A Hero of Mine

A Memorial by Riley

I met him back in 1983, while I was running around with this ASTSE union sound man I'd met on a movie about diving.  He is a photographer and all-around artist, but his vision is poor, enough that he'll never get a license to drive.  We were driving around in my pickup to airshows.  We both loved the old war birds, for the sound and the shapes. He took the shots, and I watched. I had a Sony Pro Walkman and good microphones, and I was looking for characters and engine racket.

We stopped by my sister's in Vicksburg, and she said she knew a war bird guy.  Lived across the river a dozen miles or so in Talullah, Louisiana.  She called ahead, and the next day we were sitting, drinking iced tea with Merle Gustafson in his living room. Merle owned a Corsair Sky-raider, and we were soon sweating bullets at a tiny airstrip doing photos of his planes.

Photo courtesy of Trip Advisor

It was tiny, but Talullah is tiny.  There was the old two story Delta Airlines building, but it was in haunted house shape: toilets busted off at the floor and lots of missing glass.  Critter nests.  He had small open hangars spotted around with his stuff.   All his stuff was squared away and ready.

He was a known man in his community, respected by most I'd presume.  When you live far from the seats of power, you might think of yourself as a hick.  Out of it and of no import.  But there is always a Merle out there somewhere so satisfied and accomplished that it just polishes your soul to know a man so pleased.  It improves your life to watch him live his.

While pictures were being taken, I talked with him, taping it all.  A great story about landing a twin engine bomber while watching both engines tumbling alongside raising dust clouds. He was a problem solver and lover.  Joyfully making it all work.   There wasn't a Mrs. Merle around that I saw.   Something about judging a beauty contest.

He died too young, a year or so later.   It wasn't flying though, but a gas vapor explosion while welding on a friend's fishing boat.  I would have given a lot to have been there when they planted him.  That was a wake to remember, and I wasn't even there.  I just know how it is when good boys die.  We lose so much.

I don't think he died needy.  The tiny airstrip now holds a museum with good planes and hot rods.   His boy flies the old T-6 for the AeroShell Aerobatic Team.  The Angel of Okinawa is sitting in a museum in Florida.  Talullah is another roadside attraction, the first since Grant tried to canal around Vicksburg during the recent unpleasantness.   I gotta go find his plot.

(c) 2018 Riley