The Gallant Clan

Was searching for a picture of a certain Fly Baby in the Sport Aviation archives, and came across this poem in the October 1974 issue. It's a nice tribute to the early aviation pioneers....

Ron Wanttaja
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THE GALLANT CLAN

By Gil Robb Wilson

The futile wings on the yellowed prints
Seem foolishly quaint and crude
Unless, one walked in the bygone years
With the sky's strange brotherhood
When there was no script or reasoned code,
When there was no center stage
Where a man had a way to make his day
Stand tall for another age.

They poured and peered in their patient rote
As the dreamer is wont to do
And borrowed a buck if they had the luck
To find you with more than two.
They burned the oil in the midnight lamp
But scarce earned daily bread
And often died when they tried to ride
Their designs in the overhead.

So, smile if you will at the weird machine
But not at the Gallant Clan
Which gave its heart through it lacked the art
Or the Tools for a better plan.
They reached for the stars while the savants slept,
And their faith was a thing of flame
Which kindled the sky though today they lie
Unmarked by the World's acclaim.