For a few years my Dad lived in a houseboat on the Willamette River in Oregon. It is a time my brothers and I remember fondly, as many of our stories from that period end with the phrase, “And then he fell in the river.”
The reason I bring this up is that while he was living on the river, a museum in Oregon bought the Spruce Goose. They partially disassembled the plane and moved it to its new home. The wings were transported via barge, and parked for the night across the river from my father’s home.
I wasn’t there at the time, and Dad took one picture. It looks like a white wall on a barge. It’s not a particularly impressive picture, but it proves that it happened, and that’s what mattered to him.
Note from Missy: Where do you think the dead link at the bottom of the comic led to, lo these long 8 years ago?
Note from Scott: I’ve wracked my brains, and I have no idea.
Another Note from Scott: It turns out, the link we couldn’t remember was to this website. Thanks to all of the readers who reminded me.