experience chiefly concerned the analysis of problems of passenger carrying and operation costs. At West Point he had been selected for the all-American football team, had established track records which still hold there, and was a member of several Olympic teams. He also contrived to play base ball and basketball.
Of Collins and his varied flying career many stories are told. His nickname, by the way, is “Dog”—for some reason. I once asked him whether he’d ever had to use a parachute.
“Yes, I’m a caterpillar”, he admitted.
“How did it happen?”, I inquired.
“Well,” he answered, “years ago when I was flying the night mail between New York and Cleveland, I got into a bad storm.” Then he described how, in the buffeting that ensued, a wing came off his plane. At first he didn’t know what had happened, as he could not see outside the cockpit. But in a second he realized he would have to jump. Cutting off the motor, he bailed out and waited for his chute to open. Very shortly it did—clear of the disabled ship he had just left.
An exquisite feeling of relief surged over him as he found himself safe and sound several thousand feet above the crowd. When he jumped, he was over a heavily wooded section of Pennsylvania. As he settled down through the darkness, a thought suddenly struck him which spoiled his entire journey earthward. His relief of a few moments before was replaced by anxiety.
