I reached my pattern altitude of sixty-one hundred feet and went through my routine maneuvers.
I had been instructed to stay up in the air for twenty minutes. I glanced at my watch. It was time to show them all what a perfect landing looked like. I pushed the stick forward and began my descent. I could see the men down below, waiting for me on the field.
The rules for landing are fixed. The speeds at set altitudes had been drilled into us. As I got closer to the ground, I looked at the altimeter and suddenly realized that I had forgotten what speed I was supposed to be at. In fact, everything I had learned about flying had instantly gone out of my head. I had no idea what I was doing.
In a panic, I pulled the stick back to gain altitude and keep from crashing. I frantically tried to remember the formula for altitude and speed, but my mind was a blank. If I made a mistake in landing, I would crash and die. I flew around, shaken, trying to figure out what to do. I thought of bailing out, but I knew that the Air Corps could not spare any planes. But I could not stay up here forever. I had to land sometime.
I started my descent again, vainly trying to remember what my airspeed was supposed to be as I approached the runway. Down to a thousand feet, speed sixty miles an hour . . . Three hundred feet, speed fifty miles an hour . . . Was I going too fast? I circled the field three times, getting closer and closer to the ground. Fifty miles an hour. Too fast? Too slow? I took a deep breath and went for it.
The plane hit the ground, bounced up, hit the ground again, bounced up again, and finally settled, as I pulled back the stick and hit the brakes. I got out of the plane, trembling.
Captain Anderson, who had been on his way to town, had stopped when he saw what was happening and sped back to the airfield. He came rushing up to me.
"What the hell do you think you were doing?" he demanded.
I was sweating profusely. "I - I don't know. Next time I'll be - "
"Not next time. Now!"
I was confused. "Now?"
"That's right. Get back in that plane and take it up again."
I thought he was joking.
"I'm waiting."
So he meant it. I knew the saying "If you fall off a horse, you've got to get right back on." Captain Anderson apparently felt that the same thing also applied to planes. He was sending me to my death. I looked into his eyes and decided not to argue. I got back in the plane and sat there to control my breathing. If I died, it was going to be his fault.
Everyone was watching as I taxied down the runway.
I was in the air again. I tried to relax and concentrate on remembering everything I had been taught about speed, altitude, and flight angles. Suddenly, blessedly, my mind started to clear. I stayed up for another fifteen minutes and this time I was ready. I made an almost perfect landing.
As I stepped out of the plane, Captain Anderson growled, "That's better. You'll do it again tomorrow."
The rest of my flight training went without incident except for one memorable day near the end of the course.
That morning, as I was about to take off, Captain Anderson said, "We have a report that there's a bad storm heading this way, Sheldon. Keep an eye out for it. When you see it coming, land immediately."
"Yes, sir."
I took off, reached my altitude, and began circling around the mountains, going through my spins and stalls. There's a bad storm heading this way . . . When you see it coming, land immediately . . .
What if I were caught in it and couldn't see a place to land? I visualized the headlines: "Pilot Trapped in Storm."
The news would be on the radio and television. The world would be holding its breath to see whether the young cadet made it safely or not. The landing field below me would be swarming with ambulances and firefighting equipment. I was completely caught up in my daydream, enjoying my bravery in the face of this great disaster, when it suddenly grew dark. The reason it grew dark was that my plane was in the middle of the storm. I was flying blind, surrounded by ominous black clouds. I could not see the airfield or anything around me. All I knew for certain was that on every side of me were unforgiving mountain peaks and I could crash into one of them at any second. I had lost all sense of direction. Was the airfield ahead of me? Behind me? To the side of me?
The wind began to bounce the plane around. The headlines I had been daydreaming about were becoming real. In an effort to avoid the mountains surrounding me, I started to fly in very small circles, going lower and lower, bouncing around, trying to stay in the same safe area. When I got down to thirty feet, I could see the airfield. The whole crew was down there, watching.
When I landed the plane, my instructor came up to me, furious.
"What's the matter with you? I told you to watch out for the storm."
"Sorry. Yes, sir. It crept up on me."
I got my wings exactly three months after I had arrived in Richfield.
Captain Anderson called us all together. "You're ready for training in multiple engine planes, BT-19s and DAT-6s. Unfortunately, at the moment, the advanced flight schools are all full. So you're going to be on standby. There could be openings at any minute. You don't have to stay here while you're waiting, but leave a phone number with the sergeant where you can be reached, day or night.
"The minute we have openings for an advanced flight school, we'll be in touch with you. Good luck."
And the thought that came into my mind was Ben Roberts. I decided that while I waited for a flight school to open up, I would go to New York. I made a reservation at a hotel in Manhattan and gave the telephone number to the sergeant. I had a feeling that the minute I arrived in New York, there would be a message ordering me to return.