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Remembering the 'Golden Age of Aviation'

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Sunday, Aug. 13, 1922: I awoke to the sound of a rooster crowing from the nearby farm yard, and sleeping under the wing of my trusty Curtiss Jenny the dew was beginning to run off the wing and drip in my face. The sweet smell of clover filled my nostrils and forcing one eye open I saw the top of the orange sun just above the eastern horizon. Got in just at sunset last night and made the deal with the farmer to use his field to hop rides.

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