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Let me be honest, I’m not a nice person. On the surface I might resemble a kind, compassionate guy of the ‘00, willing to cry when appropriate and always closing the lid when done. But deep down inside I’m a cynical, bitter person, the result of torturous years enduring my Mom’s cooking. She had a special way with fish sticks and mashed potatoes that would even cause a starving Chihuahua to pass on dinner.

So it’s no surprise these attitudes surface occasionally while shopping in Dillon. I’ll walk into a store and mumble, “I saw this for 95 cents less in Bozeman.” or “I just bought a set of those on Amazon for only $33 and got free super saving shipping.” These are things not nice people say while shopping in Dillon. Just ask any of the merchants and they’ll tell you.

I’m no fool. I understand the importance of patronizing local businesses as it keeps them afloat so they can pay taxes, ensuring that the community’s infrastructure doesn’t flush down the civic toilet – so to speak. Heck, as a college freshman I got a C in “Introduction to Economics.” I was in the running for a B except the silly professor expected us to actually understand the difference between micro and macroeconomics. Something apparently you could discern if by actually reading the book.

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Throttle the accelerometer, batten the elevator, shovel the drift, cast the leading edge, and boil the pitch – Havre will once again be able to book airplane flights directly to Billings – and there’ll even be a plane waiting this time. Who cares if Great Lakes Airlines (formerly Great Lakes Aviation) doesn’t have in-flight movies or complementary margaritas? As long as the plane goes up and comes down on its landing gear you have to feel pretty special.

Ever since the Wright brothers flew the historic Kitty Hawk flight, people have been willing to get stranded in airports where sleeping on concourse seats resembles placing one’s body in a microwave’s cardboard box. My wife once phoned me because she was stranded overnight in the Las Vegas airport. I swear, Wayne Newton was singing in the background.

To commemorate air service returning to Havre, I thought a chronological trip through the annals of commercial airline development would be appropriate. My grasp of history, while memorable, is often as accurate as a politician’s campaign pledges but I’ll give it my best shot.

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