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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Fairy Tales & Fantasy
- Subject: Life Changing Decisions/Events
- Published: 11/26/2012
The Cat and Miss Lee
Born 1941, M, from Santa Clara, CA, United StatesThe Cat and Miss Lee
Something funny happened to me on the way to the, well that is more a lead line to a comedy routine by people like Hope, Benny, or Skelton and not me. Still, something strange did happen to me.
I was in a central valley city in California about three years ago. I and my business partner were there on business. We had made several of these trips and they all proved to be money makers for us. To sum it up we were doing well. Anyway, we completed our business early and had some time to kill. My partner told me that at the local airport there were a group of men restoring a World War Two Boeing B-17 bomber, and he wanted to pay them a visit.
We found the airport, but because we were men it took us over an hour to drive what would have taken twenty minutes had we not had to stop twice for directions and lunch. For a small town the airport was impressive. The hangar where the work was taking place was a large building about the size of a two story warehouse. We parked in a space outside the office. Inside there was a woman sitting behind a counter, and getting past her was equivalent to trying to get into the White House. This is where it pays to have friends in high places and dropping a name often helps. But, once on her good side we were given the presidential tour of the facility.
We were passed through card key secured door into a vast enclosed space. As soon as the door was opened and we stepped into the room, our noses took in the odor of oil, grease and high test aviation fuel. As strong as the air was, there was a pleasant feeling being here. I had often heard the expression, “the floor was clean enough to eat off it,” and until now I just took it as that, just a saying. Here, however, the concrete floor was so clean it looked polished. And, there in front of us was, in military green, a B-17. She was missing the outboard port side Wright R-1820-97 cyclone turbo supercharged radial engine. The plane looked old, wounded and powerful, ready to fly to Berlin.
The engine rested in a cradle for support. Three men were busy working on two of her cylinders, and as impressive as all this was something else caught my eye. Across a space large enough to hold another B-17 was a forty foot long flatbed trailer. Sitting on the bed of the trailer was a Consolidated PBY-5A. The United States Navy seaplane looked alone and dead, its fuselage was sitting upright and its wings minus the two engines resting on a metal A-frame. Both the wings and the fuselage were dressed out in faded sea blue over gray navy paint. Just below the pilots window in equally faded red paint was the name, “Miss Lee.”
I don’t know what happened just then, but the thought of flying a Catalina flying boat has always been a dream of mine. I was only five years old when the war ended, but I could remember running out the back door of my parent’s house to watch flights of fighters and bombers fly over. I remember that the bombers were so powerful that the house shook as they flew passed. I think it was at that time I first saw a Cat, maybe even this one. That plus the news reels showing the cats landing on water was most impressive to a small boy. Since that time, I became obsessed with the thought of flying one. I even dreamed of being able to fly to a lake somewhere and land where ever I wanted. The dreams and the number of them faded with time, but never really went away. Now here I am standing in front of one.
I asked our guide about the Cat. He told me that the plane was to be the next restorations project. He also told me that the project was on hold for lack of funds. He explained that the B-17 had priority and fund draining. Now the Cat would have to wait, and I was thinking why? Maybe we could strike a deal.
In the early years of the war a Catalina cost the navy about ninety thousand dollars each. I offered one hundred and fifty thousand and the need for cash sealed the deal. I was now the owner of a PBY-5A in parts and not all the parts required to get it into the air. On top of an already great deal, they offered to allow me to use the unused space in their hangar and even went so far as to say they would help with the assistance of their expertise.
Well you might say, I have the plane and the people to help put it together, but who will fly it? Good question, me of course. Two buildings away from the hangar was a flight school. They told me their instruction included basic, instruments, multi-engine, and they even covered taking off from and landing on water. So, while the Cat was being restored, I learned to fly.
After an investment of over a million and a half dollars and another couple thousand learning to fly you might think that’s it. Wrong, since nine-eleven there are more people that become involved. Once the red tape is out of the way, however, it’s up-up-and-away, and we did. Flying the Cat was a pleasure, and there are no words to describe the feeling I got watching the wide open mouths of the people watching me land on water. It was after one such flight that my life changed. I had just landed and taxied to the hangar where I was met by the guy that sold Miss Lee to me. He told me that he and his crew were taking the B-17 to an air show, would I like to join them. What a question, absolutely. I didn’t know it then, but this was the biggest decision of my life and its effect would be life changing for me.
We filled our flight plan and the B-17 was the first down the runway. He circled waiting for me to form up on him. With me off his tail on the portside, we headed west out over the Pacific Ocean. Here in the drivers seat, with a historic B-17 off to my right I knew I could never know the feelings those pilots during the war had. I was flying to a picnic and they were flying into hell not knowing if or when they would ever see home again. No, I would never be able to know how they felt, but here and now, I had goose bumps. I looked out at the B-17 and I was proud to be an American. At ten thousand feet over the central valley of California, I was alive and free thanks to the men who flew these machines. It was great!
On our approach to the air field we flew from east to west crossing the coastline out over the Monterey Bay. The tower cleared us to land, and after banking to the left, the B-17 was the first. We both taxied behind a 1943 army green Jeep with a sign that read, “Follow me.” Behind the Jeep we were lead to our parking spaces and tie downs where we would spend the next three days. We would use our time talking to people wanting to see and hear about our planes and their collective histories. Their past was about to become my present.
It was about eleven o’clock the next morning when a man in his late eighties walked up to where I sat under the starboard wing of the Miss Lee. “Good morning young man. How are you?” he asked.
“Just great sir, how are you?” I replied.
“To be honest, I never thought I would live to see this day,” he said.
I was confused, and I guess it showed on my face because he asked, “Is this Cat yours?”
“Yes sir, she is.”
“The name, Miss Lee,” he asked.
“When I bought the flying boat it was in pieces in a hangar and that name was under the pilot’s window. When I began the restoration, I found this photo taped to the fuselage next to the pilots’ seat. I figured the nurse in the photo was Miss Lee. And, because of where I found the photo she must have been very important to the pilot. So, when I repainted the plane I repainted her name.”
He took the photo from me and stood quietly studying the picture. I could swear I saw a tear in his eye. “Are you going to be alright sir?” I asked.
“Yes. It’s just that the photo and the plane bring back memories long dead but not forgotten,” he said. I said nothing. I just sat and watched him for what seemed like hours. Then he asked, “Can I sit down?”
“Please, sit.”
We talked for over an hour and during our conversation I learned he was Lt. Cmdr. U. S. Navy retired Mark Solis. He told me a most amazing story. When, in 1943, he turned twenty he joined the navy. He told me that he scored high enough to be eligible for training as a pilot. He was assigned to flight school at Corpus Christi, Texas where he learned to fly PBY’s. His first duty station was in the Aleutians and a year later he moved to the central Pacific and an atoll named Palmyra for the remainder of the war.
It was on this small rock that a naval hospital ship docked, on board was a nurse named Alyssa Lee. Then lieutenant Solis found out what love at first sight really meant. During the next six months they spent all their free time together. The war and time had other designs on their collective futures. In the early fall Alyssa’s ship pulled out for the Philippines. She was to be transferred to a land based hospital where wounded navy and marine personnel were to be treated. The fighting in the Philippines was over and declared safe by General MacArthur. But like most things that came down from the powers that be it was not completely true. A few Japanese hold outs were still raiding villages in the outlying areas and even in the cities. It was one such raid that caught Alyssa in the middle of the raid and she was shot and killed. The fact that the Japanese sniper died too was of little comfort to Lt. Solis.
He stopped talking as a lump formed in his throat. Then a thought came to me that it might help, so I asked, “How would you like to take Miss Lee up one more time?” His eyes lit up like lights on a Christmas tree, and in less than an hour we were in the air. After two hours of flying time we were over Santa Cruz Island. By tipping the wing we got an excellent look at the island, and Lt. Cmdr Solis USN retired said, “There, put her down there . . . please.”
The sea around the island was as smooth as glass and down we went. Once on the water I taxied the plane to a jetty leading to the coast. As I nudged the plane closer to the jetty Mark got out of the co-pilot seat and made his way aft. Sitting at the jetty, I turned my attention to securing the engines. During this process I felt a dip as though someone had just stepped from the plane to the dock. I looked out the window and saw a young navy lieutenant, in a gleaming white uniform, standing on the jetty looking to the coast. Now I had to see what he was looking at, and so turned my attention to the shore. Coming toward us, in an equally white navy nurse’s uniform was a beautiful young woman. She would never be a pinup girl but she had a presence that made her prettier than any of the World War Two models I had ever seen. She held her hands out in front of her and when she was near enough, he took them in his. There they stood looking at one another for several minutes. Nether had anything to say that their eyes were incapable of saying. Finally, they turned and hand-in-hand they walked to the island end of the pier.
Then my attention was drawn to the rear of the plane when I heard a thud near the waist gunner’s position of the plane. I got up and moved to the observers blister. As I neared the location I saw two legs sticking into the passage way from behind a bulkhead. When I got through the opening I looked down. There slumped into the observers seat was Mark Solis. One look into his face told me all I had to know. I don’t know why, but I looked out at the pier, not really knowing what I expected to see. There was nothing. The pier all the way to the shore was empty. The coast deserted. There was nothing and no one in sight. I looked down at Mark once more and now there seemed to be the hint of a smile about his lips. Then I thought, it’s alright, Mark, your tour of duty is done, you're home now my friend. Thank you.
The Cat and Miss Lee(Anthony Colombo)
The Cat and Miss Lee
Something funny happened to me on the way to the, well that is more a lead line to a comedy routine by people like Hope, Benny, or Skelton and not me. Still, something strange did happen to me.
I was in a central valley city in California about three years ago. I and my business partner were there on business. We had made several of these trips and they all proved to be money makers for us. To sum it up we were doing well. Anyway, we completed our business early and had some time to kill. My partner told me that at the local airport there were a group of men restoring a World War Two Boeing B-17 bomber, and he wanted to pay them a visit.
We found the airport, but because we were men it took us over an hour to drive what would have taken twenty minutes had we not had to stop twice for directions and lunch. For a small town the airport was impressive. The hangar where the work was taking place was a large building about the size of a two story warehouse. We parked in a space outside the office. Inside there was a woman sitting behind a counter, and getting past her was equivalent to trying to get into the White House. This is where it pays to have friends in high places and dropping a name often helps. But, once on her good side we were given the presidential tour of the facility.
We were passed through card key secured door into a vast enclosed space. As soon as the door was opened and we stepped into the room, our noses took in the odor of oil, grease and high test aviation fuel. As strong as the air was, there was a pleasant feeling being here. I had often heard the expression, “the floor was clean enough to eat off it,” and until now I just took it as that, just a saying. Here, however, the concrete floor was so clean it looked polished. And, there in front of us was, in military green, a B-17. She was missing the outboard port side Wright R-1820-97 cyclone turbo supercharged radial engine. The plane looked old, wounded and powerful, ready to fly to Berlin.
The engine rested in a cradle for support. Three men were busy working on two of her cylinders, and as impressive as all this was something else caught my eye. Across a space large enough to hold another B-17 was a forty foot long flatbed trailer. Sitting on the bed of the trailer was a Consolidated PBY-5A. The United States Navy seaplane looked alone and dead, its fuselage was sitting upright and its wings minus the two engines resting on a metal A-frame. Both the wings and the fuselage were dressed out in faded sea blue over gray navy paint. Just below the pilots window in equally faded red paint was the name, “Miss Lee.”
I don’t know what happened just then, but the thought of flying a Catalina flying boat has always been a dream of mine. I was only five years old when the war ended, but I could remember running out the back door of my parent’s house to watch flights of fighters and bombers fly over. I remember that the bombers were so powerful that the house shook as they flew passed. I think it was at that time I first saw a Cat, maybe even this one. That plus the news reels showing the cats landing on water was most impressive to a small boy. Since that time, I became obsessed with the thought of flying one. I even dreamed of being able to fly to a lake somewhere and land where ever I wanted. The dreams and the number of them faded with time, but never really went away. Now here I am standing in front of one.
I asked our guide about the Cat. He told me that the plane was to be the next restorations project. He also told me that the project was on hold for lack of funds. He explained that the B-17 had priority and fund draining. Now the Cat would have to wait, and I was thinking why? Maybe we could strike a deal.
In the early years of the war a Catalina cost the navy about ninety thousand dollars each. I offered one hundred and fifty thousand and the need for cash sealed the deal. I was now the owner of a PBY-5A in parts and not all the parts required to get it into the air. On top of an already great deal, they offered to allow me to use the unused space in their hangar and even went so far as to say they would help with the assistance of their expertise.
Well you might say, I have the plane and the people to help put it together, but who will fly it? Good question, me of course. Two buildings away from the hangar was a flight school. They told me their instruction included basic, instruments, multi-engine, and they even covered taking off from and landing on water. So, while the Cat was being restored, I learned to fly.
After an investment of over a million and a half dollars and another couple thousand learning to fly you might think that’s it. Wrong, since nine-eleven there are more people that become involved. Once the red tape is out of the way, however, it’s up-up-and-away, and we did. Flying the Cat was a pleasure, and there are no words to describe the feeling I got watching the wide open mouths of the people watching me land on water. It was after one such flight that my life changed. I had just landed and taxied to the hangar where I was met by the guy that sold Miss Lee to me. He told me that he and his crew were taking the B-17 to an air show, would I like to join them. What a question, absolutely. I didn’t know it then, but this was the biggest decision of my life and its effect would be life changing for me.
We filled our flight plan and the B-17 was the first down the runway. He circled waiting for me to form up on him. With me off his tail on the portside, we headed west out over the Pacific Ocean. Here in the drivers seat, with a historic B-17 off to my right I knew I could never know the feelings those pilots during the war had. I was flying to a picnic and they were flying into hell not knowing if or when they would ever see home again. No, I would never be able to know how they felt, but here and now, I had goose bumps. I looked out at the B-17 and I was proud to be an American. At ten thousand feet over the central valley of California, I was alive and free thanks to the men who flew these machines. It was great!
On our approach to the air field we flew from east to west crossing the coastline out over the Monterey Bay. The tower cleared us to land, and after banking to the left, the B-17 was the first. We both taxied behind a 1943 army green Jeep with a sign that read, “Follow me.” Behind the Jeep we were lead to our parking spaces and tie downs where we would spend the next three days. We would use our time talking to people wanting to see and hear about our planes and their collective histories. Their past was about to become my present.
It was about eleven o’clock the next morning when a man in his late eighties walked up to where I sat under the starboard wing of the Miss Lee. “Good morning young man. How are you?” he asked.
“Just great sir, how are you?” I replied.
“To be honest, I never thought I would live to see this day,” he said.
I was confused, and I guess it showed on my face because he asked, “Is this Cat yours?”
“Yes sir, she is.”
“The name, Miss Lee,” he asked.
“When I bought the flying boat it was in pieces in a hangar and that name was under the pilot’s window. When I began the restoration, I found this photo taped to the fuselage next to the pilots’ seat. I figured the nurse in the photo was Miss Lee. And, because of where I found the photo she must have been very important to the pilot. So, when I repainted the plane I repainted her name.”
He took the photo from me and stood quietly studying the picture. I could swear I saw a tear in his eye. “Are you going to be alright sir?” I asked.
“Yes. It’s just that the photo and the plane bring back memories long dead but not forgotten,” he said. I said nothing. I just sat and watched him for what seemed like hours. Then he asked, “Can I sit down?”
“Please, sit.”
We talked for over an hour and during our conversation I learned he was Lt. Cmdr. U. S. Navy retired Mark Solis. He told me a most amazing story. When, in 1943, he turned twenty he joined the navy. He told me that he scored high enough to be eligible for training as a pilot. He was assigned to flight school at Corpus Christi, Texas where he learned to fly PBY’s. His first duty station was in the Aleutians and a year later he moved to the central Pacific and an atoll named Palmyra for the remainder of the war.
It was on this small rock that a naval hospital ship docked, on board was a nurse named Alyssa Lee. Then lieutenant Solis found out what love at first sight really meant. During the next six months they spent all their free time together. The war and time had other designs on their collective futures. In the early fall Alyssa’s ship pulled out for the Philippines. She was to be transferred to a land based hospital where wounded navy and marine personnel were to be treated. The fighting in the Philippines was over and declared safe by General MacArthur. But like most things that came down from the powers that be it was not completely true. A few Japanese hold outs were still raiding villages in the outlying areas and even in the cities. It was one such raid that caught Alyssa in the middle of the raid and she was shot and killed. The fact that the Japanese sniper died too was of little comfort to Lt. Solis.
He stopped talking as a lump formed in his throat. Then a thought came to me that it might help, so I asked, “How would you like to take Miss Lee up one more time?” His eyes lit up like lights on a Christmas tree, and in less than an hour we were in the air. After two hours of flying time we were over Santa Cruz Island. By tipping the wing we got an excellent look at the island, and Lt. Cmdr Solis USN retired said, “There, put her down there . . . please.”
The sea around the island was as smooth as glass and down we went. Once on the water I taxied the plane to a jetty leading to the coast. As I nudged the plane closer to the jetty Mark got out of the co-pilot seat and made his way aft. Sitting at the jetty, I turned my attention to securing the engines. During this process I felt a dip as though someone had just stepped from the plane to the dock. I looked out the window and saw a young navy lieutenant, in a gleaming white uniform, standing on the jetty looking to the coast. Now I had to see what he was looking at, and so turned my attention to the shore. Coming toward us, in an equally white navy nurse’s uniform was a beautiful young woman. She would never be a pinup girl but she had a presence that made her prettier than any of the World War Two models I had ever seen. She held her hands out in front of her and when she was near enough, he took them in his. There they stood looking at one another for several minutes. Nether had anything to say that their eyes were incapable of saying. Finally, they turned and hand-in-hand they walked to the island end of the pier.
Then my attention was drawn to the rear of the plane when I heard a thud near the waist gunner’s position of the plane. I got up and moved to the observers blister. As I neared the location I saw two legs sticking into the passage way from behind a bulkhead. When I got through the opening I looked down. There slumped into the observers seat was Mark Solis. One look into his face told me all I had to know. I don’t know why, but I looked out at the pier, not really knowing what I expected to see. There was nothing. The pier all the way to the shore was empty. The coast deserted. There was nothing and no one in sight. I looked down at Mark once more and now there seemed to be the hint of a smile about his lips. Then I thought, it’s alright, Mark, your tour of duty is done, you're home now my friend. Thank you.
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