"Hello, gents," Kit greeted the two old guys and one young one all looking
into the left engine of the 18. "Lord, what a great ole bird..." he continued as
he looked right in their eyes, one at a time, smiling away. They had the cowling
off and were doing some kind of repair to the engine.
        "Hey thar..." the oldest one, by a year, answered back as he looked at Kit,
then back at the engine and added, "there, Orv...you mean, uh...this air-o-plane
...or one of us?..." as he looked at his companions and gave a wink.
        "So, you need petrol?" the other old one asked.
        "Well, there's sure no hurry but, yes sir...uh, I meant the eighteen....But I don't
doubt that both of you, now, are great old birds yourselves."
        "Sir?..." that first old one razzed, "...did he just call you sir, O Dub'ya?..."
and gave a wise old look toward his partner.
        The other one gave a quick little snort out his nose with a crisp smile and
said, "sounds like he maght want fee-yule today, Tommy...whattaya think?"
and looked at the young one, then back at the engine, then added, "yeah, well
...I'm the great one. This other fossil here's just the old one," waggling his head
at his compatriot.
        "One hundred low lead?" the young one asked, smiling Kit's way with
head-bobs.
        "Uh, yeah..." Kit chuckled, "that blue stuff...you bet."
        "That's that fee-yule in the dirt hole, Tommy, ain't it, Orv?" the one who
was already seeming to be the ringleader guiled.
        "Why, by dam, I think yur raght there, Wi," then, turning toward Tom
again added, "jus' pour it through that calender, Tommy, you know, that one
we use for the macaroni...it shoul' be all raght," and turned with a little smile
to look at Kit for his reaction.
        "Don't pay any attention to these old coots," Tommy laughed, "you want
it topped off?" he asked Kit as he wiped his hands in a rag.
        "Uh...yeah, please...Tom," Kit smiled.
        "Ole coots?!...Why you ingrate shavetail, we'll eat 'cher dogs for lunch,"
that ringmaster wiled on in jest.
        "Don't 'chu bother my customer while I'm gone now, Wile. Orv, you tell
'm," Tom yelled back before vanishing past the hangar door.
        "Yeah, you go 'head 'n tell me, Orv," Wi said under his breath as they
both started shoving each other playfully, looking like the inmates just took
over at the asylum. "DON'T 'CHU POUR ANY OF THAT WHITE
LIGHTNIN' IN HIS TANK LIKE YOU DID TO FRITZ, NOW..." he
yelled out to Tom, then checked the tightness on an engine nut.
        Kit turned to them from looking up at the nose of the old Beech and
snickered, "I'm Kit Cody," reaching for Orv's, the closer, hand. "A real pleasure..."
        "O yeah? Why's 'at, rockhead?" Wi feigned a grumbled disinterest.
        "Orville Wright Yaeger," the other answered as he shook Kit's hand,
"...and this pudknocker here's Wiley Post Armstrong..." and Wiley made
sure Kit saw the black grease and oil in his hand before shaking with him,
then the old ones shook with each other in a short comedy routine of formal
introductions, looking like the Marx Brothers, Laurel and Hardy and even a
touch of the 3 Stooges.
        "Kit Cody?" Wi remarked as he returned to the engine task, "di'n'chu
have that cowboy show a while back? Wun't that him, O Dub?"
        "Gimme that wrench, you're goinna bust that nut, hoddammit....You,
uh, related to Buffalo Bill, there, uh, Kit?" Orv keeping up on their job,
checking Wi's work.
        "Uh...nuh, I don't think so...how 'bout you guys? You related to the
old eagles or the...real old ones?"
        "He keeps comin' back to old, don't 'ee, Dub'ya P?" Orv said.
        "And birds...sure does, pud," Wi answered, then spoke louder to Kit,
"you mean the dead ones or the live ones, don't 'cha, Cody?" he retorted.
"Welp...nope...no, no 'n neither."
        "Guess our folks just had good 'maginations, huh?" Kit came back as
he reflected some upon his heritage.
        "Or intentions," Orv philosophized.
        "Maybe yours," Wiley finished. "So...Cody," sounding ready to guile
again, "you a drug runner?...or guns?"
        "Uh, nope...'n not..." Kit was game, "just booze...'n girls."
        "Hah! I tole you, Dub," Orv hooted, having had at first sight predicted
to his pard that Kit would be some fun. "Well now, Buff'lo, you sure got you
some more customers raght cheer, don'ee, Wi?" and Orv moved
something in the engine that pinched Wile's hand (on purpose, which Wiley
knew).
        "OUCH! you fff...torkin' nutball ROCKHEAD!" Wi barked, "you
TOO, Cody, for mentionin' that countryban!"
        Kit chuckled a "sorry there, Wile."
        Orville canted through the engine to Wiley, "aw, shute fer, ole bud,
I'm re-ul sorry there," then turned it, "you'd do better, though, keepin' yer
externalities outta the way, you think? 'N hell, 'spite 'cher moanin', I've got
this thing fixed, I think."
        "Somebody oughtta fix you," Wi grouched as he checked the work,
then added, "shu...sometimes I think you actually know what 'cher doin',
Yaeger." Then, louder, he ordered, "Cody, get up there in the captain's
chair and earn yer dam ejacation here, 'stead a grinnin' there like some
dang pudknocker."
        "Rodjo, skipper," Kit answered like a kid, never having been inside
an 18 before (one of his dream ships to fly back then). He ran his hand
along the wing's underside on his way to the stairs, went up into the cabin,
walked uphill to the cockpit, sat down in the left seat, looked down at the
guys and yelled, "READY!"
        "OPEN THE DAM WINDOW, ROCKHEAD!" Wile yelled back
up. Kit did, smiling pretty sheepily. "Thank ya....Now, move the throttle,"
Wi continued, "...like for a start."
        Kit pumped the left throttle twice slowly, then pulled it back to the
stop as the old birds watched inside the engine.
        "All right, Cody...push in the mix," the guys keeping their heads in the
engine as Kit pushed that lever full forward. "OK, captain...and I'm usin'
that term re-lidg-e-us-ly," Wi goaded, "switch on the mags."
        Kit looked around the panel and Wiley taunted, "up aBOVE,
Rockhead," smiling to Orv but making sure Kit couldn't see it, though Kit
was too busy looking for the switches anyway, then found them and
switched them up; then Wile added, "master," said as if Kit had already
flipped it.
        "You want it on?" Kit was kind of kidding, but having trouble locating
that one as well, as Orv walked around to Wi's side of the engine.
        "YEAH we want it on! I want it on. You want it on, O Dub'ya? Ka-
rice, what a whacker," Wiley carried on. Kit, chuckling, found the master
up above and flipped it on.
        "All right, Cody, the brakes are set, but be dam ready with your toes,
just in case. Got it?"
        "GOT it!" Kit half-yelled down.
        "OK, give it two pumps AF-ter you've found the starter...and then do
it," Wi instructed.
        Kit complied, but held his thumb off the button, waiting for them to
step back away from the engine, but they just stood right there looking into
it. Then Wiley added, "well...START IT, Rockhead!...cheez," winking at
Orv.
        Kit pushed the button and the big, shiny, metal Hamilton Standard two-
bladed propeller started turning, did a few revs, then smoke poured out of
the exhaust and the 450-horse, 9-cylinder Wright radial caught and started
rumbling throughout the hangar like a locomotive.
        The old guys stood at the engine in the prop wind, yelling in each other's
ears as they looked at and touched things. Then Wile whirled a finger around,
Kit got the message and revved it up slowly until Wi gave him a closed-fist
"hold" signal. That sign language was a little easier, Kit thought, recalling the
Chief's messages and his own interpretations the night before, then put his
head right back into what he was doing right there: Orv was just inches from
that prop. Kit quickly looked for and found the brake release, then kept his
hand on it.
        The engine thundered and resonated like a tornado on loudspeakers
while the guys below touched some parts and, in a few seconds more, Wiley
looked up to Kit and signalled to bring it back to idle, and he did. Then Wi
signalled it again. Kit had left the throttle open a tweak, so pulled it back to
the stop. Wile gave a thumb up, his head still in the motor, and still yelling
into Orv's ear. The Wright was such a neat sound, Kit thought, like you
could hear each explosion, perfectly timed. One drop less fuel and it would
have stalled, it had seemed.
        Wiley looked up to Kit again, gave him another finger twirl and "cutoff"
sign across his neck and Kit advanced the throttle and pulled the mixture
lever, the engine quit and the prop stopped. Kit breathed a sigh of relief that
no heads or arms had gone into the prop as he toggled down the mags and
master and retarded the throttle back to the stop to be sure things were
right as found. Wiley quietly yelled up, "what does the temp read?"
        Kit found the instrument he was looking for, read 14o degrees oil temp
and shouted that down.
        Wi smiled at him, "all right, knocker, you don't have to yell now....
Shut it all down 'n c'mon outta there b'fore ya git stuck." Kit joined them
in a few and they walked out of the hangar together to get out of the smoke
and fumes.
        "Well, Buffalo," Orv smiled, "ever start a radial before?"
        "Sure haven't, guys. That was some ol' treat. Is it working all right?"
        "It is if you didn't bust anything gittin' outta there," Wile dug. Tom
drove up in the fuel truck and came over to them as Wi added, "really,
though, you didn't do any worse than this wanker would've."
        "They pretty rough on ya, sir?" Tom smiled, adding, "42 gallons and
a quarter quart low on oil. D' ya want me to put it in, sir?"
        "No thanks, Tom, I'll get it...yeah, they're pretty rough. They need
some drinks and girls," Kit quipped. "How much do I owe you?"
        "Ninety nine and change. Drinks and girls, sir?"
        "You're too young to understand," Wile chided.
        "Call me Kit, Tom," Kit moved his hand out to him and they shook,
"Kit Cody," reaching into his pocket, pulling out a small wad, separating
a hundred and a twenty and giving them to Tom.
        "He had a cowboy show a while back, son," Wi cracked.
        "Yeah, Tom, Buffalo Bill's di-rect di-scendent," Orv followed
Wiley's lead.
        Kit dropped his head, laughing and shaking it 'no' during Tom's,
"wow!...oh...uh...yeah, they're a couple of real cards aren't they? Tommy
Andy Jackson Rickenbacker, Mister Cody, good t' meet 'cha."
        "Jeezall!...are you related to any of them?!" and Kit got a recall of
the "Twilight Zone" feeling he had had up in the air.
        "Uh, no, I don't think so, sir."
        "You forgot somethin', Cody," Wile came back in.
        "What's that, Wiley?"
        "A hundred each our way for the 18 time," he jibed.
        Kit laughed, shaking his head, "you ol' rockhead...I did a lot more
damage than that in there."
        "O Lord, here we go," Orv chortled.
        "Then you better by dam come up with those girls, and I mean
now, ki-yote," Wi joked, though sounding real as heck.
        "And two cases of Southern Comfort oughtta do it for now, hey,
Dub'ya?" Orv contributed.
        "What girls," Tom queried.
        "Go get the man his change, son," Wi said with noticable affection.
        "No. No, Tom," Kit said, "keep the change....Please."
        "O sure," Wi wiled on, "the kid gits paid...fer Crise, O Dub, this
guy's as dumb as you said."
        Tom thanked Kit and gave him the receipt as they chuckled and the
young one added, "if you guys'd ever do somethin' maybe you would get
paid," and dodged Wiley's come at him.
        "So," Kit directed to the ole birds, "what's the story on that
Stearman?" nodding toward the hangar.
        "Why? You from the F, F 'n A or somethin'?" Wi retorted, still
trying to land a punch on Tom.
        "Naw, I've just always wanted one, Wi," and started walking with
the other three back toward the hangar to the Boeing biplane next to the
18. "How much you think the owner would take?"
        "How many girls did you say you can git, Kit?" Orv joked.
        "WHAT girls are you guys talkin' about?!" Tom was starting to
sound agitated.
        "How much you got?" Wiley smiled at Kit.
        "It's yours?! You ol' codger, you."
        "Watch it now," Wi came back.
        "He's had it almost 5o years!" Tom told him as they reached the old
open-cockpit taildragging "rag" wing and Kit was thinking Wi had owned
it longer than he had been alive! as he looked into the engine with the
guys standing there around him.
        "Hole...ee...cow, Wi, 5o years!...still flyin' 'er?"
        "Duz a man's brain shrink faster 'n a woman's?" Orv sallied, "of
course the ol' buzzard still flies 'er...terrorizes ev'rybody in the dang
neighborhood is what he does with 'er...and he'll probably'll DIE in 'er."
        "Well, holy dam," Wi came back, "look who's callin' the bull beef.
Shi'...he's just jealous is all, Cody." Kit was laughing and walking out the
wing, feeling it, shaking the struts and plucking the wires between the
wings.
        "What girls?" Tom tried once more, really sounding intent on an
answer.
        "Easy, kid," Wi rejoined. "You wanta fly 'er, don't cha, Cody?"
        "Oooo yeah..." caught still admiring the ship as he walked behind
the wing and stepped up on the wingwalk to take a look inside the
cockpit. "That possible?!"
        Orv muttered an, "aw shit...."
        "Go git the chutes, Tommy!" Wiley's exuberance immediately
transferring to Tom's gait to the office, all within seconds. "Let's roll
'er out, gents!"
        "O. By the by, Buffalo..." Orv taunted, "has he tol' ya about all
the students he banged up in the other Stearmans back durn the war?"
        "Did you fly in the war...guys?!" Kit's demeanor changing to
reverent awe as they got into position to roll it out.
        Orv offered, "he taught crashing."
        "You ole skunk. You couldn't hear right even back then," Wi
cracked as they started pushing and pulling the tail of the blue and
yellow-trimmed ship around and Wi started telling Kit the story of Orv
and he in the same flight class in early '42 in Texas and the time they
went up together without permission one night and, after the engine had
quit, crashed because of Orv not hearing Wi's instructions, he told; and
Orville going on to fly DC 3's and such and Wiley to instructing in
Stearmans and all before going on to combat in Europe. Kit was feeling
proud just being there with them. Any combat vet was a hero to him.
And the nurses.
        The fabric, wood and wire, the polyurethaned wooden prop with
the metal cover on its leading edges and the front of the radial engine all
shined brightly in the Arkansas sunlight as they rolled the craft outside.
Tom got back with the chutes while the guys were preflighting the old
beautiful what, "girl?"
        "Ever use a chute, Cody?" Wi was starting a kid or another story
or worse, Kit could feel it coming.
        "Nope, haven't, Wi," he answered warily as Tom helped him get
one on.
        "Don't worry 'bout that, Buffalo," Orv kicked in, stepping on Wi's
line, "the crash'll disable ya from gittin' outta the fire."
        After the laughs, Wiley went on, "don't pay him any 'tension,
Cody, now he's thinkin' 'bout the insurance money." And Orv was, and
admitted it. Actually, he said, it was more about wondering if they had
paid the premium on time.

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