Looooong wait for a helicopter ride

Part One

Did you ever hurt someone’s feelings but it took a REALLY long time before you made amends?

Sure, there are some time-tested sayings to assuage one’s regret and guilt.

“Better late than never.”

“All’s well that ends well.”

“It actually wasn’t my fault, so cut me a break.”

Ooops…scratch that last one.

Anyway, I did hurt someone’s feelings a very long time ago, but I finally made restitution over sixty years later. Better late than never…but it actually WASN’T my fault, so cut me a break.

Here’s the story.

My sister Molly and I were kids growing up in Chester, Pennsylvania in 1960. She was my big sister — 8-years-old and in third grade — and she pretty much did everything for me — her six-year-old brother — that I needed done to make life manageable. She’d button up my coat before we left the house, hold my hand and look both ways at busy street corners, remember to bring snacks on our outings, and get me to wherever I had to go without me worrying one whit about the navigational challenges.

On this particular day, we were walking about ten city blocks from our own neighborhood to the campus of the Pennsylvania Military College (PMC), which eventually evolved into today’s Widener University.

I was crackling with excitement because all my school friends at St. Roberts Catholic School had been chattering all week long about the BIG FAIR coming to PMC on Saturday. Everyone was babbling about bumper cars, cotton candy machines, an unimaginably humongous Ferris wheel, and…the most enticing and fantastic promise of adventure of all – a helicopter ride!!!

Just imagine, a helicopter ride.

A ride in a helicopter just like the ones in the movies where the good-guy Americans fly in to save a wounded hero shot up by the German bad guys, and then successfully take off and escape while enemy soldiers shoot futilely at the furiously whirling copter blades.

You go, John Wayne.

A helicopter ride at the PMC fair. This was big time stuff.

When we arrived on campus that day, the fair was everything I had dreamt about all the weeklong. Yes sir, there were bumper cars, there were TWO cotton candy machines, the top of the Ferris wheel seemingly scraped the clouds overhead, and…lifting high up above that towering Ferris wheel…it’s a bird…it’s a plane…no, it’s a real helicopter.

And…there was a line of people stretching the entire length of the PMC football field waiting their turn to get on that helicopter.

It seemed like every last person in Chester was eager to take a five- maybe ten-minute helicopter ride around and above our little city. Since only two people could ride in the copter at a time and there was only a single helicopter, that meant it was going to be a really long time before my sister and I had our moment in the clouds.

So, forget the bumper cars, forget the cotton candy, and forget the humongous Ferris wheel. Molly hurried me to the back of the line, and we began our long, interminable wait to fly in the sky. Fortunately, Molly remembered to bring apples, cookies, and pretzels, because I was very, very hungry. Fortunately, Molly remembered to bring a handkerchief, because my nose was very, very itchy and runny. Fortunately, Molly remembered to bring my pair of woolen gloves, because it was a somewhat chilly April day and my little fingers were very, very cold.

An hour passed, and still we waited in line.

“Do you want to stay in line? There’s not a lot of people waiting for the Ferris wheel,” Molly asked in coaxing manner.

I nodded my little head in unyielding determination. I wanted to get on that helicopter.

Another thirty minutes passed, and now we were almost at the front of the line. Even Molly was getting excited now. Just four people ahead of us.

Then, the universe threw a curve ball. All of a sudden, David Gibson, a classmate of mine, was standing with his mother by our side. David Gibson was bawling like a baby, tears streaming down his cheeks.

David’s mother was blabbering about how David’s brother had just left to go to the bathroom because he just had to go, and they were next in line, and God forbid if she was getting in a helicopter, she was scared to death of heights, and David had been so looking forward to this, and two people were required to take the ride, and she’d pay for me to go with him and…

“Terry, will you go on the helicopter with David?”

Now, even at six-years-old, I understood that Mrs. Gibson has just put me in a pickle. It didn’t help that David was weeping and whimpering and making an embarrassing scene. A guy did have to feel sorry for a friend and it’s really hard to tell a mother — who was, well, an adult — no, you couldn’t do that because you had been waiting with your sister to ride in the helicopter and that wouldn’t be fair…

And my little head was all confused and jumbled.

I looked at Molly with two sad, wistful eyes. I was counting on her to solve this problem, just like she solved all my problems.

“Oh, go ahead,” she said, stepping out of line.

Before I knew what had happened, Mrs. Gibson had grabbed my arm and pulled me to the front of the line, just as a father and son were climbing out of the helicopter that had just landed on its grassy pad. The deafening sound of the madly spinning propellers hurt my little ears and was kind of scary.

In a flash, a man helped me and David into the copter, buckled our seat belts, and off we went into the wild blue yonder.

It was all a blur, really. When we landed safely on the ground in what seemed like a few seconds later, the only thing I remembered was noticing the tall, white steeple of the Presbyterian church located down the street from our house. The same man who had helped us before now unbuckled our seatbelts, lifted us out of the helicopter, and motioned impatiently for the next two thrill seekers to hurry up and in.

The epic adventure was over.

David Gibson’s mother came over and grabbed her still sniffling son by his coat collar. David’s older brother mumbled something threatening like, “I’m gonna make you pay for this, pal.”

I was wildly panicked because I didn’t see Molly in the crush of the crowd, then I heard my name being called.

“Terry, Terry, Terry, over here.”

I relaxed when I saw my big sister walking toward me.

She took hold of my hand and announced, “We’re leaving.”

What about the Ferris wheel, I wondered, but knew better than to say anything.

After we left the campus and the throngs of people behind us, Molly let go of my hand and started walking briskly in front of me. My little legs couldn’t keep up with her pace. At one point, she turned a corner and I lost sight of her.

Once again, a wild panic took hold of me. Where was Molly? Was she leaving me behind? How would I ever find my way home?

Then I noticed that Molly hiding behind a tree, waiting for me to catch up. So, again, I relaxed. My big sister wasn’t leaving me behind. Except, whoah, she was off again at a speed that I couldn’t match. Again, I lost sight of her. Then, again, I saw her peeking from behind a telephone pole. That’s the way the whole walk home went.

When we finally arrived home, she didn’t even help me unbutton my coat. Eventually, it dawned on me that Molly was very, very, very mad at me for leaving her and going on the helicopter ride with David Gibson.

I felt bad, but I didn’t do anything about it, for a really long time.

Part Two

Did you ever hurt someone’s feelings but it took a REALLY long time before you made amends?

I finally made it up to Molly when I purchased two tickets from the Smoketown Helicopters company and we took a helicopter ride together as my present for her 70th birthday. It was about a twenty-minute flight over the Brandywine River Valley in Pennsylvania.

It was fun, if a bit anti-climactic. Twenty minutes in exchange for 62 years of regret and guilt? I think it was worth it.

Better late than never.

All’s well that ends well.

And for the record, since I was only six-years-old and I was bullied by an adult, it actually wasn’t my fault, so cut me a break.