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