he was

feeling a bit odd. It was a very warm day for September, but he and George had

certainly flown in hotter weather. Within moments, Harry had grabbed his chest, gave a deep sigh and collapsed backward onto the field. George was at his side immediately, but there

was nothing he could do.  Harry was white as a sheet, he wasn’t breathing. George knew

in an instant that his buddy Harry was gone. 

The funeral was a few days later, and George and a few of Harry’s other flying buddies

all acted as pall bearers at his funeral.

 

A week after George had laid his friend to rest, he returned to the flying field… just to sit

and to remember all the great days that the two had shared together there. As George

walked out onto the field that they kept mowed weekly… he spotted something at the

far end of the runway.  Walking down the field to the object…. George stopped…

breathless….his heart jumping inside his chest. There on the field at his feet in front

of him was Harry’s wonderful P 47.….that same aircraft done in silver, grey and white that

Harry had flown out of sight a week before…. and it was perfect. Sitting on it’s wheels

and perfectly positioned in a take-off mode, It brought tears to George’s eyes.

 

As he reached own to lift the plane from it’s resting spot… George remembered what Harry

had said many times. “there wasn’t a  crashed plane that he couldn’t fix or a plane lost that

he couldn’t find.”

 

Later that day, George loaded he plane in the back of his little station wagon, drove to

Harry’s house and presented it to his wife.  He didn’t relate the story of the plane being

lost to his wife….. there was really no need to. The important message was that Harry

had come thru with his usual chatter; ‘there wasn’t a plane lost that he couldn’t find.’