ONE CARELESS MOMENT

By DELL ARTHUR

            It has been a number of years since I flew as an “ag pilot.” But during the 14 years I spent in the cockpit I had the joy of meeting and knowing a lot of airmen from different backgrounds. A common concept of a “crop duster,” as usually held, is one who holds a devil-may-care attitude, smirks at danger and defies death with abandon. But for the most part shining knights they're not! Most of the pilots I knew were ordinary people with ordinary hopes and desires who applied an extraordinary skill to help feed America’s families. As agriculture pilots they simply are no more than “farmers” utilizing an airplane rather than a tractor or plow to do their work. But as with other facets of farming there also lurks real danger and there are rules that are absolute.

            The backgrounds of the folks I met and befriended ranged from a professor of mathematics at San Jose State College who sprayed artichokes during the summer for extra money, to a hydraulic engineer who simply loved to fly. And there were the World War II pilots who flew combat over Europe and the Pacific theatres who continued their aviation careers in agriculture work rather than fly with the airlines or a desk.

Some of these people had experiences that tested not only their courage but their ability to function normally as well.

            One such pilot I knew flew in Salinas, California. He was a former Navy fighter pilot who flew off an aircraft carrier during the Second World War. He was a handsome man with delicate features, dark hair, broad-shouldered and charming smile. In uniform you could imagine women swooning over him. After the war he came home, married and found his services for shooting down Japanese Zero’s not needed so he decided to become a crop duster.

            Following the war there was a huge surplus of military airplanes. The most sought after were the bi-wing Stearman trainers. Removing the 220 horsepower engine and replacing it with a more powerful Pratt-Whitney 450 H.P. engine, removing the front cockpit and installing a metal hopper capable of holding up to 300 gallons of material and adding spray booms, you had the perfect spray plane. You could buy such a plane for $500 and go into business.

            “Ag flying” is a specialized facet of aviation. There is more to it than whizzing a foot or less across the ground. Temperature and wind also play an important part. And then there are also other rules not associated with general aviation. And these rules play an important role in safety or in some instances, death.

            It is all a calculated risk.

            In many fields in central California there are irrigation pipes running in line with a row. Some of these pipes stick up as high as eight feet or more. Knowing where they are located is a key to how the pilot will work the field. In addition, spraying is usually done early in the morning for several reasons; the wind is calm and the temperature is cooler. These are some of the benefits. On the other side are the disadvantages; a rising sun blinding a pilot, power and telephone wires hidden by the background, and other distractions. A wary pilot will usually scout the field for obstacles before “dropping in.” A mistake can be very costly.

            This particular day my friend was anxious. The morning dawned without a cloud in the sky and there was only a breath of wind. Loading his Stearman he set out to the field. The rows were running east to west and he decided to make his first pass towards the east—into the rising sun. Dropping over the line of telephone wires he leveled and opened his spray booms. About 100 yards in front was a line of irrigation pipes that blended into the color of the crop. He smashed headlong into the first one at 100 miles per hour.

            The last thing he remembered he said, was a horrific thump. The airplane smashed into the ground and nosed over spewing wreckage across the field. Gasoline from the upper wing tank splashed all over the wreckage and himself. Heat from the engine ignited the fuel and the next thing he knew he was swamped in the center of flames. Unbuckling his safety belt he crawled away but soaked by the gasoline his overalls caught fire. Rolling on the ground he managed to extinguish much of the flame. Injured he lost consciousness. The only thing protecting him was his crash helmet and goggles. It was the goggles that saved his eyes.

In a nearby field farm workers saw the accident and rushing to the scene they pulled him from the inferno. It was two days later he woke up in the hospital swathed in bandages. The doctors kept him sedated to ease the pain but the damage was massive—especially to his face. Following several months and operations he finally was released from the hospital. Looking in a mirror his once handsome features reflected only ugly scar tissue.

            After a period of convalescence he returned to the company and took a job in the office. Months went by. Each morning he would look out the door and watch colleagues warming up their airplanes in readiness for the day’s work. One morning, after following this routine for a number of weeks, he abruptly left the office, went into town, went into a bar and consumed a few drinks. Returning to the airport he walked out to the ramp, climbed into a parked Stearman and took off.

            It was reported by some pilots that he flew as good drunk as he did before the accident. But the fear in his belly belied such a claim.

           

One afternoon when the work was done we were sitting in the shade of the hangar away from the sweltering heat. We talked about flying in general and specifically crop dusting. I ventured to ask why he continued to fly. He answered simply, “…I don’t know how to do anything else.”

            It was about 10 years later when I again ran across this good man. He no longer flew but owned a small crop dusting operation and employed three pilots. He had quit drinking and had found peace within himself. His scarred face showed a sense of relaxation and contentment. He won his greatest battle—a form of courage that allowed him to accept the tragedy of one careless moment.