copyright the Chronicle February 17, 2016
by Tena Starr
Armand Brasseur grew up on a dairy farm in Irasburg, but he didn’t want to milk cows, he wanted to fly. He knew that when he was a small boy, four or five years old, and watched planes head south from the airport in Newport.
“I cherished my military soldier with a parachute and balsa wood plane with a rubber band as its source of power,” he said.
He was a Northeast Kingdom farm boy, and not many considered either the dream, or the ability to realize it, realistic.
They were wrong. It took some doing… To read the rest of this article, and all the Chronicle‘s stories, subscribe:
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