It’s Still One of My Favorite Memories

A few weeks ago, my friend Dan and I broke the COVID quarantine and drove down from Hattiesburg to my old homeplace in Big Level — traveling in separate vehicles and exercising proper social distancing while there, I’ll say, in case anyone is wondering. Dan, a university professor with many credentials and research interests, including religion and history, archaeology, and geography, has most recently gone way deep into geographic information systems technology (GIS). His current specific interest is in using satellite images and geo-spatial data to develop a set of tools to aid in locating old Roman roadbeds in Turkey, an area where he has done considerable archaeological research over his long career. On this day we had traveled down to Stone County to look firsthand at Punk Lott Road, after I’d happened to mention to him weeks earlier that this road leading from Big Four Road up to our family’s farm was not the original road, the old one having been abandoned a few years before I was born and a new road created to the east. Dan got excited by the possibility that he could test some of his planned methodologies right here close to home. I got excited by his cool drone and other tech toys and the prospect of a field trip to my old stomping grounds. Plus, we were both anxious to get out of town.

My brother, John, who has owned the old place since the 1970s, welcomed us and accompanied us as we traipsed over the known parts of the old roadbed and as we searched for signs of some of the unknown parts. Throughout the afternoon, Dan flew his drone, capturing aerial photos that he could later study in conjunction with LiDAR satellite images of the property. Did I mention how cool I found all of this to be?

Image by Daniel C Browning Jr, with annotations by Russell W Lott

Image by Daniel C Browning Jr, with annotations by Russell W Lott

As we were nearing the conclusion of our excursion, Dan offered to send his drone up one last time to capture a few aerial shots of the house and surrounding grounds and outbuildings, maybe even matching the altitude and perspective of an aerial photo that was done 35 years or so earlier. While Dan was tending his drone, John and I were swapping stories about all the aircraft we used to see there on the farm. Being located about halfway between Keesler Air Force Base, 30 miles south in Biloxi, and Camp Shelby near Hattiesburg some 25 miles to the north, we would on many days see a dozen or more military aircraft of various descriptions fly across our pastures — from fighter jets with occasional sonic booms to large propeller-driven cargo planes to sundry types of helicopters. Some of these aircraft would be low enough as they came over that we could see the pilot waving back at us. It was at about this point that I related to Dan the story about the time a helicopter actually landed in one of our fields. Here’s how I remember it:

I was about seven years old on that bright, sunny, early summer afternoon, out playing in the yard under the large pecan trees on the east side of the house. Hearing the unmistakable chuff-chuff-chuff staccato of a helicopter, I rushed out to the fence to get a good look at that whirlybird. It came across from the north, much lower and slower than was typical. As I was waving and hopping all around, I watched as the pilot made two lazy circles and then hover momentarily before setting the bubble-canopied craft gently down — smack dab in the middle of our front pasture! Holey moley, I couldn’t believe my eyes! Countless times had I wished something like this would happen. And now it actually had!

Stock photo of a Bell 47G Helicopter. The Bell 47 was a single rotor light helicopter manufactured by Bell Helicopter. Though used extensively by the military, the 47 became the first helicopter certified for civilian use.

Stock photo of a Bell 47G Helicopter. The Bell 47 was a single rotor light helicopter manufactured by Bell Helicopter. Though used extensively by the military, the 47 became the first helicopter certified for civilian use.

I was transfixed as the pilot climbed down from the cockpit and slowly walked around the helicopter. Then, upon seeing me, he finally returned my many waves. Before I could compose myself from this act of recognition, Keith and Judy came running from the house with Mama coming to the porch to see what all the commotion was about. Keith and I were halfway across the fence before Mama called us back. We could hardly contain our disappointment, but that was only momentary because we then saw the pilot walking toward us. He was coming up to the house! Upon reaching the fence, the pilot, dressed in his army fatigues, apologized for disturbing us — as if that was even a consideration — and explained that he was experiencing some mechanical problem and that another helicopter was already on its way with a mechanic. Unbelievable! Here, we not only had one glorious eggbeater in our field, but we would soon have two! We didn’t use the word awesome as much back then as kids do now, but this was tee-totally blow-my-seven-year-old-mind awesome. Within less than an hour, the other helicopter had come and the repair, which only took a few minutes, was completed. While the mechanic was finishing up, the pilot came back to the fence — actually both pilots this time — where we had some iced tea waiting. And then, as quickly as they had come, they were gone, both choppers making a beeline back to the base.

Now, for the sake of full disclosure, I have a confession to make: As distinctly as I remember the events of that gloriously exceptional afternoon, it seems that I’m the only one who still carries this memory. I brought it up at a family gathering a few years ago and, to my astonishment, no one had any recollection of it. Not Judy, not Mama, not even Keith, who were all there, could recall it. I’ll have to say, my younger siblings and both of my daughters were duly impressed. There were a couple of wows, and then Linda asked “Why have I never heard this story before?” Keith answered with “Probably because it didn’t happen.” John asked if he was there and I had to confess that I didn’t remember. We concluded that he probably was but that he would have been only four at the time – certainly old enough to have some vague recollecttion of it, but then again, maybe not. Am I the only one who remembers something so spectacular? How can this be? These were the first seeds of doubt.

In my recent recounting of the story to Dan, John playfully echoed Keith’s earlier remark with “Russell, are you sure you didn’t make that up?” Just a couple of weeks ago, I spoke again with Keith about this shared episode, hoping to get some sliver of confirmation, but all he could say was, “Well, it could’ve happened, but that was 60 years ago — I just don’t remember.” Karen and Linda weren’t even born and, sadly, Daddy and now Judy are gone and Mama suffers from a debilitating dementia. So, it’s just me.

Why am I the only one still carrying this fantastic memory that at least four of us experienced? Never before have I had an occasion to doubt the veracity of any event that I can recall so clearly, but now I do. I am well aware that many of my memories are just fuzzy, blurry snapshots lying unsorted and undated in one of the several old shoeboxes littering the back corners of my brain. I also suspect… no, I know my subconscious has tinkered with many of these images over the years, filling in a few of the gaps in my recollection with snippets of other memories, conjoining disparate but similar events so that I now recall them as one. I also know that two people, both witnessing or participating in the same incident, will often have differing takes on what occurred. Even so, I have always relied on the belief that the core kernel of actual fact would always be recognized as true, even if the details were fuzzy and subject to debate. I can understand easily enough why I forget stuff — there’s only so much a busy brain can handle, right? So, I sift my memories through my own personal filters and biases, retaining only what I regard as important or exceptional and the rest gets flushed away over time. But the trickier question is why I might clearly remember something that never happened.

Thus the question remains: Did those helicopters really land in our field back when I was seven, or is this just some fantasy my brain concocted who knows when, which I’ve now come to accept as reality? I say those magnificent machines most certainly did come visit us that day, but I struggle with the doubts. If I’m wrong about this one long-held, cherished memory, then what else have I deluded myself about? The ramifications of such possibilities are truly unsettling.

Aerial view of the house and grounds on the Lott farm, Big Level, Stone Country, Mississippi. Photo by Daniel C Browning Jr, 2020-04-11

Aerial view of the house and grounds on the Lott farm, Big Level, Stone Country, Mississippi. Photo by Daniel C Browning Jr, 2020-04-11

Notes:

A WORD TO PONDER

  • smack-dab (adverb): exactly, precisely, squarely. Origin unknown. Typically regarded as an Americanism that is rarely used in European countries.
    Source: theidioms.com

SONG OF THE DAY

"Goodnight Saigon" by Billy Joel (Nylon Curtain, 1982)

 
 
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