repairs on Blue Heron's hull or wheel when the necessity 

 arose. 



The next morning Ed hoisted the helmet to the 

 deck. Calling on William and Clayton to aid him, he 

 disappeared in the direction of the swimming pool. When 

 I had finished the galley work, I donned my bathing suit 

 and hastened after them. Close by the diving board, the 

 two boys were taking turns working a wooden lever 

 back and forth on a small platform, from which extended 

 a rubber hose. The hose disappeared into the water, 

 where, I inferred, it was connected to Ed, who was no- 

 where in sight. Sure enough, a few moments later he 

 clambered up the steep side of the pool's coral bank, 

 clumsily balancing himself against the weight of the hel- 

 met. 



"It works," he proclaimed with satisfaction in his 

 voice, "but I need more air." 



I should have realized right then that one of those 

 crucial times had arrived in Ed's life when it was essen- 

 tial for him to progress on to a new enthusiasm. 



As a young man in the mid-1920's he had taken up 

 flying. Those were days when there were few flying 

 schools; equipment was elementary, and so was the type 

 of instruction it was possible to receive from the barn- 

 storming pilots who eked out a precarious livelihood from 

 the grass airstrips scattered here and there about the coun- 

 try. 



By the time Ed had learned to fly, he was well aware 

 of the need for a better system of instruction. He designed 

 and built the first Link trainer, a simple creation intended 

 to give the student pilot familiarity with handling the 

 controls of a plane before he left the ground. Throughout 

 the years of the depression Ed made a meager living by 

 using this device as the center of a unique flying school 

 which he established. 



6 Sea Diver 



