Two middle-aged men came into The Flying Circus office on our second day in business. The short one was shaped like a bowling pin. He did all the talking.

"Hi, are you Henry Rains?" His expression and tone were friendly. His tall, skinny partner smiled nervously.

I was behind the flight desk filling in the aircraft logbooks from the previous day's flights. Henry was flying on a lesson.

I stood up.

"No, I'm his partner," I replied, introducing myself. "Henry is up with a student. Welcome to The Flying Circus."

"I'm Al Milton," the bowling pin said, "and this is Bruce Stanwick. Glenn Hathaway told us about this place. We were thinking of taking flying lessons."

I jumped at the chance to sharpen my salesmanship.

"Well you’ve come to the right place," I replied. "We offer an introductory flying lesson. There's an aircraft available now. If you two gentlemen have time, I'll take you both flying and show you the first lesson. It'll take about an hour and a half."

"OK," Al said, "as long as it's with you. Glenn warned us not to fly with your partner. He said you were OK, but Rains was dull."

I hesitated a second. This guy was either joking or mistaken but I didn't correct him. I wanted to sell them flying lessons.

"Henry and I are both well-qualified flying instructors," I said, "but I'll be happy to take you up today."

"Glenn said you're the best," Al added and then chuckled. His buddy smiled.

"Well, we’ll go flying," I replied, "and you can decide that for yourself."

"Don't we need an IQ test or something first to see if we qualify?" Al asked.

I hesitated again. It was a strange question.

"I won't have any trouble," he added, "but I'm worried about Bruce here." He laughed at his own joke. Bruce kept smiling.

"No," I replied, "learning to fly isn't that hard. You'll see when we go up."

"How about life insurance? Do you have one of those machines where Bruce can stick in a dollar and insure himself?"

By now Al was chuckling continuously as he spoke. He was obviously enjoying himself at his friend's expense, but Bruce kept smiling without saying anything.

I held a straight face.

"Flying is safe," I offered. "Glenn Hathaway will tell you that."

"Glenn? He's certifiably crazy," Al laughed. "He flies with that woman of his. He's gonna die for sure."

"I'll explain the course before we go up," I said, ignoring his last comment. I handed them each a copy of the Private Pilot outline.

Al glanced at it. "Do we need our own plane?" he asked.

"No," I replied. "This course outline shows the cost including a rental aircraft."

"Would we get a discount if we had our own plane?"

"Yes," I said hesitantly. No one had asked me that before. "You'd be charged for the instructor's time only. The cost of the rental aircraft would be knocked off the price."

Al turned to his buddy. "Wow, look here Bruce, we can save thousands."

"Except you'd have to pay the operating costs of your own aircraft," I added quickly.

"But if we owned it, we'd be paying those costs anyway," Al said, "and if we owned it together, the cost would be half. We'd save twice as much!"

The scary part of Al's fuzzy logic was that I understood it, but I didn't want to get sidetracked from the lesson.

"We can discuss aircraft ownership anytime," I said. "You keep those outlines and we'll go flying."

"This guy's smart," Al said to Bruce with a snort. "He wants to make money on his time and his airplanes."

I signed us out, put a note on the door and led them to the hangar. When Al saw the Cherokee 140, he continued his stream of questions.

"It's only got three wheels," he exclaimed. "What happened to the fourth?"

"Airplanes are made to fly in the air, not on the roads," I explained patiently.

"There're no bumpers. What happens if we hit something?"

Al's questions were a nuisance but you had to like him. He always spoke with a laugh or at least a chuckle and a smile.

"We're going to be flying at 100 mph, Al," I replied. "If we hit anything, bumpers will be the last thing we need."

"Do we get parachutes?" he asked.

"No. Parachutes won't do us any good either. Airplanes crash when they hit the ground. If that happens, it will be too late for a parachute."

Illustration by Francois Bougie

The twisted logic of this answer seemed to satisfy him but only for a few seconds, and then the questions continued. He asked why the wing was on the bottom and not the top; why the building was called a hangar when there was nothing hanging in it; and if the things on the wings were called ailerons, did he have to learn French to fly?

I soon realized that my answers didn't matter. As soon as he was done one question, Al was asking about something else. Bruce continued to listen without saying a word. I kept my answers short in an effort to get airborne before the day was finished.

We pulled the Cherokee 140 out of the hangar. I installed Al in the left seat and Bruce in the back. I climbed into the right seat and started to explain the basic instruments and controls.

"Let me get this straight," Al said. "Canada is going metric but aviation is in knots except this airplane, which is in miles per hour because it's older?"

"That's right."

"And the altitude is in feet , and pressure is in inches of Mercury."

"Yes."

He turned to Bruce. "This learning to fly is rigged. They've made it so complicated that this guy is going to be a millionaire on our money."

"Taken a bit at a time, none of this is complicated," I offered.

"That's easy for you to say," Al laughed. "You're getting paid by the hour."

I started the engine.

"Was this thing built in the '30s?" Al asked. "My dad had a Ford with a hand throttle like that."

I called the ground controller, and we taxied out.

"My uncle had an old tractor that you steered with your feet," Al said.

"How come we have to make up names on the radio like 'Charlie India Romeo’? Why can't I say its Al Milton? How many Al Miltons can there be flying at the same time?"

I tried ignoring this last question.

Al turned to Bruce and whispered loudly, "He doesn't know."

I started to explain why we would be taking off into the wind.

"Now if I was walking into the wind, it would slow me down," Al said. "We could go faster with the wind."

I demonstrated the takeoff. Al continued to ask questions. Bruce continued to smile.

"How do we get traction with the tires hung in the air?"

"The propeller gives us traction."

"Why is it so noisy?"

"Don't worry about it," I replied, "until the noise stops."

Al liked my little joke. "If the engine stops and I die," he said with a chuckle, "I want my money back."

When we had leveled off from the climb, I let Al fly the aircraft. He sawed away on the controls like a youngster on a 50-cent supermarket kiddy ride.

"Take it easy," I suggested, "the controls are very sensitive."

"I thought I was doing all right," Al replied. "What's the matter, are you going to be sick?"

He laughed at his own question and then he looked at Bruce in the back seat to see his reaction. Bruce wasn't smiling anymore. The rocky ride was getting to him.

I took over control and headed west. My intention was to land at a private grass strip so Bruce and Al could switch seats. I explained the plan and pointed to the airstrip below on Al's side. Bruce nodded in agreement. Al continued to ask questions.

"Who does this guy know that he can have his own airport?"

"Anyone with land can have an airport," I replied and set up an approach.

I landed and shut down the engine at the end of the strip.

With Bruce in the left seat and Al in the back, I started the Cherokee and took off right from the parking spot. On the way back to the Circus Airport, I gave Bruce a chance to fly. He was a natural. Within seconds of taking the wheel, he had mastered the soft touch required to prevent over controlling. Al leaned forward between our shoulders.

"Did you see that Massey Harris four-wheel in the shed back there? Do you know what that unit is worth?"

"Now try a gentle turn to the left, Bruce," I said.

"That farmer must be growing money trees," Al continued. "Did he inherit all that from somebody or is 'she' rich?"

"Now turn back to the right, Bruce."

"Does that guy work outside — maybe at a bank?"

"I don't know, Al. OK, Bruce, now pitch the nose down, and I'll reduce the power so we can descend toward the airport."

Al continued. "With the money that guy has tied up in that shed, he could buy both of our farms and have some left over to hire us to run them."

I called the Circus Control Tower as we approached the airport. Al jabbered away about the farm equipment. He didn't notice that I was talking Bruce through the approach and the landing with just a little guidance on my dual control wheel.

Henry was in the office when we returned. I worried about Al blurting out a backward comment about Glenn Hathaway's recommendations for an instructor, but I didn't know what to do about it. I introduced Henry to Al and Bruce.

"You're the guy that Glenn Hathaway told us to fly with," Al said and grinned. "Where were you earlier this afternoon? It took this guy two hours to give us a 20-minute lesson."

Al looked at me and laughed. Bruce grinned. The good instructor/bad instructor switch had been one more of Al’s jokes.

Both men wanted more lessons. I got even with Al by booking him with no-nonsense Henry.