Power on stalls are scary.

After my divorce I dated Bill Pratt for sometime. He was a motorcycle racers. A departure from the cowboys I was used to. Still, he was very witty and anyone that could make me laugh was in like Flin.Best of all he was gone all week and only came to his home in Phoenix for the week-ends. This suited me very well as I was working hard and trying to keep an eye on my teen age boys.


Bill suggested one day that we should take flying lessons. This had been a vague dream in my mind for years so I quickly agreed. We soon were off to Paradise flight school. A hanger and a pot hole filled airstrip behind the race track. Of course we both thought we were too smart to need the weeks os ground school so red the manual and jumped right in. Bill soloed after five hours with an instructor. It took me more like thirty five. I was not a natural but I had determination on my side. On the hill by the airstip there were two green water tanks. That was where you cut power and started your turn to land. We had many good laughs about how we would never be able to land if we were where there were no water tanks. This was not true of him as he went on to be a commercial pilot where as I was so glad when my solo flight was over and the certificate in my hand I never cared to ride in a Cessna again.

The day I soloed I went way out in the desert and tried a power off stall. That was okay so I thought I would do the power on stall. That scared me plenty as I came out of it disoriented and couldn't find the horizon for a few minutes, which seemed much longer. Then I hear 409er, 409er come back to the field. I went gladly and the instructor sighed as loud as I did when my feet hit the ground. She said,"You weren't supposed to go so far or do so much your first time up." The custom was to write your name on your panties and post on the bulletin board with all the men's shirt tails. Many more men than woman flying those rickety old cessions at that time.

Anyway I got thinking about Bill and decided to post a small poem I wrote in his honor. It was published in a small slick poetry book being done at Scottsdale at the time. (Chimera)
DESERT LOVE

Some men share riches, wine or flowers.
You shared a desert night,
A million stars.
Memories of times past,
Dust smells.
The sound of small animals, thing about making love.
A warm belly
A hot passion,
A gentle kiss for goodbye.

LaRena Hall, Phoenix Arizona