Setting Flight to the Dreams of Children

Most of us have at least one intensely special memory of excitement as a child. For some of us, it was a trip somewhere special or the arrival of a new sibling or pet. For my Grandmother, one of the most enchanting experiences she had as a child was her first flight. She told me more than once about this experience. In fact she told most everyone she knew about this story. I nodded and confirmed that the story was interesting but it wasn't until recently that I understood the utter outpour of thrill that she couldn't resist sharing with others. The famous and adventure packed life of Paul Redfern intersected with my grandmother's for a brief moment in time on the red sandy earth of Swansea, South Carolina in 1924. She was nine years old. She was right.

Newspaper clippings and web printout B.B. saved 

Bits from B.B.

Did I ever tell you about the story of my first airplane ride? Oh, Mama was not happy with me but I reckon it was one of the funnest days of my life. It's a wonder I have any sense at all being the youngest of four children, at least that's what they used to tell me. It was a hot summer day. I was at the pond with Jake and Ruby. All of a sudden we heard the roar of an airplane circle above us. The pilot went round and round Swansea and we knew who it was. It was Paul Redfern. I overheard Papa talking about him at dinner the other night. He was from Columbia, his family was quite well known in the social circles. Papa said he was flying to towns all over the state to raise money for his non-stop flight to South America. I just had to see what all of the fuss was about. We ran together and tried to follow him. Mr. Redfern flew low and we could see him waiving at us in his one motor plane. He finally landed in a cotton field nearby. By this time he had an audience. When he landed he jumped out of the plane and had such a way about him. He stood proud and was smiling ear to ear. Then he announced "Now which one of you kids would like to come and take a ride with me and experience what it is like to fly?" Everyone took a few steps back and it got pretty quiet. I knew this was my chance. I shouted "Me! I would like to go sir!" Mr. Redfern responded "Well alright there little lady jump in." Ruby and Jake gasped for air and hollered at me. They did not want me to do this and they knew Mama would have my hide. I scrambled to that plane before they could stop me and told him to fire up the engine. The minute I sat down Ruby and Jake ran back to the house to tell Mama what had happened. I held on to the metal sides of the plane as we were whisked up into the air. I was not sure I would survive this ride but it was absolutely thrilling! My stomach was full of butterflies as we climbed into the clouds.

Here I was, nine years old, flying in the sky. No one in that small town had been in an airplane until now. I was on top of the world. Mr. Redfern swooped and dove and glided over the town. He didn't know it but he flew that plane right over our home up on the hill near the pond. I saw Mama running out with a dishtowel in her hand headed for the cotton field. I don't know how long we were in the air but it felt like eternity. I had never seen the world from that view or felt wind on my face like I did that day. I think about that flight all the time. Thankfully Mama wasn't too upset with me she was just glad that we landed safely. After I jumped out I gave Mr. Redfern a big hug and thanked him for that first airplane ride. Then he told everyone he would give more rides for donations that he would use for his big upcoming flight. I think Bess ran home and got money and took a flight as well as Ed. That day was the talk of the town for some time. We read and listened to anything we could find out about Mr. Redfern's big flight. Even though they never found him we would daydream about all the possibilities. I can just see him with that smile taking on new adventure in South America.

Bits from Me

As I reflect about this story I immediately have multiple feelings to navigate. The first thing that strikes me is the freedom children had "back" then. My children would never have that type of opportunity now. Part of me is angry because I have a gypsy soul that needs to be fed and I feel for the technology bombarded children of our world who have an innate desire for exploration and adventure. While I never jumped on an airplane with a stranger I roamed creek beds by myself and rode my bike alongside of train tracks for miles. However, the responsible parent in me is glad that it would be virtually impossible for my child to jump on an airplane without me signing some form and waiving all rights. Today it is rare that any of our children will have an organic experience of chance and whimsy.  Our desire to protect and create ultimate safety in our lives comes with a consequence of squashing chance.

The other thing that fascinates me is how everyone in her world (friends, relatives, and neighbors) knew this story too. I have a file full of newspaper clippings. Each one given to my grandmother by a friend. Each one with special notes written on it with specific sentences underlined. There was a total of four news paper clippings and one web printout in this folder she wanted me to have. All of the newspaper clippings were from The State Magazine from the years 1969, 1982, and 2002. Everyone knew how important this story was to her and took interest in helping her put together the details of such a remarkable day in her life. It makes me wonder, what kinds of conversations do we have these days? I surely don't know my friends remarkable childhood stories and most of them don't know mine. Do we put to bed our special memories because we are so inundated with stories and articles and pictures that we simply have no room to store them long term? Are we providing opportunities for our children to have unique experiences or are we giving them so many it waters down the organic few? Something else that strikes me is the way in which she had to just wait for information to reach her. There was really no way to learn more about him so she had to wait until information was published in the local paper. Year after year I am sure she sifted through the The State Magazine looking for more information that ignited adventurous feelings inside her similar to a love song that brings you back to the first sweet days of falling in love.

But after all this, there is something more remarkable to me: we now have another story to the Paul Redfern tale. Each article summarizes a relatively similar story about his heritage in Columbia, South Carolina and his famous departing flight in 1927. The most common nicknames like "The Lost Pilot" and "Ill-fated Aviator" plague the headlines. However, what about all the touch downs? What about the other children he carried and flew? The passion that drove his adventurous spirit was ignited and cought like wildfire in the hearts of children across the state. My grandmother was one. What about Greenville? What about Prosperity? How many times did he do this? You see his legacy might be remembered in the headlines as the pilot who almost made it and that his brave passion to be the first pilot to fly from the US to South America came to a tragic end, but we might just have it all wrong. What if his true mark on the world was to give wings to the dreams of children who would suffer through the great depression? Children who watched their fathers and mothers lose everything but lay awake at night thinking of that flight. Thinking they could literally overcome their woes by soaring in the clouds. What if he gave freedom and escape to children in rural South Carolina, enough to carry them through to achieve extraordinary things relative to their life. I think reading the articles in the newspaper make him seem like a dreamer and in some cases a failure. One headline reads "He wanted to set a record - the world's first non-stop flight from North America to South America". He made aviation history, but not the way he wanted to: he disappeared. One might think of an irresponsible person that does outlandish things for attention or the fame of it all. But that's not what I think. I think he had a passion that ran deep in his blood. A passion that he couldn't possibly help contain. A love that could never be fulfilled with just one big flight but of the many that we will never even know about experiencing of him flying over those cotton fields. The hot summer sun warming the wings of his plane. The sound that paired with the smell of the sweet pines. He ignited dreams of children. An unknown legacy with eternal rewards.