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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Fairy Tales & Fantasy
- Subject: Fantasy / Dreams / Wishes
- Published: 01/08/2018
Everyone stared at the Headlines, the Twitter Feeds, and the FACEBOOK posts- for all of them screamed the same message: "Rich Best Friend exposed- and who it is will stun you.”
Or the somewhat more distant from Clickbait text headlines: “A tale of two people but one person.”
Or the much more cynical tone taken by the kinds of folks who comment on Youtube, or Reddit, without any respect for the topic, content, or people involved- trolls in every sense of the word. here is what they had to say:
“Con man revealed for his duplicity.”
Strange indeed, when you consider every single “con” pulled off by this man left someone else richer, more secure, or happier- sometimes, all three.
As strange as it might seem, the person who pulled off this trending media fury, posted the most succinct tweet of all. “I just wanted people to follow their dreams.”
The New York Times, the Atlantic Monthly, and the Washington Post, put their best people on the story, and every single article they turned out about him, should have won them a Peabody or Pulitzer Prize. We can’t quote them all here, but we can summarize what they wrote, and add a timeline. For he first appeared, out of nowhere, at age sixteen- at a flight school.
“Hello. My name is Shane. I would like to learn to fly please. I can give you seven days to teach me.”
The head of the flight school, located next to the Lake in downtown Cleveland Ohio- simply smiled at the gangly young man with the crop of unruly mahogany hair, and the overly large hands for a person who was barely six foot tall. He looked right into the dark emerald eyes of the young man- eyes that were innocent, guileless, open. Probably the most naive eyes that the Senior Flight Instructor had ever seen, and the most honest.
“Well, son, it takes forty hours of Flight time, plus a written Ground School exam, a Check Ride, and another written exam, and an oral exam that may last up to three hours, to get your Pilot’s license- and you think you can do that in a week?”
The big gangly boy merely smiled.
“Yes, sir. I read the regulations, I already took the Ground School on line from Sporty’s - and I read the FAR from Cover to Cover. I know exactly what is required for the Practical Test, and Check Ride. I am sixteen now, and legal to train. I just haven’t flown yet. I expect to solo in four hours. I will still need 20 hours of dual instruction, and my Cross Country. I have a check here to cover all the expenses and pay my instructor too.“
With that, the young man slid a Cashiers Check for the full amount that was announced in the Flight School’s Brochure. The check was too much, almost a thousand dollars more than the posted total of fees were in the brochure.
The Head Flight Instructor (and the owner of the Flight Training School, the FBO, and the small restaurant located next to the field) looked at the check, then back up to meet the eyes of the young man. Eyes that still looked open, honest, trusting... bereft of guile, hubris, or pride.
“First thing, this check is over the amount necessary for forty hours of training. And I might remind you that the average person solo’s in about 12 to 14 hours, and ends up with about seventy hours before they are ready to take the Check Ride.”
The gangly boy just brushed a dangling bang of mahogany hair from his forehead, leaned over to tap the check with one of his very long slender fingers. That tap was a lot more solid than one would expect from a finger that slender, more like a Concert Pianist striking a key, than someone tapping on a piece of paper. It gave a hint to how strong that boy must really be.
“That extra amount is to go to the Instructor. They don’t get paid what they are really worth. I can afford to pay them a living wage, that is why that amount is there. I am not the normal student. I will solo in four hours, and take my check ride at forty hours, the absolute minimum.“
The Head Flight Instructor shook his head, running one weathered hand through what was left of his shock of blond hair. He wondered if this kid was filled with bravado instead of confidence, and he also wondered if the extra money was a bribe to hurry the kid through school, and make sure he got his license. Incensed he made the tone of his voice reflect the dark thoughts he was having.
“Young man, you cannot bribe your way to a license. I run a good flight school. I have only the toughest FAA examiners give my check rides. I know that the first person you take up when you get your ticket, is someone you love. I don’t want to be responsible for anyone who might not keep them safe. You are only sixteen, where in the heck did you get this kind of money anyway?”
The young man was nonplussed. He heard the tone, expected it, and was prepared to deal with it.
“Sir, I chose your Flight School precisely because of your reputation. When I fly, I want to know I can fly. I don’t want an easy examiner. There is no bribe. I told you, I can afford to pay a living wage- so I do. I have a very rich friend whom I write code for. He pays me an exorbitant salary- but I earn every penny of it.
He is a very private person, one that doesn’t fit in todays Social Media Rich world- so he uses me for any Public Duties or meetings. He pays me for that too. I call him: “Mr. X”. He told me to get my Pilot’s license - so here I am. Oh, and I memorized all of the FAR's, and all the other written materials before I got here.“
Not knowing what to make of the young man and his obvious inability to recognize how strange his tale might seem to others, made the thought appear that maybe the poor kid was mentally ill. If so he was the most “together” mentally ill person the Flight Instructor had ever seen or heard of.
“Okay, let’s test you a bit: What does the FAR say on page 307?”
The kid rattled off every word on the page, verbatim.
“Page 42?”
Same results.
“Page 113?”
Same results.
“What are the “V speeds” for a Diamond DA 20, DA 42, Piper Archer, and Cessna 172?”
The kid got them all. Same with calculating: density altitudes, Center of Gravity, and wind correction angles. The kid did them all in his head- and got them spot on.
“How do you do that?”
The gangly kid blushed for the first time.
“I am kind of a genius. I remember everything I read - verbatim. I can do any math in my head. I guess that is why I am so good with code.”
He gave a wry self deprecating smile towards the Flight Instructor.
“Okay, well, how do you want to do this?”
“I was thinking I would start tomorrow. Eight hours a day for five days…weather permitting- and then my check ride on Saturday?”
“I will have to give you a different Instructor for the Afternoons- but the same one for every morning session- me. “
“Okay.”
And that was that. He did solo in four hours. He did pass his check ride with exactly forty hours in his logbook. All five instructors, and the FAA examiner that gave him his check ride, agreed: there had never been a student pilot like this kid.
But that is where our story just begins, for what he did at his Private Pilot Party laid the groundwork for the tweets, texts, and myths, just a few years later.
For at that Party, he gave two other students checks to complete their Private Pilot’s License, get their Instrument rating, Dual Engine Rating, Commercial license, and another five hundred hours of flight time to build their resume. One check went to Delilah, the line girl who came from a family so poor that getting food, let alone flight time, was almost a miracle.
He had met her that first morning as she showed him how to tie down an airplane, and untie it. He caught on quick. By that Wednesday, she would ride along when he got dual instruction, sitting in the back of the plane sucking up all the information she could. Until she met him, she had exactly a half hour introductory flight, and three free passenger rides given by friendly pilots. Getting her license was going to take years.
He knew how hungry she was to fly. He made sure she got to ride in the plane every time he had dual instruction. He saw how much she strained to learn everything she could from each flight, and the longing in her eyes to fly the plane herself. He knew she would be a great Professional Pilot. So he invested in her.
The other check went to Duane X. A Marine with four deployments under his belt. The young man had seen him looking through the fence at the planes one day. They struck up a conversation. The young man with the mahogany hair learned how Duane had lost one leg in an attack in Afghanistan, and got a bullet in the side in Iraq.
“I always wanted to fly. But, well, (and he knocked on his plastic leg). Maybe I could fly drones, but I couldn’t afford that kind of education.”
At the party, when he opened the check and read the note from the sixteen year old mahogany haired kid- he cried. Marine or no Marine. He read the note out loud, and everyone cried.
“Dear Duane,
I can’t thank you enough for your service. I did check with Mr. O’Malley (the head Flight Instructor) and you can learn to fly with a prosthetic device. I talked with several experts, and they all said that you should get your commercial license before you become a Drone Pilot.
I talked to Mr. X about your situation. He said: “Do what it takes to get him flying drones!”
Good luck. Shane and Mr. X”
“Who the hell is Mr. X? Can I meet him? I want to shake his hand.”
Shane smiled.
“He is my best friend. But no, you can’t meet him. He likes to be anonymous. He isn’t afraid of people, nor does he have OCD, he is just afraid of notoriety. He likes being out of the limelight. So he uses me. I will thank him for you.“
There was one more surprise in store at that Party. And this one bowled over both the FAA examiners that were there, and Mr. O’Malley.
Shane, the gangly mahogany haired boy, cleared his throat to thank everyone for coming, for supporting him, and for being at the party. Then he said: “I talked to my best friend (Mr.X) about an interesting fact I discovered while learning to fly here in Cleveland. Nobody at the Flight School has a tail wheel endorsement. In fact, not one of the FAA examiners have one either. So I talked to my best friend about it. I thought it was a shortcoming that could be fixed, and that backcountry flying requires tail wheel experience for the most part. He agreed. Tomorrow, Mr. O’Malley, you will be getting a new plane for the fleet. A Carbon Cub. And (waving his water bottle towards all of the Instructors and the Three FAA examiners) your tail wheel endorsement training is included.”
There were wild cheers, much talk, and then everyone went to the computer to see the Vlogs of Trent Palmer’s Kitfox - and other backcountry tail wheel flights.
Mr. O’Malley slid up next to Shane, draped an arm over his shoulder, leaned in to conspiracy level closeness and whispered: “You tell this Mr. X, he has made a lot of people happy. He is keeping General Aviation alive in Northeastern Ohio, and making dreams come alive for certain people. Thank him, you hear? Thank him good!”
“I shall. I always liked him. He is my best friend."
End of Part I
My best friend. Mr. X.(Kevin Hughes)
Everyone stared at the Headlines, the Twitter Feeds, and the FACEBOOK posts- for all of them screamed the same message: "Rich Best Friend exposed- and who it is will stun you.”
Or the somewhat more distant from Clickbait text headlines: “A tale of two people but one person.”
Or the much more cynical tone taken by the kinds of folks who comment on Youtube, or Reddit, without any respect for the topic, content, or people involved- trolls in every sense of the word. here is what they had to say:
“Con man revealed for his duplicity.”
Strange indeed, when you consider every single “con” pulled off by this man left someone else richer, more secure, or happier- sometimes, all three.
As strange as it might seem, the person who pulled off this trending media fury, posted the most succinct tweet of all. “I just wanted people to follow their dreams.”
The New York Times, the Atlantic Monthly, and the Washington Post, put their best people on the story, and every single article they turned out about him, should have won them a Peabody or Pulitzer Prize. We can’t quote them all here, but we can summarize what they wrote, and add a timeline. For he first appeared, out of nowhere, at age sixteen- at a flight school.
“Hello. My name is Shane. I would like to learn to fly please. I can give you seven days to teach me.”
The head of the flight school, located next to the Lake in downtown Cleveland Ohio- simply smiled at the gangly young man with the crop of unruly mahogany hair, and the overly large hands for a person who was barely six foot tall. He looked right into the dark emerald eyes of the young man- eyes that were innocent, guileless, open. Probably the most naive eyes that the Senior Flight Instructor had ever seen, and the most honest.
“Well, son, it takes forty hours of Flight time, plus a written Ground School exam, a Check Ride, and another written exam, and an oral exam that may last up to three hours, to get your Pilot’s license- and you think you can do that in a week?”
The big gangly boy merely smiled.
“Yes, sir. I read the regulations, I already took the Ground School on line from Sporty’s - and I read the FAR from Cover to Cover. I know exactly what is required for the Practical Test, and Check Ride. I am sixteen now, and legal to train. I just haven’t flown yet. I expect to solo in four hours. I will still need 20 hours of dual instruction, and my Cross Country. I have a check here to cover all the expenses and pay my instructor too.“
With that, the young man slid a Cashiers Check for the full amount that was announced in the Flight School’s Brochure. The check was too much, almost a thousand dollars more than the posted total of fees were in the brochure.
The Head Flight Instructor (and the owner of the Flight Training School, the FBO, and the small restaurant located next to the field) looked at the check, then back up to meet the eyes of the young man. Eyes that still looked open, honest, trusting... bereft of guile, hubris, or pride.
“First thing, this check is over the amount necessary for forty hours of training. And I might remind you that the average person solo’s in about 12 to 14 hours, and ends up with about seventy hours before they are ready to take the Check Ride.”
The gangly boy just brushed a dangling bang of mahogany hair from his forehead, leaned over to tap the check with one of his very long slender fingers. That tap was a lot more solid than one would expect from a finger that slender, more like a Concert Pianist striking a key, than someone tapping on a piece of paper. It gave a hint to how strong that boy must really be.
“That extra amount is to go to the Instructor. They don’t get paid what they are really worth. I can afford to pay them a living wage, that is why that amount is there. I am not the normal student. I will solo in four hours, and take my check ride at forty hours, the absolute minimum.“
The Head Flight Instructor shook his head, running one weathered hand through what was left of his shock of blond hair. He wondered if this kid was filled with bravado instead of confidence, and he also wondered if the extra money was a bribe to hurry the kid through school, and make sure he got his license. Incensed he made the tone of his voice reflect the dark thoughts he was having.
“Young man, you cannot bribe your way to a license. I run a good flight school. I have only the toughest FAA examiners give my check rides. I know that the first person you take up when you get your ticket, is someone you love. I don’t want to be responsible for anyone who might not keep them safe. You are only sixteen, where in the heck did you get this kind of money anyway?”
The young man was nonplussed. He heard the tone, expected it, and was prepared to deal with it.
“Sir, I chose your Flight School precisely because of your reputation. When I fly, I want to know I can fly. I don’t want an easy examiner. There is no bribe. I told you, I can afford to pay a living wage- so I do. I have a very rich friend whom I write code for. He pays me an exorbitant salary- but I earn every penny of it.
He is a very private person, one that doesn’t fit in todays Social Media Rich world- so he uses me for any Public Duties or meetings. He pays me for that too. I call him: “Mr. X”. He told me to get my Pilot’s license - so here I am. Oh, and I memorized all of the FAR's, and all the other written materials before I got here.“
Not knowing what to make of the young man and his obvious inability to recognize how strange his tale might seem to others, made the thought appear that maybe the poor kid was mentally ill. If so he was the most “together” mentally ill person the Flight Instructor had ever seen or heard of.
“Okay, let’s test you a bit: What does the FAR say on page 307?”
The kid rattled off every word on the page, verbatim.
“Page 42?”
Same results.
“Page 113?”
Same results.
“What are the “V speeds” for a Diamond DA 20, DA 42, Piper Archer, and Cessna 172?”
The kid got them all. Same with calculating: density altitudes, Center of Gravity, and wind correction angles. The kid did them all in his head- and got them spot on.
“How do you do that?”
The gangly kid blushed for the first time.
“I am kind of a genius. I remember everything I read - verbatim. I can do any math in my head. I guess that is why I am so good with code.”
He gave a wry self deprecating smile towards the Flight Instructor.
“Okay, well, how do you want to do this?”
“I was thinking I would start tomorrow. Eight hours a day for five days…weather permitting- and then my check ride on Saturday?”
“I will have to give you a different Instructor for the Afternoons- but the same one for every morning session- me. “
“Okay.”
And that was that. He did solo in four hours. He did pass his check ride with exactly forty hours in his logbook. All five instructors, and the FAA examiner that gave him his check ride, agreed: there had never been a student pilot like this kid.
But that is where our story just begins, for what he did at his Private Pilot Party laid the groundwork for the tweets, texts, and myths, just a few years later.
For at that Party, he gave two other students checks to complete their Private Pilot’s License, get their Instrument rating, Dual Engine Rating, Commercial license, and another five hundred hours of flight time to build their resume. One check went to Delilah, the line girl who came from a family so poor that getting food, let alone flight time, was almost a miracle.
He had met her that first morning as she showed him how to tie down an airplane, and untie it. He caught on quick. By that Wednesday, she would ride along when he got dual instruction, sitting in the back of the plane sucking up all the information she could. Until she met him, she had exactly a half hour introductory flight, and three free passenger rides given by friendly pilots. Getting her license was going to take years.
He knew how hungry she was to fly. He made sure she got to ride in the plane every time he had dual instruction. He saw how much she strained to learn everything she could from each flight, and the longing in her eyes to fly the plane herself. He knew she would be a great Professional Pilot. So he invested in her.
The other check went to Duane X. A Marine with four deployments under his belt. The young man had seen him looking through the fence at the planes one day. They struck up a conversation. The young man with the mahogany hair learned how Duane had lost one leg in an attack in Afghanistan, and got a bullet in the side in Iraq.
“I always wanted to fly. But, well, (and he knocked on his plastic leg). Maybe I could fly drones, but I couldn’t afford that kind of education.”
At the party, when he opened the check and read the note from the sixteen year old mahogany haired kid- he cried. Marine or no Marine. He read the note out loud, and everyone cried.
“Dear Duane,
I can’t thank you enough for your service. I did check with Mr. O’Malley (the head Flight Instructor) and you can learn to fly with a prosthetic device. I talked with several experts, and they all said that you should get your commercial license before you become a Drone Pilot.
I talked to Mr. X about your situation. He said: “Do what it takes to get him flying drones!”
Good luck. Shane and Mr. X”
“Who the hell is Mr. X? Can I meet him? I want to shake his hand.”
Shane smiled.
“He is my best friend. But no, you can’t meet him. He likes to be anonymous. He isn’t afraid of people, nor does he have OCD, he is just afraid of notoriety. He likes being out of the limelight. So he uses me. I will thank him for you.“
There was one more surprise in store at that Party. And this one bowled over both the FAA examiners that were there, and Mr. O’Malley.
Shane, the gangly mahogany haired boy, cleared his throat to thank everyone for coming, for supporting him, and for being at the party. Then he said: “I talked to my best friend (Mr.X) about an interesting fact I discovered while learning to fly here in Cleveland. Nobody at the Flight School has a tail wheel endorsement. In fact, not one of the FAA examiners have one either. So I talked to my best friend about it. I thought it was a shortcoming that could be fixed, and that backcountry flying requires tail wheel experience for the most part. He agreed. Tomorrow, Mr. O’Malley, you will be getting a new plane for the fleet. A Carbon Cub. And (waving his water bottle towards all of the Instructors and the Three FAA examiners) your tail wheel endorsement training is included.”
There were wild cheers, much talk, and then everyone went to the computer to see the Vlogs of Trent Palmer’s Kitfox - and other backcountry tail wheel flights.
Mr. O’Malley slid up next to Shane, draped an arm over his shoulder, leaned in to conspiracy level closeness and whispered: “You tell this Mr. X, he has made a lot of people happy. He is keeping General Aviation alive in Northeastern Ohio, and making dreams come alive for certain people. Thank him, you hear? Thank him good!”
“I shall. I always liked him. He is my best friend."
End of Part I
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