I have your autograph, Mr. McChesney? Would you sign it, Mr. America, please?"
"Sure. I hope we get through to Seattle this evening. I miss this competition and I won't be mister anything."
The ticket agent smiled. "I wish you the best of luck, Mr. McChesney."
McChesney turned and walked out onto the tarmac.
There was a third passenger but the agent had to look down this time. He hadn't been visible behind the body builder. The boy looked after McChesney wistfully.
Alvin Stanford Thomas III was eleven. He was short, compact, close-cropped hair behind steel-rimmed glasses. It was hard to tell what kind of man the boy would become except for the jaw and eyes. The jaw was square, determined and the eyes were very blue and very alert.
His father had called earlier to let the airline know that he was traveling alone and had given her son a signed letter to hand to the ticket agent.
"Ticket...your ticket please?"
Al Thomas the III jumped, blushed and dug his ticket, boarding pass and the letter out of an elaborate back pack. He was dressed in a boy scout uniform. When the ticket agent handed his ticket back he shouldered the pack with a grunt and headed for the airplane.
On the ramp Prince T. McChesney looked up at the airplane fearfully. He wasn't a good flyer. Flying made him sick to his stomach and fear made him sweat. He had a motion sickness patch behind his ear and silently prayed it would get him through the two hour flight north to Seattle. He looked around to see if anyone noticed, saw the boy approaching, head bent forward from the load.
McChesney went up the stairs to the cabin cursing planes, Frank and Orville Wright, `The Right Stuff’ and the Space Program, hoping he hadn't left anyone out.
When Alvin got to the top of the stairs he couldn't go any further. McChesney was standing in the door flirting with Miss Willis, the flight attendant with his back to Alvin. Alvin grunted with resentment. From their laughter it looked like they were going to stand there forever.
"Hey..." Alvin spoke quietly.
McChesney went on talking. Alvin spoke louder. "Hey, c'mon, gimme a break!"
Still the body builder didn't move. Alvin leaned forward, ducked his head and banged the aluminum poles of his back pack into McChesney's back.
"Watch it!" McChesney turned angrily. "Watch where you're going." He looked down at Alvin and laughed. "Well, what do you know, it's a dwarf in a boy scout uniform."
To her credit, Miss Willis didn't laugh.
Alvin looked up at McChesney coolly. "Would you mind?"
"Yes, please Mr. McChesney, if you'll take your seat now, it's time to get under way."
She took Alvin's ticket and smiled nicely. "I'm sorry we kept you waiting. That pack looks heavy."
Alvin ducked his head and blushed. He wouldn't have admitted it was heavy if it weighed ten tons. Miss Willis led the way back to the center of the plane.
"May I help you with that? It really does look heavy and awkward in here."
"Thanks," Alvin smiled at her shyly.
She held the pack while he slipped out of the straps. "I don't think this is going to fit in the overhead," she said. "Tell you what, I'll strap it in the seat right next to you, just like another passenger, that way if you need anything you can reach it."
"Thanks, Ma'am, I appreciate it."
"Call me, Sherry. Don't worry, it's the least I can do. We folks from Boise have to stick together. I have to go back and get ready for take-off. Don't forget your seat belt."
"I won't."
She moved to Mr. Genoa, who was just across the aisle taking down a blanket and pillow from the overhead storage. When he was settled she moved away towards the rear of the plane.
Alvin got the aircraft safety data sheet from the pocket in the seat in front and read through it once fast, then again slowly. He stood up and located all the exits. When he thought he had everything memorized he put the sheet back in the seat pocket.
He stood up and looked around again. He saw the body-builder back in the rear of the plane, talking and laughing with Miss Willis.
Alvin frowned, muttered as he sat back down. "The incredible hulk. What a dork." He didn't see Mr. Genoa across the aisle smile for the first time.
Alvin heard a mechanical cough outside his window and turned to watch the big four-bladed propeller kick over slowly then begin turning faster until it was a blur. He watched everything with intense interest. He knew the high pitched whine came from a turbine which drove the engine. Alvin knew lots of things.
Alvin removed two three-foot lengths of rope from his parka pocket and began tying knots. He didn't look at his hands or the rope. He'd practiced so many hours his hands worked as if they were separate from his body, and as he turned, tucked and folded the rope, he watched the rest of the plane.
It wasn't his first time in a plane but it was his first time away from home on his own. He hadn't told Miss Willis he wasn't really from Boise. He lived with his Dad and older brother near Lowman, thirty miles north of Boise. His father was Chief Forest Ranger of the whole Sawtooth Wilderness area.
Alvin thought of his father and it felt good, and it hurt, and it felt a hundred other things. He missed him already and it had only been three hours since he left home.
In the rear, seated by himself, McChesney tried to think calm. The motion sickness medicine worked but it didn't lessen his fear. The fear waited like a cancer, eager to escape and overwhelm him. McChesney hated the fear more than the plane.
There was a jerk, then the plane moved slowly back from the building and turned to face the runways which were becoming less and less visible. All the noises of the airplane were magnified by McChesney's fear.
Each separate bang of the struts over the uneven cement apron, the rumble of the tires, the whine of the engines, were alien and dangerous.
To Alvin Thomas, it was music. This was escape, excitement, adventure, freedom from the overpowering shadow of his older brother, David, who had already been everywhere, done everything.
FLT 402 took off and climbed steadily into the rain and darkness. Meteorology said the ceiling was fifteen thousand feet, so Captain Duckhorn had requested nineteen thousand for the flight. When they reached nineteen thousand they were still in the soup. He turned to First Officer Neilsen, who nodded his head up and down sadly, as if he expected it all along.
As storms go it wasn't bad. Mild turbulence, visibility nearly zero, but no pilot is ever really comfortable flying blind, and despite their understanding of the electronic gadgetry that penetrated the darkness, they preferred to see with their own eyes.
"Neil, call sector control, see if you can get us more altitude." Duckhorn adjusted the weather radar. "Ask for twenty two thousand.
It didn't take long to get clearance and they finally broke free into a clear sky lit by a pale three quarter moon on the rise. To the west the storm clouds were painted by the setting sun in a dazzling
