Today, I don't really have an update to speak of, even though some forward progress is slowly being made. I do, however, have a story about an encounter I just had in the hangar moments ago. So please, just bear with me for this one post.
I have been under the weather the last day or so with the inevitable funk that everyone gets from time to time. You know, headache, nausea, and what feels like a slight fever, just to top things off. That and being just plain tired seems to make how I feel today worse than yesterday. Someone just asked me why I'm even here and why do I insist on trying to get this airplane flying, even when I feel so bad. Well, I'll tell you why...
I was just standing at my workbench, staring at the entry door handle mechanism, which must've looked like I was trying to do my best Luke Skywalker impersonation by using "the force" to put some pieces together, but it just wasn't working. That's when I heard a quiet voice call out my name. It was a nice elderly lady and her husband from who had seen that latest newspaper article about the work we're doing on the Liberator. She said her husband made her drive 10 hours just to see this airplane.
You see, he used to work on B-24's in WWII. More specifically the hydraulic systems, along with being a sheet metal specialist earlier in his military career. And he was as sharp as a tack! He had a handshake as firm as a vise, and after telling me his name was George, he started quizzing me about what hydraulic pumps we had and how much pressure did our system work with, and so on. Man, I had to be on my toes with this guy.
Then, George started quizzing me about my sheet metal work and what I was doing with his airplane! He was simply too feeble to climb inside the airplane, but didn't want me to know it. He said he'd just inspect my work from the ground. Then, he took out some glasses that were so thick, they were probably microwave and dishwasher safe, and attempted to put them on. His hands were shaking so badly from Parkinson's disease (his wife whispered to me later), that he could hardly get them up to his face. Saddened by this sight and the fact that I could see that this was embarrassing him, I turned around as to check on the hangar cat or something. When I turned back around, he had managed to work those big ol' glasses on his face and was inspecting the tunnel gun position much like a drill sergeant might inspect a new recruit's polished shoes.
I stood there nervously and awaited his "inspection report." He reached over to me, shook my hand, and started crying. He said that he loved what I was doing to his airplane and is going to come out here and help me shoot rivets on this airplane so that I can get it flying before he dies. His wife kindly pulled him to the side and tried to explain to him that he couldn't even get his glasses on, so there was no way he'd be able to help me with those rivets. He said, "Bullsh*t!!! I don't have a problem with rivets, what I have a problem with is those d*mn glasses!" We all shared a much needed laugh after that.
Eventually, with his wife leading him by the arm, he shuffled out of the hangar. And although I know he was happy to see a B-24 again, he seemed sad to be leaving. I must say that I was sad to see him leave as well.
That is why I do this.
Gary Austin
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