count real friends on one hand

My friend Geoff has commented on that last post about going home again. He describes a day when tragedy struck at College Park. When his friend was killed in a fiery crash that night, the airplane came to rest one block from the house I grew up in. I could write a thousand posts about Geoff. He went to the Citadel. He and I got kicked out of high school together. He's a Hawk. I'm a Dove. He was in Nam. I was on campus protesting Nam. He's into guns. I'm not. Except I do a little target plinking, and in spite of his US Army sharpshooter status, I'm a better shot than he is. He was in a communist prison in Africa for two years because he was in the way wrong place at the way wrong time. The State Department and the Red Cross and some alphabet outfits that I'm not supposed to know about got him out of there, alive. He's been married five times. All of his ex's still love him. He's my sailplane mentor, and I wouldn't have that lovely sport without his inspiration. He flew General Aviation airplanes across the oceans. Most of the time using dead reckoning. There were at least four times when I was told that he was dead. Not always from ferry flying. He's flown exotic airplanes. Been with exotic women. He's as high up in Corporate Aviation as you can go, and still be a flyer. He just got through fighting the battle of his life with Cancer. After chemo, radiation, scalpel, side effects that would kill, physical therapy that required 2000% pure will and a focus on the end of the tunnel that wasn't even there sometimes. Now he sits with a first class airman medical as a lead Captain in one of the nicest Jets in the industry. Well my Blog is about me. Lloyd Lou Luther. Geoff Tyler can write his own goddamn Blog. He said some nice things in his comment. Thank you Geoff and right back atcha. I can't tell my readers or anyone what a friend you have been to me. Some things can't be described or explained. I could say sorry I got pissed at you the other night, but it's just not necessary. Thanks Geoff. Thanks for forty five years.

The Airmail Five Man

One of my best "Eras" in General Aviation, maybe the best was my Navajo days. A period of about a year in 1974 when I flew the US Mail in the PA-31-310 Piper Navajo. I was my own boss. The mailbags never complained. I was "Cumberland One". I would leave Cumberland in the evening and go to Martinsburg, WV. then Baltimore, then on to Charleston, WV, then Pulaski, Va. Spend the night in Pulaski(what was left of the night, it would be 3AM). Sleep part of the day. Then I was "Cumberland Two and would retrace my steps: PSK-CRW-BWI-MRB-CBE. So I would spend every other night and every other weekend in Pulaski. Pulaski is also called: PSK, Dublin,VA., New River Valley, Nest West, Hoop Town, No Reefer Valley, The No Reef. The first few weekends in New River were pretty boring so I started hanging out with the skydivers who were there also on the weekends. These people are crazy and they just want to be on the edge all the time. I started flying the jump plane for them a little bit because the jump pilot, well, he wanted to jump, not fly. I became friends with these jumpers and even started to have a social life because the college girls would come out for one, and only one, jump. This is before there were tandem jumps. The student had to take the jump training, then go out on a static line. Took all day for the first jump. I flew the jump plane quite a bit and it was fun and there was a huge party at the end of the jump day. I finally started to like New River. One day "John", the guy who ran the drop zone, said, "Hey Luther, you've earned a bunch of jumps and you better take them cause winter's coming and our season is slowing down". Pilots don't usually get into jumping-- all that about a "perfectly good airplane". I was no exception. I was a terrible jumper and terribly scared every time I did it. I made a total of eight leaps and number eight was "The Airmail Five Man". Finally winter and the holidays came and went and I was getting into a sweet job back in Baltimore flying bank work and living in my home town. But for some reason I was filling in on a run and was back at the No Reef. The other mail pilots were there and my best friend Pablo. The weather was to be nice and everyone is telling me I'm going to be in on a reunion jump of the old Airmail pros. An Airmail Five Man. There will be four jumpers and one jump plane pilot--all five guys from the airmail. The jump pilot will be Gary because he can't jump because his arm is messed up from a jumping injury. Ironic. Gary is "Tall Gary" of today's Budapest Blues.com. Pablo and Mark have their own rigs and are real jumpers as well as airmail pilots. Brian and myself are student jumpers. Mark will be our jump master. So it's all decided. But it's not our jump plane. It's not our drop zone. We run our little plan by John, the drop zone guy. "Well, I guess we can get you on the schedule, but Luther can't go. He hasn't jumped since like September and I got too many trainees today." Mark says, "Luther has to go. It's the Airmail Five Man! "You pilots are lucky I'm letting Gary fly it with that busted arm. Luther can't go without training." Mark says, "I'll put Luther out on a static line then OK?" John is thinking. He can just see these five pilots screwing this up somehow. "OK. He goes on a static line. He wears a full student rig. Radio. Sentinel, and I personally brief him and he shows me three PLF's", and I don't have time for this shit." ( a PLF is when you land, you roll and fall down so you don't get hurt, practice is off a platform) "Done. Thanks John. We owe you" "No you don't" Now it's time to go and everybody in the whole drop zone is watching the five of us and checking my equipment and I am very scared. John comes over. We're the next load. I say, "Uh John look Uh heres the deal. If I break my leg I'd rather do it with my buddies on this load than do it jumping off that goddamn six foot platform. If I bust my ass there, then I can't go! "All right but you do everything Mark tells you and you guys are buying beer for the party. Get going." And away we went. The drop zone watched five out of towners in their plane with their equipment. Pilots yet. Pilots usually can't jump. We did great. Mark really did know what he was doing and he kept us straight. At the party that night there were five guys who just couldn't stop smiling.

You can't go home again

When one talks about College Park Airport, it depends on the Era. Pioneer, Airmail, barnstormer, WWII, post war, ERCO, Brinkerhoff the Elder, quiet years, Brinkerhoff the younger, Park and Planning take-over, Save the Airport, Rebuild the Airport, Restaurant modern stable, 9-11, post 9-11. I experienced a bit of the quiet years. A bit of "Marlin Helicopters". My family would stop on the way home from church. We would just look at a few parked planes. Sometimes we'd stop in Riverdale, not far away, near the ERCO factory, at a place called Dumm's Corner. There was a great old bookstore and sometimes we'd get a soda or ice cream at the Market. Dumm's is still there. The other Era I experienced was obviously the Young Brinkerhoff years. The other Eras I've just heard about or read about. I don't know much about the airport today. Recently I've become interested anew. Since I bought the Ercoupe derivative a year ago, I now feel even more a part of the College Park - Riverdale aviation history. This last winter I visited the parking lot at the old ERCO building. I had photo copies of the building from WWII era. The surroundings were all built up and very different, but the main building is still there. The same day I went to the CP Museum and bought a poster-print of the Ercoupe factory and had it autographed by Betsy Weick, the 80 yr. old daughter of the famous designer/engineer of ERCO and Piper. It hangs in my hangar. Thanks Betsy. Now just a couple of days ago I found myself walking around College Park Airport shown around a bit by my friend Mimo. To fly in you need a special clearance and you have to be "vetted". "Vetted" seems to be a new buzz word in DC. When the Candidates in the Primary were having their backrounds checked and the mud was slinging, they had to be "Vetted". I had never heard of "Vetted". I just sold my beautiful 1986 C-4 Corvette. I am no longer "Vetted". We have horses and dogs and when they get sick I get a bill. Boy, do I get "Vetted"! All the airplanes at College Park have a cable lock around the prop. This is because an airplane thief wouldn't seek out a remote airport with lots of nice twins and late model singles and no watchmen. He would head right for College Park where there aren't many valuable airplanes, there is a huge well maintained fence around the entire perimeter, and it is owned by the government, and it is guarded by the Park Police, and almost any activity is noticed. You gotta lock your plane. College Park is so inviting to a thief. You're a sitting duck. And that cable lock, well it will stop any thief in their tracks. They see that, they just run away and turn themselves in to National Capital Park and Planning. No thief has ever heard of a bolt cutter. It could take as long as 20 seconds to get rid of that cable lock. They might be a terrorist who has decided to bring in a dufflebag full of Dynamite to attack the Capital. He could have a plan, be part of a terrorist cell, sneak into the airport, know how to break into a plane and start the plane and fly the plane, but ain't no way he's gonna get past that cable lock. The airport sat in a swamp really, in the former years. Now millions have been spent and it really is unbelievably nice. All drained. Beautiful turf. Incredible asphalt surfacing everywhere. A paved full length parallel taxiway. The runway actually re-oriented to take advantage of the available acreage and of course lengthened. Regulation lighting. The up- scale restaurant with it's airplane theme. Where one can eat one's steak in air conditioned comfort and hear WWI music and look out the tinted pane glass, and see far and safely away and not smell the one or two actual operations per day. A beautiful museum celebrating the rich heritage. With plans for the museum to be 4 times bigger. It's all fantastic and I'm glad our tax money went to it. In my mind, couldn't be better spent. After all it's the Wright Brothers! Can't you just feel me getting ready to say BUT? There are no kids sitting on the fence with their model plane wishing to go up. There's no hangar full of know-it-alls criticizing everybody's technique. Nobody working on a plane, nobody flying a plane. Nobody allowed to fly a plane. College Park now belongs to the tax payers. Thats you and me. I'm glad it survived and it's heritage is forever known. It's Holy Ground to me, and I'm an owner as a citizen. It's a great park and great memories. Just please, please don't say anybody saved the airport. The "airport" died in the seventies. It died because: The neighbors wanted it shut down because of their valuable real estate. General Aviation itself had mostly died and that's a long story for another Blog. Park and Planning took over. They meant well, but they ran the airport like a zoo or one of their monuments. Another good Blog story there. The airport died in the seventies. It was buried Sept. 11, 2001. G.A.I.

first solo at 5500 hours

I am thinking of what to write next. I want to do a nice post about the time I soloed a DC-3! I want to do a post about the time I soloed a twin beech also. There was a turbine twin beech and of course the piston twin beech. It seems I can't tell a story without at least referring to College Park. In 1970 I was flying at College Park renting Cubs for $10 per hour wet. This was when I first learned about the Twin Beech. Brinkerhoff had a very nice G Model Beech which he used for charter and personal transportation. It would barely fit into College Park. Every takeoff and every landing was a spectacle. Everyone would stop what they were doing and watch. Especially the takeoffs. The airport was much tighter in those days. More trees, worse surface, dirt taxiways, patchy runway, shorter runway. He would never carry a load out of College Park. He would only take off west, over the wires and tracks. Trees too tall on the other end. I've seen those trees eat airplanes. That's a story for another post. He would go down to the end of 31 (which was the runway in those days). He would be in the rough overrun of weeds, gravel, dirt, sand, ruts, woodchips. This would add him another 50ft. to the 2150 he had. But there were obstacles and a possible tailwind. You'd see him rev up and roll. You'd see clouds of smoke and dust. You'd hear the wonderful roar and then the blare. Then the tail would come up and it would be so high that you thought he was overraked and would get the props. You'd think he was never going to unstick, and finally he'd pull it off, but just into ground effect. Now you think he's never going to clear those wires. At the last second he hauls it up over the wires and as the wheels pass the wires they are starting to retract as if to tuck themselves away from the wires. The flat pitch high rpm blades blare again at you as he climbs away. You shake your head in mystery and you smile. I was a cub renter. I thought, "I'll never check out in a plane like that!" But in the winter of 1976-1977 I found myself in Pittsburgh flying a BE-18T which is a taildragger turbine Twin Beech on a U.S. Mail run which went to Philly and back. Sometimes, a run to Ohare with Emery Airfreight, which I hated. One day there was a broken plane and some switching around had to be done. The Company was "Great Western Airlines", out of Tulsa, Ok. My plane was being switched for the night's run to Philly. Of course I didn't care. But my roomate BD, was a veteran with the company and he noticed the N number of my new plane. It was a piston Beech. "Hey Luther, they got you set up in a piston Beech tonight. "What?. They can't" "They did, you better call." So a bunch of phone calls later and it turns out all company pilots must be qualified in all three types of planes they had. They're mad at me for not being checked out in the piston. "You will come to Tulsa as soon as possible and fly the piston and the Baron, and you should have notified us earlier that you were not qualified for tonight's run". "Sorry" The weekend comes and it's pretty weather. Akron, Oh. is a maintenance base for us and I meet the check airman and the piston Beech there. We fly around and pull back a few engines and do some airwork. After we come back, the check airman "Walters" (very good man) says, "Well you're done, would you like to fly it around yourself?" The smile I gave him that said yes, was the smile you have as a young man when your date says "why don't we just go up to your place tonight?" In those days, the Beech was standard. Lots of pilots were checked out. I really felt like I had joined the club. He didn't have to solo me. It was a check out called a Part 135 equip. check. He was just being kind. I never did get the Baron check out.

the other Ocean City

I'm retired. I'm 58 yrs. old. An old fart? I guess. I stay up late and I get up late. I like 9 hrs. plus sleep. Lazy? I am. I work and play in spurts. This morning I get a call at 7:15 AM! I usually don't turn the phone on till after 10 AM. It is my friend "The Professor". He's been riding on a sailboat for the last few days coming down the coast from Connecticut. He's jumping ship in Ocean City, NJ. Could I fly over and pick him up and could he live in my hangar for a few days? He wants to "think and write". I say yes, but I go back to sleep. Later I ask wife if she would like to go to the beach in New Jersey. Yes she would. So this trip will require the little Cherokee. It has been in the back of the hangar getting dust and dirt and bird droppings on it. I roll the M-10 Cadet out and set it aside. I rock the Cher OH kee off it's flat spots and roll it about 2 feet. Move a motorcycle. Roll it 2 more feet. Move a motor scooter. Roll it 3 or 4 feet. Move chairs, chocks, a shop vac, tools etc. I have 30 minutes to pre flight and wash the airplane. I spend 20 minutes repairing the water hose. Now I have 10 minutes. My buddy Clark flies in. We visit while I wash. Wife is ready and we go. Across Delaware Bay. A lovely flight. Meet up with Prof. Walk to beach. Wade in Atlantic. Water cold. Eat excellent lunch. Fly down the coast. We look for the sailboat Prof had jumped off of. It is on it's way to Cape May. A needle in a haystack. The Prof. spots it. I circle it. I strafe it. I beat it up at 20 feet. We are five miles off shore. I say a prayer to the Lycoming Gods. Down on the sailboat they are waving like crazy. We hop over to Cape May. Use a port-a-potty. Fly across the bay to home. Buzz the strip for deer. Swing around Eric's house. Land with a little extra speed over the trees because my airspeed indicator has quit. My wife and the Prof and I and six dogs sit around the pool and watch the sunset. We drink crude cocktails. I fire up a Tiki torch. Wife goes to the barn to check on the horses and say goodnight. Prof goes to hangar to sleep in the mancave. He's had a long day. I write here to talk to you. G.A.I.

2 fly-ins 2 days

Now it's Saturday, the day after Lock Haven. I get a slow start. It's broken clouds all around and seems to be threatening T-Storms. At two thirty PM I see an E-mail about the Crisfield Fly-in Crab Feast. Damn, I had forgotten all about it. Well, its not over till 4 PM. I sling off the lay around lazy clothes. I grab a clean T shirt and not- clean jeans. I pick up the little flight bag (the one with the masking tape roll) which is right where I left it from Lock Haven. I roll the Cadet out and sump it quickly. I ask my wife if she wants to go Crisfield. She is fooling with her horse going in circles with a rope called a "Lunge Line". I hop in and we're off. It's hot and bumpy and I wish I was in a sailplane because this kind of heat is like an elevator. It's 35 nm. due south to Crisfield. From here to there there is nothing but the Nanicoke River and lowlands. I arrive with time to spare and join in the feast and eat roasted corn and steamed crabs. I have no idea how to eat the crabs. They were very good though. I took most of them home and my son ate them. He knows how. I saw a beautiful old Aztec. A gorgeous Mooney. A Cirrus. Some light sports. A nosewheel RV 5 or 6 0r 7. Is there a 7? I don't think it was an eight. The day was winding down. A 150. A 172. I waited till they all left. Then I took off. I opened the canopy and flew home at 80mph. I want the flight to last longer. Two Fly-ins in two days. The summer is just beginning.

I know I've seen that plane before

Friday morning I woke up too early. No way I could go back to sleep. I can't wait to go to Cub Haven. Coffee. I put ice in a little cooler for some drinks to go. I didn't check the weather. Fog is lifted and T-Storms could always happen. Roll out the Cadet and off we go. It's really hot in that greenhouse of a cabin under that canopy. My air vents are inop and I swear again to myself to work on that repair. The sun is beating on my head, and I don't feel like opening the canopy because I want to do some navigating around Class B, C, and Restricted airspace. I grab a sectional I'm not using. It is Cincinnati. I grab my masking tape. I tape the sectional completely across the top of my canopy. It was really a relief. Now my cockpit was a shady cool place. You ever use masking tape in the cockpit? It's a great tool for your flight bag. You can tape up a sunshade anywhere. You can tape over a noisy air leak. you can roll up a piece of tape for a double sided panel sticker and stick your pencil. or glasses, or mints, or approach chart, or anything to it. You can tape your headset wires up out of your way. I had a choice going by Harrisburg. Climb up over 6K and get over Class C and have a headwind, or slog around down low and go under and around Class C. I'm in no hurry and I want to stay cool and not have to talk to anyone. I took the headwind. So I made 68kts. Piper Memorial was a beehive. I edged up behind a cub and landed on the grass. Got directed into the boonies, but at least I was with the old planes and not banished to the FBO. There was maybe 100 planes there, or more, and I went up and looked at every one. A rain shower cooled us all off and I ducked under the wing of a 195. I registered. I ordered fuel. I ate Pennsylvania food. I checked out the fly market. I got a free "Trade a Plane". I got a free T-shirt. This is just about the nicest fly-in you could go to. I headed out to my plane to visit my cooler and my chair, and on the way I saw this beautiful white and yellow Alon A-2. It was exactly the kind I had flown as a kid. Even the paint scheme and N number looked familiar. I noticed an empty parking space next to it. I quickly found the guy with the wands. "Hey Mr. Parker, you think I could move my little Ercoupe thing way down there, up next to this Ercoupe thing right here?" "Don't see why not" Soon these Ercoupes which were not Ercoupes were side by side. The Alon's owner "Ed" was a great guy and we talked about each other's planes. His Alon is an original and a real pretty showplane. The original 42 yr. old interior. I could really compare the differences in our planes especially the turtle-back and tail. I came to realize why his airplane seemed so familiar to me. He told me the history of his plane as was told to him when he bought it ten years before. The plane had been wrecked when it was brand new. Then the guy Ed bought it from had had it for 30 years. Then Ed looked at me like I was crazy because I had just said, "I think I wrecked this plane when I was a seventeen year old kid back in '66". Aviation is a small world and a lot of planes don't go very far from home. My mind was reeling. Something had gone full circle in my life because of seeing that little Alon. I went back to fly-in center and saw my friends Roger Thiel and Mike Streeter. Then a guy beat up the field for a while in an L-39 Czech Jet which was lovely. The Alon left in a flight of four. They went to another Fly-in. Then a storm came breezing and thundering at us from the north. For the longest day of the year it was getting dark. I took off on the grass runway and headed south as soon as I could get over the town and over the mountain. I had a tailwind and a sunset and a swirl of memories as I headed home. G.A. Informal

low and slow in the neighborhood

I knew I was going to Sentimental Journey. I looked at the weather and my schedule and decided to go on Friday. So when Thursday came I rolled out the M-10 Cadet and gave it a detailed pre-flight as she hadn't flown since Essex Sky Park Wings & Wheels. I hopped 11 miles to Cambridge for fuel. It was a nice sultry quiet day and I was the only plane there. It was the last day of Spring. While Jerry fueled me up, I had a lovely chicken salad at the restaurant, while I looked out the window at my little plane. Then home. Canopy open, 80 kts. The Choptank River. Settle down in over the trees to land west at my place. Wife has grill going. Pool looks inviting. Before I put the airplane away, I stick Lock Haven in the GPS, just for the hell of it. 165 nm. bearing 346 deg. Today is a great day. Tomorrow is lookin' good as well.

I would never be the same again

There are so many things I want to say, need to say. I could tell stories about some really bad things I've done, but I'm not going to. I'm older and wiser and I only do good things now. I've lost quite a few friends because they got killed in airplanes. I'm not going to tell those stories. Most of those friends were professional pilots. They kind of knew what they were doing could kill them if there was an unlucky accident. As I recall their names my eyes tear up and I get a lump in my throat and smile and cry at the same time. One was one of my best friends killed in his own light plane at his home field. One was an Airmail buddy killed on the job. One was a DC-3 buddy flying passengers. One was a friend's girlfriend and true love, killed while instructing. One was "Mad Dog" from my Be-99 days killed in an air-race at Reno. There is one who was innocent and I will tell part of his story. He was sixteen years old. His name was Randy. He worked line service where I was instructing in western Maryland. He was an energetic and nice and smart young man. He'd had a few flights hitching a ride here and there. A lesson or two for a birthday gift. But finally when he was going on 17, he started "real lessons". With the help and support of his family at home, and the help and support of his "family" at work. I had the honor and privilege of giving him his first solo on September 30th 1973. Soon after that he was killed in an aircraft accident in the mountains of West Virginia. He had ridden along on the mail one night , on one of the runs, and he had never come back. My buddy and mentor "JT" was the pilot of the fatal flight. I myself had "ridden along" with JT on that same run only nights before. My life, and the way I thought about aviation would never be the same again. I can't bear to tell you about the days following that crash. I won't tell you about Randy's father who came to the field every day, and I took him flying every day to "be with Randy". I won't tell you about the day after the crash when I had to see my boss in a fistfight with his second in command, our chief pilot. They were crying and fighting and trying to keep one another from going up to join the search because they didn't want anyone else hurt. JT and Randy were like family. I didn't cry. The Cherokees on the ramp that I worked in, they didn't look the same. The mountains around the field that I loved looked gray. I didn't care about my plans for the weekend back in DC. I didn't care about anything. For some reason the boss sent me to Gaithersburg to one of those AOPA clinics. I wasn't due for renewal. I hadn't screwed anything up. He said I had to wear a coat and tie. I had to represent his company. He gave me a Cherokee to go there in. Dont worry about your students. Here's an embossed name tag to wear. You get a hotel room. Even the big boss "Nick" called me and told me not to crimp on my meals and bill it to the hotel. They told me not to go to DC though. Don't visit Lanham, don't see girlfriend. Just enjoy the clinic and relax. I was the lowest new-hire pilot on the property. I couldn't figure why they would send me. I went, it was great. Had the plane, nice hotel. It might have been something like getting me away from JT and Randy. Or getting me back on the horse. Or all of us ratcheting up safety. But I know one thing. Nick and Dale were a class act. GAI

June 1st a Sunday

You've had these days. I just didn't feel like getting up and doing anything. It was kind of muggy, and again, storms threatening. My dog Jake and I watched the Nascar race, the Dover Sprint 400. On lap 19 about half the field is in a big wreck. I don't think anybody got hurt. 381 laps to go. Never mow grass when it's wet. Well, we got light showers and it had cooled off. My allergies don't get me when it's wet. So I mowed. In the middle of mowing, in the middle of the airstrip, I stopped and shut down. This is what I saw: A fairly big doe was just frozen, staring at me. I was between her and the herd which was against the tree line. The sunset was spectacular, an orange ball sitting on the horizon sinking fast. Windows in the distant east were pure gold. To the south a very large rainbow. And I thought last night was pretty! G.A.I.

May 31st a Saturday

I went to the "Wings and Wheels" at Bay Bridge on Saturday. Bay Bridge Airport (W29) is across the Chesapeake Bay from Annapolis on the Delmarva Peninsula. Nobody up flying except me. At W29 I landed behind a light sport called a Sky Arrow (very nice). I got a nice display front page parking spot that even had tie downs. I tied down. I had a little "slide over the prop" sign describing the airplane. It was left over from Horn Point, and I slid it on the prop. The weather forecast was for storms, bad storms, before this event could be over. Also, a Tornado watch. Convective Sigmet. I knew hardly anyone there and I wandered around. I saw a gigantic Lionel train setup that had about a 40 ft. straightaway. I saw a guy launch an RC model airplane that looked to be about quarter scale. Saw an RC helicopter. Saw model Rockets. Saw about two hundred Street Rods and Classics. Had a hot dog. Went to the Gourmet Gas Station(no kidding) . Lots of Chevelles, some nice Corvette roadsters, old Ford Pickups, every car was great. There was obscuration to the west and lightning out there over the bay. I headed home. As soon as I got to 1000 ft. I opened the canopy for the rest of the way home. I didn't cool off until we were at 3000. I finished my gourmet coffee. Easton Airport was below. I had to be 2500 ft. above them because they now have a tower and I don't wish to talk. I circled my place. Circled Eric's. Wayne's, Wes's. The wind was starting to pick up. I landed and wasted no time getting the airplane back in the hangar. For about an hour I piddled around with some brush clearing and it got real dark at 2:30 in the afternoon. Then all hell broke loose. Debris was flying. branches and limbs were flying, lawn furniture was flying. We were lucky we didn't get hail. Our neighbors did. We went out in the late afternoon dark rain to a party at the Marina. At the party I texted my son Matt who was at a different table, but only 10 ft. away. {R U Texting?} {Maybe .} The weather was clearing rapidly. I went out to feed the ducks. By sunset this unpredictable last day of May was the prettiest I'd ever seen. G.A. Inf.