OLD FLYING YARN—

Years ago I was an on-call charter pilot for Richland Aviation at our local airport while employed full-time as a photographer at the daily newspaper.

After work one day I was doing the pre-flight inspection on the airplane I was to use to fly a customer to Cleveland Hopkins Airport to catch his departing flight.

The customer arrived, and, as I finished helping with his seat harness and stowing his luggage, I tossed my Nikon 35 mm camera and gadget bag on the back seat of our plane.

Shortly we were climbing through layered clouds on our instrument clearance to Cleveland when he asked me if I was an amateur photographer.

“No sir,” I replied. “I am a professional photographer—and an amateur pilot.”

Ooops.

About 30 minutes later we were sequenced among the arriving airliners by Cleveland approach radar and plopped gently into the airport.

While taxiing to the transient gate behind a huge Boeing I was finally rewarded by his lurking smile.

I feared it was one of considerable relief—and continued my apologies for having a warped sense of humor.