C. T. Suddeth

Thunder over Lake Erie

When I was 14, my father, Charles G. Suddeth, renedt a 4 passenger airplane (Cessna, I think) Two of his friends came along, one of them had just got his pilot’s license. Dad sat upfront, me behind Dad. We took off from Detroit Municipal Airport bound for Cleveland, Ohio. It was a straight flight across Lake Erie.

Halfway across the lake, we ran into bad weather—literally, when we ran into clouds, the plane seemed to shudder and stall. I didn’t car. Then I looked at the pilot’s face—bloodless, eyes wide—he was scared. Now I was terrified, all I could see below was water—going down meant sinking beneath the waves.

The pilot muttered, We better turn around. No one argued. He changed course, and I started breathing again. We got back to the Detroit airport—I almost kissed the tarmac. I haven’t been on a private plane again.