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The Control Tower

Aeropuerto Coronel Jorge G. Frade

Morón, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina

1700 19 September 1943

General Arturo Rawson, president of the Republic of Argentina, and his aide-de-camp were both in uniform as they stood with Señora Claudia de Carzino-Cormano, Señor Humberto Duarte, and Reverend Kurt Welner, S.J., in the control tower. They all held stems and sipped champagne. The windows of the tower provided them an excellent view of the airfield’s runways, tarmac, and the surrounding buildings and area.

There were six Lockheed Lodestars visible. President Rawson had commented what beautiful aircraft they were, and had watched intently as one had landed and two others had taken off.

Behind the hangar, the parking lot was crowded with large automobiles. Their passengers—those not in the control tower; there was regrettably only so much room—were standing on the tarmac in front of Base Operations, where a table had been set up so that white-jacketed waiters could serve champagne and canapés.

As the sweep second hand of the large clock approached the numeral twelve, indicating the time to be precisely 17:00:00, a familiar voice came over the tower’s loudspeakers.

“Jorge Frade, this is South American Three Zero One.”

“That’s Cletus,” Señora Carzino-Cormano declared unnecessarily.

“Señor Duarte, we don’t have an aircraft with that tail number,” the controller announced.

“Answer him,” Duarte snapped.

“South American Three Zero One, Jorge Frade, go ahead.”

“Three Zero One is at fifteen hundred meters, indicating four hundred kilometers per hour, fifty kilometers north of your station. Request approach and landing.”

“How fast did he say he was going?” General Rawson asked.

“He said four hundred kilometers, mi general, but that can’t be right,” the general’s aide-de-camp said.

“Three Zero One, Jorge Frade. Descend to one thousand, report when the field is in sight.”

“Three Zero One, leaving fifteen hundred for one thousand,” Frade’s voice came over the loudspeaker.

Two minutes later, Frade’s voice announced, “Three Zero One at one thousand meters, indicating three hundred kilometers. Request straight-in approach to runway Three Three.”

“He said three hundred kilometers this time,” General Rawson announced. “I could hear him clearly.”

“Three Zero One, Jorge Frade clears you for a straight-in approach and landing as Number One on runway Three Three. Report when the runway is in sight.”

“Three Zero One has the airfield in sight. Understand cleared as Number One on Three Three,” the loudspeaker announced, and then: “Put the wheels down, Gonzo. It’s smoother if you do that.”

“My God,” Claudia Carzino-Cormano said. “What is that? It’s absolutely enormous.”

The Lockheed Constellation, landing gear and flaps down, touched down at the far end of the runway.

Then it taxied to the terminal. As it got closer, everyone in the tower could now see that it had SOUTH AMERICAN AIRWAYS lettered in red on the fuselage, the flag of Argentina painted on all three of its vertical stabilizers, and the legend CIUDAD DE BUENOS AIRES lettered beneath the cockpit windows.

As it got really close to the terminal, small side windows in the cockpit opened, hands came out, and a moment later Argentine flags on holders were fluttering in the wind.

Frade’s voice came over the speakers again.

“How about somebody getting a ladder out here so we can get out of this thing?”

“Oh, Claudia,” the president of Argentina said emotionally, thickly, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. “If only our Jorge were here to see this!”

“Arturo, I know in my heart he’s watching,” Claudia said.