AOPA Pilot Magazine - December 2019 - 37

war through the eyes of my father. Between
his USAAF stories and the World War II
movies we watched together, he made me
feel like I had experienced part of it with
him. He was part of the Greatest Generation,
thankful and proud to be an American.
Dad never flew much more than a grill
during World War II, but after the war he
did manage to secure his private pilot's
license. It was one of the things he was
most proud of. He, a Depression-era high
school dropout from the piney woods of
East Texas married before going off to war
and after the war had three children, with
me being the youngest.
My dad never had much because of
family issues, and most of the time our
family was split apart. But, nonetheless,
once or twice a month he would save a few
bucks, grab me (or my older sister and me),
and take us to the airport to rent a Cub, or
a straight-tail Cessna 150, for 20 to 30 minutes of flying fun. He would always do all
the radio work before starting the engine
and if there was a line waiting to take off, he
would shut down the engine until he had
to start it again to move forward. He did
this so that he would not be charged Hobbs
time while still on the ground.
When the flight was over, we would
proudly stroll into the rent-a-plane place,
dad would pull out his wallet and fork over
about $8 for roughly 30 minutes. He had
no credit cards or checks, just the cash
he had stuffed away since our last flight.
Afterward, I recall that he usually had
enough for a Coke to share while we sat
outside to critique other pilots' landings.
Every month I would look over his
recent issue of AOPA Pilot magazine,
enjoying the pictures, and reading what
I could. Everywhere he went my father
proudly wore his AOPA wings on his suit
so people would know that he was a real,
honest-to-goodness, FAA-approved pilot.
Then, on November 11, 1967, my dad
died at the age of 52, and everything aviation related in my 13-year-old life suddenly
stopped. But I never stopped loving the
airplanes my dad loved. Later, I enlisted

Often, I think that my
dad would have loved
to fly my 1972 Bonanza
V35B or to have earned
his instrument rating,
but funding and stability
never allowed him
to do either.

in the Navy with the promise that I could
be on the flight crew of a P-3, only to find
out that I was color-deficient-so much for
flying. The highest altitude I ever achieved
was climbing a telephone pole as a construction electrician in the Seabees. After
all, if it was good enough for John Wayne
in The Fighting Seabees, then it was good
enough for me.
Years later I married my wonderful
wife and we also had three children. I was
named after my father. He was Edward
Clifton and I am Edward Carl. Of course,
dad never saw any of my children, so he did
not know that our only son, Brian Edward,
was named in honor of him. Nor did he
know that prior to my son's birth I, too,
had earned my pilot certificate. We named
our son after that World War II army cook
who was a part-time pilot and became a
full-time butcher in civilian life.
Today, as I write these words, I am
looking at those AOPA lapel wings my dad
wore decades ago. I have them right next
to my own 30-year AOPA wings. His old
AOPA wings have no real monetary value,
but to me they are priceless. I can still see
dad wearing a suit to church, or other
places, and on his lapel were these very
wings. Often, I think that my dad would
have loved to fly my 1972 Bonanza V35B
or to have earned his instrument rating,
but funding or stability never allowed him
to do either.

What makes those lapel wings even
more valuable to me is that my son also
earned his pilot certificate. The first time
he took me for a ride we walked out to preflight the Cessna and I could not help but
think about all the times Dad and I walked
out to preflight an old, ragged rent-aplane. For me, both with my dad and now
with my pilot son, those were and are
wonderful days indeed.
For many reasons I am proud of my
son, not just for earning his certificate
and IFR rating, but for the quality man and
husband he is. We tried to teach all children about the important things: to trust
in God, obey the law, be honest, love your
country, and be thrilled with anything that
flies. Not just my son but all three of our
children have excelled in those areas, but
our two daughters never caught the thrill
of flying.
When I visit my son's home, I occasionally see an AOPA Pilot magazine on
his table and that makes me smile. From
the World War II veteran Edward Clifton
to Edward Carl, to my son, Brian Edward,
three generations of pilots and three generations of AOPA members.
How could it get any better? Let me
tell you how: My son and his wonderful
wife now have three sons (only part of our
nine grandchildren). The oldest, Hudson
James, is already doing what I did with my
dad and what my son did with me: walking
the ramp to his daddy's recently purchased
aircraft, a Cherokee, to help him preflight
it; and right behind him is the fourth generation Edward (Tucker Edward), now
2 years old.
I hope that Hudson, Tucker, and Hayes
Harrison follow their dad's steps of being
a good, honest and moral man. But maybe
one (or all) of will also be the fourth generation of pilots in our growing family?
Is that P-51 waiting to dazzle a fourth
generation of pilots and AOPA members in
our family? I sure hope so.
ED HARRISON is a construction engineer

living in Ovilla, Texas.

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AOPA Pilot Magazine - December 2019

Table of Contents for the Digital Edition of AOPA Pilot Magazine - December 2019
