On Wings of the Morning Read Free Page B

decorated with flags and bunting for the upcoming Fourth of July celebration. Otto looked forward to the picnic and fireworks every year. No foot race for me this year, he thought.
    Soon they were in the countryside, the fields on either side of them golden beneath the warm sun. Otto felt the breeze from their passage tousling his hair and, tired from lack of sleep the night before, fell into a surprisingly deep slumber and dreamed he was flying above those golden fields.

Chapter 2
Lessons: October, 1931
    “Otto! Otto Kerchner!”
    Someone was calling his name, it seemed from a long distance away. Otto was thinking hard about the design of a new airplane. He looked down at the paper on his desk where he had sketched a sleek silver monoplane with a huge radial engine. It would be called the Kerchner Model 1 and it would be faster than anything in the skies.
    “Otto! Stand and recite!”
    Otto snapped out of his reverie. He was in school and being called on to recite by Miss Smith, his fifth grade teacher. She was a small hateful woman. All the kids at school said she hated children, and they wondered why she was a teacher. She had a particular dislike for the children of recent immigrants, and a special dislike for Otto. He didn’t know why.
    He stood beside his desk, hearing snickers from the boys and giggles from the girls in his class from all the girls except for Betty Ross, the banker’s daughter. She liked Otto and was kind to him. He looked at her, and she smiled encouragingly.
    “Otto!” snapped Miss Smith.
    “Yes, ma’am?”
    “Now that you have joined us in our class, tell me, please, what town and state you are in. If you can, that is.” More snickers and giggles.
    “We live in Pioneer Lake, Wisconsin,” Otto recited mechanically.
    “I’m so glad you know where you are, Otto. What are the principal crops of our little community?”
    “Local farmers grow wheat, corn, potatoes, and other fruits and vegetables.”
    “What else do they raise? You should know this!”
    “Cows, both dairy and beef.”
    “What month and year is this?”
    “It is October, 1931.”
    “And who is the President of the United States?”
    “Herbert Hoover, ma’am.” How long would this go on? Otto knew the answer: far longer than he wanted it to, or until he missed a question.
    “And what were you drawing at your desk just now?”
    “An airplane.”
    “Will you show it to us?”
    Otto obligingly held up his drawing.
    “And what were you supposed to be drawing, young man?”
    “A map of Wisconsin.”
    “I don’t recall Wisconsin looking like that. Do pay attention, Otto. I know you’re slow, but try to keep up. You may be seated.”
    Otto took his seat, his cheeks burning. The boy in front of him had turned around when his inquisition began. He sneered at Otto, “Fly boy! Why don’t you fly off someplace else?”
    Otto started to reply, but the only insults he could think of were in German, and he would be severely punished if Miss Smith heard him speaking German. He had come to first grade speaking only German, and had to repeat the year while he learned English. He wasn’t the only one: there were a number of children who spoke only German when they started school.
     
    He pulled out another piece of paper and rapidly sketched an outline of Wisconsin. He penciled in tiny farm houses and barns here and there, drew in a few cows and rounds of cheese and for good measure, larger than any of the other little pictures, several airports complete with hangars, runways and little airplanes taking off and landing. He leaned back and studied his work. It pleased him and he smiled. Just then, a shadow fell across his desk. Miss Smith had sneaked up on and was glaring at him, holding her hand out. “Let me see your work, Otto.”
    He obediently handed his map to her, hoping she would not tear it up. He wanted to show it to Mata.
    “So this is what you think the primary industry of Wisconsin is, Otto? Airplanes?”
    Otto