On that Sunday afternoon in the spring of 1926 I can picture friends, neighbors, relatives, old and young, watching the airplane rides from the edge of a large, open field. It must have been exciting to the farmers, housewives, and children to watch this still "new-fangled" flying machine take off, circle around with each passenger, then land--safely--and to hear each person telling of the thrill of their airplane ride.
Homer Carter watched and listened intently. He really wanted to go up in that airplane, but had forgotten his "pocketbook". Suddenly, someone said, "Go on Homer, it's your turn."
Homer Carter declined. Then, "I dare you!".
Homer replied, "I don't have the money." So, a hat was passed among the spectators and the fee was collected. Ironically, as Homer and the pilot walked toward the airplane, someone playfully teased, "What kind of flowers do you want for the funeral?"
My dad, Homer's only son, stood watching apprehensively. Fifteen year old Clifford had on a new pair of shoes that fateful Sunday, but when that airplane fell, he tore across the field as hard as he could. As Homer was being put into a vehicle for transportation to the hospital, a relative told the children to tell their father good-bye. Clifford watched helplessly as Homer spoke his last and only words, "I'm cold."
My grandfather Homer Richard Carter, who married Annie Lura Young in 1907, died May 3, 1926, age 40, from his injuries in the plane crash near Henry Station in Franklin County, Virginia. The pilot was not hurt.
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Little stories do make genealogy more interesting.
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