While many <strong>artist</strong>s find that painting frees the spirit, in <strong>Shelton</strong>’s case it may have saved his life. <strong>Shelton</strong> grew up in the Paris area of Greenville and had completed one year at Furman when he found himself called to war. To enter the Air Force as a cadet, he needed two years of college. He completed his second year at Duquesne University in uniform, knowing he soon would be half a world away. “I went to England in 1944,” <strong>Shelton</strong> said. “I flew a bomber.” Though he was a member of the 448th bomb group, <strong>Shelton</strong>’s <strong>artist</strong>ic abilities often kept him sidelined from flight. His own craft, a B-24 known as “Frisco Frisky,” revealed his talents. “I painted the sexy woman on the front of the bomber—it was called ‘nose art,’ ” he explained. “A lot of days, the commanding officer would keep me down. I wouldn’t go on a mission. I would paint another airplane, which suited me because it was better than being shot at.” After returning to civilian life, <strong>Shelton</strong> continued to paint, working as a staff <strong>artist</strong> for The Greenville News, a disc jockey and a motorcycle police officer. But he earned his livelihood in the clouds. For many years he was a corporate pilot for Milliken and Company, flying executives, business leaders, a former president and some of the other famous people whose faces now adorn the walls of his studio. In 1968 he wrote a book, Into the Wild Blue Humor, that chronicled his 25 years of flying. “My baby picture is in the back of that book,” said Michele Hill, <strong>Shelton</strong>’s daughter. Her father flew professionally until three years ago, she added. “He could still hold a first-class medical [clearance] to fly if he wanted to.” Following his retirement as a full-time pilot in 1988, <strong>Shelton</strong> spent 10 years on part-time duty for Greenwood Mills, a job that brought him to Greenwood permanently. “Part-time turned out to be five or six days a week,” he said. “Mr. [Jim] Self was a prince—not only to me, but all the employees loved him. He was good to everybody. He was a humanitarian from way back.” Not surprisingly, <strong>Shelton</strong> has countless interesting tales from his years of flight. One of his most memorable trips involved Johnny Carson, who was traveling on behalf of a clothing company. After inviting the notoriously shy Carson to the copilot’s seat, <strong>Shelton</strong> was told by air traffic control in Washington, D.C., to climb to 37,000 feet. “I said ‘Roger’ and I climbed up. When you get there, you are supposed to report your levels, so I handed the mike to Carson THIS ARTICLE IS SPONSORED IN PART BY JEFF’S GRILL, GREENWOOD, AND AN ANONYMOUS DONOR. and I said, ‘Johnny, tell them we’re at 37,000.’ He did. Of course, I couldn’t stand it. I called Washington back and I said, ‘Do you know who that was? That was Johnny Carson.’ The guy said, ‘Yeah, I’m Ed McMahon. Are y’all having a good time up there?’ ” <strong>Shelton</strong>’s favorite passenger was Jim Nabors, the actor who portrayed Gomer Pyle. <strong>Shelton</strong> said Nabors would go out of his way to brighten anyone’s day and was as friendly and compassionate as his TV alter ego. The two visited several times, and <strong>Shelton</strong> drew a picture that graced Nabors’ Christmas cards. A day flying political commentator William Buckley to a speech changed <strong>Shelton</strong>’s view of himself and his place in the world. As he piloted the plane, <strong>Shelton</strong> was told Buckley had just earned $15,000 for his time at the podium. “I got to thinking: ‘He wrote a book and made a fortune; I wrote a book and I broke even. He wrote for newspapers and made a fortune; I write and get free advertising. He makes a speech and gets $15,000; I make speeches and I get green peas and chicken. But right now, for 45 minutes, to him I am the most important person in the world.’ “That changed my whole outlook on life. I realized I can be Daddy-O, too. It changed me. I’m not self-conscious around celebrities; I don’t care how much they make. I sat in a party with Jim Nabors, Carol Burnett and her husband and Danny Thomas and I did all the talking. It made me have the best life in the world.” <strong>Shelton</strong> may have rubbed shoulders with the rich and famous, but in Greenwood and Laurens, his work is often the star attraction. Brianna Lawrence owns The Briarpatch on 34, a gift store near downtown Greenwood. Vendors occupy retail space on both sides of a narrow hallway that leads to Lawrence’s back room. The room, often used by local clubs, has become a destination since <strong>Shelton</strong> began painting the walls with images of Greenwood’s history. Though he spent most of a month painting the room, <strong>Shelton</strong> may never be done. “He’s still got more to do because we want to keep adding some things,” Lawrence said. “When I bought this building, we were going to try to rent vendor spaces and I needed something to make people come this way.” The mural began with a few buildings and now covers all four walls. In it, <strong>Shelton</strong> immortalized Greenwood Mills. Painting the classic mill building was a labor of love. “I told Brianna I had just painted 3,000 windows.” <strong>Shelton</strong>’s work defies labels. He works quickly, completing detailed paintings in 32 Sandlapper