Air Race Fever

Air Race Fever

David Galster

Copyright 2014 David Galster

Smashwords Edition

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it, and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Foreword and Acknowledgements

An aspiring actress, Ramona Larosa, enjoys special treatment from her sugar daddy, Victor Hamilton. Her second cousin, Kent Stevenson, and friend, Jasmin Clark accompany her on many air shows and fun evenings at Chicago speakeasies, movies, and Victor's parties. Along the way, they encounter many different 1920s celebrities such as jazz cornetist Bix Beiderbecke, Louis Armstrong, and Hoagy Carmichael. Ramona gets entangled in a love triangle with barnstormer pilot, Doug Rayburn. After a plane crash, Doug decides to enter the Pulitzer Prize race to be held in Dayton, Ohio. Ramona tries to balance her time between the two lovers, and even manages to get Victor to loan Doug the money he needs for a racing plane.

My dear daughter, Jennifer Galster, helped me with the character development and style issues, particularly with the descriptions of 1920s ladies' attire. She commented on all of the chapters, and gave excellent literary advice on how the various romances should develop. I really appreciate her patience. She is very special.

Chapter 1. Excitement at Checkerboard Field

Climbing briskly, the biplane leveled off nearly a mile above us. I had no idea what to expect next, but then, the flimsy craft suddenly turned nose downward, into a steep dive. It gained speed until it was headed straight down in a frightening fashion. At only three or four-hundred feet from the ground, the nose turned back, until the plane was flying horizontally, but upside down!

The crowd gasped as the biplane flew over them, only perhaps a hundred feet above. Continuing in this outside loop, the craft started climbing again, and was soon pointing straight up into the air.

I thought the pilot would roll, or pull it out at this point, but instead he kept the plane pointed straight upward. As it climbed, it slowed, until it stalled. Peeling off sideways, the pilot had no alternative to a dive, since the plane had lost all speed and lift. Once again, it was diving down, in a headlong rush. It wasn't that high, either. Women screamed, and everyone else was spellbound with fear.

Suddenly, the plane began leveling off, but it was perilously close to the ground. When the plane finally leveled, it was only about twenty feet over the heads of a terrified throng. The daring pilot circled around, and waved as he passed over the very relieved crowd, who cheered in admiration.

Clickety-clack, the train shifted and swayed as it rushed eastward across miles of prairie, intermittent farms, and ubiquitous windmills dotting the landscape. Although I tried to sleep during my return to Chicago, the movement of the passenger coach kept me awake, as did the elderly man who sat next to me.

Were you at the Checkerboard Field today? He asked.

Sure was.

What a show. . . .

We chatted for a little while, but discussed nothing of significance. Indeed the air show at Checkerboard was quite exciting, but there is only so much one can say about it to a stranger. This airfield was located many miles west of Chicago, along Roosevelt Road just west of the Des Plaines River. In early 1920, it began airmail delivery service. Occasionally, barnstormers gave air shows there, as they did today.

But, I was headed back to my apartment in Chicago's Bridgeport community, where I settled after the war. And, I had other thoughts besides today's air show. By the way, Kent Stevenson is my name, and I have been thinking quite a bit about my life and career, and the important things I must do to succeed.

My mind wandered from the future, back to the past, in order to make sense of why I had decided on certain goals and values. My dad was a farmer, and growing up, we lived near DeKalb. I liked that life okay, but after high school, I joined the Army, just in time to serve in the 2nd Infantry Division at the battle of Belleau Woods. Slogging through nasty, muddy, trenches, with deafening blasts of artillery shells continuously pounding down on us, and gunfire endlessly whining overhead, punctuated by screams of the wounded, and the stench of the dead: the misery and horrors of the battlefield were almost unimaginable. But, at the end, we also spent some wild, carefree times in gay Paree. Needless to say, my war experiences changed my outlook forever, and there was no way I could return to the simple farming lifestyle again.

The train was still going fast and smooth, past occasional grimy warehouses, and dirty-black factories, with scattered holdout farms in between. But, as we got closer to Chicago, the train became more and more entangled in the wilderness of crisscrossing tracks like giant tic-tac-toe boards, and we gradually drifted to lesser speeds. At one point, we transferred onto the L-Chicago, the Elevated Rapid Transit Railroad.

My thoughts turned to my career as an architect. For now, I was only working as a draftsman under the guidance of a senior architect. Chicago's skyscrapers inspired me to try this profession, as did cathedrals, and countless other beautiful buildings. I hoped one day to become proficient, and perhaps famous, like Frank Lloyd Wright.

Skill, imagination, and hard work were the only means by which I wanted to advance. I had no use for the backslappers and office politicians that obtained their position, prestige, and pull mainly through social connections or friendships. If I succeed, I will have done so only by my own merits. If I fail, so be it, as long as I gave it my best shot.

As we got closer to Chi, as we called the city, everything around became blacker and smokier. The long powerful train slowed down through the yards, passing with a sudden rush of sound of another train overtaking us, and swaying alongside for a moment, and then curving widely away on its own track. And then, we passed another, and another, converging, diverging, and finally vanishing.

Then: Halsted! . . . Halsted Station! The conductor chanted as he calmly strode through our swaying car. His voice had a monotonous, but immutable tone to it, heard over the clack-clack sounds of the steel wheels on steel rails. Halsted! . . . Halsted! . . . It had a hastening, almost ominous note. Halsted Station, Stock Yards Branch!

I got off the train, and walked five blocks to my apartment on South Quinn Street. Slumping into my bed after an exhausting trip, I fell asleep immediately. Deep into some unintelligible dream, I became disturbed by some screaming, pulsing, horrifying monster, until I awoke, and realized the telephone was ringing.

Hello

Kent, this is Ramona.

Gosh, I was deep in sleep.

Sorry, but I have something very exciting to tell you.

Okay, what? I asked.

Tickets to the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. And, you're invited!

You got to be kidding. Classical music? What kind of a stuffy schmuck do you think I am?

"Come on Kent, it's this new jazz performance, Rhapsody in Blue. They played it in New York, and now Chicago absolutely refuses to be outdone. Next Saturday night it opens, and Victor has four tickets. He is such a sweetheart, so kind, so generous."

Yeah, he's just your sugar daddy, I retorted.

Maybe so Kent, but guess what this means?

What?

You can bring a date along, Ramona cooed. Me, Victor, you, and a date of your choice. Now come on Kent, what do you say?

Well, sounds good, I’ll start asking around to see if anyone is interested.

Oh, you don’t have to worry about that.

What do you mean?

I have just the girl for you.

Who?

In a breathless voice, Ramona began, Her name is Jasmin, and she is cute, cute, cute! She has short brown hair, and a really sweet, cute face, with the most beautiful blue eyes you ever saw. A real swanky doll.

Sounds good. Do you have her number?

I'll handle it. She is my hairdresser, and I'll see her this week. I'll invite her for you!

Wow! I said. That's real swell of you, Ramona. Could this be my lucky day?

"You just never know, Kent. I'm real excited. I knew you would say yes."

I put the telephone down, and tried to go back to sleep. But, I couldn't help thinking about, my second cousin, Ramona Larosa. Several weeks had passed since I last saw her. But, now she is entangled in an affair with a married man, Victor Hamilton. At least, she wants to include me in her life. Ramona sometimes has delusions of grandeur, and she often acts on impulse. Is this an Italian trait? She dreams of becoming a famous actress, but works in a dress shop, and is the mistress of an old, rich banker. Does she expect him to provide her with showbusiness connections? This doesn't seem to me like a good way to approach a career. What advice should I be giving her, to get her life on a better path? I have a hard enough time trying to decide how I should live. How can I give advice to someone like her, a female at that? Lucky for me, these random musings fell victim to Mr. Sandman's powerful, but mysterious spell, and soon I was fast asleep again.

Chapter 2. Rhapsody in Blue

Saturday afternoon came, and I took the L train downtown to the Charm House Restaurant on Tower Place and North Michigan Avenue, where I was supposed to meet Ramona and her sugar daddy, Victor Hamilton.

Indeed, as Ramona suspected, Victor was well connected into the Chicago social scene. He was a Vice President of the National Bank of Chicago, and belonged to many clubs and organizations, such as the Freemasons, Odd Fellows, and the Chicago Yacht Club, among others.

The Charm House Restaurant was in a large gray stone building, and as I approached the front door, I noticed the grand arch above, and the intricate masonry scrollwork adorning it. A well-dressed man opened the door for me, and once inside, I was equally impressed with the elegance of the interior decoration. Looking around for a moment, I spotted Ramona waving to me from a cozy corner booth.

Come on, Kent, have a seat, Ramona offered, as I approached. She blinked her big brown eyes, with thick eyelashes, and soft brown eyebrows. Her happy smiling face was framed by dark walnut brown hair flowing softly, in gentle waving curls, which draped onto her off-white evening gown.

I sat down in the only open place, next to a young lady, who I assumed was my blind date. Nodding to her as I sat, she looked away, and straightened her silverware.

Kent, do you remember Victor? Ramona asked.

Yeah, hi Victor, I said.

And, I really want you to meet Jasmin Clark, Ramona said. And Jasmin, this is Kent. Kent Stevenson.

I looked at Jasmin and smiled. Awkwardly, I extended my hand, but she only nodded, and kept both hands tightly in her lap. She held her head high, and kept her back very straight and vertical, as though she were a debutante.

So, you are Ramona's hairdresser? I inquired politely, trying to start some small talk.

She turned her face to me with a smug expression, and declared, "Actually, Ramona is my customer."

Oh, okay, I replied. The difference was trifling, of course, but she already seemed determined to counter my every courtesy.

So how have things been? Victor asked, looking at me as though I needed rescuing.

Okay. Had a busy week at the office, but the work is going good.

I know you’ve told me this, but what do you do again? Victor focused his entire attention on me like I was the only one left in the room. He truly was a refined, charming gentleman, dressed in a light blue pinstripe suit. Slim and trim, his wavy gray hair was neatly trimmed close to his head, yet long enough to comb. His sideburns extended to the bottom of his ears, and a small neatly trimmed mustache perched above his lips. He had a very warm and cheerful smile, and spoke in a very hearty, outgoing manner.

I'm an architectural draftsman.

Who with?

I told him.

Never heard of them, he remarked, with a puzzled look on his face.

This irritated me a little.

When I work my way up, I'll get on with a top firm.

Victor smiled. Yeah. Maybe somebody like Holabird & Roche?

Sure. Who knows? I'll get the best job I can.

You know, Kent, I know John Holabird. He took over the business after his dad's death last year.

Okay, I replied. That's good. I wasn't sure where Victor was going with this bit of information, other than to name drop.

They designed Soldier Field. Construction is going on now, and it opens this fall.

That's right, I affirmed. That was one of the bigger jobs in Chicago this year. I don't know what he expected me to say, but I sensed