Dear Garrett..

In the midst of the chaos and danger intensifying in our family with this new negro man moving into our home, I was able to graduate successfully from the Elm Creek School eighth grade class.  I enjoyed attending Elm Creek School.  It was a four room school house in the country located between our farm and the town of Seguin. One of the rooms was an auditorium. Another room was the kitchen. There were two classrooms. One classroom contained grades one through four. The other classroom grades five through eight. My sister, Laura was in the first classroom in the fourth grade. Paul, Harvey and I were in the other classroom. Paul sat in the sixth grade row. Harvey was in the seventh grade row. I sat in the eighth grade row.

The teacher in our classroom was Mrs. McKinney. She looked like Donna Reed to me, pretty, neat and very proper. I thought she did a great job teaching us. Mrs. McKinney moved from row to row teaching the different classes. She would stand in front of the row of students that she was teaching while those students gave her their attention as much as an elementary student could at the time. While she was teaching the students in one row their lesson, the students in the other rows ignored the lesson being taught to the adjoining classmates while working on their own study assignments.

My row had six students altogether, four girls and two boys. I thought all the girls were pretty in my class. They dressed very nice for school each day. I was in love with each of them at different times throughout the school year. For a month or so, I would meditate on Gloria, then move on to Dorothy for another month, then Brenda, then Irene. I didn’t love them all at the same time, just one at a time. I never made my feelings known to them. I just thought about them a lot depending on who I was in love with at the time.

My 8th grade graduation class, Elm Creek School, Seguin, Texas (1961). L to R: Paul, Dorothy, Brenda, Gloria, Irene, Mark

Mrs. McKinney motivated us to complete our lessons in a timely manner by announcing to us that we could play baseball when we all finished our lessons. That was all we needed to hear. We all got busy completing our work. When completed, we’d close our books waiting for the slower students to finish their lessons too. When Mrs. McKinney saw everyone sitting at their desks with books closed, she would release us to play baseball as promised.

Our baseball diamond was in a pasture like field behind the school house, the boys and girls outhouses, the school bus barn and the first through fourth grade teachers house. We always played softball. The only equipment we had was a softball and a bat. We had no gloves. Everyone caught bare handed and did so really well. The girls caught bare handed well too which always amazed and intrigued me. I grew up playing baseball in Michigan with a hard ball. We always caught with a glove. Catching without a glove seemed primitive and handicapping. I played according to the rules of the southern ways of playing baseball in my new and foreign feeling environment though I never appreciated playing baseball without a glove to catch with. As much as I liked catching with a glove, I wasn’t going to be the only player using one especially when the girls could catch bare handed well, not to mention the boys. I coached myself to basically tough it out and hoped I didn’t look too bad in my opportunities to catch balls bare handed like everyone else.

We played volleyball and “Kick the Can” at Elm Creek School also. We had a killer merry-go-round in front of the school house. What made it dangerous was a missing board in a section of the seat. We (the boys) would get on the inside area of the merry-go-round and get it spinning as fast as we could in an attempt to sling anyone off that was brave enough to ride it.  We were able to get it going really fast. The riders had to hold on for dear life.  If anyone got slung off, they could get hit by the missing seat board section or get thrown out onto the playground.  Though I was keenly aware of our impaired merry-go-round hazards, I still spent a lot of time either spinning or riding it. As I look back on this merry-go-round experience, I can see that at age 13 I had already developed a keen sense of danger when dangerous situations were present.  I can see now that the years between 9 and 13 had provided many opportunities for me to develop a strong sense of what psychology would characterize as “extreme vigilance”. I would face and have to learn to deal with this extreme vigilance characteristic of PTSD later in my life as an effect of serving as an Army Aviator in Vietnam.

Towards the end of my eighth grade year at Elm Creek, Mrs. McKinney stopped me during a recess break one day in front of the school house near the flag pole. I had just gotten in a fight with one of the Herbold boys during the recess break. Several of the male students from the higher grades had been giving my brother Harvey a hard time back by the bus barn. The male students were obviously well-trained to dislike (actually hate) Yankees and negroes. My siblings and I were guilty on both counts making us targets for resulting expressions and consequences of said hatred.

On this day, the recess period began with one of the boys throwing horse manure on my brother Harvey. After attempting to deal with that situation in a diplomatic rather than physical manner, things eventually elevated to continued harassment and a physical assault on Harvey by a Herbold boy. True to my duty as the eldest brother, I intervened into the situation physically and deterred the Herbold boy from prevailing with his physical assault on my brother.

The scuffle occurred between the merry-go-round and the flag pole. Mrs. McKinney caught notice of the scuffle and came over and began speaking to me privately. “Don’t you know it’s wrong for your mother to allow a negro man to live with your family?” she said angrily. The pretty Donna Reed look on her face that I was accustomed to seeing and admiring had transformed into an angry and distorted scowl. I could tell that she had been infected with the same virus of hatred as the boys.

After Mrs. McKinney’s pronouncement of condemnation on my family for a violation of the local social code, I just stood there not knowing what to say or do. After seemingly several long seconds of silence following the verbal release by Mrs. McKinney while I stood there stunned and not knowing what to reply, we parted ways. It appeared to me that Mrs. McKinney’s task then became to regain her composure so as to reposture herself to re-assume her teaching role and duties. My duty became to regain my footing while trying to figure out how to process the malignant pronouncement of condemnation on the things going on in my family which I had no control over. Mrs. McKinney’s position in life towered far above mine at the time. I simply did not have the tools to know how to handle that experience with her other than to let it settle into my subconscious mind for handling at a later time.

School seemed to let out earlier in Texas than what I was accustomed to in Michigan. The school year at Elm Creek completed around May 20. When I asked why so much earlier than in Michigan, I was informed that the school house would become too hot inside to attend any later in May since the school didn’t have any air-conditioning. During the winter we had only a wood stove for heat — and nothing for cooling as summer approached — not even a water cooler.

Following eighth graduation at Elm Creek School, I spent the hot Texas summer working the farm with my siblings. Mom was busy attending to the hazards of having a negro living in our home in the early 1960s in Texas. Mom was gone a lot. We heard reports that there were dangerous things going on. Mom told me a year or so before she passed that the Sheriff there had her in the back seat of a car with his hands around her neck. When I asked her what he did, she said, “I just prayed and acted like I wasn’t scared although I really was – and he didn’t do anything”, The family of the negro man apparently knew what was going on. The man’s sisters and their children would come out to the farm and stay with us when Mom was gone to see that we were okay.  When they did come out, we enjoyed playing baseball and “Kick the Can” with the negro man’s four nieces that came to our farm with their Mom and aunts.

Following summer vacation, I entered the ninth grade at Seguin High School. After attending school there for two months, Mom told us we were moving to California again without asking us kids what we thought about the idea. We drove away from our farm in what felt like in the nick of time. The sense of danger had continued to escalate to higher and higher levels the longer we stayed at our farm in Seguin.

I remember feeling scared as we drove out of the driveway. I was worried we would get caught trying to leave. It felt like we were escaping from the danger of the people who were angry with us for having this negro man living with us…

As it turned out, leaving Texas for California was a good thing. I missed our farm in Seguin a lot but the move to California resulted in my acquisition of a wonderful aviation family once I made it through High School and out of the hell of living in East Palo Alto.

Chapter 14

FIRST DAY ON MY NEW JOB

FREEMAN

Though it was not explained to me, I had the impression that Watsonville Aviation Service was owned by three partners, Darrell Freeman, Pat Carroll and Stephen Wells Canty (Steve). The business also held another entity called Monterey Bay Flight Academy. Depending on what I was doing, I was either working for Watsonville Aviation Service or Monterey Bay Flight Academy on any given day.

Darrell Freeman had the extensive aviation expertise necessary to run the business, both flight and maintenance experience. Pat had the money to capitalize the business and extensive general business experience. Steve had both flight and business experience and some money to help make the business work. Freeman was on the job continuously. Pat and Steve showed up occasionally. Freeman worked there because it was his profession. Pat and Steve showed up because they liked being at the airport and around airplanes.

This business structure meant that Freeman would be the primary one looking after me, the new hire. Freeman appeared to look at me with intense skepticism whenever I appeared in his line of sight. In time, I learned we would refer to him as Freeman, leaving off the Darrell. We affectionately called him Freeman, except to his face when we’d call him Darrell. Freeman pretty much looked pissed off to me most of the time. He looked like an inordinately tough guy for as exceptionally smart as he was. He was not only smart but extremely wise too. He was age 29 when I went to work for Watsonville Aviation. His wisdom far exceeded his mere 29 years.

So I had this really smart guy seemingly scrutinizing my every move. His scrutiny did not seem to be in any way malignant. I just knew I had this really smart and watchful guy keeping an attentive and seemingly curious eye on me.

I began the flying part of my new job immediately. One of my duties was to fly what we called DEMO flights. We were the Piper Aircraft Dealership at the Watsonville Airport. We offered these DEMO flights to hopefully acquire prospective new pilot students and aircraft owners. I flew the DEMO flights frequently though they rarely netted a new client. The DEMO flights did succeed in making the passengers I flew at least happy by giving them some positive memories to cherish. The DEMO flights also succeeded in earning me more needed flight hours to acquire my more advanced pilot certifications.

It didn’t take me long to give Freeman an occasion to question my suitability as an employee worth having around at Watsonville Aviation. I had earned my Private Pilot Certificate which I uploaded to a pilot recruitment agency website called bizjetjobs.com.

flight time. My flight time did not include a lot of experience to make me anything more than a minimally qualified pilot.

On my first day on my new job, I climbed into to left seat of the Piper Cherokee 140, N6471W and loaded my passengers for my first ever DEMO flight. I closed and latched the aircraft door and ran the engine start checklist. At the prescribed point in the checklist, it came time to engage the engine start switch. I yelled the customary “CLEAR PROP” out the pilot vent window alerting anyone near the aircraft that I was preparing to start the engine and propeller turning.

Not uncommon to some Piper Cherokee aircraft, the starter barely turned the engine over enough to start. It turned over a little bit, then groaned to a stop. I made a second and third attempt to start the engine. Two more starter groans with each groan diminishing in intensity like a car battery on its last leg. The Piper had a weak battery or starter or both. The engine wouldn’t start.

Off to my right, I noticed Freeman standing in the hangar observing the activity as my passengers and I sat quietly in our seats wondering, “Now what?” I was a real greenhorn. It was my first experience with an aircraft engine that wouldn’t start. I was thinking, “Great — my first DEMO flight and the engine won’t start!”

Freeman began walking out of the hangar toward the aircraft. He bore a somber expression on his face. I later thought, “I’ll bet he already half expected the aircraft engine not to start. It had probably been awhile since the Piper had flown making it hard to start due to a lack of recent electrical charging on the battery? It’s probably part of the reason they hired me — wanting the aircraft fleet to fly more frequently!”

Freeman approached the aircraft very professionally. You could tell he knew how to handle himself around an airplane. His approach was cautious and wide. He knew to walk well around the outside of the propeller arc whether the propeller was “turning” or not. Freeman stepped up close to the fuselage behind the propeller. Through the pilot vent window he spoke a number of instructions which I assumed I was to follow. He said, “BRAKES ON.” I checked the parking brake handle and replied, “BRAKES ON.” Freeman then said, “MIXTURE LEAN.” I retarded the red mixture control knob and said, “MIXTURE LEAN.” Freeman said, “THROTTLE OPEN 1/4 INCH.” I adjusted the throttle and said, “THROTTLE OPEN 1/4 INCH.”

Then Freeman said, “SWITCH OFF.” I turned the Master Switch off and said, “SWITCH OFF.” Freeman then carefully stepped around the propeller and stopped a few feet in front of the nose of the aircraft. Looking at the propeller and me, he stepped further forward stopping just in front of the propeller. Grabbing a hold of the propeller, Freeman pulled hard on the inside of the propeller blades to make sure the parking brake was well set and holding.

All the while, Freeman never said what he was going to do about this situation – – the situation of the engine not starting. He just walked out of the hangar and stepped up to the aircraft and began issuing directives. Though I had never been involved in a hand propping procedure on an airplane, it became apparent to me that handing propping the Piper propeller to get the engine started was probably what Freeman had in mind.

After pulling on the propeller to verify that the brakes were holding, Freeman stepped back just far enough to place himself in the proper position to safely swing the propeller through a revolution without being struck by the propeller rotation. This first hand propping was supposed to be only a “dry run” intended to prime the engine only – – not to start it. If the engine were to start during this initial priming procedure, it would be seriously startling to both the person propping the propeller as well as the pilot.

Freeman looked at me again. He knew he had an inexperienced pilot at the cockpit controls. I could tell he was being extra careful. He would be extra careful regardless of who was at the cockpit controls. Just hand propping an airplane alone requires extreme vigilance let alone doing it with a young inexperienced pilot at the flight controls! Freeman knew he couldn’t trust me yet and I didn’t prove his sense of discernment unfounded. Taking in a deep breath, Freeman swung the prop through. When he did, one of the worst things that could have happened. Though the engine wasn’t suppose to start on this first “primer only” propping – – but it started!

Freeman stepped back a few steps when the engine that wasn’t suppose to start started. After stepping back, Freeman just stood there looking at me. His gaze communicated both belief and disbelief. I was shocked when the engine started too. I knew I would have to face Freeman when I returned from the DEMO flight. The mistake I made, by turning off the wrong switch, was a grave error. The mistake could have caused a serious injury or worse to the person (Freeman) propping the propeller.

The engine started because when Freeman said, “SWITCH OFF” I turned off the wrong switch. Instead of turning the MAGNETO SWITCH off — I turned the MASTER SWITCH off. Amazingly, my initial pilot training was not thorough enough for me to have learned the difference between the function of the two switches. The MAGNETO SWITCH electrically causes the engine to run. The MASTER SWITCH electrically powers the rest of the aircraft — but not the engine.

My first DEMO flight was successful — except for the part about the engine starting unexpectedly.  After seeing my passengers off following the DEMO flight, I made my way out of the Quonset Hut office area and headed into the hangar to face the music with Freeman. Freeman glanced up to see that I was coming his way while continuing to work on an aircraft repair. I could tell he was expecting to see me following the potentially very serious mistake I had made during the hand propping procedure. I walked up and stopped in front of Freeman. “I realize I turned off the wrong switch,” I said. Freeman only replied, “I was expecting that.”

Freeman’s response cut me to the bone. Not a good first day on the job. Freeman didn’t seem all that excited to hire me to begin with. Now I had given him a good reason to want me even less?

In spite of my youth and limited aviation experience and ability, my boss, Darrell Freeman, seemed to see something in me worth investing in. I went back to talk with Darrell when I arrived at work one morning a few days after beginning my new job. Darrell was standing at a bench working on an aircraft component repair. He looked up when I walked up to the work bench and greeted me. His greeting was warm and felt good. I was beginning to think that maybe Darrell might possibly like me instead of disliking me which had assumed?

Darrell asked me about my car. He had been noticing that I was being dropped off at work each day instead of driving myself to work. I explained the situation with my 1962 VW Beetle – – that it wasn’t running and needed an engine overhaul.

Darrell told me to bring my VW in and let him take a look at it. My brother, Paul, and I towed the VW to the airport with a rope hooked up to both vehicles. After checking the vehicle over, Darrell gave me a list of parts to pick up at the auto parts store. I promptly picked up the parts and he promptly overhauled the engine!

In less than a month, I had a new engine in my VW. But more importantly, I had acquired a mentor and friend that would immensely enhance my professional and personal life. Darrell would eventually become the closest person I’d have to a Dad following my Father’s passing 8 years earlier.

In time, I would realize the extent of Darrell’s exceptional talent in the field of aviation. His knowledge and ability in aircraft maintenance and flight operations far exceeded his mere youthful age of 29. I would learn from Darrell inside and outside the cockpit as well as inside and outside the bars we would visit together!

Chapter 16

FIRST FLYING JOB CHORES AND COMPENSATION AND CHEROKEE ALTITUDE RECORD

A lot of what I would come to learn about flying professionally occurred rapidly over the next several months. I flew everyday, often multiple flights per day. In between my flying, I stayed busy handling my other assigned duties. I kept our three Cherokee 140 aircraft perpetually clean. I wouldn’t let them get dirty enough to ever need a wash job. I liked to wipe them clean daily – – a wing and a fuselage at a time, etc. I didn’t clean for hours on end but 15 to 30 minutes here and there throughout the day mixed in with other duties when I wasn’t flying.

One of my “secondary mentors” was Chad Sproule. Chad out did me on airplane hygiene. Chad kept his plane so clean that he actually waxed the paint thin in areas. Chad flew a Beechcraft Queen Air for the Bud Antle Produce Company.

It was my responsibility to tend to office chores too – – waiting on customers – – keeping the office clean and keeping fresh coffee made up. I also called in “live weather reports” daily to the Watsonville radio station. That part of my job had me feeling like a celebrity – – being a radio personality and all!

$250 per month – – plus 20 hours free flight time in the Piper dealership company aircraft – – plus free flight instruction to acquire my Professional Pilot Certificates and ratings training. The 20 hours of free flight time were in addition to the flight time I was already flying to perform my work assignments. I was flying a lot and building the flight time needed to acquire my first Professional Pilot Certification, my Commercial Pilot Certificate. The Commercial Pilot Certificate required 200 hours of flight time in the 1960s.

My work related chores and flying involved so many hours, it was sometimes difficult to get my additional 20 hours flight time in each month. With my extra 20 hours, I would fly with an instructor – – whichever one I could get to go up with me and work on my Commercial Pilot maneuvers training. I would also go up solo and practice my maneuvers to proficiency.

One day, I took off alone working toward flying out my 20 hours for the month. I had no particular flight objective in mind as I departed runway 19 at Watsonville. It was a quiet and beautiful end of the work day flight. The air was calm and slightly cool as it frequently is near the coastal waters in Northern California. It was probably an ISA plus 5 or so degrees day.

Climbing out heading towards the Monterey Bay, a thought suddenly occurred to me, “I wonder how high this Piper Cherokee can fly?” The sky was clear so I didn’t have any clouds to worry about. The usual coastal fog hadn’t rolled in for the evening yet. So I continued to climb. Several minutes into the flight, I cleared 10,000 feet. 10,000 feet felt really high in the small single engine piston aircraft. It was a much higher altitude than I had flown previously. In several more minutes, I reached 18,000 feet.

I stopped climbing at 18,000 feet. Not because the Piper couldn’t climb any higher but because 18,000 was as high as I could legally climb without having an IFR clearance. Above my altitude was the Positive Control Area where no VFR flights were allowed. The view of the Monterey Bay area was magnificent from this altitude. I felt so small my small four seat piston Piper in such a massive sky at this unusually high altitude for a Piper Cherokee 140.

Having reached this unexpectedly high altitude, I then decided it was time to descend and return to the Watsonville Airport. Shortly after beginning my descent, I decided to make my descent to the runway with the engine shut off. Passing 17,000 feet, I retarded the throttle to idle and shut the fuel mixture control off. Then I stalled the Piper to stop the prop from spinning. The sensation of flight with the engine off and the propeller stopped felt both strange and wonderful. It was so quiet and peaceful. I thought, “Gosh, this feels great!”

It took me awhile to descend to the near sea level elevation of the Watsonville Airport. When I began the descent, I prepared the engine to do a quick start if my descent planning for my dead stick landing on runway 19 at Watsonville didn’t work out as planned. I set the magneto switch to the left mag, mixture control rich and throttle open 1/4 inch. During my descent, I noticed I had to keep the airspeed extra slow to prevent the propeller from turning and restarting the engine inadvertently.

I planned my approach to the runway to allow for a constant descent profile versus the leveling off at the traffic pattern altitude for a customary downwind approach. Approaching the airport on a sweeping base leg my descent profile to the runway was looking good. The short “Hershey Bar” rectangular wing carried the Piper downward much quicker than other training aircraft like the Cessna aircraft I had flown during my initial pilot training. As I completed my base to final approach, my altitude looked perfect. I crossed the runway threshold and numbers on profile landing perfectly in the touchdown zone of runway 19. Everything about my un-preplanned flight felt like a flawless success for a young 20 year old newly licensed pilot.

While I was rolling out on the runway, it was time to start the engine. Already having the engine controls in position for a quick start, I engaged the starter. The engine started right up and I continued my landing rollout to the next taxiway, exited the runway and taxied to the ramp.

After parking and shutting down the engine, I felt a positive sense of accomplishment, more than most of my other solo flights to date except for my solo cross country flights. I had spread my wings farther than ever before and it felt good.

Throughout the flight, I knew I was operating outside the normal flight envelope for a solo training flight. And throughout the flight, I did feel a slight sense of apprehension. I knew I was operating outside my previously conditioned comfort zone. On this flight, I was just spreading my wings out a bit further checking to see what they could do.

A lot of what I would be learning about flying and life at ages 20 and 21 would occur in a neighborhood bar called Nate’s. Nate’s was the closest bar to the Watsonville Airport. I thought it was the coolest one around too. Unless I was flying, I joined in the formation of pilots and mechanics leaving the airport promptly at 17:00 and heading to Nate’s.

All of us drank beer except the airport manager, Vern Ackerman. Ackerman liked martinis. I remember the martinis because besides being a great airport manager and pilot, Vern was a good olive catcher. I could toss an olive from one end of the bar and Ackerman could catch the olive in his mouth on the other end of the bar. I never saw him miss. I was a good thrower and he was a better catcher!

We drank Olympia and Hamms beer, on tap. I enjoyed the beer a lot – the taste – the feeling – and the talking that went with it. We drank slow and steady. Sometimes I drank too much. Prior to acquiring my job at the airport, I was not a drinker. My airport family influenced me in many ways. I immensely appreciate their influence in my life.

When I began showing up at Nate’s to drink with the airport boys, Nate would look at Freeman and Bill Wright questioning whether I was of legal age to drink. When I ordered my first beer, I noticed Nate signal Freeman and Bill with a hand and eye gesture if it was okay to serve me the beer I had just ordered? They would signal Nate that it was okay. Freeman responded with a used car salesman looking shrug, hand gesture and eye action. Bill responded with his continuous and irresistible smile and a slight head nod.

Hearing the cracking of the thin ice he was stepping out on by agreeing to serve me solely by virtue of Freeman’s and Bill’s highly questionable attesting of my age, Nate proceeded to pour a draft beer. With what to me looked like forced effort knowing that he was overriding his better judgment (all knowing inner guidance), Nate slid my first ever genuine draft beer ordered in a bar in front of me. I could tell Nate sensed a problem with serving me a beer on my first day in his bar with the airport crew. I would see that same reservation occur in Nate’s body language hundreds of times over the next several months while I continued to show up there daily with my new airport family for our end of the work day unwinding/celebrating time together.

I sensed the wives waiting at home for their husbands for supper held no appreciation for our regular end of day drinking sessions at Nate’s Bar program. Bill always seemed nervous about staying out as late as
Ackerman didn’t attend regularly and always left early. Chad would stay later, around 10 or so. Chad wasn’t married and didn’t have a woman to report to at home. Freeman and I frequently stayed at Nate’s ’til closing time at
That wasn’t as big a problem for me as it was for Freeman. I wasn’t married, Freeman was

Freeman’s wife was a beautiful woman named Sharon. They had four wonderful young children. Sharon was always an amazing host when Freeman invited me home for a BBQ. After our BBQs, I’d frequently spend the night at the Freeman home. I’d sleep on the couch  to wake up in the morning with the kids standing next to the couch looking at me. Nice greeting for a new day!

I learned a lot about both flying and life during the year I spent with my airport colleagues in Nate’s Bar. It was actually the happiest year of my life thanks to my experiences in Nate’s along with the other things that made it so.

We eventually celebrated my 21st birthday in Nate’s. I could see Nate breathe a welcome sigh of relief when he saw that I was finally 21. I was relieved too. Now I was really one of the boys!

Chapter 18

Charles P. Sambailo

Things were really going well the first few months into my first flying job. I stayed busy flying a lot, keeping the company airplanes super clean and attending to our customers. One of ours clients was Charles P. Sambrailo. Mr. Sambrailo went by Chuck around the airport. Chuck owned the Sambrailo Paper Company in Watsonville, California. Like many of the successful business men in Watsonville, Chuck liked to, and could afford to hang out and spend time visiting at the airport during normal daytime work hours.

With everything going so well with my new job, it came as a total surprise when I was informed that I was now being laid off. It was stated to be a temporary lay off. It was explained that when I acquired my Commercial Pilot Certificate I would be rehired to fly the company contracted prisoner transportation flights. Watsonville Aviation Service had recently won the contract to provide air transportation services for the Santa Cruz and Monterey County Sheriff Departments. Until I acquired my Commercial Pilot Certificate, Freeman and our Chief Instructor, Michael Bruce Church, would have to fly the prisoners.

The lay off notice initially left me in a quandary but not for long. One of our good clients was Jim Taylor. Jim loved flying and hanging out at the airport when he wasn’t attending to the laundromat business that he owned. Jim was an excellent and prominent business man in Watsonville. I observed that he was always happy and upbeat to be around. Jim had a lovely wife – blue eyes and blonde hair, and two young sons. Jim invited me into his home often to have supper with his family. Jim’s wife was an amazing cook and homemaker. It would take a Hemingway or Steinbeck to describe how good her cooking was.

Jim also worked a part-time job at the Ho Mart supermarket in Watsonville. Ho Mart was owned and operated by a very nice Chinese family. Jim was kind enough to recommend me to the owner for a job at Ho Mart and the owner hired me. I was hired as a stocker. In addition to stocking, I bagged and carried out groceries for pretty California housewives. Though I liked my job at Ho Mart, it was never going to enable me to earn enough income to fund the additional pilot certifications to become an fully certificated Professional Aviator.

On time off from the store, I spent my time at the Watsonville Airport watching airport flight operations. It was on one such outIng at the airport that I crossed paths with Chuck Sambailo in the parking lot. When Chuck saw me he said, “Hey, Mark, where have you been, I haven’t seen you around lately?” I told Chuck about my layoff at Watsonville Aviation Service and that I was working at Ho mart. I told Chuck that they are going to hire me back when I get my Commercial Pilot Certification completed.

Chuck asked me how much it would cost me to complete my certification?  I told Chuck the amount. Chuck then said, “Follow me.” I followed Chuck into the office. Chuck told my boss, “I’m paying for Mark’s training to complete his Commercial Pilot Certificate.”

I didn’t know what to say to Chuck other than thanking him. His gift came as a complete surprise. There was no discussion regarding a repayment of the cost of my training though I did pay him back at a later date.

I completed my Commercial Pilot Certification promptly during my time off from my job at Ho Mart. Michael Bruce Church and Steve Canty flew the Commercial Pilot maneuvers with me in preparation for the Commercial Pilot Flight Test. I also flew several solo practice hours to develop the necessary proficiency and smoothness to earn my certification. It had taken me six months to acquire the required 200 hours for the Commercial Pilot Certificate following the acquisition of my Private Pilot Certificate.

With the written test passed and all the necessary hours and proficiency obtained, Steve Canty signed me off to take the Commercial Pilot checkride. On September 6, 1967, I flew solo from Watsonville to the San Jose Municipal Airport to fly the checkride with the FAA Designated Examiner, a woman named, Dee Thurmond. Dee gave me a good and thorough checkride. Everything went well and I was issued my Commercial Pilot Certificate. Seven days later, I would fly my first prisoner run for the Santa Cruz County Sheriff’s Department.

My life felt like it was back on course now that I had my flying job back. In addition to flying a lot and spending my evenings at Nate’s with my aviation mentors and work colleagues, I managed to find time to enjoy some female companionship too.

As boys grow older they think a lot about what it would be like to be alone and fully intimate with a girl. I was under the impression that at age twenty I was more late than early to experience that great fortune?

In addition to being an owner in Watsonville Aviation Service, Mr. Carroll owned the Pajaro Valley Memorial Park. It was a stunningly beautiful cemetery in the foothills to the Santa Cruz mountains. Not only was the property beautiful but so was a pretty young girl who worked there.

I visited the cemetery occasionally and would see Marie there. One of my flying job responsibilities was to scatter cremains for the cemetery crematorium. I didn’t think much about seeing Marie other than noticing that she was a cute petite girl. Marie seemed to notice me more than I was accustomed to having a girl notice me. She seemed to smile and look at me a lot when I came into the cemetery office. At the time, I didn’t think anything about it other than that I could tell she was a nice girl.

On one trip to the cemetery, Marie stepped aside from her administrative area to speak with me. She asked me if I would like to come over to her place? Marie’s invitation surprised me. I simply answered yes without thinking anything in particular about what Marie might have in mind for our visit?

I arrived at Marie’s place at the appointed time. Marie lived in a nice garage apartment on East Lake Avenue in Watsonville. Marie welcomed me into her home. It was a small, warm and cozy place – clean and neat. I sat on the couch taking in the sites of Marie and her apartment for a few minutes when Marie asked me, “Would you like to see my new swimsuit?”

Gosh, I wasn’t expecting to have a front row seat to a private swimsuit viewing! This was a first ever for me! To make a longer story short, over the next hour, I not only got to see Marie with her bikini on but without her bikini on too!

I was glad that I got to be with Marie that night.  Her introduction into the special place a girl holds within herself for a boy was as wonderful as I had imagined it to be.  I felt a new unique sense of comfort as I left Marie’s apartment to go home following our evening together. I already liked the name, Marie. I liked it even more after that night alone with her.

Within a week after receiving my Commercial Pilot Certificate, I began flying the prisoner transports for the Santa Cruz County Sheriff Department. On each transport, I either picked up a prisoner in Santa Cruz County and fly them to a designated prison somewhere in the state of California – or I would pick up a prisoner at one of several California prisons or jails and fly them back to Santa Cruz County.

Most often I flew one prisoner at a time. Occasionally I would have two prisoners on board. With the exception of one transport, I flew the prisoners by myself. I did have one trip to fly with a police officer and a deputy district attorney on board. It was a prisoner run to Houston, TEXAS to pick up two extra dangerous prisoners. More about that trip later.

We would have a woman prisoner to transport occasionally. A matron would fly with me to transport the women prisoners. It was up to me to find a matron for those trips. It could be any woman I could find who was willing to fly the trip. Most of the time my bosses wife, Gwen Carroll, would fly with me on those trips. If Gwen wasn’t available, I would get my girlfriend (when I had one) or my brother’s wife, Elaine, to fly a trip with me.

There was no shortage of prisoners to fly in Santa Cruz County. I usually had multiple prisoner trips to fly each week. Santa Cruz County gave me an ID card designating me as a Prisoner Transportation Deputy. With the Transportation Deputy designation, I was authorized to carry a weapon while flying the prisoners. Some of the Transportation Deputies would carry a pistol with them. I did not. My logic was that if no one, including me, had a pistol on board the aircraft, no one on board could get shot.

Sometimes a prisoner was brought to me at an airport by deputies. On other trips, I would have to go into a prison to pick up or drop off a prisoner. At the airport pickups, deputies would drive out to my aircraft with the prisoner. At the aircraft, deputies would remove their handcuffs from the prisoner. As the deputies removed their handcuffs, I would place a looped chain around the prisoner’s waist and then slip my handcuffs through the loop on the chain and handcuff the prisoner. Once completed with my handcuffing, deputies handed the prisoner’s paperwork to me and released the prisoner into my custody. I would promptly load the prisoner into the aircraft and depart for the prisoner’s new facility.

The prisoners came in all ages – young, middle aged and elderly. Some prisoners were juveniles. The juvenile prisoners were flown to various CYA (California Youth Authority) facilities around the state of California.

Although the prisoners could have given me plenty of trouble, none of them ever did. If any of the prisoners were to try anything, I was prepared to incapacitate them. During the flight, I maintained a continual vigil on how a prisoner was doing. Should a prisoner loosen their seatbelt and attempt to cause some trouble, I would only need to abruptly maneuver the aircraft applying alternating positive and negative G forces making it difficult for them to cause trouble.  With a seatbelt unlatched, a prisoner would be tossed about in the aft cabin area by the application of alternating G force loads imposed by my abrupt maneuvering of the aircraft. 

There was no talking during a flight other than a prisoner asking me if it was okay for them to smoke a cigarette. I’d always let them smoke once we were airborne. They could light up and manage the handling of their own cigarettes. A prisoners range of motion was limited due to the looping of the handcuffs through the waist chain. To smoke, a prisoner would lower their head to light and puff on a cigarette.

Though I didn’t speak with the prisoners, I did feel a sense of compassion for them. Some of the prisoners looked rough – others refined. They all sat quietly in their seats simply looking out the window as we flew to their various facilities. I don’t recall transporting any prisoners who appeared to be afraid of flying though I’m sure some of them were fearful. The prisoners seemed quietly resigned to cooperate with the current circumstances they found themselves in. Being in constant confinement and constraint didn’t give them much choice but to accept and cooperate with the officials including me in charge of their imprisonment and transportation.