1943 Newspaper Abstracts

The Daily Oklahomian (Oklahoma City, OK), Vol. 52 No. 309, Friday,
November 12, 1943:  p. 1, c. 2-3 -

PICTURE:  When Col. Roscoe Turner, left, sat his plane down at Wiley Post
          field Thursday, he had one request:  "For years," he told his
          brother, Abe, (right), "I've been wanting one of those cowboy
          hats.  Can you get me one, if only for the afternoon?"  Brother
          Abe, of the internal revenue department here, managed to drum
          one up.

COLONEL TURNER'S MUSTACHE
STILL SPELLS HIGH ADVENTURES
By Saul Feldman

        The kids today who stroke their Dick Tracy badges and proudly
display their Superman wings don't get half as big a thrill as I did 10
years ago when I gulped my soup and sat by my crystal set listening to
Col. Roscoe Turner knock down a squadron of flying smugglers with one
hand while deciphering a secret code that was the key to a million
dollars, with the other hand.
        I was tipped off through the Junior Commando underground system
that Col. Turner would arrive at Wiley Post airport shortly after noon
Thursday and used up a week's gas just to get out there to shake the hand
of my hero, even today, when Terry and Col. Flip Corkin are doing such a
wonderful job in China.
        I raced to the administration office and breathlessly quizzed,
"Is Col. Roscoe Turner in yet?"
        "Who's he," one girl drawled.
        "You mean you don't remember the man who fought off the spies who
were going to steal Hoover buttons in 1932?" I exclaimed.

        "No, never do listen to Gene Autry," she replied.
        "No, Col. Turner is one of the world's greatest aviators.  I
wouldn't eat my soup when I was a kid until Col. Turner told me about it
on his radio program."
        Then several other pilots in the office started relating legends
surrounding the colonel.
        "They tell me he wears a pair of pilot's wings a foot long."
        "Yeh, and he used to have a lion cub for a mascot and take it
with him wherever he went."
        "And that mustache of his can't be equalled."
        About that time one of the mechanics came in to report a plane
about to land.
        "That must be him," I screamed.  But it was only a small blue
Cessna.  After all, as big a hero as Col. Turner wouldn't fly in a little
job that looked like a pea in a big soup bowl.  He'd come roaring in
piloting a silvery plane with at least six motors.

        I was getting impatient to see my hero when the same mechanic
came back to report that the pilot of the Cessna wouldn't take landing
instructions and was taxiing over to the south side of the field instead
of parking on the north end.
        "That sounds like an old-time flier," one of the pilots
contributed.  "Just as stubborn as can be."
        The plane came to rest on the edge of the field and I decided to
tag along as a committee went out to tell the pilot to get over where he
should belong.
        "Say, you can't tie down here," one of them said as the pilot
started to get out of the ship.
        Then the pilot faced us.  I couldn't mistake him.  It was Col.
Turner.  Nobody else has a mustache like that-- two little bundles of fur
with tails an inch long.
        But it was a shock to see Col. Turner climb out of such a little
plane.   Just like seeing Governor Kerr riding to the capitol on a
bicycle.

        "You're Col. Turner," someone said.
        "What's left of him.  Been bucking a headwind since I left Kansas
City.  Some day I'm going to learn to fly," he added.
        "There's no stakes here to tie your plane down, you should have
parked on the north side," one of the reception committee volunteered.
        "Heck, I'd rather look for the stakes myself than park over on
that rocky side.  Here, give me a hand."
        Before the reception party knew it, everyone was at work.  One
detail was helping to straighten out the colonel's radio aerial which he
forgot to wind up before he landed.  Another group was driving some
stakes into the ground.  I just stood and admired his mustache.
        The kids of today don't know what they missed not being able to
hear how Col. Turner squelched a revolution single-handed while gulping
down a bowl of soup.
        He's still wonderful, even after 10 years and a bay window.  I
think I'll start training my mustache to look like his.


[This clipping furnished by The University of South Carolina, South
Caroliniana Library, Columbia, SC 29208,  Henry G.Fulmer, Manuscripts
Librarian]


Abstracts (c) Copyright 1993 Stephanie L. Sandy

    Data transcription by: Milton Sandy, Jr. Corinth, MS - June 24, 1993