TWENTY-FOUR
DETROIT, MICHIGANPowell nestled into the aft section of the DC-3 passenger plane with Chester and Agnes. It didn’t matter to Powell that blacks sat at the back. The scout was happy enough to catch the last three seats on the flight to New York without being bumped by some whites with money. He glanced out at the dreary rain falling on the city. The sky was beginning to clear to the west.
One starboard prop spun slowly, and the engine fired up.
“Relax, folks,” Powell said to Agnes and Chester in the seats behind him. “This is going tuh be a new adventure for all of us. I’ve... never flown neither.”
Then the other prop started spinning.
* * * *
Basser frantically checked the passenger lists of all the airlines.
“Here they are, Mr. Basser,” the counter woman at Mid-Eastern
