how it all began...
July 5, 1975. That was the day of my first airplane ride. $15 for a 15 minute ride at Howell Airport (3HW) located on the south side of Chicago. From that day forward, my life would never be the same.
Yes, I was hooked. What 15 year old wouldn't be? I 'flew' home on my bike and told my mom about my experience. I said, "That's what I want to do with my life". Not a doubt in my mind. The problem then became how to pay for flying lessons. I was 15 years old! I had no money. My parents were a middle class family who had little extra for a vacation, let alone for flying lessons for their son.
My mom told me that if I wanted to fly, go to the airport and tell the man there that I would work for flying lessons. I was fairly shy, but I did just that. I approached that crusty old bigger than life man named 'Willie Howell' and presented my proposal to him. He bought it, hook line and sinker. I would work all weekend for a 30 minute flying lesson during the school year and 6 days a week in the summer.
That's how it began. Years of cleaning Piper Cherokee bellies, pumping gas, mowing grass and cleaning dog pens. Before you knew it, I was a licensed pilot at age 17. I will always be grateful to that sweet man named Willie Howell for giving me that opportunity.
Now I am asking you for that same opportunity. I did not waste it 37 years ago and I would not waste it now. The work ethic and drive that was instilled in me by my mother and Willie still lives within me today.
I will represent your flight department well and fly your airplane like I owned it myself and my family was in the back.
Yes, I was hooked. What 15 year old wouldn't be? I 'flew' home on my bike and told my mom about my experience. I said, "That's what I want to do with my life". Not a doubt in my mind. The problem then became how to pay for flying lessons. I was 15 years old! I had no money. My parents were a middle class family who had little extra for a vacation, let alone for flying lessons for their son.
My mom told me that if I wanted to fly, go to the airport and tell the man there that I would work for flying lessons. I was fairly shy, but I did just that. I approached that crusty old bigger than life man named 'Willie Howell' and presented my proposal to him. He bought it, hook line and sinker. I would work all weekend for a 30 minute flying lesson during the school year and 6 days a week in the summer.
That's how it began. Years of cleaning Piper Cherokee bellies, pumping gas, mowing grass and cleaning dog pens. Before you knew it, I was a licensed pilot at age 17. I will always be grateful to that sweet man named Willie Howell for giving me that opportunity.
Now I am asking you for that same opportunity. I did not waste it 37 years ago and I would not waste it now. The work ethic and drive that was instilled in me by my mother and Willie still lives within me today.
I will represent your flight department well and fly your airplane like I owned it myself and my family was in the back.
