KEEPING TIME

Sometimes, late at night, I pass the time by searching for the names of friends and acquaintances on the Internet.

- PETER GARRISON

THE OTHER DAY I ENTERED the name of Betty Faux, and up popped this capsule reference (among various irrelevancies, including a different Betty’s “faux-artless smile”) in a long exchange of reminiscences about a new-defunct airport, Meadowlark:

Took my private check ride with Betty Faux (I think she has passed away)…

B. Faux is the signature on all but half a dozen of the entries in the opening pages of my first logbook. The very first entry, dated 11/26/62, when I was 19, records that one of the items studied was “gear procedures.” Actually, we both got more gear procedures on that first flight that we had bargained for. I was learning to fly in a Comanche 250, N8012P, which, like most aeroplanes with electric gear, had the kind of gear switch that you pull outward before raising or lowering. I had never been in a private plane with retractable gear before, and wasn’t familiar with this style of gadget.

“Raise the landing gear,” said Betty Faux after we had become airborne. I gave the switch an upward tug. It didn’t budge. I tugged harder. Nothing. I gave it a good yank, and it broke off in my hand.

My father had a little red scooter that folded up to stow in the Comanche’s baggage compartment. I drove it to Santa Monica Airport for my almost-daily lessons at Claire Walters Flight Academy. (The few log entries that weren’t signed by Betty bear Claire’s name instead.)