It was a clear, blustery day in February 1981. Buck was working for Crosby Wright, my grading and concrete contractor. We were preparing the foundation of my home, one of the first I built more than two decades ago.
At the time I had recently learned to fly and had soloed my first airplane a few days earlier. I was telling Crosby about my latest aerial adventure and he just sat and listened quietly as I recounted the details of my recent flight. He looked at me and said in a quiet tone,
"Get Buck to tell you about his airplane story."
The next day we continued to grade and shape the foundation of the structure and at noon when we broke for lunch I sat down beside Buck to eat. After finishing my sandwich, I relaxed for a moment before getting back to the task at hand. I asked Buck if he had ever flown an airplane.
"No sir, and ain't going to either." he said smiling. "But I was almost killed by one," he added. "How was that ?" I asked "One night four jet airplanes crashed into my house and burned it down," he continued.
"I came home the next morning and a jet engine was laying where my bedroom was."
I was surprised and felt duped when some of the workers sitting around us started to snicker and then openly laugh. At first I thought I had been the target of a practical joke, but that laughter was really directed at Buck. They had never heard this incredible story before, either. He became quiet and said, "Yeah, it happened right over there on Old Peachtree Road." He didn't say any more and went back to work. I was skeptical and didn't ask for details.
I filed it away, thinking that there must have actually been a crash nearby or a plane or two, but four jets? It was too much to swallow. I dismissed it as a tale fueled by too many beers too many years ago. I didn't ask anymore questions. I had a house to build and it would be almost two decades before my interest overcame my skepticism.
At the time I had recently learned to fly and had soloed my first airplane a few days earlier. I was telling Crosby about my latest aerial adventure and he just sat and listened quietly as I recounted the details of my recent flight. He looked at me and said in a quiet tone,
"Get Buck to tell you about his airplane story."
The next day we continued to grade and shape the foundation of the structure and at noon when we broke for lunch I sat down beside Buck to eat. After finishing my sandwich, I relaxed for a moment before getting back to the task at hand. I asked Buck if he had ever flown an airplane.
"No sir, and ain't going to either." he said smiling. "But I was almost killed by one," he added. "How was that ?" I asked "One night four jet airplanes crashed into my house and burned it down," he continued.
"I came home the next morning and a jet engine was laying where my bedroom was."
I was surprised and felt duped when some of the workers sitting around us started to snicker and then openly laugh. At first I thought I had been the target of a practical joke, but that laughter was really directed at Buck. They had never heard this incredible story before, either. He became quiet and said, "Yeah, it happened right over there on Old Peachtree Road." He didn't say any more and went back to work. I was skeptical and didn't ask for details.
I filed it away, thinking that there must have actually been a crash nearby or a plane or two, but four jets? It was too much to swallow. I dismissed it as a tale fueled by too many beers too many years ago. I didn't ask anymore questions. I had a house to build and it would be almost two decades before my interest overcame my skepticism.
