This is Lee Robinson in 1942 on a trip to Ellensburg.
Plane Speaking by Lee Robinson, shared by Jerry Robinson
For crying out loud this column has been appearing in this corner for more than 60 years. It has attempted to inform and amuse our readers over the long haul.
Our beloved readers have tolerated my meandering mind, unabated longer, as far as I know, than any other newspaper in the state; weekly or daily.
Lee, my high school heartbeat, who I later married, not only fed and changed diapers of five sons but often contributed erudite words and great humor by sometimes writing this column.
The sons are men now and provide bread and butter to their own table but also see to the function of the family newspaper.
Every scribe runs scared he may be boring so I welcomed a lot of help on this space over the years and tears.
Lee is no longer with us. I lost her many years ago.
Today I found one of her typical columns while going through the archives. It first appeared in the paper and then in our book called "Something's Out There." (You can buy the book at our Burien office too).
by Lee Robinson
The other day the chief engineer in charge of flight patterns at Sea-Tac Airport called his men together and said. “Men, it has been some time now since we’ve had any complaints from that nut in White Center about noisy jets breaking up his oratory during outdoor barbecues. I suggest we start flying over his house about two o’clock in the morning.
“You can’t miss it. On moonlit nights you can spot it because last month he climbed on the roof and painted big white letters which read ‘Hospital Zone’. A bonus goes to the first pilot who can shatter his front room window.”
I think they changed harassment tactics after I developed some formidable methods for dispersing their bombers. At first we tried heaving rocks, but only alienated the next-door neighbor. Then we tried the garden hose; they countered by arranging with the water district to cut my water pressure. Next we made a careful study to determine exactly when they would arrive, and arranged to have a large pile of wet leaves handy. At the right moment we threw the leaves into the charcoal broiler sending up a huge cloud of smoke. But this made the steaks taste funny, so we gave it up.
The coup de grace, however, was the huge flock of balsa wood starlings I carved and placed along the limbs of the big madrona tree. This last idea probably brought about their newfound respect for their earthling adversary.
I’ll have to admit their night-flying move has caught me unprepared, but I’ll think of something.