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  • Kenneth L Swanson
  • Kenneth L Swanson

    Foil: 15 Panel: 2 Column: 1 Line: 64

    Wall of Honor Level:
    Air and Space Friend

    Honored by:
    Mr. Thomas Swanson

    Kenneth L. Swanson (1930-2010) of Jamestown, NY, and Yuma and Prescott, AZ was an adventurist. He could be found many weekends parasailing or riding all terrain cycles in the sand dunes west of Yuma, AZ, or on a sailboat on the lake at Senator Wash, AZ. However, his real passion was aviation, especially flying sailplanes, a love he successfully passed on to his son, Lt Col Thomas G Swanson, USAF, and grandsons, Capt Nathaniel T. Swanson, USMC, and 1LT Nicholas R. Swanson, USAF. He was a licensed pilot, a longtime member of the Soaring Society of America, a sailplane owner, and a board of director of both the Yuma Soaring Association and the Prescott Soaring Society. He was a past president of the Prescott Soaring Society. He was also active in the Yuma Council of the Navy League.

    Flying West
    I hope there's a place, way up in the sky
    Where pilots can go when they have to die.
    A place where a guy could buy a cold beer
    For a friend and a comrade whose memory is dear.
    A place where no doctor or lawyer could tread,
    Nor a management-type would e'ler be caught dead!
    Just a quaint little place, kind of dark, full of smoke,
    Where they like to sing loud, and love a good joke.
    The kind of a place that a lady could go
    And feel safe and secure by the men she would know.
    There must be a place where old pilots go,
    When their wings become heavy, when their airspeed gets low,
    Where the whiskey is old, and the women are young,
    And songs about flying and dying are sung.
    Where you'd see all the fellows who'd 'flown west' before,
    And they'd call out your name, as you came through the door,
    Who would buy you a drink, if your thirst should be bad,
    And relate to the others, "He was quite a good lad!"
    And there, through the mist, you'd spot an old guy
    You had not seen in years, though he'd taught you to fly.
    He'd nod his old head, and grin ear to ear
    And say, "Welcome, my Son, I'm proud that you're here!
    For this is the place where true flyers come
    When the battles are over, and the wars have been won.
    They've come here at last, to be safe and alone,
    From the government clerk, and the management clone;
    Politicians and lawyers, the Feds, and the noise,
    Where all hours are happy, and these good ol' boys
    Can relax with a cool one, and a well deserved rest!
    This is Heaven, my Son. You've passed your last test!"

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    Foil: 15

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