My vision of flying started with C. Lindberg flying solo across the Atlantic and the pictures of him landing in France at night, I believe. I believe there was also a fellow by the name of Chamberln—not sure of the spelling on his name—who had planned the same trip, but Lindberg beat him to it; I believe he was from Iowa. And then there was Col. Roscoe Turner, who held world’s speed record at, I believe it was, 300 mph sometime in the early thirties. And then there was Wily Post one-eyed pilot, who, with Will Rogers, a humorist from Oklahoma, attempted a round-the-world flight and crashed; and both were killed in Alaska. And then the China Clipper on its maiden flight—John Music—I used to; believe me. And then there was Amelia Earhart. Flying was in my blood, until I did not get to attend high school; so my flying dreams went out the window, knowing that I would need all the education to get there. So WW II came along, and as you see, my dream did come true—to come out of service and to be qualified to fly any aircraft that was being flown in the world. And now you would wonder: why would anyone pass up an opportunity such as that? Good question . . . you were allowed only twenty hours a week flying time . . . free time—that bothered me; being a farmer, we had no free time to speak of. There was nothing more boring than flying hours on end with nothing to look at. It was not boring on the way to a target but on the way back to base—five hours of blue sky and water. We did not fly every day, maybe three missions a week. There was no recreation down there, believe me. Since I was the youngest, it was expected of me to take care of my parents on the farm.