Evelyn Sharp Field ~ Ord, Nebrsaka
The picture above is Evelyn Sharp Field in Ord, Nebraska - the town where Evelyn lived and learned to fly back in 1935. The P-38 propeller hangs as a memorial to Evelyn who lost her life while flying a P-38 over Harrisburg, Pennsylvania during the war in 1944.For various reasons, I felt compelled to travel back to Ord in April of 1994 on the 50th Anniversary of Evelyn death. The anniversary happened to fall on Easter that year. Below is a story about my visit to Ord that spring. It was magical visit I'll never forget.
One dark and cold December day in 1993, an old friend came to visit. The love and warmth she brought into my life changed me forever.
In the year 1944 a young woman stepped into the cockpit of a United States military airplane and prepared to take off. As the twin engine fighter left the ground one of its engines failed. Evelyn Sharp was respected as one of the most competent and experienced female pilots to fly for the military during World War II. On that day in April of '44 she proved that that respect was well warranted. She did everything right. Rather than try and turn back to the field, she knew her only chance would be to keep the plane level and make a forced landing.
Finding a grassy knoll, she successfully pancaked the airplane on the ground only to have the front landing gear be driven up through the cockpit. This thrust Evelyn up into the cockpit's canopy breaking her neck. The young woman who had loved flying more than anything else in life had made her last flight.
Fifty years later, Evelyn is passing on to me the knowledge gained through her sudden exit. There is no question as to why she has popped into my life. It's a matter of life and living - living without the fear that stops us from loving ourselves enough to believe. What follows is a story telling of my unforgettable visit to Ord, Nebraska.
*** ONLY IN SPIRIT ***
I see a scene that is surreal to me. Denise and I turn onto the small airfield named after Evelyn Sharp. It is 11:30 p.m., the night before Easter and also the 50th anniversary of Evelyn's death. The night is cold and my throat hurts so bad that I can barely swallow. I wear my World War II leather flying jacket with its soft, thick fleece collar. As we turn into the horseshoe shaped drive to the strip I see a scene that leaves me speechless.
I park the car. Both Denise and I just sit and take in what is in front of us. There is music playing in the car. It is magical music that brings the images in front of us to life. At that moment it is as if we are inside a Steven Spielberg movie. To the left stands a 50-foot tall tower with a white rotating beacon on top. As this beacon rhythmically rotates it gives the illusion of moving diagonally rather than horizontally, with the beam of light gently caressing the frozen ground with each circling.
To the right of the beacon is the faintest of images, an airplane. So dim is its outline that it seems to me a ghost image that could vanish at any second. On the ground, just below the plane, misty blue taxi lights lead out to a small, surfaced runway. The glow of the light is so rich in color that just looking at them takes me deeper into myself.
My heart is open and I am filled with wonder. It feels as though if anyone else drives up, Denise and I will still be the only ones able to see this surreal scene as if it was created for us alone. Standing next to the ghost plane is a small operator's building painted the color of Nebraska fields after the corn has been harvested - golden with a wheat brown trim.
After being taken in by this scene for some time, Denise whispers,
"You know what we have to do?"
"What?", I say.
"We have to walk the runway."
I smile to myself and reply, “Okay”.
We get out of our warm car and enter out into the freezing cold Nebraska night. I zip up my leather jacket and button my fleece collar to cover my throat. I’m amazed at how willing I am to venture out into the cold night when I could easily be lying sick in bed. This entire trip to Ord, Nebraska has been strange in this way. I began getting sick the day I arrived and find that the feeling of having daggers thrust into my neck every time I swallow doesn't seem to bother me. The pain is there, but it doesn't affect my ability to experience the magic of the trip.
The lighted taxiway extends only 25 feet and by the time we reach the small runway my hands, ears, and nose feel on the verge of frostbite. But again, it doesn't stop me from absorbing the experience. The night is dark. I look up to the sky and find it filled with the brightest, sharpest stars I have seen in years. As Denise and I walk we are ten feet away from each other, but it is so dark we cannot see one another. Denise seems playfully frightened, so I poke fun.
"What are you afraid of? There's nobody out here except maybe a coyote or two. Nothing is going to happen. We're meant to be here."
Opposite of Denise, I feel safe and at home.
As we approach the runway I want to walk alone, so I separate myself from Denise even further. Within seconds, I have no clue where I am in relationship to her. We both sense the need to go off and explore the runway alone, solo.
Stepping onto the runway, I look down to the right and in the distance I see red lights. To the left, at the other end of the runway, red and white lights glow. I decide to go left. The red and white lights seem more inviting.
Walking alone, I suddenly feel expanded - huge. I want to embrace the night sky with my arms, but the cold prevents that from happening. My hands stay warmly nestled in the pockets of my jacket and I walk briskly. I look up to see an umbrella of stars. I feel protected. Far off in the distance a dog barks. That, plus the constant swirling of wind around my ears and my rapid cold breaths are the only sounds heard.
In this moment I am connected to all I see and hear and everything I cannot see nor hear. I am walking in total darkness, on a tiny airstrip at midnight, in a remote Nebraska town; it is frigid cold, my throat is killing me, and I am feeling more connected to myself and my purpose than I ever have in my life.
As I walk further down the airstrip, my eyes latch onto a lighted windsock that stands out in the middle of the field. The orange sock, which aviators use to determine wind direction, is attached to a tall pole that has four small lights atop that illuminate the nylon cone. The brightly lit sock demands to be looked at. So far out by itself, it is on center stage. I keep walking down the surfaced runway in the direction of the windsock, my eyes never leaving it. As I get closer I begin to hear the sound of it rippling in the wind.
The lit object stands alone in the dark commanding every part of me. I stop at the edge of the runway, transfixed. It feels as though I cannot take my eyes from it. I just stand and stare. My mind and body have gone to another place. With my eyes fixed, I realize that memories of this place are rushing through me. It all feels so familiar, everything: the stars, the wind, the cold, the windsock, especially the windsock. It brings to me an encompassing feeling of love.
Then I begin to feel something that is not familiar. I look to the left and then to the right. The red and white lights at the ends of the strip don’t make sense to me. Neither does the hard asphalt surfacing under my feet. The only thing my mind and body can make sense of is the lit orange sock, off in the distance. The runway lights and surfacing seem so unfamiliar that they give me a disturbed feeling inside. They should not be here.
I step off the surfaced runway onto the hard Nebraska earth. Now, it all makes sense to me. The windsock is my focal point and the memories come. I am not a 35-year-old woman standing in this field. But, it is 1937 and I am a 16-year-old girl named Evelyn Sharp and this is the field where I learned to fly. My energy and Evelyn's mesh together as I stand on the good earth. I feel as though I have been transported to another time. The grass field and the windsock, this is what Evelyn knew, understood, and loved. They didn't have red and white lights or surfaced runways here in 1937.
A period of time rushed through my body. No definite or clear visual images, just the feelings of her life as a young girl. Some of the memories are sad, but most are of joy and happiness at the chance to experience and feel her own memories through a living human being: me.
I can feel the love she felt toward all I was seeing and feeling: the windsock, the solid cold ground beneath my feet. The same ground she walked as she dreamed of becoming a flyer. I feel waves of love directed toward me for participating in this odd adventure. When I arrived in Ord I never realized the visit would leave me feeling so connected to not only Evelyn, but to myself.
As I stand in the cold night I am transfixed on the orange sock whipping in the distance. I begin the 50-yard trek across the field. All of my senses are magnified a thousand times. Each blade of grass reaches up through my shoes to leave their imprint on the bottom of my feet. The crunching ground as I walk, the brush of frigid air across the soft hair on my face, and a pulsing heart that wants to jump out of my chest to better love everything in its path. I feel huge, like a giant. I am filled with everything I see, touch, hear, and sense. All increased now to what seems ten thousand fold.
The brightly lit sock pulls me closer until I stand directly beneath it. Head cocked backward, I look up as it ripples in the wind. As the remembering continues I can feel myself get greedy. I want to know more. What exactly am I remembering and maybe if I concentrate harder the memories will become clearer. With that thought, the memories instantly stop. It's as if I just snapped out of it. I still feel connected to all that surrounds me, but the memories of Evelyn and her past leave. I pick up a piece of pipe that has broken off the windsock pole, put it in my pocket, and walk back to the runway to find Denise.
Although the memories of Evelyn had vanished, I knew I would return later that night, alone.
