Richard Dean Smith, MD

1.

From the steepled church … [bong] … The gong of Noon … [bong] … scattering the rooks from the belfry … [bong] … the roar of the airplane engine … [bong] … at first, in the distance … [bong] … then stronger, as it sounds in a dive … [bong] … This is Captain Noon … [bong] … and the adventures of the Triple Z Squadron! … [bong]*

*after: Captain Midnight and the Secret Squadron. www.otr.com/​midnight.shtml


2.

“Captain Noon! Captain Noon!” I knock on his door.
“Whaaat?!”
“Captain Noon, sir. Your flight is ready to leave. The passengers have been on board and the baggage loaded for the nine o’clock flight for three hours. The engines are idling. The crew is on board. The fuel tanks are filled. The cone-man is waiting to whisk the glowing orange cones from under the wingtips.”
“Just a minute, please!”
“Captain Noon, hurry.”
Captain Noon, an aviation legend in his own time, can’t be rushed.
“I’ll be there in a minute, I said!” Captain Icarus Noon, Premier Flight Commander of Triple Z Airlines, The Snoring Skies of ZZZ said.
One eyelid opens as if startled or stuck. The other eyelid pops open. Smack, pucker, yawn and gape, our captain stretches his arms, fingers, legs and toes. So keenly trained, so languid, so skilled. Captain Noon, like Steve Canyon in the comics, ready for any emergency, any contingency, any crisis or threat. Glittering aviator wings from a cereal box pinned over the left pocket of his sky-blue terrycloth robe, and a white, silk scarf folded around his neck.
He awakens. His nighttime dreams of flying give way to midday dreams of flying while sunshine beats through the window into his bedroom. Captain Noon shuffles down the hallway. His leather flying helmet and aviator goggles in a heap on the dresser. A thick layer of aerosol soap on his face, he shaves. He showers. He reaches for his shirt and pants. He dresses. He sits. He lingers. He is in no rush. Whatever it might be, it can wait.
“What day is it?” he asks.
“It doesn’t make any difference, Captain Noon, you fly every day.”
“Oh, right.”
Captain Icarus Noon turns and looks in the mirror. Tall, slender, straight brown hair, sparkling hazel eyes, and peach-fuzz cheeks. He bares and examines his perfectly aligned teeth. He flexes his shoulders, and he makes furious judo-throws and karate punches in the air. The evil in the world captures his imagination that must be dealt with from the air and brought to justice.
Home from college for the summer, one more year to go. Our Captain of Captains. Our Airline of Airlines. Our Captain of Noon is almost ready to fly.

A perfect book for summer reading by students of any age, their teachers, and their parents. Orders to 1-800-288-4677.