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© P & A Photos
STULTZ IN THE COCKPIT OF THE FRIENDSHIP LOOKING AFT BETWEEN THE GASOLINE TANKS
TWO MUSKETEERS AND—WHAT IS A FEMININE MUSKETEER?
We had expected a pretty routine landing and so I crawled into the cockpit to take pictures of the reception committee. But as a matter of fact Friendship’s arrival resembled a rodeo. At once a dozen small boats began to circle madly about us, the local motto seeming to be that the early boat catches the plane. It happened that we had arranged for a mooring of our own to which we wished to be directed. But each local optimist felt that if he contrived to get us in tow first he could take the prize to his own mooring and reap appropriate reward.
Poised in the bows of the launches each maritime cowboy whirled aloft a coil of rope, attempting to cast it at us. Slim, out on the pontoon, was doing his best to keep clear and yelled frantically to ward them off. The noise of the idling motors, augmented by the racket of the small boats, made hearing difficult. I was convulsed with laughter. In the cockpit, Bill, I fear, was talking to God about it. What concerned him most was the risk of ropes becoming entangled in the propellers, and especially the danger to the visitors themselves in getting too close to whirling props. At the height of the excitement enthusiasm completely overcame one would-be welcomer. He hurled his rope and landed a bull’s eye on Slim, nearly knocking him into the water. Fortunately I couldn’t hear what Slim said; at best his enthusiasm for marine affairs was never notable.
The tempo of the maritime merry-go-round was extraordinary. Truly, I’ve never had a more entertaining half hour.
Finally we contrived to get the thought across that the most we wanted was to be guided to our own mooring, which we could reach under our own power. Andy Fulgoni, Paramount camera man, finally caught the idea and circling around in his own launch contrived to clear the way for us. In due course, Bill sailed to the mooring and made fast.