Mr. Spinney was standing on a ladder cutting off dead tree limbs when he suddenly had chest pains. He climbed down from the ladder and called to his daughter. She immediately took him to a local hospital. She was understandably concerned - Mr. Spinney was 90 years old. Mr. Spinney became my father’s “room mate”. When I met him he was feeling better but decided to quit smoking. He began the habit when he was 14.

After talking with my dad I eventually spoke with Mr. Spinney. I asked him if he was in the military. He said he was. Mr. Spinney had flown French NEUPORTs for the Lafayette Escadrille. He still had his leather jacket worn in combat over France.

After talking awhile Mr. Spinney said; “You know about the synchronized machine guns that were supposed to shoot through the propeller? Didn’t work! I damned near shot myself down with my own bullets! They went everywhere, bouncing off the propeller. One time, I shot off some of the wing cables and had quite the time trying to land.”

True or not, now he had me. I asked him if he remembered his grandfathers. This would put them at the time of the Civil War.

“I remember my Grandpa. When we were kids, he used to tell us he was there where the bullets were thickest – He hid under the ammunition wagon!”

I was with a living time machine. I asked him if he talked with his grandfather about his ancestry. He told me a remarkable story, which I will never forget. Mr. Spinney’s grandfather told him about his grandfather. He said one day his father took him to town to meet a special visitor. Everyone gathered around the post office that day to talk with a veteran of the Revolutionary War. He actually managed to wiggle his way through the crowd and talk with the Continental soldier. So I talked with a man who talked with someone who talked with someone who fought in the 1770’s.

Now we went back to the future. I asked him if he was current with modern aviation. He subscribed and read Aviation Week and was knowledgeable about all modern aircraft. The conversation went to development of the YF-29 fighter jet. “You know, the military will never accept this plane. It’s too complicated. A pilot can’t fight in a contraption like that!”

He was right. No one could fly the jet without help from the ground or a vast array of computers. The YF-29 died in its infancy. Mr. Spinney died on that same year too; age 96. His life spanned two centuries and he took three hundred years of history with him. I consider myself fortunate to have met such a man.