“What’s all the fuss?”
The life of a pilot revolves around flying, but it’s not all about flying. Sometimes it’s about the experiences that come as a result of your flying. It takes you places. Puts you in a position to do things you otherwise would not have. Some are interesting, maybe even exciting. Some are not so pleasant. Some are just … well … different.
It was a late summer’s evening in the late 1970’s. I was closing up the airport that night, so between fueling and putting airplanes away in the T-hangars, sweeping the floors, and feeding the boss’s hunting dogs, I also answered the phone.
Everything was done, and I was just about to leave – had to wait another forty-five minutes or so for the rotating beacon to come on before I could go – that was the rule my boss insisted upon. And of course, that was when the phone rang.
The caller was Bill, a local private pilot who happened to own a couple of bloodhounds. From time to time, he would get a call to assist police in tracking down people who had gone missing or were evading law enforcement.
This particular evening, he needed to take his dogs to Marion, Illinois, a little over a hundred miles from Olney-Noble, our local airport. An elderly gentleman had gone missing from a nursing home. Could I get him there?
Within maybe twenty minutes, we were airborne in a Piper Archer. Bill and I up front. The dog in a cage in the back. I got them there fast as I could, and there was still some daylight remaining when we landed.
There was nothing for me to do if I waited at the airport, so I gladly accepted the offer to come along and join in the search. Darkness was rapidly approaching as we rode in the police car to the nursing home.
We were briefed on the way. At suppertime, the staff at the nursing home noticed one of their residents was missing. A search party had been organized, and Bill’s dog would be a key part of it.
There were police cars everywhere when we got to the nursing home. City, County, and Illinois State Police. The ISP even had a helicopter there to help.
The staff gave the dog a good sniff of the missing man’s clothing, and he responded loudly, “BRAWWWWWWLL! BRAWWWWWWLL!” and off we went. Up the hill on a poorly-maintained oil lease road. “BRAWWWWWWLL! BRAWWWWWWLL!” the dog reassured us. We were on the scent.
Darkness was coming fast now. “BRAWWWWWWLL! BRAWWWWWWLL!” It was both comforting and alarming to hear. If we were on the scent, we would surely find the man. But there was rough and rugged terrain with heavy brush on both sides of the road. If he had wandered off the road …
“BRAWWWWWWLL! BRAWWWWWWLL!” the dog called out again, just as a message came over one of the police officers’ radios. The elderly gentleman had been found.
“We found him, Blue!” Bill shouted, barely able to contain his excitement. “BRAWWWWWWLL! BRAWWWWWWLL!” Blue replied.
I stopped, looked around in the darkness. “Where is he?” I asked.
“He’s back at the nursing home,” the officer with the radio said. “Apparently he was sitting out in the gazebo, watching and wondering what all the fuss was about.”