May 26, 2015 First Things First

The Liberty Gazette

May 26, 2015

Ely Air Lines
By Mike Ely and Linda Street-Ely

Linda: Often Mike narrates his romantic reflections of the life and yearning of a child who would be a pilot. Gill Wilson’s poem "First Things First" is so Mike.

Reverend Wilson was ten years old when the Wright Brothers made their first flight. He became a Presbyterian Minister – and a pilot. As an aviator he founded the Civil Air Patrol and was the first member of the 400,000 member-strong Aircraft Owners and Pilots Association.

First Things First

By Reverend Gill Robb Wilson (1893-1966)

The boundary lamps were yellow blurs

Against the winter night,

And I had checked the last ship in

And snapped the office light

And paused a while to let the ghosts

Of bygone days and men

Roam down the skies of auld lang syne

As one will now and then…

When fancy set me company

A red checked lad to stand

With questions gleaming in his eyes,

A model in his hand.

He may have been your boy or mine,

I could not clearly see,

But there was no mistaking how

His eyes were questioning me

For answers which all sons must have

Who build their toys in play,

But pow’r them in valiant dreams

And fly them far away;

So down I sat with him beside

There in the dim lit shed,

And with the ghost of better men

To check on me, I said:

"I cannot tell you, Sonny Boy,

The future of this art,

But one thing I can show you, lad,

An old time pilot’s heart;

And you may judge what flight may give

Or hold in store for you

By knowing how true pilots feel

About the work they do;

And only he who dedicates

His life to some ideal

Becomes as one with his dreams

His future will reveal.

Not one of whose wings are dust

Would call his bargain in,

Not one of us would welsh his part

To save his bloomin’ skin,

Not one would wish to walk again

Unless allowed to throw

His heart into the thing he loved

And go as he would go;

Not one would change for gold or pow’r

Nor fun nor love nor fame,

The part he played and price he paid

In making good the game.

And of the living …none, not one,

Regrets the scars he bears,

The sheer uncertainty of plans,

The poverty he shares,

Remitted price for one mistake

That checks a bright career,

The shattered hopes, the scant rewards,

The future never clear:

And of the living …none, not one,

Who truly loves the sky,

Would trade a hundred earthbound hours

For one that he could fly.

If that sleek model in your hand,

Which you have brought to me,

Most represents the things you love,

The thing you want to be,

Then, you will fill your curly head

With knowledge, fact and lore,

For there is no short cut which leads

To aviation’s door;

And only those whose zeal is proved

By patient toil and will

Shall ever have a part to play

Or have a place to fill."

And suddenly the lad was gone

On wings I could not hear;

But from afar off came his voice,

In studied tones and clear,

A prophet’s message simply told

For this is what he said

And why his hand will someday lead

Formations overhead:

"Who wants to fly has got to know:

Now two times two is four:

I’ve got to learn the first things first!"

…I closed the hangar door.

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