In 1942, Elsbeth was employed by Montgomery Ward in Detroit while living with her parents at Royal Oak; Ferndale, Michigan. Her Detroit District Court naturalization record had her birth date as July 22, 1921, her full name as Elizabeth Lucie Winzen and her naturalization date as May 15, 1945.

U.S., Social Security Death Index, 1935-2014
about Elizabeth L. Schick
Name: Elizabeth L. Schick
SSN: 362-26-6290
Last Residence: 92646 Huntington Beach, Orange, California, USA
BORN: 22 Jul 1921
Died: 31 May 1988
State (Year) SSN issued: Michigan (Before 1951)

California, Death Index, 1940-1997 about Elsbeth Luzie Schick [THERE IS A MIXUP HERE - social security numbers different - THIS MUST BE A DIFFERENT PERSON because in 1939 this person is employed in a Pasadina laundry while our Elsie is still in Michigan in 1940 and 1942]

Name: Elsbeth Luzie Schick
[Elsbeth Luzie Winzen]

Social Security #: 373059315
Birth Date: 22 Jul 1921
Death Date: 31 May 1988
Death Place: Orange
Mother's Maiden Name: Lerche
Father's Surname: Winzen

About her brother Otto:

From the "Balloon Encyclopedia -

During his life he participated as central speaker in many Symposia and Congress related to scientific ballooning and space activities, as well in 1957 he was delegate before the Fédération Aéronautique Internationale. He was also honorary member of the Lighter Than Air Society (LTAS) and was considered by many one of the most authoritative voices in the field.

In 1993 the board of Directors of the American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics, introduced the Otto C. Winzen Lifetime Achievement Award. This prize, created to honour the memory of Winzen is presented for outstanding contributions and achievements in the advancement of free flight balloon systems or related technologies. This award is conceded biennially (in odd-numbered years) at the Aircraft Technology Integration and Operations Forum or Balloon Systems Conference.

From The Baytown Sun, February 11 Feb 1986, Tue):

PARIS (AP) — Long before the days of NASA, Americans were exploring the near-reaches of space in balloons. Thirty-eight years ago, German balloonist and entrepreneur Otto Winzen provided the means to develop and perfect what was to become the world's premier high-altitude research balloon; a balloon that was manufactured in Texas by Winzen Research Inc., later Winzen International Inc. The Winzen balloon factory moved to Paris last spring after its Sulphur Springs plant was irreparably damaged by fire, but a related plastics plant remains in Sulpur Springs. Winzen emigrated to the United States in the mid-1930s to escape the imminent war in Europe. According to Loren Seely, manager of the Paris balloon plant and a man who claims to have known Winzen "as well as anyone could have known Otto Winzen," he was driven by a consuming passion for balloons. Many of his profitable business ventures were merely means to acquire the necessary funds for his balloon obsession. He was a scientist, a chemist, who routinely sold away the patents to devices that since have proved very successful, such as the "bag-in-the-box" one might see inside a cafeteria milk dispenser. Winzen was an inventor, a car collector and an eccentric who married several times. Ultimately, he committed suicide in 1979 by carbon monoxide poisoning. Before his death, he sold controlling Interest in Winzen Research Inc. to the company's employees who then changed the company name to Winzen International Inc. A minority share of stock is still retained by his widow. Winzen International Inc. has few competitors, Seely said, and of those few companies in the world that make high-altitude research balloons, most buy the polyethylene StratoFilm material to make them from the 80,000-square-feet Winzen International extrusion plant on Elm Street in Sulphur Springs. Much of the first high-altitude research was conducted by men in Winzen balloons, which are often mistakenly referred to as "weather balloons." However, Seely said: "Very rarely does a man fly in the balloon anymore. Most everything now is done by instruments." The height reached by some of these balloons is truly awesome, and must understandably exclude manned flights. The world records for largest balloon and highest altitude achieved by balloon are held by a Winzen product and are listed in the familiar "Guiness Book of World Records." At altitudes of 100,000 feet and beyond, certain types of research can be performed that would be stymied at ground- bound stations. Experiments in upper-atmospheric chemistry, such as ozone levels, are ideally performed by instruments held aloft by balloon. Winzen International has been commissioned by NASA and the Defense Department to engineer numerous projects, none of which Seely would discuss in detail, but he said some work is related to the controversial Star Wars missile defense system and post-nuclear attack communications systems. One project currently in production — a 40-foot by 10-foot balloon made of metalized polypropylene — will be used as a radar target for the space shuttle, he said. Seely said he believes every country in the world, except the Soviet Union and China, have used Winzen research balloons. Even those two nations may have "acquired" Winzen balloons in some way, Seely said. The Paris plant makes balloons of all different sizes by contract only. The most expensive is around 700 feet long and costs in excess of $100,000. The cheapest is about 70 feet long and costs about $1,500. Compared with the mega-million dollar cost of a single space flight, balloon research has consistantly proved to be very efficient. Of course, the relatively low cost of a balloon can be offset by the cost of the payload — instruments that can run into the millions of dollars. These payloads can carry devices for just about any imaginable scientific use. For example, physicists once believed that by using high-altitude balloons they could solve the riddle of the elusive "mono-pole" — theoretical, single concentrated magnetic pole that, if discovered and harnessed could give birth to inventions with fantastic and as yet only dreamed of electrical properties. The balloons are assembled in a modified chicken house 700 feet long and 42 feet wide located three miles north of Paris. There the strips of StratoFilm material are placed on tables 600 feet long and fastened together with a type of plastic tape, called "load tape," which is reinforced by polyester filaments. Sometimes a metalized-filament load tape will be used so the balloon can be traced by radar. The metalized tape is the same that has been ejected by fighter jets since the Korean War to create a "ghost" image to confuse radar tracking. Once assembled, the balloon is folded, accordion-fashion, into a box and shipped off to the user. Many balloon flights in the United States are launched from a facility in Palestine, run by NASA. Seely said the Palestine facility is like the Cape Kennedy of balloon-borne space exploration. In addition to the inflatable products division in Paris and the film production and sales division in Sulphur Springs, Winzen International maintains an engineering division in San Antonio and its corporate headquarters in Minneapolis, Minn. Seely said the Paris plant's earnings will approach 81.5 million this year.

Bill Early Andrews
Rt. 2
Lewisburg, Tennessee

22 December 1958

Dear Betty:

I can’t tell you how sorry I was to have to call you and tell you of my change in plans. At the same time, I enjoyed so much talking to you again and to hear your voice for the first time in so many years. You sounded just like you did when I knew you in Detroit.

I’m still hoping to be able to get away and promise to stop by and see you either at that time or as soon as I make a trip south again.

My best Christmas wishes to you and yours and the hope that the New Year will be one full of blessings for you and your family.

Sincerely,

Otto C. Winzen
OCW:ms

P.S. I hope your children like the enclosed story which I did while I was in the hospital.

THE LITTLE BALLOONATICK
By Otto C. Winzen

CHAPTER I

Once there was a little tick. He looked like all the other thousands of little ticks. He worked in the woods and in the fields and made his living by climbing aboard a passing animal. He proceeded to drink from the animal until his belly was full, then he would drop off into the grass and would go peacefully to sleep. When he awoke he would be hungry again, and would repeat the process.

Then came the great drought. It was a year of disaster for the little ticks and they died like flies and people and animals would say, “What a heavenly year, no ticks this year,” because they considered ticks parasites, not fit for living, disgusting creatures in every way. And the little ticks died like flies. Except our little tick. And his name was Spots. You see, he was different from the other ticks. He had imagination.

And in the drought, starving he would say to himself, “The Lord created me for a purpose. It is my duty to preserve myself and go on living. He gave me a marvelous body and a marvelous mind. They are sacred trusts. I must preserve them, and I shall preserve my body by using my mind.” And this he did. This book is his story. A story of courage, curiosity and imagination. A story of the triumph of mind over matter, for the mind knows no obstacles.

CHAPTER II

And so Spots applied his mind. He had always been instilled with an insatiable curiosity. Never had he been satisfied with his lowly lot, crawling on his belly, hanging on the end of a grass leaf, or some other observation point from which he could watch the birds flying by like the masters of their element – the air. In the fall he even saw other normally earthbound insects take to the air. These were the little spiders who would climb to a high point like he himself would do. But they had learned to spin a net which eventually carried them off in the wind. Aeronauts, even though they were not intended to fly, just like the Lord had not intended ticks to fly, or so it seemed.

And so, we find little Spots sitting thinking, not about his fate – the fact that he was starving to death, like all his brothers and sisters and cousins and uncles. They all knew only one thing, complaint about their unhappy lot, and it was their minds that made them die, just like Spots as determined that his mind would make him live. And it did.
He sat there thinking, and thinking, and thinking, and he determined that if the spider could fly, so can he. And his mind helped him. He had trained it by his curiosity, by his inquisitive nature. So he knew of the materials that he could use, of the secrets of nature and the plants and flowers around him. Suddenly the idea came to him like a flash, “ I will build a balloon!”

So this became his goal. More than that, it became his obsession. The balloon would carry him off to new areas. It would make him conquer his lonely existence and take him back to life, nourishment, health. And he set about to build the balloon.

And he thought, and he thought, and he thought. He had to find the thinnest, filmiest material so that his balloon would be of light weight. And again it came to him as an inspiration. He was going to use the skin of a small onion.
And he set out on a march to the near onion patch where he had spent many happy days in his youth admiring the beautiful shapes of the onions as they grew and also secretly enjoying their aroma. And when he finally arrived there, exhausted from the long march, he found a most beautiful sight, onions of all sizes. This year because of the drought they were small, they were just the right size for his venture. He knew it, and he was so fired with excitement that he set to work immediately. He selected a beautiful little onion and proceeded to chew his way to the inside, determined to hollow out the onion so that he would have left finally only the filmy onion skin.

But, Alas. What had been the beautiful aroma of smell became a nightmare of taste, and as he chewed away wildly, he found that while his mind was willing his body could not support his task. He became sick to his stomach. He vomited. He had to abandon his task. He was close to despair.

Worst of all, all of the little ticks in the neighborhood had seen him come, had heard about his foolish enterprise, and he provided them with the entertainment they so desperately wanted. It took their minds off their current misery, their own starvation, and so they danced about him and sang, “Look at the balloon-a-tick, look at the balloon-a-tick, the silly, little balloon-a-tick.” For when they first came, full of curiosity about his task, he had explained to them that he was going to be an aeronaut, he was going to build a balloon. They did not understand. An so, as often happens in a case like this, they turned to mockery. And as lay there, his body wracked with pain. His stomach in convulsions, they danced about him, singing: “the silly, little balloon-a-tick, the stupid, silly balloon-a-tick.” It was almost too much for little Spots to bear. It seemed the world had come to an end, but not quite. For when they saw that he paid no heed to their demonstrations, that he was too sick and ready to die, they left him and they went back to their old task, complaining to each other, and they died like flies like all the others.
But not little Spots. His mind again took control, and it controlled his body and it made his body well. Best of all, he found that his body had finally become used to the taste of the onion. He found that he could live on the juices of the onion. Sure it was a poor substitute for his normal bill-of-fare, but it made him live. It tasted awful, but it made him survive. And so, while he had failed in his major task of building the balloon, he had indeed saved his life. And he settled back to take a long, hard look at what he was doing. And he realized that he had been foolish. He had plunged headlong into this venture. True, he had the motive. True, he had the goal. But he did not know the way. He had attacked the problem blindly, without thought. Again he resorted to the mind, the mind which set him apart from the rest of the ticks. Spots had imagination.

CHAPTER III

And it came to him in a flash how to get the onion skin without having to chew out the inside. He would cut it from the outside!

And so he selected another onion, bit it free from its stem, uncovered it completely and rolled it into a shady spot where he set up shop.

Again, he set to work. But slowly and deliberately this time. He knew he was right this time for he had found that haste makes waste. “You must have the goal but you cannot achieve it without knowing the way,” he said to himself. Now he was sure, he felt it in his heart. And now he knew the way and he set to his task like a craftsman. First he selected his tools. He picked from the grains of sand several which had razor sharp edges. With these he would cut. He selected from the trees fresh sap and found sources of fresh sap. This would be his glue with which he would cement together the panels of onion skin, because he knew he could not remove all the skin in one piece. It had to be disassembled and put together again to make up his wonderful balloon.

But Spots was more than a craftsman. He was an artisan. He was not satisfied with building something of utility. He wanted his balloon to be a thing of beauty, and again it came to him in a flash; he would build a red and white balloon, colorful and gay. And he set about to find the dye with which to paint every other panel. He found it in the juice of a red berry. And lo and behold! His love of the artistic again proved of help because the juice of this berry was a delectable substitute for the bitter tasting onion on which he had just barely survived. And his spirits soared as he drank from it. He became gay and lighthearted. His work became fun. Now he was really living.

CHAPTER IV

And so spots whistled while he worked. He carefully drew the patterns on the outside of the onion. He marked the lines where he would cut with his razors. And when he started to cut off the skin, the work went easy. He threw away the tough outer skin and very, very carefully peeled off the inner, gossamer-thin onionskin. He laid it out carefully on the moss to dry, away from the sun because it had to dry slowly so it would not lose its shape. He weighed these panels down with grains of sand so the wind would not carry them away. He thought he had been prudent. He had set up shop in a cozy place in the woods away from prying eyes, in the shade, close to his supplies, and life was good and it was worth living and it brought him the joy of work and accomplishment. And day after day he re-counted his blessings and thanked the Lord.
Then he discovered something else. He found the best way to dye the red panels in the juice of the Night Shade berry was to submerge the fresh wet skin in it right after he cut it away, so that it would soak up the red dye from the berry juice. He did not know this berry was poisonous to humans. He had seen birds eat it, and he also ate it without harm. And the onion juice and berry juice would mix and mingle, and then, stretched out on the moss the skin would become a beautiful dry red panel. Spots danced with joy at this discovery. Until now it had been disappointing trying to dye the dry panels with this juice. They had become spotty, and it had been hard work. Now life was good. Or so he thought, for his joy was short-lived. The Lord did not think he was ready for success. For success is not easily won. It must be earned. To win success he needed all the qualities he had, a brilliant mind, curiosity, imagination, a burning love of work. But he needed more. He needed to suffer, and the Lord visited him and made him suffer.

CHAPTER V

The rains came. They came suddenly and with such fury that they seemed like a great flood. First the land hungrily drank up the moisture it needed so much. But there was too much of it. Soon the water stood in puddles. Then it rose until it covered everything. A great flood had come.
And the surviving, half-starved ticks, they felt the water and they lapped it up. They soon revived and their spirits soared. The Lord had finally saved them. Rain meant nothing to them and they would climb up the trees to get away from the flood and find themselves a sheltered spot where they could drink and drink and drink and still protect themselves from being swept away. This is how some ticks survived and this is why they are still with us today.
But the little Spots the flood meant disaster. At first he rushed frantically to save his beautiful onion skins. He carried them into protected places. But as the waters rose, they were washed away. They soaked up the moisture. And they destroyed themselves as the water floated them up and tore them against floating debris, against the trees and the plants. Finally Spots gave up in despair. He crawled up the tree into a sheltered spot and he sat there and he cried, and he cried. And he said, “Lord, what have i done for you to do this to me? Just when my work is making beautiful progress you destroy it and take it all away.” And the Lord let him sit there and rave until on the third day Spots gradually began to realize there was a reason for this. He was not ready to fly. He had to prove that he wanted to be an aeronaut even though he did not have to be anymore. At the time when famine had turned to feast and all the other ticks were again living a normal life, the Lord wanted him to prove that he wanted to be an aeronaut, that he was different from the other ticks, that he had a burning desire to fly even though he did not have to do this, even though he could again earn his livelihood in the way that all other ticks earned theirs. And on the fourth day Spots praised the Lord and said, “Thank you for showing me the way. From now on I will be a better tick. You will be proud of me.”

CHAPTER VI

And again Spots set out to work. He was no longer reckless. He was no longer gay. But he found serenity. He was at peace with himself and with the Lord. And the Lord believed in him and felt he was ready for success.
And so Spots set up shop in a hollow tree – a beautiful workshop. There was ample light. It was high and dry. True, it was not a convenient as his former workshop because it required some traveling. He had to carry all his supplies, all his tools, some distance now. But now he knew that he was right. He knew instinctively that now he would succeed. He knew the Lord was with him. And so he rolled several onions of just the right size into the basement of his workshop. He also put some berries into the cellar. He found new tools. He cleaned the walls of his shop because instead of laying the panels on the ground, now he was going to hang them from the walls so they would dry more easily and he could hang them on the wall so they would hold their shape.

And while the other ticks feasted on their favorite food, Spots stuck to his monotonous bill of fare, onion meat and berry juice, onion meat and berry juice, day in, day out, day in, day out. But then the other ticks were normal ticks. But Spots, he was very special. You could say he was a chosen tick.

He worked with dedication. And yet he did not develop a one-track mind because he got plenty of exercise carrying the onion skin, running to the berry trees to drink their nectar. Nor did he forget the care of his body, because he was an athlete and so miraculously his work, his play, his fun were all rolled into one he couldn’t tell where one ended and the next one began. He was a happy tick. Not happy like the other ticks. Their happiness was shallow. They had no goal, and therefore they were animals.
And to make Spots’ happiness complete the Lord sent him a friend and companion. When he first appeared on the scene Spots was not so sure of this knight in a shining armor which looked like polished ebony. He introduced himself as Blacky, the artist-spider. He had come to spin a net in the large, ground-floor entry to Spots’ upstairs work shop. He explained that he had watched how many flies and mosquitos and even yellow-jacket wasps had often flown into Spots’ workshop, no doubt attracted by the potent scents. And Spots agreed that he had often been amazed, sometimes even frightened by these unwelcome, buzzing visitors.
“Good,” Blacky said, “Soon you will not have to worry about them any more, I will protect you.” And he set you work at once spinning the beautiful, lacy pattern of his net in the entry, yet leaving enough of an opening so Spots could easily get through.

The longer he knew Blacky the more Spots respected him. He was afraid of no one, not even the yellow jackets one of whom he neatly dispatched a few days later. In fact Spots soon realized that Blacky was an artist and idealist like himself/ For often Blacky would invite Spots down to look at his beautiful net in the sunshine, especially at sunrise when covered with a million pearls of dew, the net would sparkle like the most beautiful diadem. At times like these Spots realized that it was the net and its beauty for which Blacky lived, and that he ate only to stay alive, so he could re-spin a more beautiful net. The net was his life and his goal, his fulfillment, perhaps even his obsession, as ballooning had become Spots’ life.

In turn, Spots would take Blacky upstairs to his hide-away workshop and excitedly show him the progress of his own work. Blacky would look and listen in awe. Although at first somewhat incredulous he would not tell Spots for fear he might inhibit his enthusiasm. And they became fast friends.

CHAPTER VII

And then the wonderful day came. The balloon was finished. Even lying there stretched out on the work table it was a thing of beauty. Its red and white panels looked gay, fragile, yet strong, colorful, artistic of excellent craftsmanship. For Spots had lovingly glued together all the seams, had experimented until he found just the right cement mixture, the right drying time, and had carefully resolved all the many problems like a true research scientist. Even Blacky was impressed.

When he was satisfied that the balloon was dry, he rolled it up carefully into a bundle and put it on his shoulder. “Gee,” he cried, “Is this balloon light!” He was amazed, and at once he knew that this balloon would fly and that it would bring him the fulfillment of his fondest dreams. And Spots was anxious to try out his new masterpiece. He had been so absorbed in this work the last few days that he had not paid any attention to the weather. Now when he reached the door pf his workshop he saw that there was a terrible storm raging outside. Blacky was asleep, his net destroyed. Spots knew he had to abandon his plans for a test flight. So with a heavy heart, he stretched the balloon out on his table again and sat and drank some berry nectar. Suddenly he was tired. He had not been tired in weeks. While he was working his energy knew no limits. Now he was tired. He could not explain it. All he knew was the disappointment and let-down having finished his masterpiece not to be able to try it out.

And it stormed for days, and days, and days. There had never been such a season. First the drought, then the floods, then the storms. And Spots thought again of his Master and he prayed to him, “Lord, why is it that this year you send us all this terrible weather, this of all years, the year of my accomplishment. Why, Lord, tell me why?”

And the Lord was silent. He knew, but wanted Spots to know and feel it himself. And on the third day, Spots quit beseeching the Lord and began to think constructively. “I was a blind fool,” he exclaimed, “Had I taken this balloon out I would have destroyed it. I cannot hang on to the delicate onion skin as I’m carried into the blue sky. I must design and build a harness which supports me and which is attached to the balloon so that neither will break.”
And his joy returned. He set to work eagerly. Here was something he had overlooked, and he had almost risked and lost all the beautiful work he had done by his own foolishness. And Spots again prayed to the Lord.

He would fashion himself a beautiful suspension. His friend, Blacky, with whom he had often discussed his work, came to the rescue.

Blacky spun him a beautiful suspension harness. Blackey knew instinctively what to do. He was a true artist and proved he was a craftsman besides. Just like Spots. Best of all, he could spin the most beautiful and strongest threads which weighed practically nothing. The spider even knew how to attach his harness to the flimsy balloon without using any cement. And Blacky the spider made Spots stand under the balloon so that he could weave a new around him which would carry him on his flight. And Blacky proceeded to spin the net around him.

Theirs had been a strange friendship. Two artisans, each respecting the other’s work. But now as Blacky wove his silky strands of threads around him into thick yet light ropes, Spots suddenly was terrified. There was something cruel about Blacky and he recalled how the spider wrapped his victims and he did not want to be one of them. Spots was near panic when the suspension net was completed and Blacky stood of off to one side looking critically at his work. “Get me out of here, “ cried Spots to Blacky. “Get me out.” And Blacky answered, “For someone so anxious to fly, you don’t seem at all anxious to prepare for your task.”
But spots did not tell him the real reason for his panic. And they remained true and loyal friends. In fact, Spots was ashamed of having doubted his friend, and he began to realize the value of friendship. He even began to doubt whether he had done a good job of constructing the balloon because Blacky knew the secret of cementing surfaces together without messy cement. He discussed this with Blacky, and Blacky in amazement said to him, “But you never asked me and I never thought of it.” “Just for that,” Spots replied, “We ought to build another balloon.” And Blacky replied, “Let’s fly this one first and get some experience.” Blacky was right of course. Spots saw it at once.

CHAPTER VIII

And again the glorious day arrived. An lo and behold, it was a clear, calm, beautiful morning, the kind a true aeronaut dreams about. Here they were. Spots, the unusual tick, carrying the balloon on his back, and Blacky his indomitable friend. Together they marched to their balloon inflation site, the edge of an old swamp where Spots had often watched light gases bubble to the surface. With each step of their strenuous march they became more excited. Today was the day of days. It was the day on which Spots would fly.

And when they arrived there, Blacky nimbly climbed up a bush carrying in one of his many claws the top of the balloon. While below at the bottom of the balloon Spots climbed into the harness, This done, he backed into the hollow stem of a rotten tree stump the foul-smelling gas streaming into the balloon. It wasn’t long until Spots felt himself getting lighter and lighter until all of a sudden his feet lifted off the ground one by one. Soon he had to hang onto a leaf of grass so that he would not rise into the air. And at that time he felt that he had enough lift to become airborne.

His balloon was a beautiful sight. Blacky stood back and admired it like a work of art. He cried, “I wish you could see yourself, Old Man, you never looked so beautiful. You may be ugly, but your balloon is a thing of beauty.” Spots answered, “I wish I could see it too, but all I can see is the bottom of the balloon, and I have to hang on so I won’t be carried away.” “Here, give me your hand,” cried Blacky, “and I will take you away from these obstacles.” And he carried him off to a nearby sandy spot which would be their aerodrome. Spots excitedly cried, “Let go!” Blacky released his iron grip and, lo and behold, Spots was carried off, first rising vertically waving frantic good-byes to Blacky; then as he reached a layer of wind the balloon began to move away until it disapproved behind a tree and Blacky no longer could see him. Tears were streaming down his face. He didn’t know if he would ever see his friend again.

At the moment Spots was too excited with his discovery. Here he was aloft, master of the land. He surveyed everything – field, forests, streams. He was truly the tick turned aeronaut, no longer a lowly tick like all the others and his heart swelled with joy and he praised the Lord. And then he became sad. He had left behind Blacky, his dearest friend. Would he ever see him again? And this sadness tempered his joy and made him remember there was a purpose to his mission.

Soon his balloon began to sink. Presently, and whether by design or sheer accident, Spots made a 3-point landing on the back of a beautiful brown horse. By this time the wind had come up, and Spots frantically tried to hold on both to the balloon and to the hair on the horse’s back. One or the other had to give. He had to make a fateful decision. Should he save his balloon, his masterpiece, his life’s work, or should he stay with the horse in the hope that he would be carried back to his friend Blacky? He chose to stay with his new host and disentangled himself from the artful harness. And then he sat there in the hot sun on the warm, brown skin of the horse with tears rolling down his face as he saw his beautiful balloon disappear over the horizon. And yet, inwardly he felt great joy. He had accomplished his mission. He had proven that he could fly. He had landed where he wanted to land, on the back of a beautiful host.

And very soon he was no longer alone. From behind tufts of hair appeared all sorts of fellow ticks moving up to him slowly, finally bold enough to touch him. Whom was this miracle tick – was he God? Or was he just an ordinary tick? They finally decided that he was. Then the questions came, faster than Spots could answer them. He tried his best to make them understand, but they didn’t. So they laughed and again Spots found that the members of his own race did not understand him. This was a sad discovery and during the next few days while Spots for the first time in months took of his regular nourishment like the other ticks, he felt lonesome, desperately lonesome, even in the company of his own kind. They had first questioned him, then laughed at him, then despised him, then they ignored him. So he went back to a life of vegetation. For several days he felt sorry for himself.

And finally out of the depths of despair and gloom, emerged a new hope. “I must get back to Blacky. I must get back to my workshop. We must build another balloon.” The horse wandered about in the meadow, must build another balloon.” The horse wandered about in the meadow, and after 7 days of constant vigil Spots found that he was, Thank the Lord, approaching his old camping grounds. There was the tree where he had worked. There was Blacky waiting for him. And when he came as close as he thought the horse would go, Spots let himself drop to the ground and he made the rest of the way on foot.

But he was not fat as the other ticks were when they left their host. He was lean and hungry from weeks of dedicated work. He had taken only as much food as he needed to stay alive. In fact, he had discovered to his chagrin that the normal tick food no longer appealed to him.

CHAPTER IX

What a happy reunion this was! Blacky was beside himself with joy and almost crushed little Spots in his arms. “Let go, let go!” cried Spots. “you’re killing me.” And Blacky had to admit that he was much stronger than he thought. And so Spots told him his plan. They would build a new balloon. They would build it together as a team and the work would go 10 times as fast. No need to wait for preparing glue, no need to wait for glue to dry.

This same day they made some test seams in which Spots took some of the old, left-over panels and Blackie laid a thread and Spots immediately joined it to another panel with this thread. And, lo and behold, the system worked! The silky threads which Blacky laid would glue together the panels. There were no holes. They were perfect seams.
Joyfully they worked together. And light was their talk as light was their work.

One day Spots had an inspiration and he asked Blacky, “How come you don’t fly? I have seen many spiders fly on their own webs.” And Blacky replied sadly, “Listen my friend, it takes a special kind of baby spider to be able to fly. I am not one of them and besides I’m too old.” “Nonsense,“ cried Spots, “As far as I know I’m the only tick who ever flew. If I can do it, you can.” And he instilled in Blacky a burning desire to fly. What a glorious sight it had been for Spots to drift off into the heavens. He, Blacky, could do the same. And their zest increased a hundredfold as they worked together. Blacky spun some test sails and let them fly in the breeze, and he learned much about the laws of the winds and became more and more certain that he could do it.

CHAPTER X

And again the glorious day came when they both felt they were ready. Spots had a sparkling new balloon, a much superior model to the one he had flown before. It was gas tight, its seams were strong. He had a beautiful suspension net. Blacky had finished his experiments with flying threads. He felt he was ready, too. Lightheartedly they strolled to their inflation site and Spots’ balloon began to swell beautifully with the gas. And then the wind came up. His balloon was full and Spots frantically hung on to some moss and shouted to Blacky, “Hurry up, hurry up! I cannot hold on much longer!” And sure enough, there was Blacky above him on a bush spinning away as fast as he could on a net which took a beautiful shape. It look like a wing and it looked like a sail. It was a piece of art. Finally Blacky shouted, “Let’s go.” He jumped aboard his aircraft and cast himself loose. At the same moment Spots released his grip. And they both took off. Off they sailed together into the blue yonder – an unlikely, motley pair – both determined to be aeronauts. Both had made their dreams come true, and Spots found that he enjoyed this flight a thousand times more because he enjoyed it together with his friend. And Blacky felt the tears of joy running down his black face, as every thought of cruelty which he might have harbored before seemed to leave him. The earth and its problems seemed far behind as they both sailed, light-headed, out into the sparkling day. Adventure ahead – where would it take them?

And they saw the most wondrous sights. Not only did they see familiar fields and trees and streams and animals. Soon they were flying over a city – a huge, monstrous city – wondrous to see from the air. And they were fascinated by its glamour, by its newness, by its beckoning of adventure. And presently they descended. They made their approach, and a beautiful approach it was, toward a huge building full of windows. And it seemed there was a man sitting near the window toward which they were headed. They made a smart approach on the table where he sat and the man looked up and noticed them and saw this unlikely pair alight in front of his eyes. Spots and Blacky noticed that his room was full of books. There were all sorts of strange instruments and in fact he had been looking very intently through one at the moment that they landed until he noticed them. They didn’t know, of course, that he was looking into a microscope and that he was an entomologist.

“What an unusual pair,” cried the scientist, “These we must preserve!” And he rushed over to a bookcase and got two glasses. Into one he put Blacky the spider. Into the other he put Spots the unusual tick, Spots the tick turned aeronaut. Quickly he turned down the caps and Blacky and Spots were prisoners. Then he took a magnifying glass out of his drawer and looked at them critically. First he looked at Blacky. This is just a common ordinary spider, he decided. No need to keep him and he walked to the window and emptied the contents of the jar over the side. Blacky almost broke his back as he fell headlong from the window two floors to the earth. But part of his net was still attached, broke the fall and saved him. He quickly ran over to the wall, rushed up to the same window to see what fate would befall his friend. And this is what he saw.

The scientist was eagerly studying the strange tick. He opened the jar carefully, with tweezers freed Spots from his harness, and put him on a glass plate. Then he moved him to the microscope and replaced some lenses. Spots felt as if he was really being examined carefully; and he was, because to the scientist he looked the size of a turtle and the scientist could see every detail of his body.

And the man decided this is just a common, ordinary woodtick. You see the man did not understand. All he saw was the body. He did not see Spots’ mind. Spots, who had the mind of a giant while his body was deceiving, looked like that of an ordinary tick. ##