My most memorable plane rides were on two small ones. The first one was on a five-seater. There were four other passengers, and my seat was right behind the pilot. After he took off, he took out a book and was looking through it, also talking in a mike and working some kind of knobs. I looked outside, saw Route 275, which we were following, and saw corn fields. I thought if we went down we could land in the corn fields. Everything turned out fine, with a smooth landing in Indianapolis.

The other trip was on a little larger plane, with 13 seats. After we took off, a lovely hostess came along with a cart and offered us a cola and a snack. I just got my cola open and had a sip. The hostess came back and said we were landing and she had to have our colas, which I'm sure none of us finished. I've had a lot of laughs every time I think of it.

Dorothy Huelsman, Cincinnati

Back in the 40s when I was a pre-teen, my daddy took mother and me to Lunken Airport, where she and I got on a silver plane and flew all the say to (yikes!) Dayton. I think Daddy drove to Dayton to pick us up rather than pay our way back. Two fares one-way was about all we could swing.

Since it was wartime, we had to pull the blind and keep it down for 10 minutes while we took off and flew over Lunken, and then put it down again 10 minutes before landing at Wright Patterson. All in all, we enjoyed the sight out the window for all of 10 minutes during the 30-minute flight!

Daddy gave mother and me a very nice treat, as was his way.

Sue Edmisten, Cincinnati

When I was a little girl in the late 1950s, my mother and I would fly from our home in Cleveland to Dayton, for summer visits with my grandparents. On one such visit, Hula Hoops were all the rage. My grandparents bought me a wonderful red one, which immediately became my most prized possession. At the end of the visit, it was suggested that I leave the Hula Hoop behind, as there would be no place for it on the airplane. However, my mother finally agreed to let me take it home. I propped it up against the back of the seat in front of me, and all was well until the plane banked. The Hula Hoop then rolled across the aisle and landed in the lap of the businessman who was sitting on the other side. He did not become angry, but simply rolled it back to me. This happened several times, and I will never forget the sight of that red Hula Hoop rolling back and forth across the airplane aisle.

Marty Monroe, Springfield Township

A half century ago, I was a young airline stewardess getting ready to leave New York's Idlewild Airport on a flight to Frankfurt, Germany. Before boarding, a flight mechanic told me a joke. Upon arrival in Frankfurt, a German airlines operations agent told me the same joke. We left Germany and flew on to Shannon, Ireland. Upon arrival at our Shannon gate an Irish ticket agent told me the exact same joke.

Point being is that we had no instant communications in the early 50's and what struck me as distinctive was the airline mentality. We were a small, world wide group in those days, and there were few barriers in our understanding of each other.

Joyce E. Botsford, Cincinnati

This could be a funny, romantic, or even poignant story, but do you have a category for "stupid"? When I was a senior in high school I followed my dream and took flying lessons. On one of my solo flights I wanted to take a picture of the 1945 flood to send to my boyfriend who was in the service in Germany. The plane was a Piper (cabin) Cruiser and my camera was in the back seat. I climbed over the front seat to get it. I've grown up since then. I've had a couple of other memorable experiences like wings icing up and having to slip/slide into the airport with the wind instead of against it. I no longer fly, having married and having eight kids. I have heard that you no longer have to be able to get out of a tailspin or a stall to qualify for a license but you did then.

Liz Schultz, Cincinnati

A number of years ago my wife and I were flying coach from Cincinnati to Salt Lake city to attend a trade show that the company I was working for was participating in.

We were sitting in the boarding area at CVG waiting for our flight to be called when they called my name over the PA system to report to the desk. As I approached the desk I was thinking we, for some reason, were being bumped from the flight.

When I got to the desk the attendant explained to me a couple of first class seats just became available because the owners of the seats had not checked in and wanted to know if we would consider moving from coach to first class. After thinking about it for a microsecond I accepted their offer.

The plane started backing away from the gate as we were settling into our spacious, first-class seats. As the flight attendant was refilling our wine glasses we felt the plane stop and head back to the gate. Being the pessimist I am I thought there was something wrong with the plane, that the flight would be cancelled and we would lose our first-class seats.

After the plane arrived back at the gate the door swung open and on walked a disgruntled Marie Osmond with a couple of kids in tow.

As she walked past us on her way to the coach section I had the strange feeling she, somehow, thought we were sitting in her seats - and maybe we were. Thanks, Marie!

Bill Smeal, Symmes Township

My husband and I are avid museum goers. A number of years ago we were on our way to the National Museum in Washington, D.C. As we climbed up into the sky and I looked out the window, there was a bank of beautiful, puffy clouds above the banner of blue sky. What a gorgeous scene!

As we entered the museum to see the Georgia O'Keefe show, the first painting I laid my eyes on looked like a photograph of the heavenly scene I had just experienced! Although this happened almost 20 years ago, I still have that sweet picture in my memory. Oh, and the show was splendid.

Helen Bass, Blue Ash

In 1975 I took my first flight from Wright-Patterson AFB., to Urbana for lunch in a 4-seater aircraft.

One of my sergeants said "Okay, this is it, today's the day." Cleared it with my boss and joined with 2 other friends we were off.

The fear and wonder you feel at the same time pushes your insides around like crazy when you are getting ready for takeoff.

As you are pulling away and holding on for dear life the earth becomes so much smaller and so very beautiful. From up above the world begins to look like a patchwork quilt. Everything so calm, clean and at peace.

I don't even remember if we ate lunch. When you are part of the sky and all its magic of being close to the heavens nothing else matters.

One of those memories of a lifetime.

Cathy Knue, Delhi Twp.

When I was a kid I was fascinated with planes. I wanted to be a stewardess because that's what women did back then. Well actually it was a toss up between teacher, nurse, secretary or stewardess. I was the rebel. I opted for the glorified waitress. Unfortunately, I was a healthy 135 pounds, 10 pounds over the weight limit, so the dream fizzled.

I remember my first flight on American Airlines in 1969, however, as if it was yesterday. The roar of the engines, the whistling, the speed, the bumps, the lift off, the stewardess uniforms, white gloves, the filet mignon and the tiny little silverware. I was ecstatic. It was the coolest sensation I had ever had until...

My first go-around visual inspection of a single engine plane stays with me still. I remember saying, "Is that all there is?" as I lifted the hood on the engine to check the oil. I mean... there was nothing there. My little Fiero had so much stuff packed in the engine compartment I am certain it would have taken me to the moon and back.

But here was an engine. A battery. And a couple of other doodads. Hmmmm.

When I climbed into the cockpit during this second lesson I was surprised to be sitting in the pilot's seat. But since there were two sets of controls I figured Max, my flight instructor, would fly. I would get the lesson.

Max climbed in and said "OK... start her up."

OK I thought, ease me in. I turned the key. The propeller rotated.

"Let's go," he said. "Huh?" I said.

"Use the foot pedals to control the rudder. Give it a little power."

I pushed the throttle. With a jerk the plane started moving. I felt like I was in a little VW but there were big wings out there and they had to clear the gas pumps.

"OK now take her to the edge... you're doing fine."

"Set your altimeter."

"Check your trim... "

"Battery... " His voice drifted into the vapor of my mind.

I was still in a state of shock. He wasn't doing this to me. I know he wasn't.

"Flaps."

Flaps.

The lady on the radio cleared us for take off.

"Let's go... "

Whatever exactly transpired next I don't remember.

I guess I gave it full power and steered her up the runway... at 60 knots the plane automatically rotated and lifted... and suddenly... it hit me. I had taken off.

I was probably drooling or something. I'm not certain.

The lines of the poem "High Flight" filled my head along with the constant drone of the engine. I couldn't hear anything else. Not Max. Not the static-crackly voice on the radio. I was in a state of euphoric black out. I was there and not. I had been elevated beyond all my senses. I had slipped the surly bonds of space... where the birds and eagles flew ... and even if I didn't reach out and touch the face of God, I probably could have. I was flying.

That was 15 years ago. I never did get a license. But, the poem High Flight still chokes me up and every time I take off in a jet or in my mind, my heart beats back to that first lift-off with me at the controls and my spirit soars.

Cathleen Oblin, Targeted Publications

My very first flight was in a Cesna, appropriately from Kitty Hawk, NC, for a 30 minute view of the Outer Banks. I was 69 years old. My second flight was on a jet from Dayton, Ohio, to Cincinnati, Ohio, to Green Bay,

Wisconsin, and back. No one and nothing had prepared me for the beauty of flying through the clouds. I rarely took my eyes away from the window.

When we left from Dayton, we had full planes to Green Bay on that September 10, 2001. When we returned a week later, there were only 5 passengers, including my son and me. We were not afraid to fly home.

Kate Honnerlaw, Wilmington, Ohio

Back in the early 80's the road just north of Hopkins field (Brookpark road in Cleveland) was well known locally for its numerous potholes. We were coming in for a landing one time when the plane hit some last-minute white-knuckle turbulence. Then some wag in the back of the plane called out, "My God; he's landed on Brookpark". Needless to say, just about everybody in the plane broke down with laughter.

Dan Eaton, Forest Park

Life as a freighter pilot, while lacking in the "glamour" department, can be very entertaining. A few notable things about hauling cargo: 1. You don't have to feed it. 2. Cargo does not become upset when the flight is delayed. "Cargo Rage" is very rare. 3. Cargo has no interest in hijacking the aircraft. It may, however, wish to occupy the cockpit with you.

The 3 of us were cruising happily along at 35,000 feet in the B727 somewhere over the Caribbean on the way from Miami to Aruba. It was a beautiful day as usual in that part of the sky. The autopilot was doing most of the work for us, all we had to do was eat our crew meals, watch the scenery unfold and make an occasional position report to a South American control center. Life was good! The portion of the freight that we could see through the cargo net beyond the cockpit door consisted of 10 or 15 crates of baby chicks on their way to Aruba (probably as good a place as any to be a chicken). They were fairly excited and noisy back there, but all that we could hear up front was very muted chirping. One of the things that takes place when a big jet is converted for freight is that most of the interior insulation is removed back in the cargo hold, making the area aft of the cockpit door quite cold at altitude with outside air temps in the -60F range, so the flight engineer did what he could to direct as much heat as possible to the chicken house behind us. After about an hour enroute, the chirping from behind us suddenly got very loud. I asked the engineer to go back and find out why they were so distraught. As he opened the cockpit door, the noise became almost deafening as the cockpit was suddenly stormed by hundreds of baby chicks. They poured into the cockpit like they were being sprayed from a fire hose. Instantly, there were chickens everywhere. Underneath the rudder pedals, covering every possible square inch of floor space, chirping frantically and shivering. Trying to scamper up our pant legs, more waiting to get in behind them, the engineer finally managed to get the door closed. As the initial shock of the invasion wore off, one of us began to laugh. Within seconds we were rendered incapacitated by hysterical laughter spasms. Eventually, we formulated a plan. The co-pilot would stay seated and fly the airplane while the engineer and I caught the chicks and returned them to their quarters. We proceeded to wade through the masses, repaired the break in the crate through which they had escaped, and captured an estimated 400 fuzzy little chickens in between renewed bouts of hysterical laughter as we chased them around the cockpit and forward cabin area. Meanwhile, in spite of the high decibel chicken fest that was taking place, it was time for the copilot to make a position report to ATC. The only response that he got after his report was in the form of a question from the South American controller, in passable English. "You have BIRDS in the cockpit"?? "Affirmative, Sir" was our reply. Nothing else needed to be said. I think the controller was afraid to ask for any more details. The remainder of that flight proceeded as "normally" as possible given our states of mind. We left the cockpit door open to provide some much needed heat to our guests, and they were happier. None of us cared to finish our chicken sandwiches. After unloading our passengers in Aruba, off to Caracas and back to Miami that night for a much needed change of pants.

Scott MacGregor, Union, Ky.

My father, Erwin Schnetzer, had a life-long interest in aviation and flying.

In college, at the Technical University in Munich, Germany, he studied

Aeronautical Engineering and received a Masters Degree. He also joined

the University Glider Club and later designed and built his own tailless, high-performance glider. In 1931 he went to flying school and flew single engine, open cockpit aircraft for pleasure and business trips. Many times, as older people do, he told me the story of his scariest landing ever. Remember that he had no radio.

"One of my unforgettable memories from my early flying days was a delayed return flight from Bad Reichenhall. My passenger had a girl-friend in Bad Reichenhall and did not show up until 6 p.m. as the sun went down. I flew low and strictly visual and followed the railroad tracks to Munich. Arriving near the Munich-Riem Airport I noticed no lights at all. It was a dark area surrounded by houses. The airport administration did not know of my arrival and had the landing lights turned off. I knew there were trees, smokestacks and a large gas storage tank but I had to go down. Almost at the ground, I noticed to my horror that the ground was moving! A herd of sheep kept the grass runway trimmed. I pulled up again for another pass and by that time the airport police realized what was going on and turned on the lights. After landing I received an icy reception from them and a threat to take my pilot license but they never did."

Manfred Schnetzer, Cincinnati

My fondest flight memory was my first Trans-Atlantic flight in February, 1970. I was a young sailor fresh out of submarine school on board a Pan Am 707 flying from Quonset Point, Rhode Island with 140 shipmates enroute to Prestwick, Scotland to board my first assignment, a nuclear powered submarine in Holy Loch, Scotland. We took off in the morning and our schedule was to arrive in Scotland during the night. My impression of Scotland was what I had seen in the old Sherlock Holmes movies, lots of fog. I was not disappointed! When we landed it was so foggy you could not see the runway as we were taxiing to the terminal, you couldn't even see the terminal until we were almost inside, it was the classic pea soup fog you always hear about. I kept waiting to see Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson but they didn't show, must have been on a case. Its a wonder how the pilot found the airport and landed safely. The return flight was just as strange, since we were flying west through several time zones we always landed at the same time we took off!

Dick Young, Colerain Township

In 1974, I was a mother of three, ages 4, 8, and 10. We were invited to fly to Washington, D.C. for the day on a private jet with my brother who had business to conduct there.

I had flown only one time before, and the kids had never flown. We soared from Lunken Airport on a 6-seater plane. The ride was surprisingly smooth. The look of rapture on those young faces, and their innocent comments are something I'll never forget. My four-year-old son had his nose pressed against the window most of the trip and asked if we would see Superman up there. Then he thought he spotted an angel.

Their excitement was enhanced when we were invited to the two-person cockpit to see the instrument panel which seemed involved then but resembles some fancy car dashboards now. It was the first time they saw beverage holders on the arms of the cushy seats and whooped when they saw a puddle (lake) below. They marveled at everything.

The plane ride took precedence that day. Their only memory of Washington, D.C. was of a red, white and blue bombpop (Popcicle) - not the historical monuments we visited by cab. Their main desire was to get back on the airplane and fly again.

Nancy Cameron, Cincinnati

In the summer of 1942 I was 20 and in basic pilot training at Lemore, Calif. My instructor said that we were going to start night flying that night even though we had not had any instrument flying instruction which we should have before flying at night, but we were running behind schedule . That night the instructor said we would fly in formation with me on his right wing. He said "Hutchens you keep that green light on my right wing in sight at all times." When we get ready to land I'll waggle my wings, we'll break formation, go into trail, and follow me in for the landing. We took off in formation and climbed to altitude. After about a half hour he must have waggled his wings but I did not get the signal . Suddenly the green light was gone. I became completely disoriented. I tried to find some land mark. I finally looked straight up through my canopy and behold there was the landing field above me . Obviously I was upside down. I managed to roll over and put the landing field below me where it belonged I went in and landed and got a real chewing from my instructor for missing his signal. I got my pilot wings, went through B-17 training and took a crew to England where we flew 25 combat missions against the Germans in 1943. I returned to the States and was sent to Wright Field and put in charge of B-17 production building 500 a/c per month. I received a commission in the new United States Air Force and retired 25 years later as a jet qualified command pilot with over 5000 hours flying time. Of course I had many flying experiences during my career but I will always remember the " Landing Field In The Sky".

Dave Hutchens, Monroe

On my first solo cross-country trip to Richmond, Indiana and back to Clermont County Airport, the weather started to change. Big white, puffy cumulous clouds began to form about 1000 feet above my altitude, and it began to get turbulent. As I would fly under them, I'd have to reduce power and add carburetor heat (to keep the carburetor from icing up, and starving the engine of fuel, it's a standard procedure for landing) and dive as the clouds were trying to pull me up inside them. As I flew out from under them, I'd have to add full power and bring the nose up to maintain altitude, as the downdraft was trying to push me lower. As I neared Clermont, it got worse, and the wind near the ground was cutting across the runway, making it rather tricky for a student pilot to land. I ended up making 3 attempts, all resulting in an aborted landing and a full-power go around. My instructor was watching me and helping to talk me down safely. On the fourth attempt, I was able to set the plane down. It wasn't a pretty landing, but any landing you can walk away from is a good one. I asked my instructor, Ken Aultz, how I did, and he asked me "How do you think you did?" I replied "I dunno, I had my eyes closed". The look on his face was priceless!

Edward Clayton Humphries, Amelia

Having graduated from high school in January of 1956 ( we had mid-year classes then), my dad and his friend decided to fly from Philadelphia - my hometown - to Key West, Florida for a winter break.

I was asked if I wanted to go and my response was, " Wow! Yes!" The flight was in Dad's friend Jack's four seat Stinson single engine plane. The weather broke rainy and dreary for two days running, but we managed to take off on the third day. Immediately we had some engine trouble and I began to wonder in what way this was going to be the trip of a lifetime! We flew through more clouds than I had ever seen and, finally, Jack decided we had to land at the closest field for some repairs. And a field was where we landed in Maryland. It looked like a cornfield to me and the landing distance seemed awfully short, with 50 gallon drums marking the sides of the landing area. It was a bumpy landing, but it was a landing, after all! We had some minor repairs and were told we had better go to a bigger field for some work before we spent too many more hours in the air. Well, we climbed into the Stinson and Jack went through his check list and then we taxied down the field. I remember Jack was saying something to my dad that sounded like, " I hope we can clear those trees at the end of the field!" That was all I needed to hear and I started to get really anxious. As we gained speed, Jack finally pulled up on the yoke and I swear I heard the top branches just scrape the underside of the plane! I was beginning to wish I had stayed home, but I kept my mouth shut. We landed later near Florence, South Carolina, had the plane repaired, stayed the night in a big, old, but nice, hotel where I had my first experience with grits. I decided they were not too bad with some milk and sugar! The next morning we took off and made it to the Tamiami Airfield in Florida and rented a car to go to the Keys. The rest of the trip was great {ndash} I caught a Barracuda - and the flight home was much better than the trip down. But that was the longest distance I've ever flown in a small plane and I doubt if that record will ever be broken - at least, not by me!

John C. Karrer, Sharonville

In December, 1953, I was handed a paper releasing me from active duty in the United States Army - exactly 23 months from the date I raised my hand and swore I would be a good soldier. Following a 9-day troopship ride from Germany and a few days at Camp Kilmer, New Jersey, I was on my way home from Camp Chaffee, Arkansas. My 14 months of overseas duty were over. I hardly remember any of the process of being released from active duty, but I definitely remember the flight from Fort Smith, Arkansas, to Amarillo, Texas. It has been a very distinct memory for almost 50 years. I was to fly from Fort Smith, stop in Oklahoma City, then on to Amarillo to greet my wife and my 14-month-old son sometime in the early evening of December 4. I had not seen my wife for 14 months and I had never seen my son, David, who was born while I was on a troopship in the Atlantic Ocean. I was, therefore, more than anxious to get to Amarillo. The DC-3 (the airplane that carried almost everything and everybody during WWII and the Korean conflict) took off, landing, as scheduled, in Oklahoma City. After a brief wait, we were taking off for Amarillo when the pilot announced that the weather might be a problem at Amarillo. I must have been so excited by the prospect of going home that I missed the announcement - or at least paid little attention to it. After some bumpy moments (including a drop of about 100 feet during a thunderstorm), during the flight to Amarillo, we were slowly gliding down toward the runway, my heart probably beating a rapid tattoo. But inches before the plane would have touched the runway, the engines were revved up, the plane climbed back up, and the pilot announced that he had to return to Oklahoma City because of ice on the runway. He said the flight would be resumed as soon as the ice was cleared. Well, if I had had anything to throw at that moment, I would have thrown it. I was livid. I was outraged. I was within minutes of being with my wife and child and now I was still 200 miles away. I believe that was the angriest I have ever been, in spite of the fact that the pilot probably saved the lives of everyone on the plane. The plane did take off again after a wait of some hours, details of which I do not remember, and we did land at Amarillo at about 3 a.m. the next morning. My wife was there, waiting, and so glad to see me and I to see her that I hardly knew there had been a delay. That has to be the most memorable flight of my life.

Frank Stallings, Highland Heights

When the ad for "Interested Future Pilots Apply Within" appeared at the Xavier University Armory in the summer of 1940, it soon became apparent that the invitation was intended for boys only. Or so the reaction from the individual taking the applications would lead one to believe. The ad merely stipulated that you must successfully have completed the Army physical and have a college degree. Such was the case for two female nursing graduates, one 24 and the other 25 years of age, who thought it would be interesting to "take to the skies" in what was predominantly a man's chosen venture.

Elizabeth (Seissiger) Broering (the younger of the two), known as Sei by family and friends, and her best friend Herma Georges saw the ad and knew this was something they just had to pursue. After first being met with rejection and told that the ad was intended for men only, Sei was quick to point out that the only stipulated qualifications identified were indeed met by her and her former classmate. It was at that time that Colonel Truman Gile, (a WWI decorated pilot and aviation pioneer who was friends with two of the most renown pilots Jimmy Doolittle and Eddy Rickenbacker) entered the room. Col. Gile said he overheard the conversation and replied to the gentleman taking the applications, "Well, I think they have you there. We didn't say only boys could apply in the ad and they certainly meet the stipulated requirements. Let them sign up. Welcome ladies."

The rest is history. Sei and Herma went on to successfully complete the training and could routinely be seen by those at the airfield (including her father and mother, John and Wilhelmina) cruising at 4000 feet in her Piper Cub doing vertical drops and performing figure eights. It is important to note that it was only three years earlier that Amelia Earhart completed her last flight and a year and a half before the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Sei and Herma were certainly a part of aviation's early and important history. Today, at 87 years young, Elizabeth (Sei) has fond memories of her flights into the wild blue yonder and enjoys reliving the stories with her seven children, twenty-eight grand children and seven great-grand children.

Elizabeth's husband Paul, who passed away in 1997, served proudly in the U.S. Army Air Force's 15th Division for three years during WWII as a Staff Sergeant. He was always proud of the accomplishments of his wife and likewise recognized her as having been a part of the early aviation movement.

Mark J. Broering (a proud son), Cincinnati

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