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October 6, 2000

You know how it is. One day, you wake up and realize you are too old to become an Olympic gymnast and all illusions of becoming an NFL quarterback or major league pitcher are fading fast...

Mel and I were having this conversation recently when he announced that he had few regrets when it came to athletics, but had secretly yearned to become a stunt aviator.

"It's still not too late for that," I remarked. "From what I've observed, it obviously doesn't take much sense."

My husband flashed a slight frown.

"Frankly, I'm surprised that you would have aspired to that," I continued. "What was your inspiration for it, World War II dogfighters or what?"

"Nope," said Mel. "Remember 'at crop duster that flew 'at ol' Ag Cat bi-plane an' made ever' sweep of the field look like he wuz havin' the time of his life? You could hear him a squawlin' an carryin' on like Slim Pickens ridin' that bomb down in Dr. Strangelove..."

"A crop duster?"

"Yeah. Remember, he called hisself Weevil Knievel on account of all 'em barrel rolls an' nosedives he done, an' highlines he nurly clipped. He sure coulda give the Thunderbirds a run fer thur money."

"I think all those stunts were because he was half lit every time he took off, if my memory serves me," I commented.

Mel laughed. "I remember one time Ol' Weevil wuz feelin' purdy good an' he wuz braggin' how he could thread a needle with 'at plane. He tried to git us to open both doors on our ol' boxcar we had fer storage so he could fly through. Nat'cherly we didn't, but Weevil wuz awful good at makin' 'at plane do whutever he pleased. He wuz always flyin' under the Katy Bridge on Lake Whitney, landin' an' takin' off on county roads. He wuz a skilled pilot eben when he wuz plumb tipsy."

"I'm surprised somebody didn't report him to the authorities."

"Somebody did. Weevil always wuz one to hold a grudge. He never got in a hurry to get eben, but when he fin'ly got aroun' to it, weren't no doubt who wuz responsible. One of his favorite paybacks wuz to fly real low over somebody's house and dust it good from top to bottom," Mel hooted.

"Bet your hero got in a lot of trouble for that."

"No. He wuz too clever to git caught. He always done it at night and no one could prove it wuz him, but they knew alright. He seemed to get a smug satisfaction out of that," said Mel, smiling. "I recall him attemptin' to fly under an overpass once't. Got too low to the ground and knocked his wheels off. Boogered up his plane when he fin'ly skidded in on it's belly."

"Wonder what ever happened to Weevil?" I asked.

"Last I heard, he'd broke out of a nursin' home down in South Texas an' hijacked a duster plane. He terrorized all the staff while he put on his li'l show, dustin,' dippin' an' divin.' Flew it 'til it run plumb outta gas an' then he glided in on top of the local police station. When asked by a TV reporter what he had to say fer hisself, he shouted, `...An' a cloud of dust an' a hearty, `Hi ho Weevil—away!!!'"