Balloons...Balloonists...Me

On the other hand…

I'd met them, actually. I mean the Abruzzos. You'll recall I said the museum's name is officially the Anderson-Abruzzo Albuquerque International Balloon Museum. The Anderson in question was Maxie Anderson, a local businessman and balloonist who was one of the pilots of the Double Eagle II.  The Abruzzo was Benjamin L. Abruzzo, another Albuquerque businessman and an aviator. He was on both the Double Eagle 2 and 5, as well as scores of other remarkable flights.

I did not know him. But I did see him now and then. My parents were skiers and Abruzzo was also part of the combine behind the Albuquerque Tramway, a rather remarkable cable car that runs from the city to the Sandia Ski Area (again, more of which later). And, now and then, Mr. Abruzzo would address the ski club of which my parents were members. I remember him as a personable chap in a business suit who spoke well and easily.

I also knew…well, that's too strong word… I knew of his sons. There were three, I think. The eldest was in the same Junior High School I was. I remember him as being pleasant enough—much bigger than I was, an athlete where I was anything but, and a bit of a favorite of the ladies, the teachers, and the coaches. But he wasn't a bully, which set him apart in my book. He could have easily taken advantage of his position.

I understand he grew up to be, like his father, a businessman and an aviator. But it was the youngest of the sons who ended up following most closely the father's fate. This man became a competitive balloonist and was well-known in the field.

I never met this man. But, I remember envying the elder Abruzzo and his sons. They seemed to live the life of daring and adventure which, for whatever reason I was temperamentally ill-equipped. Where they went out into the world and challenged, I stayed in my room and read science fiction.

I suppose I still feel a little like that. I ask myself if I had the chance, and I could have exchange fates…would I?

I wouldn't. But there would be a real temptation.

Which is odd…for the father died in a plane crash in 1985, and the younger son did the same in a balloon accident in 2010.

So, no.

And yet. And yet…

I hear that hateful little voice whispering. Forever whispering.

Better to have lived a day in passion than a thousand years asleep.