Remembering events of over sixty-four years ago is not an easy task but some incidents seem to tenaciously attach themselves to ones psyche.

 

Part of the preparation for the trip from Puerto Rico to the city of streets paved with gold, as our uncle described New York in a letter, was wearing apparel. My father took all five of his sons to a clothing store in San Juan and bought identical navy blue suits for all, even the smell of the fabric is still in wherever the brain stores nasal encounters.     To this day I can’t stand any kind of wool suit let alone a navy-blue one.

After leaving San Juan, the two engines DC-3, bound for New York, made stops in Miami and North Carolina to refuel and allow passengers to eat. It was late October 1946, the first post-war year of peace. The grueling thirteen-hour flight included air pockets, which caused immediate nausea and fear. By the time we reached New York the plane had hit over a dozen air pockets, each time falling like a broken elevator before gaining normalcy. Needless to say, mostly everyone had thrown up and yes I still remember the stench. Most travelers today don’t even know what an air pocket is and if they want to know, all they have to do is go to an amusement park or ride a malfunctioning elevator. 

 

Excerpt from FIVE UNUSUAL STORIES on sale at AD Bookstore.