Hey, mister! Can I Have a Ride in Your Blimp? PART THREE

Hey, mister! Can I Have a Ride in Your Blimp?
PART THREE

January 18, 2017 --- Houston
Déjà vu all over again.

The week after my blimp ride over Lake Charles, I had to go to New Orleans on business. I learned that the America had New Orleans on its itinerary, too, so naturally I decided to stop by Lakefront Airport before leaving for Lafayette. 

Sure enough, there was the America, moored in the usual spot. I spent a few minutes plane spotting and blimp watching, then it was time to make a few business  phone calls. I entered the rear door of the terminal, and walked across the interior. I was the only one there, or so I thought.

Suddenly. "Hey, KEN!" comes a call from across the main room. It was a man I had known several years ago. Being in the business world, it was not at all unusual to bump into someone like that, and it happened frequently enough, but it was just odd that I saw him at Lakefront Airport.
"What the heck are you doing here?" I asked him.
"I'm the airport manager now," he informed me.
"Well, congratulations!" I shook his hand and patted him on the back to wish him well.
He continued: "Yep, it's really interesting. I'd like to tell you all about it, but a little situation just came up..."
He looked around and at the door as if he expected someone.
"What's wrong?" I queried, not that it was any of my business.
"Well, I'm waiting for two people, VIP's, and they're late! The ship's about to take off and they're not here yet and – say - you want to go up in the Goodyear blimp??"
Again the Johnny Carson wide-eyed expression must have crossed my face.
Where have I here that before??? I thought.
"Uh, SURE!" I replied, not quite believing what I was hearing.
"Here — lemme have your stuff; I'll just keep it in my office for you till you get
back!" he says, relieving me of my Franklin Planner and my briefcase.
The next thing I knew, I was on the same Airship Operations van I took just a week before in Lake Charles, my briefcase locked up in the airport manager's office.

We got out to the America. They were changing pilots. Just as I was entering the cabin, out came Larry Chambers, my pilot on my last week's adventure in Lake Charles.
I shook his hand, and greeted him.
"Hi, Larry! Good to see you again!"
He had a perplexed look on his face.
"Say, didn't you ride with me just last week?"
I nodded in the affirmative.
"What do you do — follow this thing all over the country?
"Larry, if I told you, you would't believe me!"
He shook his head, got into the van, and I went for my third and last blimp ride, in the very same ship!

You can't make this stuff up!!

On my drive back to Lafayette, I had a good chuckle over the quirky turn of events that led me to get on that blimp, and what the pilot must've thought.
It suddenly occurred to me that on none of my three blimp rides did I have a camera to record the events. In today's world of cellphone cameras, this wouldn't have happened.
But I sure could've used a camera back then!
Oh, well.
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EPILOGUE:
TIME TO SAY GOODBYE

For ten years I enjoyed watching the *AMERICA III as it visited New Orleans and other cities, and when I moved with my family to Houston in the Fall of 1991, I was looking forward to seeing the ship more frequently. I didn't get that pleasure.
I only saw it a couple of times, only at its base, and none of those times did I see it over downtown Houston.
It was mid-March of 1992 that I got the bad news that the AMERICA III would depart Houston forever. What was worse is that Goodyear would close its Airship Operations in Spring, TX.
It was April Fools Day. I showed up at the blimp base, and to my surprise, there was a decent crowd of people gathered, all coming say goodbye to the airship.
For once I had my camera, I thought.
But more than just the ship itself, we were saying goodbye to an aircraft type, as well as Goodyear's presence in the Houston area.
The crew boarded, a man mounted the mast to detach the craft for the last time, the engines revved and droned to life, and the AMERICA took off.
It made a slow, low altitude, graceful arc over its home base, much like a bird circling its nest for the last time. Then it straightened up, and headed due north toward Akron and decommission.
It was a sad moment for us all.
A TV commentator said on the news that evening: "a familiar sight to Houstonians has disappeared, and we are all sad to see her go."
I know I was.
I stayed there alone for a few moments at my vantagepoint, amid a now-dispersing crowd of onlookers, and watched as the silver craft, accompanied by a news chopper, slowly diminished into the distance.
For a second I was tempted to chase it in my car, but realized the time had come to say goodbye. So I just stood there, and watched the silver dot on the horizon, until it disappeared completely.

[*There were actually three blimps named AMERICA, and all three were based in Houston. In truth, my first ride was in the AMERICA II, and the other two were in the AMERICA III.]