Sitting on Jaybird’s porch at sundown, I told him about the flight. Shaking his head, he grunted, “You’re what I said: the craziest pilot who ever flew.”
When the caller asked if I would fly to the Gulf Coast and get his dead brother, I didn’t know what to say.
“He died while vacationing, but the local ambulance company charges too much for the trip,” he said. “If you’ll do it, I’ll rent the airplane and pay you $100.”
His offer came at an opportune time. I had completed every student pilot requirement but one — a cross-country flight requiring a refueling stop and an airport attendant’s signature in my logbook. I promised to meet him the next day.