Billy Goat at 12 O’Clock High
By Charlie Briggs
Aviation buffs read a lot of flying stories from pros who write articles on a regular basis. While often entertaining and informative, hearing from professional pilots sometimes lacks the real world experiences of the hundreds of thousands of aircraft owners and flyers who were never professional pilots, but simply lived with an airplane as a permanent family member. Such is the case with Charlie Briggs, a pilot for more than 65 years, having a career that included ranching, agricultural services and consulting, computer technologies and business concept development. In Flight USA invites readers to join Charlie as he reminisces about flying and life. You will experience a side of aviation that is informative, entertaining and personal. Enjoy.
Once upon a time, there came to this earth, a Billy Goat. This was no ordinary goat.
This one was destined to achieve what no other goat on earth had or likely will do. In fact, it couldn’t because the adventure of “Elmer” was the first. Now when you are the first of anything, that’s it. It’s the first. Elmer’s home was a nice roomy pasture lying in the winding river bottom carved out of the flat western Kansas prairie being the “Smoky Hill River.”
In the regular world, Billy Goats are not known as aviators. Well, neither was our pet goat “Elmer.” His “jump” into history was definitely not of his choosing. Just fate. Here is how it happened.
My wife and I were married in December of 1949. In the summer of 1951, we were “selected” to move to Logan County, Kansas to assume the operations of the families’ 25-section ranch and farming project. We left college and really went to “school,” leaving the security of our homestead country and friends to be 25 miles from the nearest town, living in a mobile home, with no phone, portable electric power, and having to haul all our drinking and household water from municipal sources many miles away. Now married for 63 amazing years, I had developed a plan of compromise. It has worked. If my wife wanted something, if I could get it for her, I just did. Well, here the early plot thickens.
Even with thousands of acres of beautiful natural Buffalo Grass, she decided she wanted a Bermuda grass front yard for the substantial two-story rock ranch house that was now our permanent home. Well, pooh. Bermuda grass requires constant attention to do its best: fertilizer, water, frequent mowing. We did not even have a lawn mower, but it didn’t matter; it was installed. Now to get a lawn mower… (Here comes Elmer)
Each Saturday, it was my practice to attend the local livestock auction at Oakley, Kansas. We were frequently buying stocker cattle for the ranch or wheat pasture. Well, to my surprise, in came a Billy Goat and two nannies. (Idea) Here are my lawn mowers. (Chuckle) For less than $8, I got the whole set. Neat!
Not telling my wife, I just brought them to the ranch, scattered a little grain in the front yard grass, and welcomed them “home.” They were very receptive. They made themselves at home, really. They mowed the grass, did their fertilizer thing, and also, ate anything else around, like flowers, weeds, and vegetables in our little garden. My wife, while not impressed, at least enjoyed the deal and really began to like “Elmer, Nanny, and Nellie.” None of the other ranches had a Billy Goat and two nannies for lawn keepers!
Well, this was getting out of hand. So I thought I would think up “Plan two.” It occurred one evening at a Civil Air Patrol meeting. There was a need to raise additional money for the CAP cadet programs, so the idea of an air show was discussed.
The problem was, we did not have a fund for promotion of the show. Then the idea hit! There was a veteran in the Senior CAP unit who was with the 101st airborne and still had a parachute in good shape. He volunteered the use of it for the world’s first billy goat jump. Wow! Plans were made and arrangements set. The procedure was for me to fly the 20-minutes back to the ranch on the day of the show, meet my associate at the ranch strip with “Elmer “ and put the parachute on the goat. Then my foreman was to sit in the right seat holding Elmer and gently “help him into the wild blue yonder” at the right time. So much for plans on paper. I was only 22 at the time, and believe me, this was one time when I found out that just because it works on paper, doesn’t mean it will work in life.
Meanwhile, Elmer wasn’t consulted about volunteering for the mission. It had to be a surprise for sure. Well, at least the publicity part of the project was working. We announced to the state press the coming event of the “World’s First Billy Goat Parachute Jump.”
We got response – one from the Society for the Prevention of cruelty to Animals (SPCA) in Topeka, Kan. I was informed that if anything happened to “Elmer,” I would be held liable, so I explained the procedure and all the precautions being part of the operation, including the use of a professional newly packed parachute from the 101st airborne to the “lady.” She wasn’t impressed, so I just invited her to come to the show and bring some friends, and we would pay her way at the gate.
The night before the show, knowing Elmer had not volunteered for this mission, we treated him to a special “suite” on the livestock scale pen, just for security. When I came back from the air show to pick him up, there would be limited time to get Elmer comfortably into his soon-to-be famous parachute and into the little Luscombe.
It was a beautiful western Kansas day in July – clear, no winds, and the temperature was in the low 90s. The event drew a nice crowd. The exact count was not recorded, and the SPCA from Topeka, Kan. did come, so the stage was set. Now “all” I had to do was get Elmer. Here is where the plot thickens! Returning to the ranch, I felt anxious. I knew if anything could go wrong, it probably would. I was right. Upon landing, I could see that the scale pen where “Elmer” was supposed to be was empty! That was just the start. Elmer had climbed out during the night. Darned Billy Goat anyway! There was a little molasses trough where he landed after climbing over the stockade. Elmer got in it and then just went on to his pasture.
However, he was close, and my foreman had saddled a horse, quickly roped poor old Elmer, and “gently” possible brought him to the waiting plane. What a miserable little ball of goat hair, sandburs, molasses and dirt! Then logistics problems surfaced. Deficient in planning, a 90-pound Billy Goat is not built like a 200-pound paratrooper for sure. Anticipating that my friend, “Rex,” had a good supply of baling wire and binder twine on hand and after a small bit of hassle and work, Elmer was equipped with the parachute “properly” in place and ready to go. Time was running, and I was a bit late already. The next element was to get loaded up. Well, there certainly was not any room in the 8 F.
Luscombe was for anyone but Elmer and me. So, off came the door, out came the stick and seat, and in went Elmer, audibly voicing his displeasure for the whole venture. Everything fit in with Elmer’s little bottom right next to mine, but his head was sticking out the door. Time was up… I had to go. So we just tied Elmer’s rather stately horns to the top of the parachute. And I took off. Elmer was very nervous. I am sure it was his first flight (chuckle).
Flying back to the air show, I began to feel like, wow, we are going to make it. Then the next thing happened. The rip cord to which we had tied Elmer’s horns began to fray, and the parachute as in danger of opening. However, we were within four minutes of the drop zone, so I was busy. I skipped a planned low pass over the crowd and just lined up on a path from west east over a wheat field right adjacent to the airfield.
At an altitude of approximately 800 feet, I rolled over on my right side, and history was made. Elmer, did well. After freeing his feet so he could make a good landing, everything was good, and the chute opened perfectly. What a sight! A 90-pound Billy Goat at the bottom of a huge white billowing parachute silhouetted against a west Kansas sky! Wow! As Elmer left the plane with his little tail just wagging, he left me a number of “marble-size deposits.” I think this is what he thought about the whole darned thing.
Elmer made a soft and smooth landing. He immediately went after the parachute with hooves and horns. A National Guard unit picked up the now famous Elmer and brought him back to the show. He didn’t sign “goat autographs,” but was calmed a bit with treats we provided. Later, Elmer was returned by truck to the ranch and reunited with his two mistresses.
We retired Elmer to a wonderful grassy pasture along the Smoky Hill River. I wouldn’t be surprised if there are some of his decedents running around. I can just imagine some little kid goat saying to another, “You would be surprised at what our great, great, great, grand goat did!”
