Excerpt from:

                                AERIAL MANIAC
                       My Experience as a Wing Walker
                           And a Parachute Jumper
                                     by
                              Arthur H. Starnes

  CHAPTER VI- I MEET ROSCOE TURNER

          Carrigan, hoping to find some city that was interested in his odd
  work, remained with me from the time we met in Lexington, Kentucky.  We
  caught a train in Memphis, bound for Miami.  If we arrived in Miami we
  had no idea what we could find to do, but stunt men were so much in
  demand that I felt sure something would be waiting for me.  A change of
  trains was scheduled for Corinth, Mississippi, a city of ten thousand.
  Upon our arrival there we were informed it would be an hour before the
  next connection could be made.
          Growing impatient around the small depot, we decided to look the
  town over.  A short hike from the station we found a restaurant.  A cup
  of coffee called us inside the shop.  At once talkative Carrigan made "no
  bones" about announcing to the proprietor he had a real stunt man for a
  pal.  In his dramatic fashion he described the stunts I did from planes.
  He was a first class salesman who sold my wares high to the restaurant
  owner, Mr. Luther Doyle.  Doyle showed interest and asked why I didn't
  meet Corinth's young flier.  He said the young man was the only flier in
  that vicinity, but he was a good one and was anxious to start a flying
  circus.  The more I heard, the more convinced I became, that I did want
  to meet the much-talked-of-gentleman who would be in town the following
  day.  Corrigan was also impressed and sold himself on the idea that a
  small town such as Corinth might prove fruitful for his work.  We decided
  to stay over and meet the flier.  Mr. Doyle was delighted and gave us a
  five dollar meal ticket free to make our welcome a warm one.
          We tried to line up with an automobile dealer for a blind folded
  endurance drive.  Carrigan was in need of finances and thought he might
  be a good advertisement for some dealer in this southern city.  It was a
  good car of that time that could run night and day for a week.  With all
  his gift of speech, he was unsuccessful.  So passed the second day with
  no business for Carrigan, and no flier returned.
          Carrigan as well as I began to grow impatient, however, Mr. Doyle
  felt sure the flier would be in the next day.  While sitting in Mr.
  Doyle's restaurant about four thirty the following evening, eating what
  we thought would be our last meal in Corinth, we heard a plane roar
  overhead.  Mr. Doyle rushed out the kitchen door and said, "That's him!
  Let's go!"
          We jumped into Doyle's car and drove in the direction of the
  landing field.  The plane circled low over a residential section of town,
  and I observed an object fall from the plane.  I remarked that I had seen
  something fall.  Mr. Doyle said, "That is probably a beefsteak or a
  chicken.  He drops off his supper at home as he comes along.  By the time
  he gets in from the field his wife will have it sizzling hot and ready to
  serve.  Some system!  Humph?"
          In a short time we arrived at the cow pasture landing field about
  four miles from the center of the hospitable southern town on the Suratt
  farm.  The aviator had tied up the plane for the night and was covering
  the motor of his OX Standard with a piece of tarpaulin.  From the
  appearance of his ship I could tell that it was kept in excellent
  condition, my ear marks of a good pilot.
          "Mr. Starnes, may I present our home town boy, Roscoe Turner!"
  From this first introduction on, Turner impressed me.  He was a powerful,
  pleasant, smooth-faced man who towered more than six feet in height and
  weighed about two hundred pounds.  His captivating smile, his southern
  accent, and his firm handshake delighted me.  His suit was a showy one
  with a dark blue coat, decorated in gold braid and gold wing emblems,
  while his trousers were of light whip cord, accented by black shoes and
  puttees.  At his side, in one hand, was his snow white tailored cap.  I
  quickly sized him up as a man with showmanship and appearance.  Next, I
  had to convince myself of his ability as a flier, because now, more than
  ever before, I realized what it meant to have a skilled pilot at the
  controls of the plane when I was doing stunt work.
          There we stood on a cold December day in a cow pasture making
  plans that made us partners in a flying circus.  Both of us had ability
  in our line of work but our capital was limited.  Turner had no hangar,
  but he had a plane.  It was staked down at night, and the engine was
  covered over with a piece of canvas.  I had practically nothing.  Yet, we
  believed we could succeed.  Turner was enthusiastic over the idea of
  forming a circus.  Furthermore, he knew a man who would be willing to
  sponsor him when he was ready for the move.   [pp.69-73]


  CHAPTER VII- ROSCOE TURNER AND I BECOME PARTNERS

          Our plans continued until we had something novel to offer the
  city of Corinth.  We prepared to inaugurate a Trades Day in Roscoe's home
  town.  The merchants were asked to sponsor the air show in connection
  with the Trades Day.  We had cards about legal size printed with
  information much as follows:

               We, The Roscoe Turner Flying Circus agree to do over
          the business section of Corinth, Mississippi on .. day to-wit.
                    ONE WING WALKING SHOW, INCLUDING THE
                              "SWING OF DEATH"
                              A PARACHUTE JUMP
                 AN AIRPLANE ACROBATIC FLIGHT, LOOPS, SPINS,
                       WING OVERS, WHIP STALLS, ROLLS
               The undersigned hereby agree to give the amount set op-
          posite their names after this exhibition..

          In turn, we obligated ourselves to all advertising and guaranteed
  a crowd, which was a comparatively easy matter when flying was new.  We
  had several thousand, attractively worded circulars printed, describing
  our death-defying feats.  These were mailed on the rural routes to the
  box holders.  The business men signed up for amounts in keeping witht he
  volume of business each merchant was doing.  The leading merchants
  contributed as much as fifty dollars, others contributed forty-five, and
  so on down to the little hamburger dealer who contributed as little as
  one dollar.  Our plan was a rather easy method of getting cooperation,
  for the merchants did not hesitate to sign up when they knew their own
  business would benefit, and that they did not have to pay until after the
  show was over.  We soon became business men in the world of flight.
          Our first show was staged in Corinth, as scheduled, amid a
  surging crowd of Christmas shoppers.  The weather was cold enough for the
  cotton farmers to be off duty and ready for a little excitement.  Black
  and white watched the wonders of the home town boy who was well on his
  way toward becoming a noted flyer.  In most respects the show was a
  success.  Of course, financially it was not very successful, nor did we
  expect it to be.  We wished only to make a good impression in Corinth
  before we started on a Trades Day tour through the South.
          Before we started on our second Trades Day show I wired Mr.
  Gates's winter quarters at New Orleans to give him my temporary address
  at Corinth, for I had made up my mind to stay with Turner.  Our second
  Trades Day was promoted in a small town in Tennessee, just over the
  Mississippi line.  This show was a success in all respects.  We were
  making money at flying.  Besides being pleased with our returns from the
  show, I liked Turner's style of flying.  Roscoe appeared to take an
  interest in me, and we learned to understand one another well as time
  went along.
          Carrigan who had been my constant companion since we were in
  Nashville decided to hit the dusty trail and departed for Miami about the
  time Roscoe and I made plans to fly in Sheffield, Alabama.  There was
  much talk of Ford's buying Muscle Shoals for a nitrogen-producing plant.
  Sheffield, the heart of the Muscle Shoals district, about seventy miles
  from Corinth, was enjoying a real estate boom.  There we made our third
  move for business.  We were soon under contract to carry passengers and
  stage air shows for the Ford City Lot Owners' Association.  Our guests
  were prospects that came on a special train from New York every two
  weeks.  They were shown a delightful time with complimentary trips over
  the reservation by bus.  On the lake above the dam they were given boat
  rides.  Last, they were taken over the reservation by air, and given a
  complete air show with a parachute jump and with all the fancy wing
  walking stunts I could do.
          It was about a week after we took our contract in Sheffield that
  I first got my hands on the controls of a ship.  Let us bear in mind that
  I had several months experience as a stunt man and as a passenger and
  that I had associated with real fliers who told their tales of aerial
  adventure, until I had gained a fundamental knowledge of flight.  There
  was nothing that I could not do around planes of that period, such as
  rigging, motor work, and recovering a ship.  I led myself to believe, as
  many others do, that I could fly a plane without any or little
  instruction.  I had observed and studied so closely I felt certain of my
  ability.  In the company of qualified pilots I could almost convince them
  that I was a flier for I could place the stick and rudder bar in almost
  any position required for any maneuver.  What a surprise I had in store
  for me!
          With Roscoe as my instructor we took off in an OX Standard over
  Sheffield.  We climbed to about three thousand five hundred feet over the
  residential section of the city when Roscoe wabbled the stick,
  signalling, "Take it over and do your stuff, if you can."  In spite of
  the poor stability of these ships, they would practically fly themselves
  for a few seconds.  I decided momentarily that I would try to do a spin.
  Imagine such foolishness!  We consequently wound up with the plane on its
  back.  Becoming aware of the danger in our predicament by the lightness
  on the seat and by the dirt from the bottom of the fuselage or floor
  boards falling into my face, I shot both hands and arms forward under the
  cowl and spread my knees and legs outward against the inside of the
  fuselage to keep from falling out, for I had failed to make use of the
  safety belt.  Needless to say, Roscoe saved the day by recovering the
  ship to normal flight, as I hung on.
          After the ship was once more on an even keel, I realized I was
  sitting quite low on the seat.  By shifting my body a bit I found the
  seat to be hard.  The cushions that were used in that ship were leather
  ones, filled with lighter-than-water padding and were made in one long
  piece to fit the bucket seats so that they could be used for life
  preservers in the event they were needed.  The cushion!  It was gone!
  During my inverted position I had lost it.
          Roscoe landed as soon as possible, turned to me, and yelled above
  the noise of the motor as he climbed from the cockpit, "What in the ...
  were you trying to do?  Trying to kill us both?"
          "I thought I'd do a spin."
          "You'd better learn to fly first before you pull anything else
  like that."
          The climax of our conversation came when I told Roscoe I had lost
  the cushion upon which I had been siting.  He rolled in laughter while I
  enjoyed the ease from the tense moments which had elapsed so lately.
          Roscoe bestowed the name of "Upside Down Starnes" upon me.  Much
  to my embarrassment the name stuck.  However, it had a much different
  ring from the similar title which Clyde Pangborn bore.
          Soon after landing we set out by car in search of the missing
  airplane cushion.  Upon our arrival to the colored section of Sheffield,
  almost below the place where our upside down flying occurred, we left the
  automobile and continued by foot, planning to comb the area until our
  lost possession could be found.  Side by side we walked along, wearing
  our flying togs.  Diagonally across the street from the first corner we
  turned we spied a fat, colored woman who yelled from the edge of a porch
  where she was comfortably seated against a small pillar.
          "Heeya Mistu Turnya an' Mistu Starnes!  It fell in de alley just
  in bac, of my fence.  I sure 'nuf thought dat dare devil, Mistu Starnes
  was fallin' out of dat airplane.  I thought he would be a angel in a
  twinklin' of a eye.  Lordy, I was most nigh scared to death!"
          The old colored lady had seen us perform repeatedly and knew us
  by name, because we were the only airmen in the district.  She shifted
  her weight off our straying cushion and beamed with joy as we headed in
  her direction to reclaim the object which she had so carefully held for
  us.
          From the experience with the cushion I learned two things well.
  First, that one cannot learn to fly from reading a book or by listening
  to aviators' descriptions of flights.  Real experience in the air with a
  competent instructor is the only short cut to flying.  Second, I learned
  the value of a safety belt, as far as a pilot's safety is concerned.  Up
  until the time of my spin with Roscoe, I had more or less frowned at the
  idea of wearing a safety belt.  I very seldom went up in a place without
  leaving it before the flight was completed.  When flying across the
  country for a scheduled show, I, as a rule, filled the front cockpit with
  stunt equipment such as ropes, parachutes, and rope ladders until I was
  well anchored in the cockpit.  Therefore, I did not have any use for a
  safety belt heretofore.  The experience with the cushion began a new era.
  From then on, I always used and still use a safety belt before I take off
  for flight.
         With a fair fundamental knowledge that I had acquired by
  studying, by being a good listener, and by asking questions, I learned to
  fly after having spent three hours and forty-five minutes under Roscoe's
  competent instruction.  It took me almost a month to complete the three
  and three quarter hours of my lessons.  At the end of that time I was
  ready to pilot a ship for I successfully completed my solo flight.  We
  had only the one ship that Roscoe owned when I first met him.  Our
  profits were increasing.  The time had come for expansion in the
  newly-formed flying circus.
          Roscoe was enthusiastic over adding to the circus which was well
  on its way.  He knew a man in St.Louis who had offered to sponsor him
  whenever Roscoe wished to add to his planes.  The sponsor, Mr. Curlee,
  was a former Corinth boy who was quite an airplane fan as well as a close
  friend of Roscoe.  He was willing to finance the material needed to
  complete our circus.  In turn for the interest on the investment we
  agreed to carry Mr. Curlee's advertisement, painted on the lower wings
  and fuselage of the two new ships that were to be added.  For the initial
  investment there was an understanding that we would pay our sponsor as
  soon as business made it possible for us to do so.  To further assist us,
  Mr. Curlee gave us permission to carry his sales representatives to
  distant towns at the rate of eighty cents per mile.  Thereby, the
  advertising campaign for Curlee Clothes was greatly enlarged over the
  whole Middle West, and we were aided in making money in our otherwise
  idle hours.
          The two ships added a great deal to our passenger business.  One
  of them was like the first one we owned, an OX Standard.  The second
  plane was a larger ship, known as a French Brequet, powered with a
  Renault motor.  The French ship had been built as a bomber by the French
  Government during the World War.  AFter the war closed an aircraft
  company in Chicago bought some of the planes and remodeled them for
  carrying passengers.  Our Brequet was large enough to accommodate four
  passengers and a pilot.  We, as well as others, admired the Brequet for
  it was one of the largest passenger carrying ships, penetrating the South
  at that period.  With a plane of such great proportions and the two small
  planes we did a rushing business.    [pp. 74-81]


  CHAPTER VIII - TIGHT SPOTS

          We continued to work out of Sheffield and promoted Trades Days in
  other cities where we had some odd, funny, and breath-taking experiences
  which I call tight spots.  Roscoe and I were aided by a few handy boys
  and an advance man.  The advance man booked the shows while we were
  working at our regular exhibition work and passenger carrying in
  Sheffield.  The arrangement was very satisfactory.  On those days when
  there was nothing to do in Sheffield we put on a show arranged for by our
  advance man and brought home a few hundred dollars for an afternoon's
  performance.
          One tight spot came soon after we finished a pre-Christmas Trades
  Day in a town near Water Valley, Mississippi.  Both of us had promised
  friends at Corinth that we would be home for Christmas following the
  close of our Trades Day on Christmas Eve.  About three o'clock that
  afternoon a heavy overcast formed and the weather was quite cold.  In
  fact, it was near the freezing point by five o'clock and snow flurries
  limited the visibility to a mile.  Snow discouraged our take off.
          "Christmas morning will be just as good," Turner suggested.  I
  agreed.  Christmas morning we arose to find the weather colder and
  visibility even worse than that of the night before.  Roscoe, because he
  had promised his wife that he would spend the first Christmas with her,
  made a great effort to make his promise good.      [December 25, 1924]
          "Art, on this trip home we'll have to do something to keep the
  radiator from freezing.  Let's put a gallon of alcohol in it.  That ought
  to hold it," suggested Roscoe.
          "It's not a bad idea.  Don't you think we should cover it too?
          "Yes, get some cardboard over there at the store and fasten it
  over the radiator with safety wires while I have somebody drive me in for
  a gallon of alcohol.
          In a short while we were ready for the take-off to Corinth.  My
  last instructions from Roscoe were to climb out on the wing and remove
  some of the cardboard in case the motor ran hot.  We circled the field
  and at about five hundred feet altitude and headed for Corinth.
          In a while Roscoe gave me the signal that the motor was getting
  hot and I tore off about four inches of the cardboard and returned to the
  cockpit.  It was extra cold, and the longer I sat the colder I got, over
  Water Valley I turned around to Roscoe and motioned, "Let's land.  I am
  cold."  He replied in the negative and motioned he thought we could make
  it.  After flying some thirty or forty miles I began to feel much warmer,
  but did not realize that my feet and hands were slowly freezing.
          When we arrived over Corinth, we passed up our usual circle or
  two that we usually made over and near Roscoe's home, but flew straight
  for the Suratt field and landed.  We taxied up to the usual place where
  we tied the ship down and covered the motor.  I climbed out of the ship
  and jumped off the lower panel to the ground.  At this moment I realized
  that something was wrong as I could not feel my feet.  My hands and feet
  were numb.  I said to Roscoe, "I believe my hands and feet are frozen."
  He replied that he knew his were, and when he got out he wabbled as if he
  were walking on stilts.  Mr Suratt was coming through the gate and called
  to us saying, "Aren't you fellows frozen?"  But little did he think that
  we were as bad off as we really were.  Upon telling Mr. Suratt, a well
  seasoned farmer, how I feld he immediately took us to the corner of the
  barn where a large wooden tub had been placed to catch rain water.  He
  broke the ice in the tub and told us both to step into this water and to
  stick our hands in.  After some ten or fifteen minutes I began to feel
  sharp pains.  Roscoe complained he was suffering considerable pain as
  well.  Suratt told us we must stay in the water for a while.  We later
  went to his house and pulled off our shoes and stockings.  Mr. Suratt and
  his wife assisted us in massaging our feet and hands.
          Mrs. Turner and my fiancee soon joined us at Suratt's where they
  assisted the rescuing squad in massaging our hands and feet to normalcy.
  The pain was quite severe for hours.  Without the quick thinking of Mr.
  Suratt I do believe we might have suffered slight disability.  But,
  frozen feet or no frozen feet, we were home for Christmas dinner.
          Another tight spot came for me the following spring while putting
  on a Trades Day show at Water Valley, Mississippi.  I experienced one of
  the most unusual landings that I have ever heard of.  To make the jump I
  left the ship at an altitude of forty-five hundred feet over the business
  section of the town in order to avoid landing on the trees, houses, or
  telephone wires in the widely scattered residential section.  Soon I
  drifted toward a field that we had previously picked for my landing.
          In the field were cows, mules, a few horses, and a bull that was
  in a small pen near the southeast corner.  As I neared the field, it was
  evident that I wasn't going to land where I expected to, and I began to
  wonder if I would get in the field at all.  When some of the stock saw me
  coming they ran.  A few animals were lying down and they got up and ran.
  The bull was pawing and snorting in the pen which was about fifty feet
  from the fence.  There was one cow, apparently unaware of my approach,
  which was lying between the bull pen and the fence lazily chewing her
  cud.  At this moment I realized there was a possibility of my landing on
  this cow and yelled out at the top of my lungs, "Hoy! Hoy, there!"  The
  cow attempted to rise as I landed squarely on her neck, and fell forward
  over her head and sprawled at full length.  The canopy of the chute
  settled over the fence of the bull pen.  The bull, now in a rage, hooked
  his horns into the chute.  I managed to get to my feet after rolling
  clear of the stampeding cow and pulled the chute in from over the bull
  pen fence.
          Usually, there is an advance crowd of youngsters who manage by
  various methods of transportation to be on the job when the parachute
  jumper lands, and this time was no exception for it brought a great
  supply to see the peculiar sight.  A small truck turned off the main road
  into a farm lane which ran parallel to the fence where I landed.  Before
  the truck came to a stop both black and white specimens of boyhood,
  including a number of freckled-faced redheads started piling off the rack
  and hopping the fence.  Some climbed the fence to get a better view of
  the wonder.  It was embarrassing enough for me to land on a cow's neck,
  but my embarrassment grew when a later comer yelled, "Ah!  Lookie!
  What's on his face!"  The white suit was no longer white and my face did
  need attention.
          Roscoe had received word from Mr. Curlee one windy March [Tues,
  3/17/1925] day that he wished Turner to fly one of his salesmen from St.
  Louis to Milwaukee.  I flew down to help him replace the motor for a new
  one before his take off to Milwaukee with the Curlee representative.  At
  Cairo we landed to take on gas and oil and headed northwest toward St.
  Louis.  A short distance from Cairo we ran into a low ceiling of fog. The
  fog was moving in the direction that we were traveling.  Three or four
  times we landed, in hopes the fog would clear.  The first time we landed,
  we waited about fifteen minues.  For several miles ahead the sky looked
  clear.  Each time we were forced down, the sky appeared to clear enough
  for us to make another attempt.  The third forced landing we made in a
  field near a large, white farm house.
          As our hopes of reaching the hangar that day were gone, we asked
  the farmer for lodging and the privilege of tying our ship down in his
  field for the night.  He gladly consented.  Well into the morning we sat
  and talked about airplanes, his prize Holsteins, crops, and farms with
  the hospitable farmer and his wife.  The following morning we offered to
  give the couple the airplane ride that we had promised them the evening
  before.  After their night's sleep they changed their minds about taking
  the risk and refused our offer.  Instead of taking our entertainment they
  showed us points of interest from one side of the farm to the other,
  including the place where the old farm hosue sat and the path through the
  woods that had once been a road for the covered wagon train of the Forty
  Niners on their way west.  At the barn door, we were introduced to Old
  Maud, a pet Holstein cow, that had been an orphan calf on the farm years
  ago.  The farmer said she wasn't worth her keep as a milk cow, but his
  wife fed her an ear of corn as she insisted the old cow had won her keep
  for a life time for being such a pet.  Already we had wasted too much
  time on the trip to St. Louis, and we insisted that we must take off.
  The elderly couple hated to see us leave.  They said they liked to have
  guests drop in.  And guests of theirs we were, for they would not take
  one penny for their services to us.
          Much later than we expected to leave we headed out again in the
  direction of the field we failed to reach the day before.  Before we had
  flown more than an hour we could see troubled skies in the distance and
  could feel the choppiness of the air.  Our knowledge of meteorology was
  practically nothing, and we did not suspect any great storm.  We gave way
  to the right.  But as we flew along, that distant sky and horizon became
  much more dense than before and more treacherous looking.  All the while
  the air became choppier until our safety belts kept us in place in those
  open cockpits.  We gradually lost altitude.  Roscoe, in order to pick up
  a wing, dived the ship, as a ship of that type was well under powered for
  such a storm.  Desperately we tried to continue, but at last we gave up
  and landed ont he ground in a field along a highway near some Standard
  Oil reserve tanks.  We hardly set the landing gear on the ground before
  the velocity of the wind increased so that Roscoe had to "rev" the motor
  to help hold the ship against the wind.  Some attendants from the
  Standard Oil station ran over to help us.  One attendant held the outer
  bay strut of one wing.  I held the other, and the second helper held the
  tail group.  There we struggled with a full throttle and all the man
  power we had to keep our plane from the destruction of the wind.  hardly
  had the wind let up its terrific gale, when a cloud burst followed.  It
  appeared as if the bottom of the ocean had given way over our heads.  We
  could not see five feet ahead of us.  One exteme led to another.  From
  wind to rain and from rain to brilliant sunshine the weather changed
  within an hour's time.
          Again we found we would be detained, because our motor would not
  start.  The magnetos were soaking wet.  A station attendant came to our
  assistance once more and took us to his home where we dried the magnetos
  in an oven over a slow fire.  This was a very particular task.  If too
  much heat was applied the small coils would melt.  They required constant
  attention and about two hours before they were completely dry.  By the
  time the magnetos were in place and the motor was again working normally
  we had lost several hours that we had planned to use to good advantage in
  flight and in the motor change.
          Shocking news reached us and changed our plans before we were
  ready to take off for St. Louis.  A tornado had stripped the country
  before us in a path that reached through the city of St. Louis itself.
  Hundreds were killed, and the property damage was estimated to be more
  than a million dollars.  We did not know which way to continue.
  Telegraph lines and telephone lines were out of commission, allowing no
  communication with distant cities and little or no service in the
  paralyzed city.  The hangar that we had hoped to reach was at Angleum,
  Missouri, about fifteen miles beyond St.Louis.  We concluded to land at
  Belleville, Illinois and catch a bus from that out-lying city rather than
  to take unnecessary chances in finding a place to land at the airport.
          At Belleville we were informed that the death toll was mounting
  fast, and the damage to property was greater than it had first been
  reported to be.  Our bus carried us on through tree-stripped sections
  near the city limits of St. Louis where the desolute wind-torn flooded
  region lay.  Once in a while the monotony of the lifeless city was broken
  by the appearance of a khaki clad, armed guard.  Otherwise humanity and
  the usual flock of pet mongrels had abandoned the region of debris they
  once knew as home.
          Passing through the great expanse of newly-formed havoc, we
  continued to Angleum, the home of the Robinson Aircraft Company, where we
  found the hangars intact and learned the airport was outside the
  tornado's path.  The tornado had passed between our location and that of
  the airport, the territory that we were slow in reaching.  Our late start
  from the farm stop of the night before was likely responsible for our
  missing the worst part of the twister which left little but destruction
  after it.
          A large banquet and sales convention with Mr. Curlee and his
  representatives at the Annex Hotel in St.Louis climaxed the exciting day
  and caused us to forget some of the misery that we knew lay about us.
  The convention had been announced weeks in advance, and business had to
  go on in the face of castastrophe.
          On our way back to Angleum by plane the next morning we saw one
  of the worst scenes of destruction that has ever stretched before our
  eyes.  Trees of huge dimensions, representing hundreds of years in
  growth, houses, telegraph poles, and general debris had been catapulted
  into or on the ground in a disorderly fashion.  Brick houses had crumbled
  and fallen in heaps.  Remains of household furniture cluttered the tops
  of a few large, remaining elms.  Sides of houses were sliced away,
  leaving the household exposed much as that of a doll's house when the
  side swings back, allowing the youngsters to arrange her charges in their
  resepective rooms.  Yet from our position in the air we missed details in
  the remains of the violent storm which a rescuing party might readily
  have seen.
          Many stories of the unfortunate reached us by the time we were
  installing the new motor in our old OX Standard.  One of the mechanics
  lost his entire family.  His neighbor's dog was found on the roof of a
  three story building.  Straws of dry grass were driven into bodies and
  into the weather boarding of some wrecked frame houses near his home.
  The parts man told the story that touched us most when Roscoe paid the
  bill for the new motor which we had installed.
          "Boys, Mr. Robinson allowed you seventy-five dollars on the old
  motor.  The balance is one seventy-five.  Say, did you hear me talking to
  that guy over there by the Canuck?" he motioned to the opposite side of
  the hangard.  "That fellow said that the farm you fellows were talking
  about, where you made your forced landing had every building wiped off of
  it.  With the exception of an old Holstein cow, all the live stock were
  killed.  The old folks are lucky to be alive."
          The old folks had experienced more than a tight spot with nothing
  left them but old Maude.    [pp. 82-93]     [See NOTE 1 below]


  CHAPTER IX - A REAL ESTATE CRASH PUT ME ON THE ROAD AGAIN

          The Turner Flying Circus kept growing after we added the two new
  ships until we found it necessary to add another pilot.  Roscoe and I
  enjoyed our popularity and encouraged it for the sake of business by
  being good showmen.  In the hotel we had a nice suite of rooms.  We
  entertained often, spent lavishly, and dressed well.  Business was good
  and continued to be good for months.
          When it became known that Henry Ford was not going to take over
  the dam as was anticipated, the bubble burst.  The boom was built on
  supposition.  Ford had planned, it was said, to use Muscle Shoals for two
  purposes, that of making inexpensive fertilizer nitrates suitable for
  agricultural purposes, and that of generating electricity which could be
  furnished throughout the entire region at a low rate.  In the face of
  this official announcement of Ford's halted move, the boom quickly began
  to wane.  We could easily see that it would be a short time until
  business would be restored to normal conditions.
          Early that spring I had received a telegram from Gates who was
  putting on the air show at the Mardi Gras in New Orleans.  He asked me to
  become his new Diabolo, and to further induce me he telegraphed the
  railroad ticket.  Gates made me a good offer, but I preferred to remain
  with Roscoe.  I knew if I joined the Gates Flying Circus I would become
  another one of the numerous Diabolos.  With Roscoe I was the featured
  stunt man under my own name and shared half of the net receipts.  I had
  chosen to stay with the latter.
          Now, the unfavorable conditions that were growing in the
  Sheffield district alarmed us.  Real estate companies could no longer
  offer us money for our shows.  Passenger carrying was at a standstill.
  There was nothing left for us to do at Sheffield in our line of work.  We
  knew it would be difficult for one man to make a living with the circus.
  I felt certain there would be something for me to do back at my old
  training grounds in Huntington or with Gates.  Roscoe could continue
  alone with the circus.  Our partnership was dissolved soon after the real
  estate crashed in Sheffield.
          The responsibility fo the Turner Flying Circus had hardly been
  shifted from my shoulders until I took upon myself a responsibility that
  lasted much longer than the first one mentioned.  The second
  responsibility was that of a charming, blond bride from Corinth.
          About two weeks following our marriage my wife and I took off for
  Tupelo in our OX Standard, accompanied by a fox terrier, Margie.
  Apparently, our mascot did not enjoy its first trip by air, for she kept
  Mrs. Starnes busy holding her as she invariably wanted to jump out.  When
  we came to a stop at the ball park in Tupelo, Marge jumped.  She was
  squeezing herself under the fence near the grand stand the last time we
  ever saw our pet.
          For two weeks in Tupelo, my work took up much of our honeymoon.
  People came to the field and asked for rides.  One afternoon the son of a
  department store owner and I took pictures of Tupelo that were later used
  on picture post cards.  No advertising was necessary to get business.
  Airplanes advertised themselves.  When our ship landed in town,
  curiosity drew people to it, and business followed.
          The honeymoon in the air was not all smooth sailing.  We
  continued on to Jackson, Tennessee where we made a short visit which
  included passenger carrying.  From there we attempted to fly to
  Louisville, Kentucky which lies beyond the Tennessee Mountains from
  Jackson...   [pp. 93-96]

          ...In Franklin, before our take off for Huntington [West
  Virginia], my old training grounds, I thought of Carrigan, the
  blindfolded auto endurance driver who had encouraged me to go South.  Mr.
  Doyle too, was largely responsible for my staying in Corinth long enough
  to meet the hometown flier.  Through our little chat over a cup of
  steaming hot coffee I had a chance to become a partner in the Turner
  Flying circus, learn to know intimately one of aviation's leading fliers
  and speed demons who recently won the 1938 Thompson Trophy Race at
  Cleveland, also setting a new world's record on the ten mile closed
  course.   [p. 98]


         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        Source:  Arthur H. Starnes.  AERIAL MANIAC:  My Experience as a
                 Wing Walker and a Parachute Jumper. Hammond, Indiana:
                 Delaney Printing Company,  1938.


        NOTE 1:  According to the St. Louis STAR of Thursday, March 19,
  1925, a tornado swept through 5 states on Wednesday, March 18, 1925.  The
  path of the storm was 10 miles wide and crossed from South of St.Louis
  between St. Genevieve and Cape Girardeau into and across Illinois
  Northeast into Indiana.  Offshoots of the storm struck in Kentucky and
  Tennessee.  Estimates of the dead in the storm were over 1,000 and
  injured more than 2,000.  This is the only storm during this time period
  that Art Starnes could have been referring to, although it did not reach
  St. Louis directly.



      Data transcription by:  Milton Sandy, Jr. October 30, 1993.



  The Weekly Corinthian, Vol. XXX, #19, Thurs, May 7, 1925:
  p. 3 , c. 4  -

  CORINTH GIRL IS
       WEDDED WEDNESDAY
            AT TUSCUMBIA, ALA.

       Mr. and Mrs. W.S. Hamilton announce the marriage of their daughter
  Charley, to A.A.Starnes of this city, on Wednesday evening, April 29, at
  8 o'clock at the home of her sister Mrs. John B. Pounds at Tuscumbia,
  Ala.
       Mrs. Starnes is one of the most attractive girls of Corinth, and her
  host of friends will be interested in her marriage.  The groom is
  connected with Roscoe Turner, the aviator, as stunt flyer, and has made
  his home in Corinth for some time.  After a few days the young couple
  will be at home to their friends at the home of the bride's parents on
  Childs street.  Rev. J.A. Morris of Tuscumbia, pronounced the ceremony.