Uh-oh. Big trouble right here in Chester County! The end of a perfect day. Reaching for the radio, I pleaded, "Car 12?"
"Car 12, Ron...go ahead."
"Car 12, we've got some trouble makers back here at the station. Could you swing by and check it out?"
"That's a big ten-four, Ron. I'm on my way!"
Siren wailing and red light flashing, in under a minute, Bill pulled up to the curb with tires smoking, but the hoodlums had vanished. I relayed an account of their obscenities and the strange reference to "Hugo."
Bill laughed out loud.
"You see, Ron, Hugo is a new, part-time officer who fills in on weekends and holidays. It's kinda bad, but Hugo doesn't do much for public relations around here. He'll lock these boys up on Saturday night for having a few beers and they don't like that. Hugo has long hair, kinda like yours, sideburns...even wears Raybans. Now those boys thought you were Hugo and they were just razzin' you! They don't mean no harm."
Comforting, indeed. I told Billy-Boy about the earlier phone call and he laughed again. "One of the local maids a needin' breedin', " he said with a grin.
We spent the rest of the evening standing out on the curb in front of the police station, laughing and talking. The flying postman (who had returned to see how I was making out), Officer McManus (who upon finding the happenings in town better than TV also returned), and Officer Whitten (the morning watch officer), and me. Each tried to outdo the other with stories of frightening flights and dangerous police work.
Just after midnight, the stillness of the spring night in Cedar Bluffs was broken by the rumbling of the dual exhaust pipes on my wife's 455-CID Pontiac GTO, as she turned onto Main Street, carrying my rescue pilot, Gary, and his wife, Phyllis.
At 24, Gary had been flying since he was sixteen. His dad was a pilot and aircraft-owner. Gary had grown up with airplanes and had accumulated quite a bit of experience. Phyllis was a cute and petite brunette who would pass for Sally Fields' twin in looks and dry wit.
"What happened, Sky King--lose your map?" Phyllis asked with a grin.
Everyone hee-hawed but me.
After making the appropriate introductions, we returned to the airport. Valerie, Gary, Phyllis, and I, in the gold GTO, led by a three-car police escort.
Since Chester Memorial didn't have a ramp, taxiway or runway lights, the officers agreed to position a police car at each end of the runway with headlights "on" to light the way for take-off. The third positioned his car to illuminate the little airplane.
We quickly determined that N7289S was fine, and that we had at least enough fuel to fly as far as Athens, where gasoline should be available. After thanking everyone for their hospitality, Gary and I climbed aboard and prepared to takeoff. We back taxied to the end of the runway where the police car was parked, ran through the checklist, and pushed the throttle forward. Because the night was cool, the ground roll was short and we were quickly airborne.
As we climbed through fifteen hundred feet and turned toward the west, I could still see the lights of the three police cars marking the little runway as it slid beneath our wings.
During the 30 years that have passed since that night, I have owned three airplanes and flown a dozen more. I've added ratings and well over two thousand hours to my logbook. I've visited hundreds of familiar and not so familiar places. Although I've never been back, occasionally, on a cool spring night, I find myself reflecting on my trip to Cedar Bluffs. I'll never forget the friendly folks there who opened their hearts to welcome this wayfaring stranger who was lost in his funny little bird.
