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Poems and Thoughts by Frank Maurer

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Flying

Flying I. Dream of Flying opus 110

As a child, I always longed to fly.
I would stand at one end of a field
And, with my wings which were part of my body,
I would start to run, wings outspread and pumping;
Slowly I arose into the air, my legs bending backward.
Straining ever-more, I strove with great effort
To rise higher and higher--the goal was to be able
To clear the hedge of trees which confronted me.
In my mind of imagination, I would always
Be relieved when I would always clear the trees.

Having accomplished my act towards complete freedom,
I winged my way across the world to pure adventure.

Flying II. A Trip to Buzzards Bay opus 111

Being quite young--perhaps 4 in 1945,
I remember one trip with my Dad to Buzzards Bay, MA.
We were in the high altitude equipment production plant,
I, standing next to his right side,
As he expounded some directions to a coworker.
My Dad always had soft, large hands,
With a particular scent.
I will always remember that sweet, masculine scent.
I am not sure what moved me at that moment,
But I recall moving closer to his side
(I was tall enough to reach his hand on his extended arm)
And nuzzled my nose into his palm,
Inhaling his delicious scent; giving me a childlike high
And a basic mammalian feeling of belonging
To another of my species:
To another whom I knew had accomplished important and great feats--
And to whom I belonged as a child of my dear Father.

Flying III. At the Airport opus 112

I dreamed of flying all through my childhood--
First, by having actual wings which were a part of my body musculature,
Followed by a more realistic bonding with actual flying machines.
Growing older--10 or 12--I often asked my father
About the many stories I heard him tell concerning testing, the terrible 'bends',
And the triumphs and manufacture of his war-time inventions.

(My father did a great deal of business flying--
Let alone, having designed the oxygen mask and other related equipment
For higher flights--41,000 feet--by our pilots during WWII,
Who were assaulted from above by--for a while--Axis pilots.)

As a result of hearing all this past history during my youth,
I wanted to see real aircraft and thus one day,
Departed with my father to the Boston Logan International Airport to watch planes!

There was a long viewing ramp along the roof
On which I roamed from area to area--
Following all the arrivals and departures of every airline--a thrill a moment!
I could have wandered back and forth forever,
But there was always that time to go home.

Flying IV. The Interview opus 113

As my interest for flight was increasing ever-more,
And I had reached the Junior High level,
I was assigned, along with all my classmates,
For each of us to interview a person in a desired, future profession.
Of course I chose to speak with a pilot.
Somehow, because of all the 'Million Miles' my father had accrued,
He managed an interview for me with an American Airlines pilot;
With all my written questions ready--
And planned space to pen my expected answers.

I remember the sunny afternoon, driving together with my Dad,
Back to the airport, but now to a large office complex
Below the observation walkway where I had watched planes so often in the past.

The interview went well, yielding in depth information,
And I left feeling a greater longing to somehow fly a plane.

Flying V: After a long Hiatus opus 116

A long interim of school, work, and marriage,
Until graduate school hit and my related field work.
I was studying blood transferrins of the Meadow Vole, Microtus pennsylvanicus.
I managed to be accepted in the Conservation Department of Cornell,
Working with electrophoresis under Professor Charles Sibley.
(His son, David Allen Sibley, paints and writes the bird ID guides!)
Field work consisted of capturing these voles from under hay bales
In nearby Ithaca (NY) hay fields--all set up for me.
From under distributed hay bales, I would flip and lunge for my 'prey'.
In my five years, I captured and bred more than 6000 rodents.

Nearby was the Ithaca airport
Which spewed out plane after plane, winging over my fields.
After several months, I could take it no longer,
And bicycled over to the nearby port to inquire about lessons.
Unhesitantly I signed up for whatever was going to come.
For more than 30 hours, I concentrated diligently to earn my first solo flight.
What an absolute thrill to rise from the earth alone,
And maneuver this machine to come round and return safely to the waiting ground!
Many more tests would occur before a license was granted:
Flying cross country with a map spread over my lap--
The railway tracks--on the north or the south side of that highway?;
Realizing I needed to connect the map with rising topography ahead;
Listening to the radio announcement of another student,
Landing simultaneously, heading straight towards me from the incorrect direction;
Landing in the dark--control lights off and listening to the wind
Through an open window so as not to stall;
Dropping abruptly down over a barrier of trees
In order to reach a short runway immediately ahead.

Tough lessons which provoked deep thought and common sense;
Preparing me for a series of further flying challenges.
Which actually kept me alive!

Flying VI. Flying Others opus 143

Having now learned to be a pretty good, confident pilot,
(There are Old Pilots and Bold Pilots, but no Old, Bold Pilots),
I decided to figure out a plan to fly others
With the club planes to help pay for my hours.
Cornell had a 'ride box', where hopeful travellers
Could state on 4 X 4 cards, when and where they 'needed' to go.
When I had a little free time from my demanding graduate studies,
I went to the ride box and sorted through those going to the same destination.
One, I remember, was a big dance at the U of NH.
I wrote down several names and telephone numbers--
The goal was at least three students going to the same place.
With the list, all collected and organized, I went back to my apartment to call.
'I am flying to the U of NH on your date ('by chance'!).
Would you like to fly and share gas, only needing two hours for the flight,
Instead of the 12 hours to make the trip by bus?'
(I could fly NE over the mountains from Cornell, Ithaca, NY, to Amherst, NH,
Avoiding the 12 hour bus voyage E to Boston, a layover, then N to NH.)
All responses were always wow, yes--more time to socialize at the big dance!
Off we would go from the Ithaca Airport, over the Alleghenies, landing in NH.
We then made a time for the return flight to get back home.

Everyone was happy for the time saved, and I paid nothing, by sharing, for my hours!
See, 'socialism' does work, especially with no ulterior motives!

Flying VII. A Trip to Fort Collins, Colorado opus 144

Landing in Fort Collins, we each went our own way, Agreeing on the return time to the airport, for our return flight. The conference for the American Society of Mammalogists, Was a wonder for me, with so many professionals of the same ilk. I was even approached by a very nice older gay mammalogist whom I gently deferred! The return flight was lovely and uneventful.

An Afterthought: Our flight to Fort Collins occurred in the late 1960's with the rest of life filling in between. About October 2020, I received an email from a Murray Colbo, Asking if I was the 'Frank' who flew him to Fort Collins for a conference! I said yes, and he identified himself and how well he remembered our trip. He has spent his career studying various freshwater environments and their aquatic invertebrates.

He related that in all his study grants he always requested a helicopter and pilot To enable him to collect specimens in very out of the way aquatic habitats. He emphasized how important the helicopters with good pilots were for his research. On one grant, he explained, the pilot assigned to his research Frankly frightened him with his flying style--not great confidence! He related that he would not continue with that research project, Unless he got a more skillful pilot. One was granted and he went on with his work.

After a pause, I timidly asked how he rated my flying during our flight. He unhesitantly replied, 'Oh you were skillful and competent! Can you imagine how a warm feeling developed in my chest? It was such a joy to hear his evaluation for a skill I had worked so hard to achieve. This is what makes the blow of growing older, a softer landing for the End!

Flying VIII. The Professor's Flight opus 162

As stated in my Flying VI and VII, I ferried people
Around for their convenience and my needed hours.
As time passed, ever nearer towards my Ph.D.
In Vertebrate Zoology and Ecology,
The word worked its way upward to professors,
Who needed to reach an out-of-the-way destination.
One afternoon, I received a call from a professor,
Needing to go to Pokeepsie, N.Y.
(I had landed there as an 8th grade student,
Flying with my father on a similar trip years ago.)
The day and time were arranged and we took off.
The weather was just fine, but as we progressed,
The cloud cover built up--the layered, stratus clouds were the type.
When my instruments indicated that we were over our destination,
I started looking for a hole--
One soon appeared and I needed to manage, because I was on VFR*,
To corkscrew down to get through the opening of the white layer.
I had never done such a thing, exactly,
But having had some experience with such maneuvers,
We made it through, got our terrestrial bearings,
And made a nice three-point landing at the little airport!

While the professor went for his meeting,
I stayed with the Cessna and studied for my next class.
After a time, he returned and up we went.
But now the stratus layer had dispersed,
So there was no more needed circling upward--
Just a nice evening flight home to the Ithaca Airport,
'High above Cayuga's waters'.

* Note: VFR is 'visual flight rules', using no instruments
        (a whole other story).

Flying IX. Landing a Cessna 150 on the Numbers opus 185

While earning my Ph.D. at Cornell University in Ithaca, New York,
I joined a flying club for an extracurricular activity.
After many hours of flying and learning,
A skill-building activity occurred to me;
Often landing in rural tree-lined runways in the area,
I started practicing 'short landings' at the end of the larger Ithaca Airport.
The large numbers at the end of each runway
Are the basic naming system for a particular runway.
"24" was used for 240 degrees on the compass,
So a pilot could know that the heading around 240 degrees
Was indeed the runway being landed on.

The trick with a small, single engine, two passenger plane
Was to touch down as slowly as possible without stalling (crashing!)
At the very end of the paved runway
And then put on the brakes to successfully control the plane,
Before it passed over the last part of the numbers and stopped!
A bit abrupt and a little hard on the brakes,
But a maneuvering skill which might come in handy someday.
This sort of skill-building with constant thinking
Is what gives flying the excitement all pilots crave.

Flying X. The Flight to Nowhere opus 190

Have you ever headed out, knowingly, to the middle of nowhere?
I had contemplated a flight to Block Island, RI,
A few hours from my departure place of Ithaca, NY,
While a zoology major at Cornell University (1966).

This was dead reckoning from mainland RI,
To Block Island, a small spot of land some 30 to 50 minutes offshore.
I had never done this before; flying over the sea--no land in sight.
Three other grad students eagerly agreed to accompany me on the flight.
All went well across the terrestrial mapped area, until the Atlantic.
I checked my gas, held my breath, and took a heading towards our tiny destination.
With luck and no irregularities, the lovely island came into sight.
We landed, made arrangements for the evening,
And had a gentle and friendly repast, followed by our overnight.
The next morning we took in some sights
And I somewhat nervously checked the weather, which was closing in.
My companions were oblivious to the weather needs for our return,
But I continually checked for a break in our low overcast situation.
The moment came and I suggested we scramble to the plane.
Up we rose into a broken cloud cover with afternoon sun accenting our surroundings.

Up at several thousand feet, I felt relief in our potential accomplishment.
All seemed well until I smelled smoke and my heart basically stopped.
Turning to my passengers, I related my despair,
Until it was discovered that Gloria, one of the passengers,
Had lit up a cigarette!!
My fear was gone, but I sternly instructed that such an act should not be repeated.
At dusk, we arrived home in Ithaca and quietly dispersed.
This was a flight I would never forget--and have not over all these years.

Yet another adventure in my occasional attempts to defy gravity.

Flying XI The Snowstorm opus 320

{It has been quite a while since I wrote my last 'Flying X'.
There have been many distracting world events to deter me!
These Poems and Thoughts were initiated to pass on some personal histories
For my two boys and any other family members who may be interested.
It has thus evolved, as well, to include commentary of all sorts,
But still remaining within the realm of my thoughts and concerns.}

While at Cornell as a graduate student, I flew small planes,
Having joined a University flying club.
To maintain some sanity during all the serious PhD studies,
Music in the Cornell orchestra and occasional flying here and there
Were the antidotes to clear my head from the challenging academic thinking.

After a few years of flying, I became quite proficient,
So I met more and more challenging weather situations.
In the winter of 1967(?) I was flying back to the Ithaca airport
When, suddenly the weather changed as it did often in northern New York.
Snow flurries from the Great Lakes spread across the area.
I had landed at an airport about half an hour flying time from Ithaca.
I called the control center and explained I needed to return to my home base.
(Probably the need was the result of a pending oral exam!)
After some discussion I convinced them I could fly on.
I had told them I knew all the highways leading to Ithaca
And that I would fly above the roads, following them to the airport.
Ok. I took off, flying at about 1000 feet, still maintaining a visual of the ground.
The snow was light, but thick around me.
I remember seeing the vehicles passing below me.
It was a sight I would never dismiss from my mind.
I did wonder, while above them, just what they thought of all this!
I followed the main highway west, turning left or south,
Then on to the anticipated runway ahead.
I believe I came down on runway 31 where I had learned to fly!
As I touched down and the wheels squealed in joy with the earth,
My heart was relieved, but in harmony with the joyful rubber below me.

Flying XII. Night Flying opus 321

During my flight training, I went through rigorous exercises
Teaching me the various emergencies while flying at night.
Considering all emergencies which might occur on the dark of night,
I was confronted with the possibility of the lighting system failing.
With no control panel lights, one cannot see the crucial landing speed.
As we landed, the side window was opened to hear the wind speed.
With that aid, coupled with the passing of the runway lights,
One gets pretty accurate judgement of speed so as not to stall.
The next test entails no landing lights, making the runway just black.
By judging the altitude using the runway lighting,
One simply inches down, losing altitude,
Until the wheels--if all goes well--ease softly onto the tarmac.

The next challenge was to land with neither one--no panel nor landing lights!
The pilot needs then to use runway lights, along with
Listening to the passing wind through the open window,
Continually creeping down to finally touching rubber to tarmac.
After some practice, this seemingly impossible task
Actually results in yet one more successful manoeuver
Which ultimately ticks off another skill towards a possible emergency survival.

Performing these exercises, one is truly living in a three-dimensional world!

Flying XIII. Emergency Landings opus 370

As my flight lessons progressed, the complexity of emergency test landings unfolded.
As we took off over the runway, the instructor would suddenly pull the throttle,
Which caused the loss of power and the immediate need to land.
The idea was to turn, while not stalling, and quickly land back or beside the runway.
Quick thinking is needed to determine if a plane next in line is taking off,
Making it necessary to land 'on the grass' next to the runway.
Of course, with the change of direction, one is further challenged by landing with the wind.

Another instance, important to learn, is finding a landing spot from a higher altitude.
At three to five thousand feet and the artificial loss of power,
The challenge is to locate a field or beach or highway,
And spiral down, attempting to figure wind direction, terrain,
As well as judging the advantageous spot on which the wheels must touch.
The instructor waits until the last 'perfect' moment
And immediately pushes in the throttle to restore life to the malfunctioning flying machine.
With much relief, one listens for the evaluation of the attempted landing.
Even though these lessons are abrupt and cause elevated blood pressure,
It is all in the game and the higher level of challenge
Becomes more 'normal' and acceptable and a part of one's 'new reality'.

Why the Denial? opus 372

So much evidence accumulating;
So many denying that anything is happening.

When did you last hear of such violent turbulence manifesting,
That two planes, within days, experienced such turmoil,
That many passengers, even one who died,
Resulting from huge destructive loss of altitude,
Pounding travellers against the cabin roof and racks?
I am almost 83, have followed aviation history,
And cannot recollect such atmospheric strength.
It is more and more evident that these changes
Will be increasing as a result of the ravages
Of the prevailing Climate Crisis.

It is noteworthy that most governing our Southeast
Absolutely deny even the mention of such change,
In spite of the revenge of the Climate
With its ever-greater tornadoes, both in size and number,
Crying out to demand the choosing of either our survival,
Or Climate's increasing destruction.

Historically, after great effort and cost,
We have vanquished dictators.
Why is it we cannot marshal and vanquish
An even worse and more horrible creeping foe?

Flying XIV. A Spray Application Demo opus 388

This is probably my last thought on my flying career.
I remember these demonstrations because of their forcefulness.
And also that spray planes are used to fertilize fields all around me.

Out of the blue one day with my instructor, he remarked on his 'spray' days'.
He asked if I would like to see (and feel!) just how applications were done.
Of course I answered affirmatively, so off we went.
He chose a field with telegraph lines on one edge
And an array of rather high trees on the further side.
We lined up--north to south-- barely clearing the lines,
Then abruptly dropped down to a 20 foot altitude,
Swept across the field, trees loomed ahead,
And shot straight up over the tree line.
With no flaggers to indicate our next pass to the north,
We made a broad circle to get us in line for the next pass,
Dropped abruptly again over the trees,
Swept once again across the field, aiming for the telegraph lines ahead
And miraculously shot upwards--just missing the lines!
It was a wonderful demonstration of how many pilots
Earn their daily bread and survive such a lifetime of risk,
Fertilizing our crops quickly and efficiently to feed a hungry world.

Wings of Birds--Thoughts of a Modern Homo opus 550

I, as a child, and still today, am fascinated with bird wings.
Is the attraction the aerodynamic shape or color patterns,
Or just the mere fact that their proximity partially fulfills the desire to fly?
We Homo sapiens are not the only hominin so attracted.
In Neanderthal butchery sites, it appears bird's wings were treated specially,
With many avian bones bearing ornamental markings.
How wonderful it would be, going back in time,
To actually sit beside a Neanderthal carver,
Witnessing his or her methods,
While (possibly) conversing about the artistic significance.

Challenges for a Professional Female Pilot opus 615

As you may have read in my previous writing,
I learned to meet the challenges of flying as a young pilot.
I realized there were many difficult tasks to learn.
I did not become a professional commercial pilot
And had never thought about the additional challenges,
If I were a female, seeking to become a professional pilot.
Besides having to wear a man's shirt and tie in my uniform,
I would have to work, and still have proper leave for childbirth,
And beyond that, just how would the health regulations
Deal with the vagaries of menopause?
Women today are dealing with these female-related challenges,
As they enter, as women, into yet another very man-oriented profession.

A Tragedy Caused by a Loose Wire opus 701

We have all received some item or another,
Transported by one of those huge container 'barges'.
They have evolved to become so very large
That the complexity of such vessels 
Results in a myriad  of elaborate wiring.

Now to 'Dolly', one of those container ships
As long as the Eiffel Tower is high.
After loading in the Baltimore harbor, it commenced
Towards the very long Francis Key Scott bridge and open sea.
The ship soon became out of control, heading towards the bridge.
It careened straight into one of its support columns,
Basically destroying the whole collapsing structure
And killing six workers repairing potholes during the night hours.

After weeks of sleuthing, a tiny error was miraculously discovered.
One wire, among thousands, was found to be loose inside a fuse box.
The reason it became disconnected was because
An identification tag, wrapped around that wire,
Had been attached too close to the control box door,
Gradually causing tension which had dislodged the wire
And thus the control mechanisms of the ship.
This is why a pilot will walk around hisser plane before takeoff,
Has confidence in the mechanics' ability to find any error,
And, in the cockpit, always going through a long and complex checklist.
We are building ever bigger-- but should there be 
A logical limit to size-producing  disasters? 
I was a pilot myself and always was aware 
Of the inspection-part of my every flight, no matter how short!