In January of 1942, my dad and I were about to leave the house to go to Papa Weaver’s country store in Peterson, Alabama when an announcement on the radio caused him to stop and listen. I did not understand all the words from the radio but as a five year-old, I did comprehend that an airplane had crashed in Brookwood, Alabama. This seemed to be the reason for the ambulance, with siren wailing, that had sped eastward past our house several minutes ago.
As we drove to the store in silence, I remembered my toy airplane and remembered hearing airplanes fly over our house and anxiously scanning the sky to catch a glimpse of them. I had been told that these small roaring and flying things are actually larger than my Dad’s large coal truck and had men driving them in the air much like a truck being driven on the road. The thought of flying like a bird above the trees and looking down on everything below often stirred my imagination, but the thought of falling out of the sky to crash on the ground sent chills down my spine.
As we got out of the car at Papa Weaver’s store, we heard the siren of the returning ambulance. We stood and watched as it sped by taking the injured fliers to Druid City Hospital in Tuscaloosa. I knew about that hospital because I had spent some time there with pneumonia last winter. At the store, we learned that the airplane had crashed just behind my aunt’s house in Brookwood. My Dad decided to go take a look at the crashed airplane. As we drove the six miles to Brookwood, I again daydreamed about flying, but occasionally shuttered as I thought about crashing.
We parked in the driveway of my aunt’s house and Daddy told me to stay there while he went to look at the crashed airplane. I was not very happy about staying but I went inside to find my cousin, who was the same age as me. My aunt stayed on the porch talking to the people going back and forth to the crash site. When I found my cousin, he was also unhappy about not being allowed to see the crashed airplane. We decided to slip out the back door and sneak through the woods to see the crash.
When we got there, we saw dozens of people. Some were just standing around talking, others were poking through the wreckage and taking pieces of the airplane for souvenirs. We tried to get through the crowd to get souvenirs also but Daddy spotted us and had us come stay with him until he was ready to leave.
The next morning we heard on the radio that only one of the men in the airplane had survived the crash. So, that day, I learned that flying is not always safe, but I remained intrigued with flying. Once, while looking at the full moon with my sister, Mother explained that the moon was another world much like the earth. She also told us the myth of the Man-In-The Moon. This got me to thinking that maybe some day I could get on an airplane and visit that other world.
Copyright 2012© Willie E. Weaver
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