Unusual Attitudes: Flight Instructor Memoirs

By Edwin Armbruster

Captain Ed (Edwin D. Armbruster) lived a fascinating life as he flew thousands of hours over the jungles of Panama and the Carribean in single engine planes. Over seven hundred students called him their instructor as he piloted them from Atlantic to Pacific over and along the Panama Canal, through Panama, Central and South America. Beginning wit

• Language: English
• Publisher: Writers Branding LLC
• Release date: Jul 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781639450695

Book preview

Prologue A

The words Mayday, Mayday, Mayday when transmitted by a pilot or mariner over the radio is an extremely urgent call for help similar to S-O- S. Throughout the 55 years of flying of which 50 were as a flight instructor, 7 times I experienced an extreme emergency. Of those 7, I was able to use the radio for those mayday calls, except for three times I had no radio or the radio was not working and one time I was able to make a mayday call on the ground from a plane I just crashed.

These true events and many more exciting chapters are included in this book that has revised from the original book with the same title. Most of the events took place, in the former Panama Canal Zone, in the Republic of Panama, neighboring countries and the islands of the Pacific and Caribbean.

I arrive in the former Canal Zone October 1964 newly hired by the Panama Canal Company as an electronics technician. I was fortunate that my supervisor in the small electronics’ shop just happened to be a flight instructor, the only American flight instructor on the Pacific side of the Isthmus, except for the US Military flying clubs, which were off limits to US Civilians living in the Canal Zone, unless you were in the Military, a dependent or civilians working for the Military. I joined basic flight training from that instructor and continued training in the US up until I got my flight instructor ratings.

If you have a MAYDAY story, I would love to have it to put together with others to publish. Please send to [e-mail]. Please include your picture, if the event happened, with a military airplane, your picture in uniform, flight conditions, and all pertinent info. Please try to limit to 1800 words (if possible) and include your contact number for me to contact you.

Dedication

To the more than 700 pilots, student pilots and aviation ground school students, who made this book possible. To my wife, companion and best friend, Jean, for over sixty years endured many ups and downs with me, always landing on her feet. Without her support, this book would not have been written. And not least, my four wonderful daughters that endured sometimes turbulent air, stormy weather and survived weather and survived. My family 1972, Balboa, Canal Zone.

Chapter 1

In the Beginning

The war had been over less than a year that June of 1946. I had just completed the third grade at Henry Clay elementary school. I was nine years old then and didn’t know what people meant when they remarked things were getting back to normal. I do know that I could now buy a Hershey chocolate bar at the Acme food store in Clarendon whereas during the war, the only way I could get a chocolate bar was to go to Fort Myer Army post which was close by and wait outside the PX for a soldier. Most times, the soldiers would not take my nickel but asked me to wait a few minutes whereas they would return with several Hershey’s. I am sure I looked pathetic, a scrawny boy with blond curly hair in bib overalls, barefooted and no shirt.

I also know that now we could buy real butter and not that Oleo Margarine with the little yellow tablet that you mixed so it would look like butter. We could buy meat and I didn’t have to go next door where my grandparents lived in a Sears Roebuck prefab home. I would go out the window on the second floor of our home, cross the roof, look under the eaves where pigeons nested and when baby pigeons hatched, take them home for my mom to make Squab Potpie. Even though we lived in the city, we had a chicken coup in our back yard with about eight laying hens for eggs, raised a turkey each year for Thanksgiving, and had a victory garden that we maintained even after the war. We grew lettuce, cabbage, tomatoes, peas, corn, and strawberries. We also had a grape arbor and mom bottled grape juice and made grape preserves. We also grew cut flowers which my brother, sister, and I would sell. My mom or dad no longer needed to wait in long lines at Mr. Shafer’s Sinclair gas station on certain days to buy gas with ration coupons. Mr. Shafer was a neighbor who occasionally treated me to a six-ounce cold bottle of Coke or a Nehi grape soda. After church on Braddock Road in Alexandria, we would drive out to Mt. Vernon, on the Potomac and drive off the main road to stop by a forest, where my mom would take us to look for Sassafras roots and woodbytney to make tea. Sometimes we would find wild raspberries.

I would also collect empty soda bottles for the two cents deposit. My brother Bill and I would collect newspapers, magazine, and tin foil from discarded cigarette packages. Once a month my dad would drive somewhere in Washington, DC where we got about two to three cents a pound for newspapers and magazines. Bill and I also had paper routes. I started when I was seven delivering the Arlington Daily News, mainly to local stores in Clarendon. My brother also had an afternoon route serving the Washington Evening Star to residents within 10 blocks of our house. On Sunday, when the paper was thick, I would help my brother do his early morning deliveries. Many times, our dad would drive us before church. Rain, sleet, snow, and cold did not stop us from getting the job done as other young boys were eager to take over our routes

During the war years, our mom made us buy US War Bonds. We would go to the post office and buy 25 cent stamps that we would paste into a $25.00 bond book. It cost us $17.50 and matured 10 years later for $25.00.

After school was out in June 1946 my mother drove my sister Byrdie and I in our 1936 Plymouth to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania to visit Uncle Frank and Aunt Mildred. They owned a small apartment, just one block from the town square where Abraham Lincoln was said to have delivered his famous "Gettysburg address. Bill took over my paper route while I was gone.

I always looked forward to visiting relatives especially Uncle Frank and Aunt Mildred. They had no children and always treated us by buying clothes, ice cream, movies, and even took us out to eat at a restaurant. One thing I did not like was the daily dose of Caster Oil, Aunt Mildred being a nurse made us take. She never said why we needed the Caster Oil. This summer, a special treat awaited Byrdie and I. Uncle Frank had just got his pilot’s license and treated us to a short ride around the famous civil war battlefield. At that moment I experienced the greatest thrill of my young life and said to myself; someday I will pilot a plane. Nineteen years later, my dream came true.

By happenstance in 1963, I was asked to join a small group of engineers and technicians from the Martin- Marietta Company out of Orlando, Florida, to travel to Panama in Central America to be part of team testing the Pershing Missile. It was a four-month program carried out at the small army post called Fort Sherman located on the Caribbean side of Panama in the former Canal Zone. This small outpost was by the northern entrance of the Panama Canal and very close to Fort San Lorenzo, an old Spanish fort built in the 1575 during the reign of King Phillip the 2nd of Spain. The ruins of this fort stand high on a bluff overlooking the mouth of the Chagres River where it meets the Caribbean. Our testing site was located near old World War 1 shore batteries that dotted the coastline around the Panama Canal and was less than a mile from Fort San Lorenzo.

Fort San Lorenzo

Ft. San Lorenzo at mouth of Chagres River

It was my second year working for this company. I was straight out of the US Air Force, after completing my four- year enlistment. I had received my training in electronics at Keesler AFB in Biloxi Mississippi. There I went through tech school, specializing in ECM Electronic Counter Measures mainly airborne radar jamming transmitters. After tech school, I was deployed to Clark AFB in the Philippines to become part of the 12th Tactical Fighter Squadron. I then returned to Keesler AFB to finish the last year of my enlistment as an instructor at Wolfe Hall teaching classes in ECM repair.

My first job after separating from the Air Force was with Martin-Marietta Company at Cape Canaveral. They had just completed four months testing of this system in Alaska and now, after a short break were headed to Panama. Eleven days prior to the team departing for Panama, the electronics technician that was scheduled to conduct certain tests on the electronic equipment was hurt in a serious accident and couldn’t go. I had just completed an engineering program in an electronics laboratory when I was approached to take the injured man’s place. I readily agreed knowing little about where the Panama Canal was located and knowing nothing of the equipment I would be testing.

I immediately met the chief engineer and project manager who welcomed me to the team. He then introduced me to my supervisor who in turn introduced me to the other electronic technicians and the rest of the 35-man group. All, except me and one other engineer had spent the four months in Alaska conducting a variety of tests of our equipment under arctic conditions. It was now time for tropical testing.

The equipment that I would be monitoring and maintaining was in a cubical about as big as an oversized walk-in closet. This unit consisted of racks of communications equipment on all sides except for the entry side. In the middle of the container was a long narrow table with two office chairs. No windows but room enough for several people standing up or three people comfortably seated. Of course, it was air conditioned. This Pod was mounted on a tracked vehicle about the size of a big Sherman tank. The driver’s compartment was separate.

Communications Van with Antenna – Top right

My first job was learning to drive the unit to and from the test site. There was no steering wheel only two gear levers or sticks. It was a lot of fun to drive and took me less than an hour to master. After that it took a day to learn about the equipment and the rest of the time was spent securing the equipment and packing all the support gear. Everything was then loaded on a flatbed trailer, taken to an airport close by, and loaded on Air Force C-130’s. A couple of days before everything was loaded, I bought a Lambretta motor scooter and managed to get it put in one of the containers with the support gear.

Our flight left early from Orlando, Florida on Eastern Airlines to Miami. The two-and-a-half-hour flight to Panama on a Pan-American Boeing 707 was my first flight on a commercial jet airliner. I was awed by the spaciousness and the service which included a pillow and blanket, a delicious hot meal with silver ware, and beverages served in real glass by a very attractive stewardess. A bottle of wine was included with the meal. Some of the passengers lit up a cigarette after the dinner meal. By the time I dozed off, the cabin lights came on and last call to use the toilet before commencing our approach. Prior to landing, the flight attendant walked briskly through the plane dispersing insecticide from an aerosol can above her head.

It was late in the evening when our flight from Miami landed at Tocumen International Airport, 20 miles east of the Panamanian capital city. I found it strange but comforting entering the terminal. There we were ushered into a separate Canal Zone Customs area with Americans welcoming us to Panama. Since we would be living and conducting our testing inside the confines of the Canal Zone, we did not have to go through Panamanian Customs. There was no air-conditioning inside the terminal building, just the whirl of big floor fans. My first encounter with the tropical humidity of Panama. The first customs agent to greet me was Don Nolan. Years later they would be our neighbors in the town of Balboa.

Pan-Am Boeing 707 at Tocumen Airport Panama

It was more than a two-hour ride on a US Army bus across the Isthmus of Panama to the Atlantic side. The bright lights of the Gatun locks awakened me. We had stopped behind several vehicles, one a brightly colored small bus. I later learned it was called a Chiva Bus. We were all waiting for the light to change to cross over a swinging bridge right in front of the massive locks gate. The driver turned the engine off as a huge ship was beginning to pass right in front of us going into the locks. Several of us got off the bus to watch in awe and listen to the clanging of the bells on the lock’s mules, locomotives that stabilized ships through the locks, along with all the excitement.

Gatun Locks looking South East

Walking up to the gate, I got as close as I could, which was only a few feet away from the side of a massive ship as it slowly proceeded into the locks under its own power. I stood in silence as I watched this scene unfold. Here I was looking at an engineering masterpiece considered one of the seven modern wonders of the world. It took only a few minutes for the stern of the ship to pass me and moments later I observed the closing of the massive gates. A swinging bridge came out from the side of the lock’s wall, which we would use to cross over to the west side of the canal.

Ship Going Through the Panama Canal Locks

If only my wife could be here to see this. Little did I know that within a couple years, I would join an élite cadre of men and women maintaining this modern marvel. I would have many chances to get inside the locks, its awesome tunnels, 18 ft in diameter, and even operate the controls that opened and closed these massive gates and release the valves that allowed the water to fill the chambers. Furthermore, not only would my wife and children join me here for 25 years, but she would get the chance to see the inside of the locks, dams and other special places where my job took me.

The guard at the gate motioned that he was getting ready to lift the gate for us to cross over. I looked at my watch, it was after midnight. I watched intently as the driver maneuvered the big bus across the narrow one-way bridge as we passed by at the foot of the gates of both lock chambers, a couple tight turns and up the other side known as the West Bank of the Panama Canal.

Bus Crossing the Canal

Concurrent with the canal construction a number of defensive locations were developed to protect it, both with coastal defense guns, as well as military bases to defend it against a direct infantry assault. Fort Sherman was the primary Atlantic-side infantry base, while Fort Amador protected the Pacific side. Construction of Fort Sherman began in January 1912 as a phase of the original 1910 defensive plans. Fort Sherman was named in honor of the civil war leader, General Sherman. The Fort included 23,100 acres of land, about half of which was covered by jungle. The developed areas included housing, barracks for 300, a small airstrip, and various recreational areas.

Ship entering left locks chamber

Once on the other side we turned right on a narrow road which at first followed alongside of the canal. We passed other ships waiting their turn to enter the locks. The road then turned away from the locks crossing the remnants of the French canal on a wooden bridge. Then we were engulfed by the jungle and under a canopy of trees. We drove in total darkness except for the headlight of the bus. I watched intently out the front of the bus hoping to see wild animals on the lonely, winding road. After 10 minutes we came to a dimly lit sentry post and the entry to Fort Sherman. We stopped for a military policeman to come inside. The interior lights of the bus came on and after a brief glance, and a couple words with the driver, he stepped off and lifted the gate to let us enter the fort.

Fort Sherman

Dozens of two-story wooden houses on cement columns flanked both side of the road for about a hundred yards from the sentry post. Most were dark with the exception of a front door light. The road then curved right and there in front of us was Limon Bay where many ships lay in anchor waiting to transit the canal. Next, we passed behind of a row of barracks coming to a stop at the last one. This would be our home and offices for the duration of the field test.

We had two man rooms. The rooms did not have air conditioning. Only the operations room and equipment storage rooms were cooled. We ate in the chow hall along with the Army personnel stationed on the small post. The main function of the post was the operation of the Army’s jungle survival school. We were told that even astronauts went thru the training at this post. Close to our building was a small zoo where all animals that could be encountered in the jungle were kept for soldiers to see and sometimes handle, like the big Boa Constrictor snake.

Our equipment had not arrived. So, our Army host provided a bus and driver to take our group around the Atlantic side of the isthmus with stops at Fort Davis, Fort Gulick, and out to the port of Cristobal. The driver pointed out the important places like the officer and enlisted clubs, the gyms, PX, theaters, swimming pools, bowling alleys, and mentioned there was a hourly bus service provided by the Panama Canal Company. Before returning to Fort Sherman, the driver stopped at the visitor’s center and observation platform at the Gatun Locks and allowed us a two-hour break. We watched several ships being raised or lowered, in three steps from sea level to 85 feet, the level of Lake Gatun.

Before I left from the states, I had managed to find the name and phone number of the person conducting services for our church on the Atlantic side of the isthmus. The first chance I got, I contacted this person and was told the meeting times and place.

Sundays, being a non-workday, found me on my scooter traveling the seven miles to Gatun. I left Fort Sherman an hour early, as I had to cross the swinging bridge at the locks as that was the only way to get to the east side of the canal where the small town of Gatun was located. Frequently, I had to wait for a ship to either enter or leave the locks. I never minded the wait.

My first Sunday, I was met by a man that introduced himself as the Branch President. He, like most of the members of that small branch, worked for the Panama Canal Company. He introduced me to his wife and family and to the other members that were present. There were several families that were there in the military. When it was known that I would be there several months, I was encouraged to bring my family down to stay for the duration of my assignment. It did not take much to convince me. There was a young lady, Shirley Jones that was the head of the Women’s organization, called the Relief Society. She said they would help me find a place for my family to stay.

It was possible to call our families, from our operation’s center office in the evening time after our testing was completed. Telephoning from the Canal Zone or Panama was not easy and there was always a line of other men from our team waiting to call their families. When there was a line, each man was limited to only five minutes.

During my first call to my wife, I quickly told her that I wanted her and our three daughters to come down and join me. I also told her she would need a passport and probably shots. Also, I asked her to ship our Volkswagen down. About three weeks later my family arrived. A friend from church loaned me his car to pick up my family. Three weeks later, our family car arrived. We found a house in Gatun to rent for two and a half months, exactly the time that we needed from a family that was in the states on vacation.

From the moment Jean arrived on the isthmus, she fell in love with everything except the humidity. She especially enjoyed the evening time, walking a short distance from our house with our three small girls to a hill overlooking the massive Gatun Locks. We would stop at the community clubhouse that was on the way for a 10-cent ice cream cone. In the cool of the night, we would set on a bench licking our ice cream and watch the huge ships being raised or lowered in the lock chambers. The big neon arrow pointing to the chamber a ship was supposed to enter and the clanging bells of the lock locomotives mesmerized us for hours. What was also amazing was the noticeable absence of mosquitoes.

After several weeks on the isthmus, Jean said that she would be sad to leave this tropical paradise and over dinner at the club house, we talked about applying for a job with the Panama Canal Company. Jean called Shirley and the two drove to the personnel office in Cristobal to look at the job vacancy list and was surprised that there was an opening for an Electronic Technician. Jean picked up an application and that night I filled it out. Jean took it to the personnel office the following day. Several days later, a Panama Canal sedan came to Fort Sherman to find me in the middle of an exercise at one of the field sites. My supervisor knocked on the door of my van. I opened to find him and the driver. In front of my supervisor, the driver said he was from the PCC personnel branch and asked if I was free to go with him to the personnel office to be interviewed for a job opening. I must have turned five shades of red and told the driver that I would contact his office and set an appointment for another day.

Battery Mower – WW1 Batteries

The driver turned and left but my boss, came inside my van to ask me what that was all about. I explained that I had applied for a job after the testing program was over, my wife and I would like the experience of living here for a couple years. My supervisor told me in no uncertain terms that there was No Way in Hell that I could leave this testing program until after it was over and we returned to the states. We still had six weeks left. I promised him that I would stay to complete this assignment.

My wife went to the personnel office with Shirley the next day to see if it was possible to delay the appointment for six weeks. Unfortunately for me, there was another applicant as the electronics shop was extremely short handed and they could not wait. However, Jean could put my name on the list for a future vacancy. Jean gave them the phone number of Simon and Shirley Jones to be my local contact when a vacancy came open.

Jean and I decided to make the best of it and during the remaining six weeks, every spare moment we spent traveling the country. On weekends we would make an overnight trip to the interior of the country. Several weeks before the end of our program, we read that it was now possible to drive the Pan-American Highway all the way to the states without a four-wheel drive vehicle. The last bridges had been built in Costa Rica. It sounded like a great adventure to us and we were eager to make the trip by car. First, I had to get a passport which I did at the American embassy in Panama City. Next Jean embarked on the mission of going to the embassies of the six countries we would cross getting visas or required visitation documents. I was able to get a luggage carrier to fit the top of our Volkswagen bug. I also removed the back seat, bought an extra tire and rim, a machete, shovel, pickax, two five-gallon cans, had a half inch thick plywood cut to fit the back seat to enable the girls to lay down. We had a little sterno-stove that sounded like a blow torch. The people from our church gave us cans of soup and other foodstuffs that we stuffed in every nook and cranny. Both our church and the field team gave us a Bon Voyage party and sent us off. There was another man from our field team that asked if he and his wife could join us. He had bought a used car from a military family that was being reassigned and was leaving Panama. We welcomed them. We were able to take our two-week vacation to make the trip. Our project manager let us leave a few days early as we had finished our exercise and all that remained was the packing of our equipment. We departed the Canal Zone for Costa Rica, Thursday morning, August 29, 1963. We had a picture taken by the bridge of the Americas. This commenced a 5,300-mile adventure.

The field team departed Monday, September 2, 1963.

The rest of the story part 2 follows.

Chapter 2

Epic Journey

(Pan American Highway Adventure through Central America)

We departed the Canal Zone (CZ) with no idea what a huge adventure we were embarking upon. Had we known all the perils we’d face, we surely would not have attempted this 5,300 mile journey through Central America’s uncharted territory, especially with three small daughters aged two, four and six. I later learned we may have been the first people to drive from the Canal Zone to the United States without a 4-wheel drive vehicle. We’d read that the bridges recently completed in Central America had finally made this type of journey possible, by using the Pan America Highway, also known as the Inter American Highway.

Bridge of the Americas, completed in 1962

September 9th, 1963

Ed & Jean standing with daughters Margie, Judy

and Debi - Next are the Robinsons

5,300-mile adventure through seven

foreign countries

Leaving our home in the Canal Zone we crossed the Bridge of the Americas, (also known as Puente de las Americas or Thatcher Ferry Bridge). It spans the Pacific entrance to the Panama Canal. The U.S. spent $20 million U.S. dollars to build the bridge, which was completed in 1962. Prior to that, the only thing that connected the land masses of South and Central America was a swing bridge on the Pacific side at Mira-Flores Locks, and on the Atlantic side at Gatun Locks.

History of the Pan-American Highway (Reference Wikipedia): The Pan-American Highway is a network of roads measuring approximately 30,000 miles in length. It links almost all of the mainland nations of the Americas in a connected highway system. According to the Guinness Book of World Records, the Pan-American Highway is the world’s longest motor able road. However, because of the 60-mile Darién Gap, it’s not possible to cross all the way between South and Central America by traditional motor vehicle. The highway passes through many diverse climates and ecological types, from dense jungles, to arid deserts, to cold mountain passes. The highway is far from uniform as it passes through the many countries. Some sections can only be traversed during certain seasons and many stretches are considered dangerous and/or hazardous.

A second couple, The Robins, began this journey with us. Randy Robins was a Martin technician. His wife wasn’t in Panama with him, but joined him there a few weeks before our departure. He purchased a very well used car from a Zonian (a United States citizen living in the Panama Canal Zone) to make the trip through Central America and on to Orlando, Florida.

Our first planned overnight destination was 537 miles west in San Jose, Costa Rica. At the time we had no idea how impractical and impossible a goal that was. Within two hours of departing the CZ we were dealing with our first unpaved road. It was one of many spanning hundreds of miles ahead. We encountered them again past Santiago and they lasted 120 miles until just outside of David, Panama’s third largest city. These unpaved roads were covered in crushed rock which forced us to drive very slowly. It took eight hours to drive from the Canal Zone to David. Reaching San Jose that day had become impossible. We decided to temporarily divert form the Pan American Highway and drive 40 miles to picturesque Boquete for the night. We found a delightful Bed & Breakfast that turned out to be the best accommodation of our entire Central American journey.

We left Boquete’s mountainous paradise much later the next morning than planned. When we finally reached the Costa Rican border, we were told we lacked the proper documents to drive our car out of Panama. Prior to the trip I’d been told it would be no problem since the car was registered in the United States. This misinformation sent us on a 100-mile round-trip back to David to get an official Government Ministry release document. Thankfully this section of road was paved. The combined late start and return to David left us crossing the border at 3 p.m., and we still had to drive 200 miles to reach San Jose, and the last 75 miles required crossing a 9,000’ high mountain. At the border we were warned not to not attempt these 200 miles after dark because the road was mostly unpaved. The terrain was also susceptible to landslides especially following heavy rains.

Prior to leaving the CZ, we’d been unable to find maps for any of the other Central American countries. We expected to find them as we got to each country, but they weren’t available. We expected to find gas stations along the way but didn’t find them either. We felt sure that if we stayed on the Pan-American Highway, we’d eventually end up in Texas. There weren’t road signs to help us find our way and there were few motels, or pensions unless we were in a major city. When we came to divided roads with no signs to guide us, we’d take whatever looked most traveled and hope it was the right choice, and sometimes it was the wrong choice. We did rely on our compass and were very lucky if we happened to see signs pointing in the right direction.

Midway through the second day of driving over miserable roads I began to wonder if we’d made a serious mistake, doing this with three small children. Yet there was no way to turn back. There was no place for the girls to go potty and we had to stop a lot. They didn’t understand why I couldn’t find a gas station and why they had to keep squatting down next to the car. I was hoping it wasn’t going to be like this all the way to the U.S. We were barely 100 miles inside Costa Rica and we’d already forded several small streams, and had to stop to clear tree limbs blocking the road. It was strange that we hadn’t seen one other vehicle on the road. There were Oxcarts, men on horseback, people walking and cattle. Often when we approached someone walking, we’d questioningly ask, San Jose while pointing in the direction we were going.

The sun was setting and I knew we had to find somewhere to stay for the night. The Really Big mountains, with tops buried in clouds were looming ahead of us. We noticed a crude sign pointing to San Isidro 3k (kilometers) on the right. There wasn’t a road per-se, but we could see ruts indicating there was a path of some kind. Randy didn’t want to risk it, having already bottomed out once with his car. The town of Cartago was 50 miles ahead up in the mountains but it was now covered by clouds. That road was unpaved as well. Remembering the caution about night driving and the rain beating down us, I begged off. I told Randy I had to think of my family’s safety first. I chose the path to San Isidro. We agonized over separating from our friends and couldn’t imagine where we might rendezvous ahead. Jean and I both sensed that they were ready to go on alone. We knew we’d been slowing them down with our frequent stops. As it turned out we never saw them again until Orlando.

We continued on to San Isidro slowly and cautiously. As we approached the town the only visible light came from a few stores and bars. There were lots of people milling around on both sides of the road which is quite common in that part of the world. There were men on horseback but no motorized vehicles. Horses were tied to hitching rails in front of a saloon and it was like being transported 100 years back in history. Many people watched us as we slowly crept forward in our car. I felt nervous and knew Jean did too when she locked her door and rolled up her window. We’d move half way down the block when a man suddenly stepped in the path of our car, and held his hand up motioning for us to stop. He was illuminated by our car lights and we could see his sidearm. He approached my side and asked Que Pasa (what’s going on?). I spoke and understood minimal Spanish. I responded, Hotel Pension? He shined his flashlight into the car and saw our three girls huddled in the back and responded, No Pension and mumbled something else undiscernible. He flashed his light further down the road and motioned for us to follow. He slowly led the way walking in front of us. At the end of the block, he motioned for me to park in front of a small darkened house, and had me get out and follow him while Jean and the girls remained in the car. He removed a key from his holster and opened the door into a small parlor. After lighting a kerosene lamp, he led me further into another room containing a desk, chair, cot, wash basin and lamp which he lit. Leaving that room, we entered a larger room with more cots, chairs, another small table and kerosene lamp, plus two wardrobes, with a coat rack where several ammo belts hung, along with two rifles.

He led me out the back door to an outhouse, and on the path between the house and the outhouse stood an old water pump with a bucket hanging beside it. He pumped the handle several times, water came out the spigot and he motioned that it was safe to drink. I remember using that kind of water pump on my uncle’s farm at Antietam, Maryland.

Back inside the house the man pointed to our car and then to the cot in the room that appeared to be his office and bed, indicating my wife could sleep there. He then pointed to me and indicated for me and the girls sleep in the other room. He kept repeating seguro, seguro (safe, safe). I thought to myself, Jean was not going to believe this. She was okay until I showed her the outhouse. I said it was either this or we go somewhere to park and sleep in the car. While I helped Jean and the girls in with some of our things, our host managed to find Ponchos (blankets) to sleep under.

It became apparent that this man was the law so I referred to him as the Sheriff. He mimicked eating and I shook my head no. I showed him our ice chest which contained water, baloney, cheese and some other consumables. We had some canned goods, bread, crackers, peanut butter and snacks. The sheriff indicated he would leave the front locked door. He pointed to the back door and motioned that it would stay unlocked and he’d leave his flashlight on the desk for us to use when going to the outhouse. Manana he said, indicating he’d return in the morning and unlock the front door. Once more he said Seguro. With that he departed and we heard the click as he locked the door from the outside.

Jean headed to the outhouse with the girls while I fixed sandwiches. We had our prayer and then I took the oldest two into the other room. They shared a cot. I promised to leave the lamp on but turned the wick down until it barely glowed. I don’t remember if the sheriff left matches or not. We just hoped the kerosene would last all night. Jean turned out the office lamp, but left the parlor lamp on. It cast an eerie glow and I knew we were in for a long sleepless night.

Morning didn’t come early enough for me. I was awakened by a crowing rooster, a sound I hadn’t heard since childhood. After a quick outhouse trip, I walked around front and got breakfast food from the car. Inside were boxes of dry cereal, bananas and apple juice. I looked around and down the street saw nothing but several dogs playing in the street. It reminded me of an old Roy Roger’s movie, where the only thing missing was a stagecoach.

By the time the girls finished their dry cereal the sheriff had returned. In my broken Spanish I asked about another road leading out of town. He said Si pero muy mal, no es bueno shaking his head. (Yes, there is but it is very bad and not a good choice).

As we were leaving, I had the two oldest girls say gracias which brought a smile to his face. Jean gave him a can of pork and beans and I handed him two packs of Chesterfield Cigarettes. We don’t smoke but I’d been told American cigarettes made fine thank you gifts. I bought a couple of cartons at the Fort Davis military exchange the day before we left. I didn’t know if he smoked or not but he seemed very pleased with the gifts.

It took us 30 minutes to backtrack to the Pan-American Highway. Within a few miles we started climbing the mountain whose tops were covered by clouds.

The Pan-American Highway Northern Guatemala

It took two hours to reach Cartago. After that it was a paved road all the way into San Jose. Everyone got excited when a gas station suddenly appeared on the road! We were finally back in civilization and there was a bathroom! I was glad to buy gas with American money that cost less than $3.00. I was surprised that they accepted U.S. dollars, but made change in the currency of their country. A little open-air market alongside the gas station sold fresh fruit and vegetables. They also pointed out a panaderia (bakery) just up the road where we bought fresh baked micha rolls and sodas. The hot bread and sodas were a much-needed treat.

In the distance we could see a volcano. I asked for directions and took the winding road to the very edge of the volcano. It was a clear, cool crisp day and very windy. The view in all directions was breathtaking, we felt like we were on the top of the world. It was a little frightening as the volcano belched smoke and began to rumble.

Volcano Poas in Costa Rica

An hour later we finally reached Costa Rica’s capital of San Jose. We had a relaxed lunch at a nice restaurant in the center of the beautiful city. On the Spanish menu the only words I recognized were hamburguesa, huevos, hamon, y queso, (hamburgers, eggs, ham, and cheese). We each got a hamburger and soda. Since it was still early afternoon and were told the road to the frontera was paved, we decided to drive on to Nicaragua. Crossing borders between countries isn’t like crossing state lines in the U.S. You have to clear customs in each country to exit one and enter another. It only took a few minutes to clear Costa Rica before a guard lifted the gate so we could enter Nicaragua. Fifty yards further we had to stop at another guard gate. We were totally unaware that a revolution was taking place there. The two gate sentries were standing at attention in full battle gear in front of a heavily fenced area. Before lifting the gate and allowing us to enter the sentry approached and asked for our documents. I gave him our passports. After a quick glance in our car, he directed me to park and motioned the other sentry to raise the gate. He strolled over to me and asked if I spoke Spanish. I responded poquito (a little). He said I must go inside with him. Hesitantly, I left Jean and the girls in the car and went inside. At the desk a soldier typed several documents while frequently looking at our passports. When questioned about my business I knew enough Spanish to tell him we were just passing through Nicaragua on our way to the Estados Unidos (United States). He wrote a figure on a piece of paper $200.00 and showed it to me. I shrugged my shoulders questioningly. He said, Impuesto, dos Cientos Cordobas. In English I said. He motioned for me to wait and he went outside. He returned a few minutes later with another guard who said I had to pay two hundred Cordobas tax. If I didn’t pay the tax, I couldn’t enter the country. I only had U.S. money and no idea what the exchange rate was. It sounded like they wanted a lot of money but I wasn’t certain. I wondered if this was legit, or was I being suckered? Then I wondered if we’d be repeating this at every county along the way.

We had less than $190 cash for the entire trip. I had a Gulf Oil card that I could only use at Gulf Oil stations in the U.S. The current rate for gas in the Canal Zone was 23 cents a gallon. Our VW bug got more than 25 miles a gallon. I estimated that our total mileage would be 4,900 miles, but actually turned out to be 5,300 miles. I’d figured $7 to $15 for nightly lodging. I’d heard that at many places in Central America and Mexico we could find rates as low as $5 a night. We had an extra spare tire, canned goods, and 10 gallons of spare gas. We would have to buy some food along the way. During the entire trip Jean kept a precise expense journal. Her purse was tucked safely under her front seat and she gave me exactly what I needed for gas and minor purchases.

I was determined to do my best at getting through this as cheaply as possible. I pulled out a five-dollar bill and held it out. The desk guard shook his head no, motioning for more. Although I didn’t know the exchange rate, clearly, they did. I went to the car to get five dollars more from Jean and went back in. They took the money and handed me a carbon copy of the document’d been typing. The English-speaking guard told me that I must turn this paper in when leaving the country. The entire entry process ate up 30 minutes of our daylight driving time Managua, Nicaragua’s capital was a little more than 100 miles ahead. It took us several hours to travel 40 miles of unpaved road. Thirty miles south of Managua it became a paved road again all the way into the city. On the outskirts I stopped for gas and a break. One of the clerks spoke a bit of English. I asked if they had any maps and was thrilled to buy one for most of Central America. When I told the attendant, we were on our way to the states, he said I should avoid Managua or I’d get lost. The streets were not marked and we might get robbed. He laid out the map on top of a soda cooler and showed me the best route to follow to Mexico. When I asked if it was the Pan- American Highway, he said no. He showed how the Pan- American Highway went into Tegucigalpa and would mean crossing high mountains and take us many miles out of the way. He said he’d personally traveled that road many times and it was bad. By taking the coastal route, we’d be going thru El Salvador. It was much shorter and most of the road was paved. Looking at the map it was obvious that we’d save several hundred miles this way.

As we approached the town of Leon darkness was approaching. We were tired, hungry and ready for a bed. We looked for a place to eat and somewhere to stay for the night. Again, we encountered a restaurant manager who spoke excellent English. According to Jean’s journal, we each had a plate of Arroz con Pollo (Rice with Chicken). Jean wrote that the food was very good and the owner kept bringing us more. We didn’t ask for it but he brought each of us a bowl of Helado Chocolate (chocolate ice cream). Five dollars covered the tab and we even got change. I asked the owner if there was a hotel or pension in town. He said the closest was back in Managua or in El Salvador. He did not recommend driving on to El Salvador as it was dangerous going thru Honduras with the mountains and banditos (bandits).

He suggested we stay there at the restaurant. There was a room behind the kitchen and he had several cots that he kept for farm workers who stayed there during harvest season. He said that way we’d be safe, and he was especially concerned for our children. He showed us the room and the Cuarto de Bano. The bathroom was clean and that was all it took. We drove our car around behind the restaurant, next to his house so it couldn’t be seen from the highway. This made me a little nervous, but it was incredible that this stranger was thinking only of our safety. By the time we got our things out of the car, 5