Army veteran pens book about growing up in Iredell County, close calls in life

“My overall journey or transformation was never in mind as events happened. I accepted life’s experiences as they happened. It was only in looking over notes and my memoirs later in life that I realized, ‘Hey I’m lucky to be alive,” Hardiman said. “I am a survivor, having taken opportunities when they availed themselves, somehow selecting the correct way at those forks in the road of life.”

Hardiman, who now lives in Fairfax Station, Virginia, said whether it was the bike given to him by his teacher, hitchhiking rides to the airport, or the opportunities within the U.S. Army and flying for NASA, things always seemed to work out for him.

“I was a poor kid who went to the N.B. Mills Elementary School, and we didn’t have much. But as I say in the book, it seems like fate kept looking out for me,” Hardiman said. “Little things. I got selected as captain of the Civil Air Patrol. Why? Why was that?” 

Fate certainly smiled on npw 79 year old during the more than a dozen close calls he said he had both as a civilian and military pilot, including one at the age of 19. Hardiman recalls his time growing up in Statesville as well as pivotal moments of his military and civilian careers in “Dangerous Enclosures” and how those affected his more than 60 years in aviation.

“At the time these events happened, I never questioned them, as is unusual, I believe, for a young man. If I had questioned the reason I escaped a serious circumstance, it would have affected my mindset and set me up for no longer being aggressive in performing tasks at hand,” Hardiman said. “In hindsight, these many years afterward I realized how fortunate I was to have so many close calls and survived. I use the word ‘fate’ as an afterthought. I certainly don’t believe ‘luck’ had anything to do with it, nor did I particularly think a divine hand was watching over me at the time. Again, in hindsight, that may have been the case.”

Close calls weren’t just in the cockpit of the planes he flew, either. Luck followed him whether he was in the sky or on the ground. Whether it was secretive missions over Soviet airspace during the Cold War or flying for NASA, Hardiman’s life was filled with experiences that went far beyond the ordinary, according to a press release.

“One which comes to mind is when a Vietcong infiltrator team entered our Special Forces compound at night setting off explosives, one of which I later found was a mere six feet from where I slept but through the grace of God or fate as I called it, did not go off,” Hardiman said.

“Dangerous Enclosures” from Parker Publishers was released in September.

Growing up in Statesville

The following is a shared excerpt from Hardiman’s book, “Dangerous Enclosures.”

Eighth grade saw me with a large paper route with the Statesville Record and Landmark. I traded in my used Schwinn bicycle for a new red Jaguar Mark II which I purchased for $100 on a payment plan from Riddle’s Bicycle and Hobby Shop. I customized my new bike by changing out the standard handlebars for long ‘steer horn’ bars; along with that I put an oversized metal meshed basket in front over the wheel. Additionally, I had two canvas bags, one on each side of the rear wheel. This arrangement was typical for most paperboys.

Being a paperboy was opportune as I developed skills in management and teamwork. After school, I reported to the downtown newspaper rear loading and dispatch facility where papers by the hundreds were coming off the noisy press, busily collected and identified in batches by young Bobby Wilhelm, a newspaper employee.

The smell of freshly inked paper was in the air. Like clockwork, identified stacks of newspapers were placed on long tables to be rolled. Rural adult deliverymen were the first to get the papers while paperboys assisted them rolling their papers. It was a beehive of activity, well-orchestrated with the sound of the press in the background, we developed quite a skill in taking a stack of papers, tightly rolling them wrapped with a rubber band; like a machine, we knocked out the batches in no time. Then came our turn. Each of us purchased our own box of green rubber bands which would last for a week or two.

We had fun as well.

Earl Kuykendall, one of the older boys, would come whisper the name of someone in each boy’s ear as we were rolling our papers. Earl would loudly do a countdown at which time you would turn and shoot a rubber band at the person he had told you to. What a surprise when 15 boys turned and shot you while you aimed and shot at the one Earl had told you to! Only Earl knew who was on the hit list. We were all friends from different backgrounds and schools working as a team. The sooner you rolled your papers and loaded your now heavy bike, the sooner you would be on your way.

At the end of the day, my patrons dutifully waited for their daily newspaper which, in those days, brought news of community and world events into kitchens or living rooms. In some instances, they were disappointed by my late arrivals. After leaving the Record and Landmark newspaper building, bicycle loaded with 150 tightly rolled papers, I sometimes stopped by the downtown Hefner’s Café on East Broad Street or maybe stop to play softball with kids while my deliveries waited. When asked why their paper was late, I usually told them we had problems with the press, a little white lie.

One thing I took pride in was being able to pedal down the center of the street, no hands on the handlebars, accurately slinging papers left and right to land, if not on the porch, certainly close by.