There is an old term that applied to young people who would hang around small airstrips and when they couldn’t beg a ride from someone, they would do any odd job with a ride being payment. These people, who would indiscriminately fly with anyone in anything, were known as "sky whores."

I never had to do this because it wasn’t necessary for me. I got rides from people who wanted me to be with them, but I guess I was still a "sky whore" in some form.

I had two flying friends when working at the Cape and living on Florida’s east coast, and when living in Orlando – central Florida.

One, Gabe, was a different young guy about a year older than I was. I knew he seemed unusual and I liked him for it – he was interesting. He was smart and was teaching me to play chess. Gabe had a Cessna two-place and I thought he must be rich to own his own plane. It was fairly new and in really good condition. We went flying two or three times.

I had known Gabe about six months when he came by my work place and said, "Ken, I have come to say goodbye!"

This surprised me. We went outside to talk and he confessed his weakness. He said that he was really embarrassed but he couldn’t help it.

Gabe was a good electronics technician, but his dad owned a very successful cafeteria in Miami and the dad wanted to open more of them – but he wanted his son to operate one so he could take over the business some day.

Gabe said that their family was very close and he was a blot on the family name for not doing what his father wanted him to do. He said that I had never commented to him about his religion and that was the best thing that he liked about me. I had been his friend and never commented about his being a Jew.

I had never given his religion any consideration. Not everyone with his name were Jews...some are...but not all of them. Gabe was different in the way he thought and some of the things he said, but I found this all educational. He said that I was the only friend he had made in two years of working there. He said, "Ken, YOU would even go flying with me! It is a lot more fun to flying with someone than flying alone."

So why was he leaving?

Gabe said that he had worked for his dad in the cafeteria since he was old enough to walk, and this, every afternoon, every weekend, and every summer while he was in school.

When he had defied his father and not gone into the cafeteria business, the father said that he would give him part of his inheritance and to never darken his doorway again...or the Jewish equivalent thereof.

Gabe took that money, bought the Cessna, and then got a good job doing what had previously been a hobby... he was an electronics technician and apparently, a good one.

But...but...his dad still wanted to start a chain of cafeterias – "Ken, there are a lot of old people in Miami and they really prefer to eat in cafeterias! And they have money."

The dad had gotten his sister to contact Gabe with an offer...one that he could not refuse. If he would come back, be an obedient son and good Jew, and help start the cafeteria chain, the father would buy him the airplane he had always wanted – but if he didn’t dedicate himself to the cafeteria business, he would lose his allowance (pay) and have to repay the cost of the plane.

This was a good offer because Gabe just couldn’t resist it. He had checked around and found the plane he wanted and he had contacted the people who could do the work on it. So he would go back to Miami, dedicate himself to follow in his father’s footsteps, get rich in the cafeteria business, and every time he could...fly his P-51 Mustang!

Gabe had located one that had just come out of Air National Guard service and was in good condition. It would be overhauled and registered as a private, civilian aircraft.

We shook hands and he said that I was no doubt the worst chess player in the world.

And he told me to be prepared because some weekend my house would be buzzed by a Mustang.

After Gabe left, I thought about him and figured that he had kept his word with his dad.

One Sunday, perhaps eight months later, a couple of hours after lunch, we got buzzed. A really low one. I got outside as it was climbing away. It did a split-S and came back down the same route he had made climbing.

It came back even lower.

What a magnificent sound!

Only people who have heard a V-12 Merlin engine flying over can appreciate the static, stutter, and popping as the throttle is changed.

I had no other contact with Gabe. But I often thought of him.