We arrived at the Dayton airport after an hour drive down Interstate 75. I was with Jimmy Dell of our sales department to visit a customer to work out final details of an electric power system that we were manufacturing for them. Air travel was fairly new for me although I had been on flights before. But still, takeoff was always a white-knuckle event for me.

I had made numerous trips for Westinghouse, mostly by train. I had ridden trains since early childhood and enjoyed it. It seemed quite natural to take a train. After all Lima had five railroads, four offering passenger service. It was convenient to board a train and not worry about airports or traffic until I was at my destination. I had only to sit and relax until I got sleepy and then get into my berth for a good nap. I slept in the belly of this monstrous serpent as it raced across the plains of Ohio before making its way through the Allegany Mountains. At times the great beast could see its tail following far behind as it rounded a curve. I awoke in plenty of time for breakfast in the dining car. It was a short cab ride to my business meeting that took most of the day. Then I was ready to retrace my steps and board the overnight train back to home.

Things were changing and I was part of the reason. I designed control and protection equipment for the electric power systems used in airplanes. Why should I be stressed by takeoff? I don’t know; but here we were waiting to board a plane.

“They’re ready for us to board our flight,” Jimmy said, “We’re flying a brand new airplane, a Lockheed Electra.”

“Electra,” I gulped, “Where’ve I heard that name before?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe in the newspaper.”

“Yeah, the paper. There was an airplane that fell out of the sky over Tell City, Indiana and crashed nearby. That was a Lockheed Electra. Happened just a few weeks ago. What caused the crash?”

“I don’t know if they’ve found out yet.”

“Let’s go back home,” I said.

No,” he said as he nudged me back into the line. Here was this convict being escorted to the chair.

After what seemed like a mile hike we found our seats on the plane, buckled our seat belts as instructed and were ready for takeoff. As ready as I could be. In due time we started down the runway. I guess I had extra white knuckles that day.

About half way through the takeoff a loud crack sounded in my ear. They wouldn’t even let me sit down for my execution; rather, it was the firing squad. I couldn’t find any blood. Once I realized that I was still alive I turned my head toward my seatmate and saw the devil laughing his fool head off.

“What’s so funny? Oh, the joke’s on me,” I said. Jimmy had lifted the lid of the ashtray once provided by the airlines as an accommodation to their smoking passengers (before the tobacco nazis got smoking banned), and he had slammed it closed with a startlingly loud report.

I tried to relax, but to no avail. We had made a successful takeoff but for the rest of the flight I was acutely aware of all changes in the noise that the plane made. I thought of the many parts of an airplane that needed to work properly for it to fly. Oh well, I consoled myself; another Tell City incident was highly unlikely.

I was much more at ease on our flight back home. The probable reason was that we returned on a plane that was not an Electra. I never heard of another crash involving an Electra. My white-knuckle syndrome finally subsided when I realized that the most dangerous part of an airline flight was the trip to and from the airport.