The year was 1921. August the 5th, if I can remember correctly. It was a bright and sunny afternoon. I was warming up the engines of my canvas-winged, one passenger aeroplane on a tiny airport near my home town, Ravenna, in Italy; when my long time not seen good old friend from high school, John Miller approached me. I cannot explain the surprise I felt when I spotted his familiar face on the friendly airport that I used as my private flying circle. What followed however, was not nearly as pleasant as that. A few steps away from me, he suddenly stopped - I can still...