While still in high school (I soloed on my 16th birthday) I used to fly over the farm house of a girl that I was sweet on, naturally trying to impress her. Although I was not successful, I did get the attention of her dad. As a result, he started taking flying lessons and, shortly after soloing, he bought a brand new J-3 Cub (NC98550). He then put in a little landing strip on his farm (about 700 feet long) and built a T-hangar in which to store the Cub.

The narrow landing strip, running north and south, was unique. It had a distinctive crown down the center that extended the full length of the strip, dropping off slightly to either side. Thus, if one had a crosswind from the west, one would takeoff or land on the west edge of the strip. Conversely, if one had a wind from the east, one would takeoff or land on that side of the strip. This provided a natural "built-in" crosswind correction, and we could handle some pretty stiff crosswinds following this procedure. Another factor that made the strip unique was that it sloped uphill to the north. As a result, we would always (well, most of the time) takeoff down grade and land upgrade. The only time when this technique became a problem was when the wind velocity got up to the point that one had to make the decision, whether to takeoff down hill with a tailwind or takeoff uphill into the wind. Apparently we always made the correct decision as we never got into trouble.

The farmer, whose nickname was Duke, permitted me to fly his Cub any time I wished. All I had to do was put in the fuel, which we purchased from the local Sohio dealer (he had been a B-17 pilot in WWII) in a 55 gallon drum for thirteen-cents a gallon. Hence, it only cost me fifty to sixty cents an hour to fly the Cub.

I spent many great hours flying that grand old airplane. In fact, I took my commercial flight test in it as soon as I was eighteen. But let me get to the point of this story.

As a young "aviator" I was not content to simply fly around "straight and level." As a consequence, I taught myself to do a few elementary aerobatics such as loops and "hammerhead stalls." I would dive the old Cub to build up speed, and then pull back on the stick until she was heading straight up. Just before she would stall, I would apply full rudder and she swapped "tail with engine" and head straight down. Many times I would let the speed build up again and go right into another hammerhead stall. Although hammerhead stalls were fun, loops and spins were my favorites. I recall one evening climbing the old Cub up to 10,000 feet and spinning her down to about a thousand feet. When I recovered, after an untold number of turns, my equilibrium was so "askew" that I simply let go of the controls and let the natural stability of the airplane take over until I regained my equilibrium.

Loops were fundamentally simple in the Cub, as long as one gained enough initial airspeed to carry one up and over the top of the loop. I tried to teach loops to Duke, but he continually had difficulty. He feared that, after coming over the top of the loop and progressing into the vertical dive segment of the maneuver, he would build up to much airspeed and the wings would come off.

I told him that not to worry about that. "As soon as you see the horizon reappear in the windshield, simply reduce the throttle to idle and continue pulling back on the stick to recover from the dive," I advised. Assuming that this bit of wisdom would solve his problem, I instructed Duke to try another loop. Duke dropped the nose, the airspeed increased, and he smoothly applied back pressure on the stick. Up and around we went. However, when we became inverted (top of the loop), Duke suddenly tilted his head back, saw the horizon, and immediately chopped the power. The result: we were left hanging upside-down by our belts, with dust and dirt from the floor filling the cockpit. This unpleasant condition was further reinforced with the pungent odor of gasoline as fuel drained from the tank located directly in front of the windshield, along with stark silence as the engine failed from lack of fuel. I quickly applied back pressure on the stick as the Cub's wings were never intended to withstand negative G's. With that, the nose came down and we returned to level flight.

Explaining to Duke what he did wrong, I said, "Let's try it again." He did, and guess what? When reaching the top of the loop, once again, Duke tilted his head back, saw the horizon, and chopped the power. I decided then and there that perhaps it would be best if Duke stuck with straight and level flight.

One Sunday morning as I was driving to Duke's landing strip, I noted the Cub already airborne and doing some strange maneuvers, including some pretty good looking loops. "Who could be flying Duke's Cub," I wondered. Arriving at the strip, I watched as the Cub continued to do some unconventional maneuvers. Finally, it approached the strip and landed. When it taxied up, and to my surprise, I saw that Duke and his neighbor were the occupants (the neighbor was not a pilot). When they got out of the Cub it was obvious, they were both "drunker than skunks." The bottom line: Duke couldn't do loops when sober, but he sure as hell could do them when he was drunk.

Duke is long gone so I guess I can now tell this story. He never did get his private license and continued to fly as a student pilot until he sold the Cub a few years later for $500 (the going price at the time). Also, I never did succeed with his daughter. Boy, she was a beauty. She was not only a cheer leader, but she possessed all of the female embellishments that attract the opposite sex (particularly pilots).

 Postscript. Several years ago I located that same old Cub in Peru, Vermont, and had the opportunity to fly her once again (after a laps of thirty seven years).