Except as noted, all images copyrighted by and should be attributed to E B Hawley.
I had become many eons ago a traveling literary gnome, inquisitive about places I had and had not visited,
walking the same paths of peoples from the past, through places once grand and still grand,
photographing images that now show me the places about which I still dream . . .

Friday, July 26, 2013

Formation Flying for Bob





     When invited to fly in the right seat of an aircraft that would fly formation, I emotionally dropped to my knees and pleaded with MyMrMallory to attend an appointment without me so that I could fly. All the groveling was unnecessary, of course, for he would have happily sent me on my way to the airport, but that is the extent I may reach to fly. Especially to experience something I have not before in my life.
     H.-P. flew his Piper Arrow Turbo, the Stallion, alongside Martin's Grumman, the Cheetah, and Jim's Cessna Skyhawk, the Frog. All they needed, I thought, was me in my Scissortail to bring up the rear.
     I sat in the world's worst position for aerial photographic documentation of the event. Still, I managed some images that showed the beauty of that flight, and came home hoping I had not disturbed H.-P. with my lens hovering near him.
     Watching H.-P. fly as part of the formation helped me to realize how difficult the process may be. He focussed intensely on the Frog's right wing, while at the same time he scanned his instruments. I have a deeper appreciation of the difficulties of formation flying.
     And how must have the formation of three looked to the bereaved attending the burial service 500 feet below us? I thought, everyone is crying harder now for their loved one, Bob, seeing this assorted crew of aircraft honoring the departed fellow. One sees military aircraft fly-overs, remarkable in their power and speed, impressive in their symmetry; here three good friends of Bob flew different airplanes at 80 knots to celebrate his life. That's one of the things flying is all about.


   Robert George Sturgis, Sr., 81, of Wichita Falls, passed away on Tuesday, July 23, 2013. Graveside services will be at 3 PM on Friday, July 26, 2013, in the Garden of Compassion at Crestview Memorial Park, with Rev. Harvey McMurry officiating. Arrangements are under the direction of Lunn's Colonial Funeral Home. 
   Robert, Sr., was born November 10, 1931, to George and Rosemary Sturges, in Staten Island, NY. He was married to Gladys Sturges for 50 years upon her death. He later was remarried to Sandra Sturges. Her large family came to care for him as a father and grandfather.
   Robert, Sr., was a member of the United States Air Force for 20 years and the Civil Service for 15 years as an instructor in jet engines. Following his retirement, he became a licensed pilot, ground, and flight school instructor and a licensed mechanic on light aircraft. He worked many years at Kickapoo Air Park. Robert, Sr., loved teaching, working on airplanes, and telling jokes. 
    Survivors include his wife Sandra of Wichita Falls, three sons, Robert J. Sturges, and wife Shirley, of Irving, Texas, Thomas Sturges, of Springfield, Missouri, and Larry Sturges and wife, Tena, of Lakeside City, Texas, his sister Marge McPherson of Lawrence, MA, eight grandchildren, and five great-grandchildren. 
    In lieu of flowers, the family requests memorials be made to Hospice of Wichita Falls. 

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Let Lovely Turn of Phrase Begin

JMHawley Gave Me a Kiss to Build a Dream On

Listen, will you? I think that . . . literature, poetry, music and love make the world go round . . . while mathematics explains things; I fill my life with them, then go walking in snowy woods.
Let us go then, you and I
like two etherized patients floating
through life, together feeling prufrockian.
DDB Jr. makes my world go 'round; during his absence, Pachelbel fills it up.
One summer I sailed across the Atlantic Ocean, then through the Gulf of Finland to reach Saint Petersburg; I pursued Joseph Brodsky in its alley ways. I dream of making that two summers.
I read “Biking to Electra;” found my way in a Jaguar car, and glanced at the flashing steel grasshoppers at sunset. I’ll follow K.O.P.’s footsteps after he followed N.Scott Momaday’s; find warmth and inspiration on a rainy mountain.
Throw chinese coins for the I Ching.
Save the whales, the spotted owl, the woman in toil.
Cast a fly for trout; my memories of fly fishing under the sunny blue Colorado sky remain; I yearn to build more . . . with more trophy Browns.
Listen for the swan’s calls on the Baltic Sea. Feel KKII's joy, his arms spread wide in Yazilikaya.
Good night, Jimmy Durante, where ever you are.