“These long, early summer days are perfect for this. How much do you think we made?” Martha asked while gazing at the magnificent purples and oranges that filled the sky as the sun dropped below a distant tree line.
Preoccupied with preparation for an early-morning departure the next day, he asked, “What?”
“I’ll bet we topped one hundred rides today, don’t you think?”
“Haven’t counted it yet.” He knew that she really meant one hundred dollars. Her focus was primarily on the money that would give them the flexibility to go off on their own—like to Grand Marais in the morning. It was going to be a special day. Sunday breakfast flights were always her favorite—a few hardboiled eggs, two bear claws, and a quart of orange juice from the local grocery store would be their sole payload. The day was a blank slate—completely open to possibilities.
“Let’s grab a bite to eat at the diner on the edge of town by the filling station, and we can count it,” Nick said. “Shouldn’t be much of a walk. Just give me a few minutes to tie her down first. Did you pack the bedrolls this morning?”
“In the back, Captain.” They liked sleeping under the stars on clear nights. The Milky Way was always accented by continual streaks of shooting stars with vapor trails stretching brilliantly across the sky. In no more time than the passing of a moment, the stars would vanish without leaving a trace of their existence in the cosmos.
After a dinner of chili and grilled cheese sandwiches, Nick and Martha walked hand in hand back to the plane. She was looking forward to a lazy, morning flight up to Grand Marais in the Arrowhead section of Minnesota and was hoping the rest of the evening wouldn’t be spoiled by Nick’s advances. She had tried to stay chaste in their relationship, and for the most part had been successful, but she knew that nights together like this would test them both.
“Will we follow the St. Croix River tomorrow?”
“Would you like to?” Flying just above the hardwoods and pines along the path of a river gave them the chance to scare up a moose or a bear, which was always fun. After a short crossing over the southwest corner of Lake Superior, they would be there.
“You know I would.”
Temperatures dropped unexpectedly that evening. By the time they had their bedding set up, it had become unseasonably cool—enough to discourage any extracurricular activities. Martha kissed Nick good night, and they snuggled into their separate bedrolls for warmth. Life was good, she thought. One day at a time. No real commitments until Monday when Nick would have his first interview for a Northwest Airlines pilot position.
The next day was as good as Martha had hoped. The breakfast was fine, the weather was great, and they even spotted a moose while flying along the river. However, reality set in quickly Sunday evening when they returned home. Martha’s mother, Ida Copeland, confronted them on the porch of the Twin Cities rooming house she ran, where Nick and Bud were boarders. She never liked it when Nick took her daughter on overnight trips. This time was the last straw.
“I don’t know how many times I’ve told you not to take my daughter on a weekend trip, Nick! This is the last time you’ll defy me. Martha is not some tramp you can just drag through the trash. People talk, Nick, and a girl’s reputation is easy to tarnish. Besides, I was worried sick. From here on out I want you to stay away. Do you hear me, Nick? Stay away!”
“That’s not fair, Mom. Nick and I …”
“With all due respect, Mrs. Copeland, that’s not going to happen,” Nick interrupted. “Martha’s agreed to marry me, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” The retort brought a quick slap to his face, catching Nick by surprise.
“Mom, you can’t do that! I’m old enough to make my own decisions.” Martha rarely raised her voice to her mom, but she needed to defend Nick if they were to make it as a couple. Ida frequently reminded Martha of the other, more stable men at their rooming house who had steady jobs on the Northern Pacific Railroad. To Martha, these men were always sweaty and dirty from their work. Regardless, these men suited her mom’s pairing interests far better than Nick did. After all, this interest in her daughter’s future was her prerogative, Ida often thought. Martha was too young to understand the reality of being a woman in a man’s world. With Martha’s father dead fifteen years from a farm accident and Ida’s determination to make it as a single mom, raising Martha the right way left no room for compromise. The scars of the Depression ran deep for Ida. Her goal of security for herself and Martha was at the top of her list of priorities.
Nick’s brown eyes grew dark with anger from the adrenaline generated by her slap. She had caught him good and the sting hurt, but his pride hurt more. He was also embarrassed because of the early Sunday evening hour and the neighbors who overheard their confrontation while out for a stroll in the perfect weather. The sidewalk was near the rooming house porch where they stood now—and where he and Martha had spent many hours holding hands on the swing.
“Marry this man! Not without my permission, you won’t. Nick, you’re going to get this girl killed with your wild notions of flying.” Ida knotted her cotton-print apron in her hands as she talked, almost as if she were twisting it into a weapon. The angry comment about flying struck a chord, and Nick knew its source. That forced landing he made north of Mankato on Martha’s first flight was hard to explain to a person who had never flown. Martha had done her best to minimize the risk, but the picture taken by an opportunistic reporter of the Star Tribune told the thousand words that Ida understood.
“We’ll just see what happens after I get my pilot wings.” He and Martha had talked of eloping while in Grand Marais, both of them anticipating her mother’s negative reaction to their intentions to marry. Nick was ready for his life to move forward. While this wasn’t his choice for a battleground, he wasn’t going to give in. Not this time.
Nick and Bud paid up their rent and checked out of the Copeland rooming house for a new venue the next day. Nick returned only once. It was a warm July night in 1937, about midnight, on Martha’s twenty-first birthday. She was packed. He wore his new Northwest Airlines pilot’s uniform.
CHAPTER 2
1943
“So, is being a co-pilot all it’s cracked up to be?” Bud asked while scanning the Hangar Grill lunch menu. The restaurant had become a familiar meeting place for the two, close to Bud’s office at Honeywell in St. Paul and convenient for Nick making connections. The well-worn traffic patterns in the linoleum floor complemented the vintage décor of the family establishment. A light cigarette-smoke haze filled the air despite two ceiling fans circulating slowly. The counter where they sat had burgundy, vinyl-covered stools. It was for customers in a hurry, which generally fit their schedule perfectly.
Bud watched Nick earn his co-pilot wings after several years of hard work. He was as enthralled with aviation as Nick, but frustrated with being stuck in heating and air conditioning despite having an aeronautical engineering degree from the University of Minnesota, or the “U” as they called it. Aviation is my future too, he thought while checking his supply of cash. Bud routinely budgeted for each meal out. “It’s where I want to be. It’s the future,” he said, ignoring Nick’s attempt to answer his original question.
“Whoa! Slow down. What future are you talking about? Seems like your lips haven’t caught up with your brain,” Nick blurted out. He knew that Bud sometimes thought faster than he spoke—a product of his introverted personality that caused him to switch topics mentally before he had expressed his current thought verbally.
“You know what I mean. Aviation … planes … flight! It’s the future,” Bud said, his face flush with frustration.
“Be patient, big brother. The jobs haven’t caught up with that future just yet. And it’s not going to amount to a hill of beans without geniuses like you.” Nick used to call him the brains of the family because Bud was high school valedictorian, and Nick was merely salutatorian. He also gave Bud full marks for his 3.9 grade point average in engineering at the U while being a ne
wlywed and working full time. No small feat. He was relentless, however, in kidding Bud about his athletic skills. He referenced unmercifully Bud’s two sprained ankles on the first and only day of his football career as the oxymoron of mind over matter.
“As to your original question, if it wasn’t for the weather and the passengers, commercial flying would actually be pretty routine. It is nice to see some of the sights, though,” said Nick.
“Which cities are the best?” Bud loved geography and sometimes would spin the globe in his office while daydreaming about the countries of the world. There wasn’t a state capital he didn’t know or a latitude and longitude reading he couldn’t find.
“Seattle and Portland—no question. The mountains are unbelievable, and the flying is more challenging. Chicago ranks third because the stewardesses really like the nightlife in the city.” Nick winked. The turned-up corner of his smile told the rest of the story.
“I don’t think Martha would like that part of the job,” Bud said, reaching in his pocket to check on his money again before deciding what to order. “By the way, how’s Martha doing with all of your time away? It’s not like she’s one to just sit around.”
“It puts a strain on settling down in the marriage for sure,” Nick explained after ordering a hamburger. “It seems like both of us have lost the old pattern of just being together and having fun. The big kibosh really came last week when Martha found a picture in my uniform coat pocket of me and one of the other pilots surrounded by a dozen pretty stewardesses. I’m not sure that fight is over yet.” Nick leaned in closer and whispered, “Just between you and me, Bud, some of those ladies are real interested in showing their affection.”
“My God, you’re not involved with someone else, are you?” Bud liked Martha and the big brother tone of his voice revealed his dissatisfaction at even the hint of foul play on Nick’s part.
“No … just the ever-present temptation,” Nick replied, shaking his head in denial. “Nothing serious. It is hard to resist, though.”
“Young women don’t have it as good as we do, and that’s a fact,” Bud answered. “The influence from their mothers, straight out of the Depression, is undeniable. They’re tired and poor and without many options for financial security. A good-looking guy like you, making good money, is a real attraction—wedding ring or not. Security is the name of the game—unfortunately for them, and us, I guess.” They laughed self-consciously as Bud made his point. He hoped that Nick’s premarital tendency to play the field wouldn’t cause a problem. He knew how handsome his younger brother was in his navy blue pilot’s uniform and why Martha might be concerned.
They ate their burgers quietly for a few minutes. The Hangar Grill was unusually active for Labor Day and Nick would need to leave for his flight soon.
“Did you see the headlines this morning?” Bud asked.
“You mean about the Allies bombing Rome?”
“Yeah, and the Brits are still trying to take credit for Sicily. I don’t like what’s happening. Mark my words,” said Bud, “you and I are going to be in this mess soon. Once Eisenhower convinces FDR and Churchill that they can whip Germany in Italy, the stakes are going up. There’s no way FDR and Churchill will back down to Hitler with Mussolini out of the picture.”
“There’s lots of talk among the pilots that the army will muster us for transport duty in the Air Transport Command. All the airlines will be called on for troop movements. Some of the guys, though, want front-line duty. It’s probable that this war will be dominated by air power, and they want to be a part of it. When you think about it, though, transport duty wouldn’t be too bad.” Nick leaned forward and arched his eyebrows as he shifted to a more serious tone. “How about you? What are your plans?” he said, referring to the fact that Bud would likely be drafted.
“If I can’t find a job in air defense, I’ll probably enlist. I think I would be more help with my education, though. You know, use my mind instead of my nimble athletic skills.” Both laughed. Bud was glad he beat Nick to the punch with the joke about his athleticism.
“Do you have something in mind?”
“Well, maybe. I’ve had some interest from a specialty aerospace unit of Goodyear Aircraft in Akron, Ohio, that I’m going to check out. This job in heating and ventilation sure isn’t going to last long.”
“Gee, you haven’t said anything about moving. Do Mom and Dad know?”
“No, and I’m not going to tell them until it’s a sure thing. You and I both know that neither of them will ever get on a plane to visit. And what are the chances of them taking a two-day driving trip for a visit?”
“I see what you mean,” Nick said. Checking his watch he realized time was short. “Anyway, good luck! Unfortunately, I gotta run … flight’s at 2:15. Thanks for lunch.”
“Where are you going?”
“Chicago today. Winnipeg and home tomorrow.”
“Are we still getting together with the family later this week at the lake?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for anything. Martha and I will be there late Thursday afternoon. How about you and Helen?”
“Don’t have the luxury of pilots’ hours. We’ll make it about seven o’clock Friday after work. Tell Mom to hold dinner.”
Nick was focused on the pre-takeoff checklist that followed the start checklist in preparation for takeoff. He was flying with Ted Murphy, a pilot he’d flown second seat with before on the C-46, an earlier commercial version of the C-47. Ted was a stickler for procedures, and it wasn’t Nick’s nature to invite criticism as a co-pilot. Nick confirmed that the oil and cylinder-head temperatures were within limits, and that the fuel and oil pressure readings were in range at two thousand rpms.
“Mixture?”
“AUTO RICH.”
“Autopilot?”
“OFF.”
“Gyro-Compass and Horizon?”
“ON.”
“Fuel Booster Pumps?”
“ON.”
“Tail Wheel?”
“LOCKED.”
Nick paced Ted through each check—ending with the Elevator Tab response of ZERO and the Control Booster response of ON. “Bring the rpms to twenty-five hundred for takeoff,” Nick said. It was like Nick was back in his E-2 with Martha. A solid routine led to a good flight. Nick was building a substantial reputation as a reliable co-pilot who was unwilling to take shortcuts.
Once safely off the ground it was Ted who initiated the conversation. “You seem preoccupied. What’s on your mind?” He asked for two reasons. First, he liked Nick, and it wasn’t like him to be so quiet. The fact was, Nick would always carry his end of a conversation. Second, a good pilot is always aware of a co-pilot who’s not himself that day. Small details, but important in gauging the co-pilot’s reaction if an emergency were to come up.
“My brother got me thinking about what’s going on in Europe. He’s a smart guy, worth listening to. Says we’re all going to be in the thick of things real soon. That there’s no way FDR will keep us out. What do you think?”
“I’m no world statesman, but I think your brother’s only half right.”
“How so?”
“The way I hear it, the Japanese are giving our boys fits in the Pacific. The Pacific Fleet is finally back on its feet, but they’re going through hell to keep it there with the constant attacks. The Nips aren’t going to give up. Those little bastards see our Achilles’ heel as having to conduct a war on two fronts. They have a powerful navy and one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“They have the most advanced air force in the world.”
“Really? Ahead of us?”
“Everyone’s ahead of us. We’re the Johnny-come-lately in air power.”
The altimeter needle began to move, as they climbed to look for smoother air. While the minutes passed and the slight vibration from the turbulence subsided, Nick thought. He realized that he’d been so focused on co-piloting for Northwest that he hadn’t really been focusing on what was happe
ning around the world. “So, what’s the prognosis, doctor?”
“Get your rank up to captain pronto. You’ll have more say in which part of the war you’ll be involved in. Pilots will be at a premium. I know you’re young, and it may be hard to accept, but men like you will become the backbone of the U.S. air response necessary to finish this war.”
“You said finish?”
“Yes, I did.”
Nick called Martha when he got to Chicago. The conversation didn’t go well. He told Martha about his conversation with Ted and that he was going to take on more hours in order to make captain more quickly. Martha could handle the part about Nick possibly having to go to war and the extra hours, but it was the female voices and the noise of the bar in the background that rankled her. The telephone party line shared with the neighbors didn’t provide the confidentiality that Martha needed to be candid, however.
“We need to talk when you get home. I don’t like what my intuition is telling me,” Martha said through clenched teeth.
“I didn’t start the war. I’m just trying to get prepared,” Nick said.
“It’s not the war in Europe or Asia that bothers me right now. You better start paying attention to your home front, Mister.” Martha resented Nick’s freedom and was jealous of his ability to pursue his dream of flying. She felt cheated, having to work a part-time sales clerk job in the hardware department of Sears & Roebuck in downtown Minneapolis. She thought about Judy Garland, who was her age and from Grand Rapids, Minnesota no less, and Vivien Leigh, who was not much older, starring in Gone with the Wind. Martha wasn’t a movie star and didn’t want to be one, but she wasn’t naïve either. She had experienced a taste of freedom with Nick while they were dating and now she was stuck. Things were happening in the world fast, and she wanted to be a part of it. She wasn’t usually jealous of Nick, even when he strayed in high school. But, that was then, she thought. His freedom and the call from the bar represented a threat to the security of their marriage. This was more than she could handle. She hated the echo of her mom’s voice saying, He’s no good for you. You’ll see. Mark my words.
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