I first became interested in aviation at about age 10. My grandfather, George Schuyler Tarbell, an attorney practicing in Ithaca, New York, became interested in improving the Ithaca Airport and in building a suitable hanger for the few airplanes which flew from there.
He came down from Ithaca to Roosevelt Field and took me along on a surveillance flight in a three-engine Stinson Model U. After the flight was completed, I was totally hooked on learning more about flying, piloting and the many aspects of aviation.
When I was 14 (in 1937), and at Ithaca Airport, my Aunt, Louise Tarbell Hospital, who knew the airport manager, asked him, "Why don't you take Jim up for a ride." The manager, whose name I've forgotten, called over a pilot named Bull, and told him to take me up for a ride in a black Brunner Winkle Bird bi-plane.
Bull, who was no more that a year older than I was, told me to climb into the back cockpit, and we taxied to the end of the runway. Bull shouted, "You know what to do. Hold the stick forward until the tail comes up and then pull back on the stick."
With that. Bull opened the throttle full and we went bouncing down the runway. Bull had both hands in the air to signal me what to do. I followed his instructions, and when I pulled back on the stick the Bird staggered into the air and nearly stalled. Bull quickly brought his hands down to the stick, got the airplane flying straight and level, and then turned over the flight to me.
Once in the air I flew the Brunner Winkle for about a half hour, mostly over Cayuga Lake. Bull signalled me to an approach. I thought, "Is this guy going to make me land this plane?" Just at the edge of the runway Bull took over, landed, and I had my first lesson in piloting.

Between then and World War II, I only managed to get in a flight or two, because that old bugaboo, money, kept me from taking more lessons.
During WWII, assigned from Officer Candidate School to the field artillery, I made a number of flights in Piper J3s, as an artillery observer. I loved it. However, when my Division went into combat in Italy, our battalion commander decided that two other officers should be our observers. I begged for the job but never got to fly -- I was too "valuable" as a ground-pounding observer to be sent 30 miles behind the lines to fly when the weather was good, which i t often wasn't.
The day the war in Italy was over, May 5, 1945, headquarters cut orders for me to fly! I enjoyed flying about 10 hours a month for several months while on occupation. One time we landed on a beach near Trieste, and went for a swim. Tough duty!
After completing college at Cornell, getting married, helping to bring up three children, I seldom had time to fly, and didn't have the money to spare for flying.
Then one day a few years ago, when at Republic Airport in East Farmingdale on some errand, the noises of engines warming up, the beauty of watching light planes taking off and landing, flipped on some nascent switch in me and I couldn't wait to get flying again.
So, I signed up for lessons then and there and also at East Hampton which had a flying school not far from where we spent our summers on Shelter Island.
In time I made the grade, flew over to Groton-New London airport for my checkride and was happy to get my "pink ticket" on first try, which allowed me to fly until my Private Pilot Certificate came from the Federal Aviation Administration office in Oklahoma (in 1974 – I was 72).
Since then, I've only logged about 400 hours in planes such as Cessna 172s and Piper Warriors, but they have been great experiences. From Republic Airport on Long Island, I've flown as far east as Block Island, RI, as far northeast as Plymouth, MA, as far north as Pittsfield, MA, and as far west, as a small strip just east of Allentown, PA.
I've made a point of visiting as many airports as I could, all of them within an easy one hour's flight time. In all, I have had the pleasure of flying to and back from 21 airports. A few of them had towers, more had Unicom, and some of them had no ground control at all -- just look for other airplanes in the local pattern and when sure you're clear, just set the plane down. The tower and unicorn people, many of them pilots themselves, were simply great in getting me in safely.
That's my story, and I wouldn't trade it for any other experience of any kind in this world!