Fog rose on the lake in Heath, outside Dallas, this Sunday Valentine’s morning. Reminded me of Weatherman C. E. Sitchler.
“Stitch” ran the weather bureau located at the Abilene Airport. We private, single-engine pilots hung out there waiting for the fog to lift. Especially we Visual Flight Rule (VHF) amateurs who weren’t trained to fly ‘blind’ using instruments.
That morning I wanted to fly to New Orleans. Then navigate on to Key West. Where Maxine and our seven-year old daughter would join the Bob Haven family. Then help deliver a 80-foot yacht to Belize, the island off Mexico’s east shore.
But as the fog thickened, I watched the ceiling drop to near zero. And listened to Sitch answer telephone calls from inquiring pilots. I still remember his words to one pilot.
“You got a hangar for that plane?” Sitch waited for the Yes. “Then keep your plane there!” And hung up the telephone.
We drove to New Orleans. Took train to Miami. Bus to Key West. On a clear-visibility New Year’s morning, we were awakened by car horns sounding near our bedroom. Batista had fled Cuba. Fidel Castro was the new dictator.
Never reached Belize. Our cruise was abandoned because one of the ship’s engines failed. Flew commercial back to Texas where our Cessna waited in the hangar.
