Stienhauer, Ed Landwher, Herman Hum, and myself. One day Russ called me on the phone and said, "Herman Hum is coming to my room in a few minutes and I'll probably do some `magic' for him.   If he calls you and he asks you what card he has drawn, tell him, (after straining your brain) that it's the queen of hearts." Sure enough, in a few minutes my phone rang and it was Herm, and he asked me what card he had selected. I pretended to ponder for a few seconds and said, "I seem to see a queen of hearts." To the day he died, tragically, in that crash near Oakland, Herm wondered, how did Russ do it ? Whenever Russ was asked that question he would always reply, "It's just magic, simple magic." - with the ever present chuckle in his voice.

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Russ had the unique ability to always have at hand a wise answer to any question that might arise. I could always tell when he was about to drop one of these gems. He would say, "Well, (then take another drag on his cigarette) in the kingdom of the blind, the one eyed man is king." This, when I questioned his ability to forecast the stock market by his own special technical analysis. Another: "Well, you can't dance at every wedding." This when I confess I was trying to take on too many tasks. One more: When we were discussing the virtue of self reliance - "Well, everybody's got to kill their own snakes."

It seems Russ and I always flew the same routes as we advanced from DC4's to DC6's, DC7’s and finally DC8's. We always obtained copies of each other's flight schedules each month so we would always know in advance where we would be a the same time. We could also tell when we were within calling distance on VHF while in-flight. We would have one transceiver set up on "nickel" (123.45 mgs) and call one another at such times. When both transmitting and receiving stations are at high altitudes, it is possible to transmit a great distance even though line-of-sight conditions for VHF communications is necessary. I recall talking to Russ many times when he was flying between Tokyo and Anchorage, and I was flying between Honolulu and San Francisco.  During my last six years with JAL, I was flying the routes from New York to London and New York to Anchorage.  Russ was flying Tokyo - Anchorage - London over the pole during the same period. Often Russ would be somewhere over the North Pole and I would be over the Atlantic ocean, both bound for London. We'd call each other on "nickel" and compare our ETA's. We would be in London for a few days and the routine we followed was invariably the same. If it was a week day, we'd walk to a good steak house, The Marquis on Mount St., enjoy a good dinner which included a good Havana cigar, and then walked to the Dean-Witter office on the way back to the Clifton Ford Hotel. In London the New York Stock Exchange runs until 9:00 P.M. A fine Havana cigar, a live ticker tape, - for stock market addicts like Russ and I, what more could you ask?

After we both retired as airline pilots at age 60, I went to work for Paine-Webber as a stock broker in Napa. For the benefit of my clients as well as myself, I would call Russ several times a week and get Russ's expert advice about stock issues and the market. One day he said, "I've got bad news, Joe, my doctor tells me I've got the `Final Menengeetus'. I guess my lifetime habit of smoking cigarettes has finally come home to roost." The next time I called, Russ's brother, Ted, answered the phone. The conversation went like this:

 Joe: How is Russ getting along?
 Ted: He is very bad. He's in the hospital and can't have visitors except immediate family
          members and he can't even talk on the phone.
 Joe: So sorry to hear that. Could you deliver a message to him next time you visit him?
 Ted: Yes I can do that.
 Joe: Tell him that I love him.
 Ted: Sure Joe, I will do that.
 Joe: Thanks Ted, Good-bye.