I remember those fall days, the days when as a ten year old boy I would walk to the Standiford Field airport, which has now been renamed, "The Muhammed Ali International Airport," after our hometown hero. It was a time when there was no security check, and I could walk to every gate, freely. It was also a time when there were rows of pay phones, where I could always look forward to finding change, left behind by travellers. No pay phones back then, and this bank of phones were the only means of communication. Soldiers from Fort Knox also left magazines, and comic books on the seats, before boarding their flights, and I could actually spend an entire day, an adventure, looking for treasure, and always be rewarded.

Sometimes the magazines were not meant for young eyes, and those comic books, well, they were left by young soldiers dressed in khakis, and anxious to get home to see their loved ones. Soldiers, not much older than me, nothing more than boys themselves, pimple faced kids, who left their comics behind, so as to appear more mature when they arrived home.

 And for ten cents, I could go up on the airport roof, and from the deck, watch airplanes land, and take off. I could watch passengers, both arriving, and boarding planes, walking across the tar mac, and I would imagine where they were going or coming from, places I never dreamed I would go, far away. It was a time when I rarely left Louisville, and never outside the State of Kentucky, so my travel was from my imagination.

Back then, I could sit in the chairs in every terminal; so few terminals in those days, and so accessible. At times, I would imagine I was a soldier, anxious to see my family, or maybe a wealthy passenger, flying to Cuba, or Florida, to the beach, or to Washington, D.C. to visit my aunt and uncle. Then afterward, I’d walk home, carrying my treasure; 40 or 50 cents, or sometimes even more, and always a few comic books. When I finally got home, supper would be ready, and I would eat, then read my new comics.

As I sat reading, mom would ask where I had been all day, while dad sat on the sofa and read the Times. The Louisville Times was our evening paper, the Courier Journal came in the morning. It was a time when we actually wanted more news, and I would always read the funny paper from each one, then I'd tell my mother I had been to a friends house all day. I knew my mother would never approve of my going to the airport by myself, no, no. That was much too dangerous for a ten year old. But for me, it was an adventure, and in a sense, a pay day. I loved those big DC3s, and I knew I would fly in one some day.

Story list and biography for James

Book Case

Home Page

The Preservation Foundation, Inc., A Nonprofit Book Publisher