My balloon career launched modestly (sort of) when a delightful, brilliant, eccentric friend named Frank Wood decided he had to have a balloon for fun and to promote his rather outrageous WEBN radio station in Cincinnati. He built it and aired a classical music format until son Beau convinced him that wouldn’t “fly” and they degenerated into hard, acid rock. But Frank, an avid pilot, had his way every Sunday morning from 8 until noon, and I’d hang out at the station in Hyde Park Square while he did his four hours of Bartok, Bach and Beethoven. We’d talk about airplanes, addictions, Graeter’s vs. Aglemesis ice cream and the joy of living (Frank was a recovering addict and a cancer survivor) while he played music and took phone calls from adoring fans.
He told me he was bringing the balloon to a summer evening party in fashionable Indian Hill so the hosts could score a “first” by offering tethered balloon rides to guests.
