The story of a senior who lives life to the fullest Harold Lowe, a retired pilot who hails from Shoal Harbour, NL, and now lives in Vancouver, British Columbia, was in Newfoundland to visit his family at the time of his 75th birthday. He had always planned, and wanted, to fly a plane on the day he became 75 years old. "Age should never be a deterrent to you if you are in good health," he says. So on his 75th birthday he chartered a small aircraft for a flight over St.John's, the capital city of Newfoundland and Labrador. Mr. Lowe planned to fly over his old hometown of Shoal Harbour that day, but time didn't permit. He "slipped the surly bonds of earth" and time just flew by all too quickly. The desire to fly again was awakened in Harold that day. Harold fell in love with the idea of flying in 1933 when he was just three years old. General Italo Balbo and his armada of flying boats landed in Shoal Harbour, NL, on their way back to Italy from the Chicago World Fair. (It is interesting that I live in Shoal Harbour and the name of my street is Balbo Drive, obviously named after General Balbo.) Harold says he was fascinated with the aircraft, and decided that someday he, too, would fly in one of those airships, and he would pilot them also. When he became of age, he left Shoal Harbour, NL, for Ontario. In 1953 he signed up with the Royal Canadian Radio Officers School.< He obtained his pilot's license in Greenwood, Nova Scotia, just before he left the forces. In 1961 he came back to Newfoundland to fly for Eastern Provincial Airways (EPA), but soon left again to pilot for Pacific Western Airlines, which later became known as Canadian Airlines, and for the next 25 years, from his home base in Vancouver, he flew all over the world, living his childhood dream and loving it. Harold retired on Valentine's Day, 1990. His last commercial flight was from Los Angeles, USA to Vancouver, Canada. Although his home is Vancouver, BC, now, he visits family and friends in Newfoundland frequently. He, in spite of a battle with cancer which has not conquered him, is full of vim and vigor, is not preoccupied with aging, nor does he allow age to prevent him from living a full life. He is constantly planning his next adventure. He is talented with musical instruments, and does a tremendous job building ship's models. Every detail is carefully done and his work is marvelous. But flying is his passion, sailing through the clouds and feeling the sense of freedom while soaring above the earth, alone with his thoughts and reflections, as he pilots the aircraft he loves so much. "It's amazing how it comes back to you, how you get the feel of it again," he says. In fact, the one-hour flight over St. John's made him realize how much he would like to fly again, and now plans to rent a plane occasionally, just for that special feeling of being free. As for the pursuit of dreams, Mr. Lowe has a bit of advice: "It's not where you're from that matters; it's where you want to go." I agree with him. It really is where you want to go! Harold's love of flying reminds me of a piece of literature we learned in school and I remember so well. It was written by Pilot Officer John Gillispie Magee, Jr., No. 412 Squadron, RCAF, who flew in a Spitfire squadron, and was killed at age 19, in 1941. The poem was found on the back of a letter Officer Magee had written to his parents in which he told them he had started writing the poem at 30,000 feet. It was also the piece of writing that Astronaut Christa McAuliffe packed to take with her on the Challenger, a flight that ended a few short moments after lift off, leaving us shocked and saddened. But it is Harold Lowe I think of when I read Magee's poetry titled "High Flight." It reads like this: I have slipped the surly bonds of earth, And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings; Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling Mirth, Of sun-split clouds, and done a hundred things you have not dreamed of Wheeled and soared and swung, High in the sunlit silence, Hov'ring there, I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung my eager craft through footless halls of air. Up, Up the long, delirious, burning blue I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace, Where never lark, or even eagle flew. And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod The high untrespassed sanctity of space. Put out my hand, and touched the face of God. Harold will continue to fly as long as he has his credentials, and his desire to reach for the stars. Soar like an eagle Harold my friend, and touch the face of God as often as God allows you to do so. Slip the surly bonds of earth, be safe, and know that you have been so fortunate to have realized a childhood dream, and to have enjoyed the sunlit silence. - Bonnie Jarvis-Lowe   Submitted By: Bonnie Jarvis-Lowe