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Memories of McGirr Field
by Alice Eakle Marks
Little old McGirr was just
A tiny one-horse place,
But I will always think it was
A place that led to space!
An elevator near the tracks
Stored tons of farmers' grain.
The depot sometimes held someone
Who rode the daily train.
There was a store, a country school,
And then -- the best of all --
The Air Mail field was there where planes
Could stay through fog and squall.
The beacon on the tower-top
Rotated; and its beam --
So white and bright and beautiful --
Swept 'round us like a dream.
That ray of light, seen far and near,
Thrilled people on the ground
And showed the pilots where they were
And which way they were bound.
To turn on every boundary light,
Pop drove us 'round the field;
We hopped down off the running board,
Then back, and on we wheeled!
A friendly wobble of the wings
Or zoom across the field
Was how the pilots said "Hello" --
And comradeship revealed.
Then on they flew their DH-4s,
With mail, to Omaha
And others took it to the coast
Through weather fair or raw.
So, little old McGirr, still small
And one-horse you may be;
But once you played a vital part
In flying history!
© 2000, Alice E. Marks
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