Monday evening at 5:45, that's when this column gets aired, (some people think it should be done more often), I carefully explained to the folks that "kid" brother wasn't such a good description of a fellow I had to look up three or four inches to see.  And I must admit he beats me at this flying game, holding a multi-engine unlimited aircraft certificate.

He's one of those fellows who went away to World War II, but lost the Civil War.  Some two years ago he surrendered to a pretty, black-eyed rebel from Tennessee. And like a proper prisoner of war, he has been living in cramped quarters, 'midst the diapers and school books while he takes a G.I. course in aeronautics transportation.  He escaped from the University of Tennessee at the end of the last semester and in company of his "guard," came north to hide-out at Indiana University to finish the course.  So we'll probably be hearing more of this fly-brother of mine.

Sunday the two of us climbed in an airplane together for the first time in several years and went "storm-hunting."  We were extremely curious about what had happened to the cold front which was forecast by everyone, me included, for three days before Sunday. Our first stop was at Goshen to shoot-the-breeze with those genial fellows at the weather station.  They were as much in the dark as we were and were advancing private and personal theories about the luck of northern Indiana.  I bet it's mighty uncomfortable to be a weather man and have to face the little missus after you predict sunshine--then it rains on her washing.

Anyway, one of the fellows had scratched head and done some serious reflecting in the matter, decided that the advancing fronts had been coming from the west, then the northern end had anchored itself near Chicago, while the southern end advanced speedily, swinging around us in a big figure "s".  This happened several times this winter, he surmised.

Having no better theory to advance, we left before losing any more face in the bull session.  Flying west toward the Calumet area through one of the clear, blue days, we soon noticed the growing haze.  Days which look beautifully blue from the ground are often colored that way by a fine smoky haze in the air, which is no good for the airman.  So it was Sunday.

By the time we were as far west as Laporte, the haze had deepened until it seemed our plane was boring its way through solid smoke.  We could see the ground through a grey film below us, but ahead there was no horizon, just fluffy grey.  The air had chilled and was definitely cooler than back home.  I don't want to be the boldest pilot alive, just the oldest, so we swung south and east, flew across Plymouth, Argos, Tiosa and Rochester.

By the time we had flown as far south as Peru, the air had cleared.  The sky was clear and there was no sign of an overcast.  We shot landings, practiced that is, until we suddenly became aware of deep shadows flitting across the field.  The cold-front had come to Bunker Hill.

We watched here as a clear demarkation line of cloud marched across the sky--apparently headed for Warsaw.  Scooting for home, again we got into that peculiar misty haze which precedes a cold front over warmer ground.  Landing in Warsaw and Paul Revere-like, we assured everyone the cold front was coming.  I even went home and threw more coal in the furnace, certain that it would get cold during the night.

The weatherman at Goshen was right.  His little theory about the figure "S" would be disavowed by his superiors and the rule books say it isn't so, but it was and it did.  For the cold front twisted and bent its way within a few miles of northern Indiana, and slipped away again to leave us with June in January; almost.  It will gradually infiltrate its way into our community, however, and we'll have some nasty wet days this week, maybe some sleet and snow.

But there won't be any zero temperatures here during this cold wave.  I might suggest that sometime you, too, hire a competent pilot and have him take you aloft, up between and on top of the clouds.  Take a trip through the factory where weather is a-making.  Its' a sight you'll long remember.  Mountains and valleys of pure white clouds so clean they appear purple--and, of course, some of them are.  They stretch for miles--yes, as far as the eye can see, even from an airplane.  No two of them are alike in their gigantic, awful beauty.  When ego gets out of hand and your importance and responsibilities begin to weigh heavily--take my suggestion--fly above the clouds.  For a few minutes take your place as an insignificant spot--just a mote in the eye of the heavens.  You'll come down with a healthier perspective.

Warsaw Daily Times January 11, 1949