My Election 08 Rant

Well, I’ve been absent from the FranknErnest blog for a long time! My focus has been on Multiple Sclerosis, advocacy for those with MS, government relations and fund raising for the cause. Maybe that’s tunnel vision and indicative of an inability to see the bigger picture! On the other hand maybe it indicates that I feel my spotlight is best used if it focuses on that small issue. Obviously, the latter must be the case. Just take a look at my www.msintheoc.blogspot.com blog and you’ll find all my recent postings.

But on to Election 08! Just exactly what are we trying to do? I thought the objective was to elect the next President of these United States! Instead, I’ve heard a lot about not extending the failed policies of the past eight years. But George Bush isn’t running, neither is Dick Cheney! And hey, were it not for a Congress that deferred it’s responsibility to the White House we would have never gotten into the Iraqi quagmire in the first place. And here we are again, entangled in another countries' civil strife. Let the Sunnis, Shiites and Kurds work it out. Protect their border and keep other parties from preying on Iraq. But leave them alone. We don’t understand their differences, let alone their commonalities.

A lot is said about candidate qualifications. Be it Sarah Palin or Barack Obama. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) the Constitution is pretty vague on this matter. The qualifications for the office of President are:

No Person except a natural born Citizen, or a Citizen of the United States, at the time of the Adoption of this Constitution, shall be eligible to the Office of President; neither shall any Person be eligible to that Office who shall not have attained to the Age of thirty five Years, and been fourteen Years a Resident within the United States.

We are all qualified! Each and every natural born U.S. citizen who has been a resident for the past 14 years and is above the age of 35 is qualified. Those are the qualifications! You’ve never had to register to vote, cast a vote or declare yourself to be either a Republican or Democrat. The beauty of this is that we the people on any given election day decide what the qualifications are, IN REAL TIME!

So, I guess it is best to say, “We get the Chief Executive we deserve.”

Then there is the economy! The housing bubble was not the fault of a lack of government regulation. The issue was quite the opposite, poor, unnecessary government interference in the banking system. I’ll even identify the major culprit. The Community Re-investment Act (CRIA or CRA)! Passed by the Congress and signed into law by the President. But guess what, the Community Re-investment Act was not a product of the George Bush administration! Without the CRA banks would not have floated loans without protecting their investment by insuring the borrowers were credit worthy! An entire industry of unscrupulous loan sharks would not have peddled the concept that we can all afford a 3000 square foot home on a 1200 square foot budget.

The fallout means a select few banks including Bank of America, Wells Fargo and Citibank buy up the assets of smaller banks at pennies on the dollar. And the Federal Government is going to bailout somebody to the tune of $750 billion dollars. Why do I get the feeling that the fat cat banks will use that $750 billion dollars to buy up the small guys at government expense? Pay the Treasury back with dollars borrowed at a marginal interest rate. Sell the assets back to the public at market rates as the economy improves and pocket the proceeds (remember they bought the assets for cents on the dollar).

My formative years were spent as a young guy living among the wheat and oil fields of Western Kansas. And as I remember, our High School Economics teacher emphasized the, “Invisible hand of the free market.” It must be allowed to flourish without the intervention of any entity. Uncle Sam’s hand is not an invisible force!

I doubt government on any level can deliver quality service! Elected officials are hung up on infrastructure. That’s stuff, physical, viewable and tangible. Service is intangible. When all is done, there is no physical evidence that government’s involvement in any way aided or impaired delivery of a service. There is simply no political advantage to providing excellent service.

So, the invisible hand of the market place is at work. Government is trying to wrest that hand from the market by infusing the market with huge amounts of cash. Our cash! It will not work! Government bureaucracy and Supply and Demand economics are conflicted. Any attempt at making it work is Socialism at best!

On Government:

Protecting the rights of even the least individual among us is basically the only excuse the government has for even existing.
Ronald Reagan

The French Canadian Skunk- Fred Walker

I first was introduced to this little peice 55 years ago. It was the work of my Grandfather, and at the same time it was the curse of my mother, 2 aunts and grandmother. All the grandsons loved to hear Grand-dad roll it off his tongue. As best my mother can recall it went:

I hunt the bear,
I hunt the rat.
Last week, I go to hunt the skunk polecat.
My friend, Bill, say he good for fur,
Same time, good to eat .
I tell me wife I bring home fur coat,
Same time get some meat.
I walk one, two, t’ree mile.
I smell awful smell.
That skunk done died,
An’ fur coat gone to hell.
I walk up a little closer,
An’ raise me axe up high…..
That Ga Damn skunk
gone kerplunk!
An’ t’row sumt’in in me eye!!
By Chrise! I t’ink I’m blind!!
Ga Damn! I cannot see!!
I run ‘roun and ‘roun,
An’ bump into Ga Damn tree!
My wife, she meet me at the door,
She sic on me the dog.
She say, “You no sleep here tonight,
Go out an’ sleep with hog.”
Now I no hunt the skunk no more
For fur coat or meat,
For if his breath it smell so bad,
Ga Damn! What if he’d speet!!!!

All the problems we face in the United States today can be traced to an unenlightened immigration policy on the part of the American Indian.
Pat Paulsen

From General George Patton

A good plan violently executed now is better than a perfect plan executed next week.

A FAVORITE QUOTE

A man who views the world the same at fifty as he did at twenty has wasted thirty years of his life. Muhammad Ali

STEM CELLS vs PLAN B

MR PRESIDENT, YOUR ADMINISTRATION IS SENDING MIXED MESSAGES; IT'S BEING HYPOCRITICAL AND IT'S MAKING PURELY POLITICAL (REGARDLESS OF THE ETHICS) DECISIONS! And I'm a conservative Republican, imagine my disdane if I were a liberal Democrat.

A short time ago you (George Walker Bush) vetoed the Stem Cell Initiative! Ok, I disagree with your decision but your concern for the dignity of life does merit consideration.

Now you have voiced your support for your nominee to head the Food and Drug Administration and his decision to approve over-the-counter sales of the morning after, Plan B, birth control pill.

Excuse the hell out of me, but didn't you just validate an embryo that has never graced a woman's reproductive system and then supported termination of an embryo that is present in a woman's reproductive system seeking to implant itself in the womb? What's wrong with this logic?

MR PRESIDENT, you say you are a compassionate conservative, I don't think so! You're just another politician.

Oh yeah, I've got a dog in this hunt! You vetoed hope for millions (myself included)!

The Morning Paper

I went outside this morning to pickup the Sunday newspaper. I paused, noticed the rather heavy dew, a piece of trash that someone had dropped in the street and started walking back toward the door.

Suddenly there was a lot of noise emanating from a tree in my neighbor's front yard. I casually glanced up and noted that there were 10 or 12 swallows fussing, fighting and maybe doing a little mating dance in the tree.

I headed on to the house but stopped. Hmmm, its March 19. Aren't those birds supposed to have an appointment about 20 miles south of here in Capistrano this morning.

Infrastructure Decline

We are a club; Rex, Lex, Ralf, Lefty and Alf. We are writing to voice our concern with the state of the local information network super-highway. We’ve done everything we can to continue the flow of vital signals to and from normal routine activities! But, we keep running into roadblocks! We detour, take another route and bam, another road block.

Making matters worse is the fact that other clubs are also trying to accomplish their tasks. Eventually we all end up competing for the same pathways. A bottle neck occurs. Progress stops and gridlock sets in.

We’ve even tried cranking up the power to plow through the roadblocks. That worked for awhile but now the power grid is dangerously low on resources. We’re wasting so much power chasing around trying to find alternate routes to reach our objective that we may not be able to fulfill our mission. Tasks that once required minimal energy are now sapping our limited power supply.

So we got together with our supervisor three years ago and took drastic action! We instituted a work stoppage! That seemed to help some. The need to exert power was permanently reduced.

But the infrastructure continues to decay and the machinery isn’t as vibrant as it once was. Just getting menial tasks accomplished is a struggle!

We haven’t moved fast in years, we haven’t been called on to institute a run, climb or carry breakable and fragile treasures.

A little about us:

Rex: Occupation- Right EXtremities master of ceremonies

Lex: Occupation- Left EXtremities master of ceremonies

Ralf: Occupation- Right Ankle Leg Function generator

Lefty and Alf work in tandem- Occupation: Left Ankle Leg Function Generator

Please Help,

We’re MStified

So????

Frankly Speaking- Deadly Don Walton

Don was the physical incarnation of Alfred E Newman. He matched the mold so well they could have been identical twins (even though Alfred E Newman was a ficticious comic book character). However when Don spoke his Carolina drawl was distinctly his own. The pattern was slow and the words were elongated. “HIIIIIII, I’mmmmm Dawwwwwwwn Wallllllllllltoooooooon frum Buffffforddddddd Nooooooth Caaaaarelina.” That is as close as I can get to translating his speech pattern to the written word.

As our tour of duty off the coast of North Vietnam neared its end; flight operations became intense and seemingly endless. As a result two things happened onboard the ship. First, the smoking lamp was out; all that jet fuel, open flames….. Yes, I know lighting jet petroleum inadvertently is a stretch, but remember it was the Navy (Three ways of doing something; a right way, a wrong way and the Navy way). Hence, no smoking during flight ops. Second, trash could not be dumped overboard because there was a chance some debris could be ingested by a jet aircraft as it approached the ship; and standing on the fantail of the ship was suicidal if an aircraft came in short of the flight deck. So, “the smoking lamp is out and the fantail is closed”.

Our Division Chief was a crusty old Master Chief Petty Officer that had washed out of pilot training during world war II. It seemed his major task was to roam through the division’s work spaces and find miniscule indications that the troops had not kept the area in, “ship shape” condition. On this particular day he found our 50 galloon trash can ½ full. He immediately began berating everyone present about our sloppy house keeping (it didn‘t matter that the fantail had been closed all day).

Don, in his typical, “I’m jest a dumb ole country boy” fashion addressed the matter directly with the Master Chief. “Welllllll Chiiiiieeeeef, looking in that there sheeet can, I see it’s only half full!” The Master Chief acknowledged that observation to be true, but insisted that the trash should have been dumped. Without missing a beat Don responded. “Welllllll Chiiiiiieeeeeef, rekon we can paiiiiinnnnnntt a line inssyyyyde that there sheeeeeet can so’s we’re sure we know what’s an atceptable level of sheeeeet in the sheeeeeeeet can!”

The Master Chief simply turned and left our shop.

Several weeks later we were sailing back to the United States. The transit time was about 3 weeks. Don was nearing the end of his enlistment and was therefore obligated to endure the prescribed reenlistment “talk”. The Master Chief assigned himself the task of counseling Don in the matter. Don silently and passively listened to the Master Chief’s sales pitch. As was the normal final point the interviewer always seemed to raise was the question, “So what do you think you’re going to do with your life if you get out of the Navy”.

Don responded without hesitation, “Wellllll Chiiieeeeefff, I’m gonnnnnna git outta this man’s Navy. I’m gonna go back to my daddy’s chick’n farm in Buuuuuufffford, Nooooooth Carelina and shovel chicken sheet jest to get may priiiiiiide an self-steam back.

End of exit interview!

Changes to OCTA's Access

The following notice is posted on the OCTA’s website:

ACCESS has been providing service that exceeds the ADA requirements. Starting July 1, 2005, OCTA will modify some of the ACCESS service policies and procedures. Some premium services will be discontinued, while remaining services will strictly conform to ADA requirements.

These changes include:

Restricting ADA-eligible trips to the ADA-required ¾-mile fixed-route corridor by time of day.
Discontinuing same-day medical back-up service.
Increasing the cost for premium door-to-door service.
Expanding the on-time window for pick-ups from 20 minutes to 30 minutes.
Requiring all ADA applicants to participate in an in-person assessment as part of the eligibility process.
Exploring the use of different types of vehicles to improve cost effectiveness and efficiency.
Implementing a partially subsidized same-day taxi program for individuals with ADA eligibility.

But wait….

In 1991 the residents of Orange County passed Measure M! Among its provisions it earmarked 25% of the funds generated by the sales tax to develop a transit system and stabilize bus fares for senior citizens and persons with disabilities. The transit system will consist of expanded intercity and commuter train service between south Orange County and Los Angeles, commuter train services between Riverside and Irvine and transitway connectors on freeways. Funding also includes $340 million to begin a state-of-the-art high capacity urban rail system in central orange County.

The way I see it Access costs $35 Million a year, the sales tax generates $155 million. Yet all the OCTA rhetoric addresses “federally mandated’ services while overlooking the voters desire to serve their fellow citizens needs.

Frankly Speaking- LCDR Bart Wade

At some point during the week of December 15, 1972 the Commanding Officer of the U.S.S. Saratoga, Captain J.R. Sanderson, took time out of his daily SitRep (Situation Report) to commend LCDR Bart Wade for having flown 300 combat missions over North Vietnam.

On the evening of December 21 he launched with a fellow A-6 crewmember,LCDR Graustein, on what was Wade's 302nd combat mission.

Simply stated, they didn't make it back.

301 Successful combat missions
Less than 2 weeks from the end of our tour of duty in Vietnam
The Saratoga's last two casualties in Vietnam

Here are a couple of posts at the virtual wall:

LCDR Bart Wade was one of those unselfish A-6 aircrew heroes of the Vietnam war who couldn't stay away from the action until it was finished. Volunteering to come back to Vietnam and fly in combat again, he joined VA-75 in 1972 and was declared missing in action on the night of 21 December 1972, along with his pilot LCDR Bob Graustein, after a night low level bombing mission on Kien An Airfield, near Haiphong, North Vietnam.

From a friend and squadron mate,
Grady Jackson
radmjax@aol.com

26 Aug 2003
He shall grow no more old...
I knew Bart Wade throughout my entire time flying the A-6A Intruder. Bart and I were assigned to the same training class in VA-128 at NAS Whidbey Island in early 1968. I was a new Ensign, only 8 months since commissioning, and Bart was a lofty Lieutenant, having entered the Naval Flight Officer program after a tour as an aircraft maintenance officer. We both were assigned to VA-196 at the end of our Bombardier/Navigator training in early 1969, and deployed to Vietnam on board USS Ranger in October of that year. The squadron returned home in June of 1970 after a long, tough deployment that saw four of our aircraft shot down - the only combat losses for the entire Ranger air wing.

Our paths diverged when I went to another squadron and Bart stayed with VA-196 for a second deployment. After that, although he was entitled to a (safe) assignment on shore, Bart elected to join another deploying squadron and returned to the war.

Bart was a bachelor. I remember that he lived with two other single fliers in a waterfront house on Whidbey Island that had a sign out front - "The Bachelors". They shared ownership and care of a one-eyed collie named Jack. Their outdoor deck was always good for a Sunday afternoon party in the summertime. After he had a few beers, Bart could recite long passages from Rudyard Kipling's poetry. I don't remember him ever being sad or down.

Bart was a true hero in that he chose to do a dangerous job even when he could have honorably been elsewhere. He wanted to fly and wanted to make a difference in the service of his country, and died doing what he loved to do.

It remains for those of us who came through unscathed to remember him and his shipmates.

"They will grow no more old, as we that are left grow old.
Age will not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun, and in the morning,
We will remember them..."
- Inscription on the Tomb of the British Unknown soldier -
From a friend,
Pete Young

My first Bonsai

FRANKLY SPEAKING- Legacy

On August 14, 1945 he stood on the deck of the USS Missouri and witnessed as Emperor Hirohito signed the articles of surrender ending WWII.

On July 29, 1967 a U.S. Navy Lt. Commander sat in the cockpit of an A-4 Sky Hawk he was preparing to fly on a combat mission over North Vietnam. As he prepared himself and the aircraft for the mission he heard a loud swoosh and a low level detonation. He watched as the two aircraft in front of him burst into flame, spewing JP-5 (jet fuel) on the flight deck. He watched as one of the damaged aircraft dropped a bomb, watched as the bomb rolled across the flight deck and stopped in the middle of a burning pool of jet fuel.

In the conflagration that followed, 132 members of the ships crew would perish. Sixty-two others (including the Lt. Commander) would be injured and two would be listed as missing and presumed dead. It was the most devastating accident on any aircraft carrier since World War 2.

On October 26, 1967 the same Lt. Cdr (now recovered from the wounds suffered on the Forrestal) launched from the USS Kitty Hawk on his 23rd combat mission. The target was a power plant serving the city of Hanoi. At some point during that sortie a surface-to-air missile hit the A4E Sky hawk he was piloting. He ejected, was taken into custody and held as a prisoner-of-war for the next 5 1/2 years.

In 1972 I served aboard the USS Saratoga. The duty station was off the coast of North Vietnam. We were part of the U.S. Seventh fleet; He was in command of U.S. Naval forces in the pacific at that time.

All three of these men share much more than the service they have given the U.S. Navy and the nation. They are three generations of one family! They share their name with the other two.

One witnessed the surrender of the Japanese. His son rose to the level of Admiral and commanded the U.S. Navy in the Pacific while the Grandson was confined to a P.O.W. camp in Hanoi.

The grandson didn’t get the opportunity to, “over-achieve” like his father and grandfather did. POW camps tend to abbreviate careers not nurture them.

So he ran for the U.S. Senate and deviated from the legacy left by Admirals John McCain, Sr. and John McCain, Jr.

Which title would you prefer, Admiral or Senator?

Frankly Speaking, Jean and Morris

I guess I’ve been a bit lax in writing entries to the blogs lately. I can’t explain why but it just seems to be the case. No reason and no excuses.

I promised in the previous post to continue the Jean story. Here it is:

The growth we were experiencing was tremendous. Having THE hot box in the world of office automation and productivity was, and I assume still is exhilarating. I was responsible for the service activities in Kansas, western Missouri, southwestern Iowa, Nebraska and any other God forsaken environs the Regional Manager felt compelled to send me. Jerry was in St. Louis doing the same in a bit smaller geography. Our business was growing at a rate of 6% per month. Compound that for six years. It is impressive. We needed help! Enter Morris.

Morris was hired to work out of St. Louis and be an additional resource for both Jerry and myself. His very first service call was in Cedar Rapids, Iowa; where he diagnosed the problem, replaced the defective part, got on an airplane and went back to St. Louis. One problem- He didn’t diagnose the failure that was causing the failure he diagnosed. The next day the unit failed again. So my phone rang and the voice on the other end said, “Frank how fast can you get to the Kansas City airport, I need you in Cedar Rapids.” So off I went. It was a very straight forward, easy fix. But it did require an overnight stay in beautiful Cedar Rapids while I waited for a power supply (the original undiagnosed culprit) to be flown in.

Little did I know that while I was lounging in my hotel room Jean had called the Communication Center ranting and raving about the failure of her fax. Larry reacted to her tirade by dispatching Morris from St. Louis to Kansas City to resolve the difficulty. But before he left he got a warning from the girls in the Comm. Center, “Be careful, Jean is a real !@#$%.

Morris caught a flight to KC, rented a car, drove to the customer’s site, walked in to the administration area and calmly announced, “OK, which one of you is the !@#$% ?” Fortunately, Jean was not in the office at that moment. Unfortunately Morris was unable to resolve the problem. So Jean called the Comm. Center again.

I finished the service call in Cedar Rapids and caught a flight back to KC, The next morning I was informed of Jean’s problem and made aware of the fact that Morris had been in town to, “back me up” but that he was unsuccessful in doing so.

I got to Jean’s office, put my tail between my legs and began the process of fixing the machine. While I worked on the unit Jean decided to take a break. So I was left alone. A broken fax machine and I in an office with 4 attractive women seemed innocent. As if it were on cue they simultaneously began walking toward me. They didn’t stop till they completely surrounded me and the supervisor was standing directly in front of me, and I will admit she was way too close. She said, “OK, which one of us is the !@#$% ?”

The women in the office were all too aware of Jean’s reputation, and they thought I had warned Morris about Jean. So they decided to have a little fun with me.

Morris’ first paycheck was his last!

Jean

She worked in office services. There were 4 other women working in the office with her. All four of the other women were rather attractive, in their late 20s, pleasant and friendly. But then there was Jean. She was (or at least needed to be) nearing retirement. She was grumpy and very unfriendly. She expected everything to work flawlessly regardless of the fact that she didn’t bother to learn the proper way to use it. She was chosen to be the key-operator of the office fax machine in the days when the fax machine was a high-tech marvel of the state-of-the art office environment.

Jean had a reputation for upsetting the dispatchers in our communication center to the point that they very often broke into tears. Enter the Director of Field Operations, whose office was just outside the communications center. Larry would hear the commotion or sobbing if it had come to that. He’d tell all the girls in the office that he wanted to speak to me when I called in. Or, if he were so inclined, he’d have his secretary hunt me down. You see maintaining our equipment at Jean’s site was MY job. Invariably Larry’s comments would go something like, “Frank, we just got call from that &$#@* Jean and you have got to deal with it right now. She’s got all the Comm. Center girls crying. Just fix it Frank.” Oh yeah, the squeaky wheel gets the grease.

Among the ongoing issues at this location was the fact that the power that was shared by her desk equipment and the fax machine had a defective ground. The major issue was that every time Jean turned her typewriter on, the fax machine started up. Since Jean had used that typewriter for years without a problem it obviously had to be something wrong with that fax. Granted, no one had touched the fax machine but the defect had to be the fax!

I entered the office, said hello to Jean. Then I listened to her explanation of the problem. That was followed by a tirade about, “If you can’t have this thing fixed in 30 minutes I want it out of here.” I excused myself to go to my car for parts, took the opportunity to call Larry. Explained to him what I was going to do. He accepted my action plan with the comment, “OK if you’re sure this will work.”

I returned to the office with everything I would need. First, I drained the liquid toner out of the unit. I taped all the moving parts on the exterior down. Then I began to push the 350 pound washing-machine sized unit toward the door. Jean went crazy! “What are you doing? Plug that back in we need the fax! Coolly and calmly, with all five of the women looking on I simply said, “But Jean, you said if I couldn’t get it fixed in 30 minutes get it out of here. It will probably take me two hours so I drained and taped the unit for removal.”

Jean’s response, “I was just trying to make a point.”

Mine, “I made one!”

Personally I never had another problem with Jean. But the next post will address the follies of Jean, Morris and the four other women in the office. You’ll love it.

Anita's Wheelchair

Anita left her residence in her new high-tech motorized wheelchair. She traveled to a nearby intersection. Pressed the “Push-to-walk” button and waited on the light to turn green. It did and she started to cross the street. As she was crossing, an oncoming vehicle negotiated a left-hand turn that intersected her path striking her wheelchair. The good news is that she was not physically injured!

Now the bad news. Her new $22000 wheelchair was totaled. No witnesses came forward so it was difficult if not impossible to ascertain who was at fault. The police did not cite either party. Barring a protracted lawsuit the matter was closed. Anita’s source of mobility and independence was now a heap of broken useless parts for which no one wanted to take responsibility.

Anita could have withdrawn to her residence. Depression could have set in. This situation could have simply slipped through the cracks. Out of sight, out of mind.

But she took it on herself to contact the local newspaper, “The Orange County Register”. The deaths of 3 people using wheelchairs in the past 2½ months prompted the paper to publish an article highlighting the dangers wheelchair users confront. The article appeared in the February 12 issue of the paper.

Since the article’s publication; her wheelchair has been replaced, awareness to this issue by the community in general has been heightened, and attention to this matter within the Multiple Sclerosis community has been feverish and shows no sign of ebbing. The first step in solving a problem is recognizing that a problem exists.

So thank you Anita! By demonstrating powerful self-advocacy not only have you won a personal victory; you’ve brought attention to the issues of:
1. Personal safety
2. Protecting ourselves from the unexpected loss of our mobility aids

Frankly Speaking -Christmas 1972

There we were off the coast of North Vietnam. History will record that U.S. forces were executing Operation Linebacker II, the Christmas bombing siege of North Vietnam. Some will say it worked while others speak too the fact that North Vietnam simply changed tactics. Regardless, a month or so later we were home, the U.S. was out of that mess and some of the P.O.W.s had beaten us home. I say it worked! It was OVER!!!

We had been on the line for some time and I was shocked when I entered the Comm/Nav shop on Christmas Eve. There stood (or should I say hung) a fresh green Christmas tree! Now, we all had our contacts but this was a little much. Evergreen trees weren’t readily available in the places any of us had contacts (Danang, Subic Bay, and Bangkok primarily). Then consider the fact that it was fresh! Where, How, Who, When did that thing get aboard an aircraft carrier in the midst of the most intense air campaign of the Vietnam war? I know who got it, but I don’t know how.

We had been deployed since April. Maybe a little Christmas was in order. And if you don’t understand what a “band of brothers” is you would if you had this experience.

Obviously, we lacked a stand. So as previously mentioned it was suspended from the overhead (ceiling). We had no ornaments but someone fashioned one out of an electronic component. Someone else went about going one up on the first contributor and on and on it went. It really wasn’t a surprise when someone thought to use chaff (aluminium foil cut to lengths designed to disrupt radar) as garland. And suddenly there was a decorated Christmas tree in our shop.

Well, it was an inpromtu party so we needed some treats! Everyone had hoarded their “care packages” from home waiting for the opportune time to enjoy a little Christmas cheer. This seemed to be it! A buffet of sorts was spontaneously arranged!

We had an ad hoc goodie store we operated selling Coke, Pepsi and candy bars to ourselves. The inventory was ours and all the receipts were either split amongst the group or re-invested in our next inventory purchase. Well, there was our drink! We emptied our stash. Fortunately we never had to restock it.

So we spent the evening together in the Comm/Nav shop. No booze, no kids, no wives, no girlfriends, no parents, no presents, no carols and no convenient excuses to call it a night. A ceasefire had been declared for Christmas day so we could all sleep in.

That was Christmas 1972

FRANKLY SPEAKING- Nice is Nice

The, “Sinking 60 from Dixie” had dropped the hook and we were waiting patiently for the deck monkeys to get the liberty launches in the water. OK, I’ll translate! The U.S.S. Saratoga, CV-60 (not so lovingly referred to as the Sinking 60 from Dixie) had anchored and we were waiting patiently for the liberty boats to be launched and, “Liberty Call” to be sounded. Bill and I had both stayed aboard the ship during our brief stop in Rota, Spain. As a result, we were both ready to get off the boat. I’m pretty sure the fact that we had anchored off Cannes, France also played into our eagerness to hit the beach.

We had showered, shaved and put on our civvies before wandering down toward the liberty line. Surprise! We weren’t the only two guys that thought that getting off the boat was a good idea. Apparently 3000 other guys had the same idea. Let’s do a little math. Our liberty boats held about 100 men. We normally only put 4 or 5 liberty boats in the water and it probably took an hour to make the round trip. Does “HURRY UP AND WAIT” mean anything to you? It was obvious we had a few hours to kill. So we headed up to the roof (flight deck) to get some fresh air and sunshine.

We went through the hatch into the catwalk that surrounds the flight deck. It’s quite a place. You are in a narrow open-air corridor. On one side is a 60 foot drop into the sea with a rail that’s about chest high to protect you. On the other side is the flight deck. On this day it was quiet, except that our squadron line crew was positioning an SH-3D Helicopter for launch. We noticed that the Squadron’s Skipper was seated in the Pilot’s seat and relaxed knowing that he would recognize us and not inform the Air Boss to get those two idiots away from the flight deck. The engines and the rotors weren’t turning so the situation didn’t warrant any concern on our part and realizing who was at the controls of the aircraft he wouldn’t be concerned about our being there.

Suddenly the rear door of the helicopter slid open. A crewman motioned for us to come over. Hey, if the Skipper summons, I respond immediately! When we got to the aircraft the crewman handed me his helmet and I heard the Skipper ask, “Where you guys going?” I responded, “Just going ashore, sir.” His response was great. “Well, if you come aboard I can guaranty you that no one will get where we’re going for 4 or 5 hours.” We jumped into the back of the aircraft without asking where we were going or why. It was the Skipper inviting us along!

We settled into the jump seats in the back as the engines were started and the rotor engaged. After the mandatory pre-flight checks were performed by the pilots, the helicopter became airborne and we headed down the coast. After about 15 minutes, we began descending and landed at an airport. We weren’t aware of where we were, but it was an airport.

The crewmembers opened the front personnel door and motioned us to come forward. Over the noise of the twin T58 turbojets, idling 3 feet above our heads, and the sound of the rotor blades still trying to beat the air into submission. The Skipper yelled, “Welcome to Nice, France. Let me know if you enjoy your private tour.” With that, we deplaned and found ourselves standing on the tarmac of the Nice airport. The helicopter taxied back out to the runway and took off, probably in route to one of the support ships which always escort an aircraft carrier.

We wandered toward what looked to be the terminal, entered the door and were immediately stopped by a French official. Fortunately the word Passport is fairly universal. Unfortunately we were members of the United States Navy and not required to carry one. Our military I.D. was the substitute document we carried! But why would a French immigration official know that? And where did we come from? And why are we here? And this guy’s English was as bad as our French. But, thank God for Stewardesses! They all speak English, even if they work for Air France.

After explaining our dilemma to the first stewardess we saw. And hearing her translate our explanation to the immigration official; he asked a couple of questions, once again translated as they were asked and answered. Then he picked up a phone and called someone, somewhere. Whoever it was, our story must have been good enough. We were immediately allowed to enter France and enjoy its sites.

For the next six hours Bill and I wandered the streets of Nice without bumping into another American, let alone another member of the U.S. Navy. Nice was very nice!
Of course, at the end of the day we had to figure out how to get back to the ship. But, logic told us to get back to Cannes where we’d find an ample contingent of Navy guys able to give us directions back to the Fleet Landing. Our logic was right! We made it back to the Fleet Landing in about 4 hours without a serious error navigating through the French Riviera. In retrospect, I’m not sure that was an accomplishment we should have been proud of!

ANOTHER SIGN ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD

DON'T LOSE YOUR HEAD
TO GAIN A MINUTE
YOU NEED YOUR HEAD
YOUR BRAINS ARE IN IT
**Burma-Shave**

Frankly Speaking- December 7

He was born in the late 1930’s. I’m not sure why his parents traveled to his grand parent’s home that year. But there he was, December 7, 1941. As fate would have it following the events of the day he was not allowed to return to his home. He was stranded.

He was born in the San Francisco Bay area. His parents were Japanese. Considering the United States treatment of ethnic Japanese (including natural born U.S. citizens) during World War II, maybe it could have been worse.

He began his education while in Japan. As he recalled to me, every morning they gathered to salute the Emperor (kind of a Japanese Pledge of Allegiance). On this particular day the sound of an aircraft flying over caught his attention and he turned to look up. The teacher leading the gathering saw his attention directed skyward and began to give him a lecture about saluting the enemy airplane.

The date was August 6, 1945; the time was just past 8:00am; the school he attended was just outside of Hiroshima.

I worked with him for 15 years and he passed this on once and in no greater detail than I’ve given in this writing. Funny, when he told me of this event in his life I was speechless. I had no questions to ask and I needed no clarification.

Sign on the side of the road

A HEAVY BEARD
BUT BALD ON TOP
DON'T YOU WISH YOU
COULD ROTATE THE CROP
**Burma-Shave**

ORCHIDS ANYONE?

Nice digs, right?

Cool place, huh?

Survivors and renegades

FRANKLY SPEAKING- Thanksgiving

It was a rag-tag assembly of survivors, escapees, refugees and renegades found living amidst the splendor of the island. In fact, the concept of Thanksgiving seemed very appropriate to their mere existence. They did not blend into their surroundings very well. In fact, they announced their presence to all.

They did not appear, “American”. They didn’t exhibit the traits normally associated with their up-bringing. They were thin and their coats were rather worn and un-kept. No one would welcome their visit to a Thanksgiving feast. They were lean mean survivors. No fat or the plumage that normally adorns their kind. Eye candy was not a descriptive term for them.

But there they were! Parading their stuff! They had moved up! They now lived on a resort golf course just miles from the beach. Their cares were simple, food and companionship. From all appearances they certainly had the latter.

Hmm, simple pleasures!

Frankly Speaking- They Just Won't Work

I was teaching at a Naval Air Maintenance Training Detachment at the Norfolk Naval Air Station. There were 15 of us in the detachment. A Master Chief Petty Officer in Charge, 3 jet mechanics, 3 airframes and hydraulics technicians, 3 aviation electricians and 5 avionics technicians. Our function was to train new maintenance technicians on the equipment specific to the SH-2F Lamps Helicopter as well as the aircraft itself.

I was at the time conducting a training class that was specific to the aircraft and its avionics systems. The general concept was to enable the individual technicians to identify defective assemblies, replace them and send the defective assemblies to an intermediate repair facility. This particular class was the most basic class we taught on the SH-2’s avionics systems. There was really no reason why an individual trained as an avionics technician should struggle with the course. It really was that elemental.

On Friday of each week a test was administered to check the student’s progress. The test questions were given to the students at the beginning of the course. All the student had to do was be able to answer questions he had from the course’s outset. Sounds simple, right?

As luck would have it racial discord in the ranks was an issue at the time. There was an African-American student in the class and guess who failed the first progress exam. The protocol was well defined and I proceeded to place the young man on academic probation. He objected citing that the instructor (that was me) had a prejudice against Black students.

I took the matter to the detachment office, advised the Chief in Charge. I wasn’t concerned that the matter had arisen. I felt certain the tension would ease and the class would continue as normal.

Everyone agreed that academic probation was the correct action to take and I returned to the classroom. The class for the rest of the day was a review of the test and any areas that the students felt needed further explanation. So there I stood in front of the class, suddenly, Bill entered the classroom and walked over to the podium, he laid his clenched fist on my lesson plan and without saying a word opened the fist to expose a black cricket. I cracked up! Bill walked back to the door and propped himself up against the door frame. One of the students then asked, “What’s so funny?” Right, I’ve got a class that includes a student that says I’m racially insensitive. Sure I’m going to tell the story!

Bill did now hesitate. He looked at me and said, “Tell ‘em Frank!” Well he did have several years seniority on me. Bill was a fishing buddy and just a generally nice guy. Interestingly enough he was also black.

Several months earlier Bill and I had gone fishing at a Naval Annex on the Colonial Parkway. The bait that we had used on the trip was crickets. We had tremendously good luck that day. Our catch was fantastic! The following Monday I was in the detachment office telling the rest of the guys how well we had done. Someone asked what we were using for bait and I told them, “crickets”. Another of the instructors wanted to know where we got them, so I told them where they came from and how much they cost. Someone piped in with the observation that we should have asked him and he would have given us all we needed from his house. I immediately asked what kind of crickets he had at his house.

I did not realize that Bill had entered the office and was standing directly behind me. The other instructor told me that the crickets at his house were all black. I advised him that the crickets we used were grey. He wanted to know what was wrong with the black crickets (I think the shell is too hard). But that is not what I said. With Bill standing silently behind me I said, “I don’t know they just won’t work.” Bill tapped me on the shoulder. “What kind of a racist comment is that Frank.” We joked and kidded about my racial prejudice toward black crickets.

When I finished Bill addressed the class. “Frank is a personal and professional friend. There is no favoritism or prejudice in his classroom. And, I don’t appreciate anyone saying there is. If this matter comes up again I will personally escort (obviously the language has been sanitized) the offending party out of this building and charge the person with dereliction of duty and conduct unbecoming a member of the United States Navy. Any question?” Hearing none Bill turned and walked off.

There were no further disruptions in the class and all students passed the class.

Frankly Speaking- Eric, Dorothy, Toto, Me & the Tornado

Eric and I had hiked from the thriving metropolis of Plainville KS to the lake to enjoy a day’s fishing and whatever else two 13 year old boys could get into. Other than the fact that I managed to pretty well lob off the end of my right index finger opening a can of Vienna Sausages the first part of the day was uneventful. Granted, the finger did need stitches but I was young, bullet-proof, macho and tough. Hey, I was 13! That was a real wound! I even had to briefly explain it when the U.S. Navy fingerprinted me.

As the day wore on clouds began to build on the western horizon. Not concerned we continued our fishing expedition. However I should note that the only fish I ever saw caught in the lake were when it was going dry and the authorities opened it to seining, netting, gigging and any other fishing techniques save poison and dynamite. The city swimming pool seemed the logical place to deposit all those fish. But that’s another story.

As the day wore on the clouds on the horizon weren’t on the horizon anymore. The clouds were moving toward us. They weren’t just clouds anymore either. They were thunder boomers! The clouds turned green; Eric and I decided we needed to head for home. Too late; it was two miles to our houses and we only had enough time to go a mile and a half. The old wives tale about green clouds warning of impending hail is not an old wives tale! When we were one half mile from Eric’s house the sky opened up and pelted us with marble sized hail. But we journeyed on!

We arrived at Eric’s and went upstairs to dry off and warm up. It’s funny, but I can still remember the record we were playing on Eric’s phonograph. “Wipe Out,” by the Ventures. Oh, and for those to young to remember; phonographs were the ancient predecessor to the CD player which was preceded by the cassette player which was preceded by the 8-track, and hi-fi wasn’t and I don’t think any of us had stereo anything. But there we sat unwinding from the rigors of the day.

Suddenly the siren sounded! Now for those not used to life in rural Kansas, the siren was the town’s warning system. It sounded to summon the volunteer fire department when some ole man’s barn caught fire. It sounded at noon every day (I always supposed it beat all the lady folk having to call the men folk to lunch). Finally, it was the imminent warning that a tornado had been sighted and the community was in danger. In the event of a fire or lunch the siren wailed then waned and then wailed again. In the event of a tornado it just wailed, and wailed, and wailed. On this day it did the later!

Being the good son I was I immediately called home to see if mom wanted me to come home. Otherwise I’d just wait it out at Eric’s house. Mom’s decision was that I should come home. Today that would probably be construed as child endangerment. But it was only about 100 yards from Eric’s house to ours. So off I went.

It was 100 feet to the gate at the back of Eric’s yard and I was walking out the gate when I heard something breaking or crashing. I looked over and saw the next door neighbor’s antenna crashing to the ground. I then looked up. OH MY GOD!!! I was looking up into the vortex of a tornado. Ok, so it was about 100 yards home. I guarantee that had someone had a stop-watch on me I would still hold the world’s record for the 100 yard dash. And Eric’s back yard was directly behind Dorothy’s. And I was scared!

I ran into the kitchen where mom stood with my brothers and my baby sister. I babbled and blubbered insistence that everyone get down into the basement, but they weren’t listening to me! We watched as Scotty (the High School Janitor) and his wife (Leonna, I believe) made their way down the alley that separated our yard from the high school. How long did that all take? A couple of minutes I’m sure. And unless I ran faster than a tornado and/or time moves the tornado had to be long gone.

The Civil Defense Siren stopped its loud obnoxious song! We all wandered out into the backyard and there to the east was the cloud. As I recall it had 5 funnel clouds dangling from it. It may have only been three but it’s my story and I’m sticking to five. Four (or two if you prefer) of the twisters were your basic run of the mill tornados. But the other one was a monster!

We didn’t have F1 through F5 category tornadoes at the time. We had monsters, tornadoes and possible tornadoes. If there were no witnesses, then any damages the storm generated were at the hands of tornadic winds. And that’s exactly the way the news media reported them. Not possible, probable or likely tornadoes. The damage was caused by tornadic winds.

Eric and I lived to wreck havoc on the community another day! Dorothy, her house and Toto her dog were not influenced by the day’s events. We found no yellow brick road, no ruby slippers and no witches. Except possibly Miss Rounder, the elderly matron, that was our English teacher and the school librarian. Oh yes, life on the plains of Kansas!

Hannah' Blog

Ok, I have to hype my granddaughter. Check out her blog at http://hannahhaven.blogspot.com

Proof of Title

I thank Bob Parks & Aunt Mimi for this one!

A New Orleans lawyer sought an FHA loan for a client. He was told the loan would be granted if he could prove satisfactory title to a parcel of property being offered as collateral. The title to the property dated back to 1803, which took the Lawyer three months to track down. After sending the information to the FHA, he received the following reply.

(Actual letter):

"Upon review of your letter adjoining your client's loan application, we note that the request is supported by an Abstract of Title. While we compliment the able manner in which you have prepared and presented the application, we must point out that you have only cleared title to the proposed collateral property back to 1803. Before final approval can be accorded, it will be necessary to clear the title back to its origin."

Annoyed, the lawyer responded as follows (actual letter):

"Your letter regarding title in Case No. 189156 has been received. I note that you wish to have title extended further than the 194 years covered by the present application. I was unaware that any educated person in this country, particularly those working in the property area, would not know that Louisiana was purchased, by the U.S., from France in 1803, the year of origin identified in our application.

For the edification of uninformed FHA bureaucrats, the title to the land prior to U.S. ownership was obtained from France, which had acquired it by Right of Conquest from Spain. The land came into the possession of Spain by Right of Discovery made in the year 1492 by a sea captain named Christopher Columbus, who had been granted the privilege of seeking a new route to India by the Spanish monarch, Isabella. The good queen, Isabella, being pious woman and almost as careful about titles as the FHA, took the precaution of securing the blessing of the Pope before she sold her jewels to finance Columbus' expedition.

Now the Pope, as I'm sure you may know, is the emissary of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, and God, it is commonly accepted, created this world. Therefore, I believe it is safe to presume that God also made that part of the world called Louisiana. God, therefore, would be the owner of origin and His origins date back, to before the beginning of time, the world as we know it AND the FHA. I hope you find God's original claim to be satisfactory.

Now, may we have our loan?"

The loan was approved.

Quote of the Day

The most terrifying words in the English language are: 'I'm from the government and I'm here to help'."

-- Ronald Reagan

Election Observations

“You know what they call a candidate who’s counting on a lot of new voters?"


LOSER

THINGS THAT IT TOOK ME over fifty years to learn

by Dave Barry, Nationally Syndicated Columnist

1. Never, under any circumstances, take a sleeping pill and a laxative on the same night.

2. If you had to identify, in one word, the reason why the human race has not achieved, and never will achieve, its full potential, that word would be "meetings."

3. There is a very fine line between "hobby" and "mental illness."

4. People who want to share their religious views with you almost never want you to share yours with them.

5. You should not confuse your career with your life.

6. Nobody cares if you can't dance well. Just get up and dance.

7. Never lick a steak knife.

8. The most destructive force in the universe is gossip.

9. You will never find anybody who can give you a clear and compelling reason why we observe daylight savings time.

10 You should never say anything to a woman that even remotely suggests that you think she's pregnant unless you can see an actual baby emerging from her at that moment.

11. There comes a time when you should stop expecting other people to make a big deal about your birthday. That time is age eleven.

12. The one thing that unites all human beings, regardless of age, gender, religion, economic status or ethnic background, is that, deep down inside, we ALL believe that we are above average drivers.

13. A person, who is nice to you, but rude to a waiter, is not a nice person. (This is very important. Pay attention. It never fails.)

14. Your friends love you anyway.

15. Never be afraid to try something new. Remember that a lone amateur built the Ark and a large group of professionals built the Titanic.

16. Thought for the day: Men are like fine wine. They start out as grapes, and it's up to the women to stomp the crap out of them until they turn into something acceptable to have dinner with.

Humor for the Wise and Experienced-

Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.

On the Morning News this week!

Man being interviewed about his (hard to find) flu shot.

"Where did you get your shot?"

His response, "In the Butt."

The reporter momentarily lost control. He was after the name of the drugstore.

Reporter interviewing 104 year-old woman

"What do you think is the best thing about being 104?"

"No peer pressure," she replied.

Frankly Speaking- August 1, 1973 at Fenway Park

The following details an event that occurred at the baseball game that day. It was the only time I went to a game at Fenway. But wow! What a game!

Excerpt from http://www.thedeadbadballera.com/MunsonFisk.html

By the time Fisk joined the Red Sox as the full-time catcher in 1972, Thurman Munson was an established star! According to ESPN's Peter Gammons, Thurman hated Fisk because he was jealous of him -- "the chisled, handsome Fisk, in contrast to the dumpy, stubbled Munson". I totally disagree with this statement. Thurman was never "jealous" over Fisks' looks. That is 100% totally absurd! What ticked off Thurman was the fact that the press and media, particularly Curt Gowdy, (a former Boston announcer who was doing the "Game Of The Week" at the time) had annointed Fisk to be the second coming of Johnny Bench, Yogi Berra and Roy Campanella all rolled up into one, while Thurman was being forgotten in the press. The fact is that Thurman was more ticked off at the press in the beginning than he was at Fisk. The two actually were civil to each other, until one day in 1973. On Aug. 1, 1973, the rivalry heated up in a big way when the two all-stars fought after a collision at home plate. It was a wild free for all with Thurman getting the decision in terms of punches landed. Gene "Stick" Michael got the worst of it actually. With the two teams tied for first place, tensions were ready to explode by the time the ninth inning rolled around. With one out, Thurman was at third, Felipe Alou at first, Gene Michael batting, and John Curtis was pitching.! Thurman broke for the plate on a suicide squeeze. Michael tried to bunt, and missed, then tried to step in Fisk's way. Bad move! Fisk roughed him out of the way and braced for Munson, who crashed into him as hard as he could. Munson tried to lie on top of him while Fisk held onto the ball so as to allow Alou to keep rounding the bases. Fisk kicked Munson off him, and swiped at him with his fist. Michael grabbed Fisk, Curtis grabbed Munson --Fisk threw Michael down with his left arm and fell to the ground. In the mean time, Thurman was like a maniac, throwing as many punches as possible to Fisk's face and body. As baseball brawls go, it was exciting. In the clubhouse afterward, the exalted Munson snipped at the press "go ask him who won the fight, he knows", confident that he won the decision.

By the way Alou did not score and Boston won the game in the bottom of the ninth.

Frankly Speaking- The Darwin Awards

I received this from my aunt, I hope there isn't a subliminal message she was trying to convey.

Hard to believe, but another year has almost passed. Once again, it's time for the Darwin Award Nominees. The Darwins are awarded every year to the persons who died in the most stupid manner, thereby removing themselves from the gene pool. This year's nine nominees are:

No. 1: [San Jose Mercury News]: An unidentified man, using a shotgun like a club to break a former girlfriend's windshield, accidentally shot himself to death when the gun discharged, blowing a hole in his gut.

No. 2: [Kalamazoo Gazette]: James Burns, 34, (a mechanic) of Alamo, MI, was killed in March as he was trying to repair what police describe as a "farm-type truck." Burns got a friend to drive the truck on a highway while Burns hung underneath so that he could ascertain the source of a troubling noise. Burns' clothes caught on something, however, and the other man found Burns "wrapped in the drive shaft! "

No. 3: [Hickory Daily Record]: Ken Charles Barger, 47, accidentally shot himself to death in December in Newton, NC. Awakening to the sound of a ringing telephone beside his bed, he reached for the phone but grabbed instead a Smith & Wesson 38 Special, which discharged when he drew it to his ear. (For whatever reason, residents of Southern states always seem to figure prominently among the Darwin
nominees.)

No. 4: [UPI, Toronto]: Police said a lawyer demonstrating the safety of windows in a downtown Toronto skyscraper crashed through a pane with his shoulder and plunged 24 floors to his death. A police spokesman said Garry Hoy, 39, fell into the courtyard of the Toronto Dominion Bank Tower early Friday evening as he was explaining the strength of the building's windows to visiting law students. Hoy previously has conducted demonstrations of window strength according to police reports. Peter Lawson, managing partner of the firm Holden Day Wilson, told the Toronto Sun newspaper that Hoy was "one of the best and brightest" members of the 200-man association. (Nice to see another Canadian province getting into the awards.... The Maritimes always have been heavily involved.)

No. 5: [Bloomberg News Service]: A terrible diet and a room with no ventilation are being blamed for the death of a man who was killed by his own gas emissions. There was no mark on his body, and an autopsy showed large amounts of methane gas in his system. His diet had consisted primarily of beans and cabbage (and a couple of other things). It was just the right combination of foods. It appears that the man died in his sleep from breathing the poisonous cloud that was hanging over his bed. Had he been outside or had his windows been opened, it wouldn't have been fatal. But the man was shut up in his
nearly-airtight bedroom. According to the article, "He was a big man with a huge capacity for creating "this deadly gas." Three of the rescuers got sick, and one was hospitalized.

No. 6: [The News of the Weird]: Michael Anderson Godwin made News of the Weird posthumously. He had spent several years awaiting South Carolina's electric chair on a murder conviction before having his sentence reduced to life in prison. While sitting on a metal toilet in his cell attempting to fix his small TV set, he bit into a wire and was electrocuted. (South Carolina entrants are always perennial favorites.)

No. 7: [The Indianapolis Star]: A cigarette lighter may have triggered a fatal explosion in Dunkirk, IN. A Jay County man, using cigarette lighter to check the barrel of a muzzle loader, was killed Monday night when the weapon discharged in his face, sheriff's investigators said. Gregory David Pryor, 19, died in his parents' rural Dunkirk home at about 11:30 PM. Investigators said Pryor was cleaning a 54-caliber muzzle-loader that had not been firing properly. He was using the lighter to look into the barrel when the gunpowder ignited. Nominee

No. 8: [Reuters, Mississauga, Ontario]: A man cleaning a bird feeder on the balcony of his condominium apartment in this Toronto suburb slipped and fell 23 stories to his death. Stefan Macko, 55, was standing on a wheel chair when the accident occurred, said Inspector D'Arcy Honer of the Peel Regional Police. "It appears that the chair moved, and he went over the balcony," Honer said. (Another Ontario entry....I wonder if people are moving there from the Maritime
Provinces.)

Finally, THE WINNER!!!: [Arkansas Democrat Gazette]: Two local men were injured when their pickup truck left the road and struck a tree near Cotton Patch on State Highway 38 early Monday. Woodruff County deputy Dovey Snyder reported the accident shortly after midnight Monday. Thurston Poole, 33, of Des Arc, and Billy Ray Wallis, 38, of Little Rock, were returning to Des Arc after a frog gigging trip. On an overcast Sunday night, Poole's pickup truck headlights malfunctioned. The two men concluded that the headlight fuse on the older-model truck had burned out. As a replacement fuse was not available, Wallis noticed that the .22 caliber bullet from his pistol fit perfectly into the fuse box next to the steering-wheel column. Upon inserting the bullet the headlights again began to operate properly, and the two men proceeded eastbound toward the White River Bridge. After traveling approximately 20 miles, and just before crossing the river, the bullet apparently overheated, discharged, and struck Poole in the testicles. The vehicle swerved sharply right, exiting the pavement, and striking a tree. Poole suffered only minor cuts and abrasions from the accident, but will require extensive surgery to repair the damage to his testicles, which will never operate as intended. Wallis sustained a broken clavicle and was treated and released. "Thank God we weren't on that bridge when Thurston shot his balls off, or we might both be dead," stated Wallis. "I've been a trooper for 10 years in this part of the world, but this is a first for me. I can't believe that those two would admit how this accident happened," said Snyder. Upon being notified of the wreck, Lavinia (Poole's wife) asked how Many frogs the boys had caught and did anyone get them from the truck???
(Though Poole and Wallis did not die as a result of their misadventure as normally required by Darwin Award Official Rules, it can be argued that Poole DID, in fact, effectively remove himself from the gene
pool.)

Frankly Speaking- Customs at JFK

I was on the final leg of a journey that had taken me to Muscat Oman, Dubai and Abu Dhabi UAE, Athens Greece; Tel Aviv, Jerusalem and Bethlehem Israel. Here I was at 4:00 in the morning trying to clear customs and re-enter the good ole U.S. of A. Normally this was a rather uneventful exercise but this trip would be different.

Our Israeli distributor had asked that I bring $10,000 worth of defective U.S. printed circuit boards back for credit and repair. That really wasn’t a major challenge. I would carry them to New York. Declare them at customs and have them shipped in bond to our freight forwarder in San Francisco. At this point the freight forwarder could gather all the necessary paperwork to satisfy the bureaucrats and have the boards released to our reps. Of course this was all the result of our Israeli distributors’ unwillingness to spend a few bucks to ship them back like everyone else. Oh well!

I approached the customs inspector as usual. He asked if I had anything to declare and I told him about the printed circuit boards. I expected some discussion of the facts at this point. But he simply directed me to leave the line and go to the customs office for further customs inspections, paperwork and bureaucratic nonsense.

There I was. Me, my bags and $10,000 worth of defective PCBs at a small counter facing a cranky New York Customs Agent. After explaining the matter to him I had to endure a fairly lengthy speech. The speech hinged on the fact that since they were U.S. products the first customs agent should have just allowed me to pass. But, because he didn’t he was going to have to complete all the forms then ship the devices back to San Francisco in bond. Just as I expected!

Suddenly the door opened and a man entered the room with a cart that carried a stack of mail bags and a box that was about the size of a shoebox. It was getting a bit crowded in there. The Customs agent asked the man what he had to declare. The guys’ response was simple, direct and rather casual, “Seven million dollars in currency and 35 pounds of gold.” OK, forget my lousy $10,000 worth of PCBs. There were bigger fish to fry. My issue was forgotten! Within minutes the room was swarming with uniformed police and customs agents. I don’t think the customs agent ever called anyone. Maybe it was all taken care of over the computer.

Customs Inspectors did not need to see the seven million dollars (there was no limit to the amount of money you could bring into the country), but they did need to see the gold. On seeing that it was gold coins as opposed to bullion they allowed the man to declare it and leave, via armored car, before my issues were addressed. Who ever said money doesn’t talk.

25 SIGNS THAT YOU'VE GROWN UP

1. Your houseplants are alive, and you can't smoke any of them.
2. Having sex in a twin bed is out of the question.
3. You keep more food than beer in the fridge.
4. 6:00 AM is when you get up, not when you go to bed.
5. You hear your favorite song on an elevator.
6. You watch the Weather Channel.
7. Your friends marry and divorce instead of hook up and break up.
8. You go from 130 days of vacation time to 14.
9. Jeans and a sweater no longer qualify as "dressed up."
10. You're the one calling the police because those damn kids next door won't turn down the stereo.
11. Older relatives feel comfortable telling sex jokes around you.
12. You don't know what time Taco Bell closes anymore.
13. Your car insurance goes down and your payments go up.
14. You feed your dog Science Diet instead of McDonalds leftovers.
15. Sleeping on the couch makes your back hurt.
16. You no longer take naps from noon to 6 PM.
17. Dinner and a movie is the whole date instead of the beginning.
18. Eating a basket of chicken wings at 3 AM would severely upset, rather than settle your stomach.
19. You go to the drug store for ibuprofen and antacid, not condoms and pregnancy tests.
20. A $4.00 bottle of wine is no longer "pretty good stuff."
21. You actually eat breakfast food at breakfast time.
22. "I just can't drink the way I used to," replaces, "I'm never going to drink that much again."
23. 90% of the time you spend in front of a computer is for real work.
24. You drink at home to save money before going to a bar.
25. You read this entire list looking desperately for one sign that doesn't apply to you and can't find one to save your sorry old ass.

FRANKLY SPEAKING- ROBERT MALLARI

It was early one evening in the late fall. The sun had set, it was dark outside and the cars on the street had to use their headlights to navigate as they traversed from their work to their homes. Robert was changing the photo chemicals in the photo processing equipment at the Mexican Consulate. The Consulate was a busy place, but on this fall evening, as Christmas approached, Robert found himself the sole occupant of the consulate other than the security guards.

The Consulate involved was the Mexican Consulate in Los Angeles, California. As I said it was normally very busy, probably the busiest Mexican Consulate in the world. In fact, it was probably the busiest consulate any foreign government had in the United States. The Consulate was located across the street from MacArthur Park, on the west side of downtown Los Angeles. You know MacArthur Park…Sung By: Richard Harris or Donna Summer. Undoubtedly it is one of the worst songs ever written:
Spring was never waiting for us, girl
It ran one step ahead
As we followed in the dance
Between the parted pages and were pressed
In love's hot, fevered iron
Like a striped pair of pants

MacArthur Park is melting in the dark
All the sweet, green icing flowing down
Someone left the cake out in the rain
I don't think that I can take it
'Cause it took so long to bake it
And I'll never have that recipe again
Oh, no!

I recall the yellow cotton dress
Foaming like a wave
On the ground around your knees
The birds, like tender babies in your hands
And the old men playing checkers by the trees
MacArthur Park is melting in the dark
All the sweet, green icing flowing down
Someone left the cake out in the rain
I don't think that I can take it
'Cause it took so long to bake it
And I'll never have that recipe again
Oh, no!

There will be another song for me
For I will sing it
There will be another dream for me
Someone will bring it
I will drink the wine while it is warm
And never let you catch me looking at the sun
And after all the loves of my life
After all the loves of my life
You'll still be the one
I will take my life into my hands and I will use it
I will win the worship in their eyes and I will lose it
I will have the things that I desire
And my passion flow like rivers through the sky
And after all the loves of my life
After all the loves of my life
I'll be thinking of you
And wondering why
MacArthur Park is melting in the dark
All the sweet, green icing flowing down
Someone left the cake out in the rain
I don't think that I can take it
'Cause it took so long to bake it
And I'll never have that recipe again
Oh, no!Oh, no
No, no
Oh no!!

Ok, I’m letting my 1960’s folklore stand in the way of a good story! So against that backdrop Robert went about changing the chemicals.
As he went about the task he noticed a woman walk past the photo processing equipment, aware that the chemicals used in the photo process were both highly corrosive and if mixed very toxic; he maintained his attention to the details. When it seemed appropriate Robert turned his attention to the woman. She stood at the window looking toward MacArthur Park.

Suddenly Robert realized the woman was transparent. He could see through her!

Robert, a first generation Filipino immigrant, ran to and through the back door of the Consulate.

The security guards, on seeing the look of fear on his face said, “You just saw our ghost didn’t you?”

To my knowledge Robert never entered the Consulate again when he was alone and it was dark.

The Four Stages of Life

1) You believe in Santa Claus .
2) You don't believe in Santa Claus .
3) You are Santa Claus
4) You look like Santa Claus.

GREAT TRUTHS ABOUT GROWING OLD

1) Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional
2) Forget the health food. I need all the preservatives I can get
3) When you fall down, you wonder what else you can do while you're down there.
4) You're getting old when you get the same sensation from a rocking chair that you once got from a roller coaster .
5) It's frustrating when you know all the answers but nobody bothers to ask you the questions
6) Time may be a great healer , but it's a lousy beautician
7) Wisdom comes with age, but sometimes age comes alone .

Great truths adults have learned

1) Raising teenagers is like nailing Jell-O to a tree.
2) Wrinkles don't hurt.
3) Families are like fudge...mostly sweet, with a few nuts.
4) Today's mighty oak is just yesterday's nut that held its ground.
5) Laughing is good exercise. It's like jogging on the inside.
6) Middle age is when you choose your cereal for the fiber, not the toy.

GREAT TRUTHS THAT LITTLE CHILDREN HAVE LEARNED:

1) No matter how hard you try, you can't baptize cats.
2) When your Mom is mad at your Dad , don't let her brush your hair.
3) If your sister hits you , don't hit her back. They always catch the second person.
4) Never ask your 3-year old brother to hold a tomato .
5) You can't trust dogs to watch your food.
6) Don't sneeze when someone is cutting your hair.
7) Never hold a Dust-Buster and a cat at the same time.
8) You can't hide a piece of broccoli in a glass of milk.
9) Don't wear polka-dot underwear under white shorts.
10) The best place to be when you're sad is Grandpa's lap.

Wild Turkeys at the Golf Course in Waikoloa, HI

We're Back

Hawaii was great. The visit with our daughter was better than that. Life is good. The following is only one of the 200+ great pictures we took.

Turkeys running wild on a resort golf course! A mongoose stalking the turkeys. Wild goats lounging on the lava. A gecko riding shotgun on the outside mirror as we drove (and he wasn't singing about Kung Fu fighting).

And they say it's strange in California!

Hawaii, the Big Island

Life in Hawaii on vacation

OK, we have been in Hawaii one week now.

The craziest sight was awakening to the sound of turkeys gobbling; looking out the window to see a flock (10 or so) 20 lb. turkeys outside the window and on the fairway of a resort golf course. I've heard of birdies, boggies, eagles, double eagles and aces but I haven't seen anyone score a turkey.

Then there are the mongoose.

Awesome sunsets!

The island is totally different on the east side.

Hannah Grace picking flowers in a field. Photo by her father.

Frankly Speaking- The Midnight Ride of Lt. Clyde

In 1976 I was teaching the avionics and antisubmarine warfare systems on the SH2-F LAMPS helicopter. One of the classes I taught was a pilot’s familiarization for pilots coming to the LAMPS (Light Airborne Multi Purpose System) community. I was surprised when Clyde arrived for the familiarization class. Everyone with experience in the H2 helicopter or combat search and rescue knew who Clyde was and what he had done. Personally, I was awed by the fact that I was teaching a class that was being attended by an individual who I knew needed no introduction to the aircraft or its capabilities.

Clyde was actually Lieutenant Commander Clyde Lassen. He was rather easily recognized if you knew what you were looking for. The keys to recognizing him were that first he was a naval aviator. He wore a set of navy aviator wings. Now that did not distinguish him. After all how many pilots did the Navy have? But as you looked at him the top left ribbon adorning his chest was a baby blue service ribbon that had 5 white stars on it. Clyde Lassen was the only person in the U.S. Navy that had both those features on his uniform.

In my own mind it was hard to realize that I had Clyde Lassen in my classroom, teaching him the capabilities and systems of the H-2 helicopter; when eight years earlier he had flown an H-2 helicopter on a successful rescue mission earning the Congressional Medal of Honor. His Medal of Honor was the only such medal awarded to a Naval Aviator in the Vietnam War.

Rather than risk embellishing this tale I am simply going to attach the text of the citation that accompanied the Medal of Honor.

The President of the United Statesin the name of The Congresstakes pleasure in presenting theMedal of Honorto
LASSEN, CLYDE EVERETT
Rank and organization: Lieutenant, U.S. Navy, Helicopter Support Squadron 7, Detachment 104, embarked in U.S.S. Preble (DLG-15). Place and date: Republic of Vietnam, 19 June 1968. Entered service at: Jacksonville, Fla. Born: 14 March 1942, Fort Myers, Fla. Citation: For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty as pilot and aircraft commander of a search and rescue helicopter, attached to Helicopter Support Squadron 7, during operations against enemy forces in North Vietnam. Launched shortly after midnight to attempt the rescue of 2 downed aviators, Lt. (then Lt. (j.g.)) Lassen skillfully piloted his aircraft over unknown and hostile terrain to a steep, tree-covered hill on which the survivors had been located. Although enemy fire was being directed at the helicopter, he initially landed in a clear area near the base of the hill, but, due to the dense undergrowth, the survivors could not reach the helicopter. With the aid of flare illumination, Lt. Lassen successfully accomplished a hover between 2 trees at the survivors' position Illumination was abruptly lost as the last of the flares were expended, and the helicopter collided with a tree, commencing a sharp descent. Expertly righting his aircraft and maneuvering clear, Lt. Lassen remained in the area, determined to make another rescue attempt, and encouraged the downed aviators while awaiting resumption of flare illumination. After another unsuccessful, illuminated rescue attempt, and with his fuel dangerously low and his aircraft significantly damaged, he launched again and commenced another approach in the face of the continuing enemy opposition. When flare illumination was again lost, Lt. Lassen, fully aware of the dangers in clearly revealing his position to the enemy, turned on his landing lights and completed the landing. On this attempt, the survivors were able to make their way to the helicopter. En route to the coast he encountered and successfully evaded additional hostile antiaircraft fire and, with fuel for only 5 minutes of flight remaining, landed safely aboard U.S.S. Jouett (DLG-29) .

Frankly Speaking-The Trolls go Home

It was late in the summer of 1971. We (Helicopter Antisubmarine Squadron 7) were deployed to the North Atlantic onboard the World War II vintage aircraft carrier USS Wasp. It was to be the Wasp’s last deployment prior to her decommissioning. Our mission that summer was to locate Russian submarines and make the world a safer place live. Exactly how that was to take place still evades me.

We had tracked a Russian nuke boat all the way across the Atlantic and when it neared the east coast of the United States we were certain our journey would be cut short because we were so close to our homeport of Quonset Point, Rhode Island. But no, the order was given to launch every available antisubmarine aircraft. Then at a set time all the helicopters which had been tracking the sub using passive sonar, were to begin active sonar tracking. Passive sonar is merely the act of listening to the sounds that are present in the sea. Active sonar is done by emitting a loud ping into the water and waiting for a return to be bounced off a metallic hull. Well, on hearing the sound of the sonar pings reverberate through his ship the Russian captain took evasive action and within minutes was gone. We then returned to our search area between Greenland and Norway, we still had a world to make safe.

World War II aircraft carriers were not equipped with an abundance of creature comforts. All the space was put to use to accomplish the ships primary mission. The goodies that the crew had purchased while on liberty in the foreign ports were stowed throughout the living and working spaces as best the owners could. Among those items was an assortment of Trolls purchased in Oslo, Norway by one Bernie Bauer.

Bernie had an air about him that would best be described as condescending and pompous. He had joined the Navy simply because the draft had chosen his number. He figured 4 years in the Navy was better than 2 years in the Army with one spent in the jungles of South Vietnam. He was nearing the end of his enlistment and was mad that the draft had ended after he began serving in the USN. Bernie felt that his military service had interrupted his progress toward becoming an architect.

As we neared the end of the deployment the division chief decided that we should hold a field day on the shop. The night shift which Bernie supervised had no idea of this decision. During the general clean-up someone inadvertently heaved Bernie’s Trolls into the icy waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

The absence of the Trolls was noticed by those of us in the shop and we waited for Bernie to make his appearance that evening. Sure enough at about 7:00 pm Bernie entered the shop. At first he noticed the cleanliness of the place but then his eyes wandered to the place the Trolls had been stored. “Where are my Trolls?” He asked.

Without hesitation someone spoke up, “They’re swimming back to Norway!”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Frankly Speaking-Hillcrest Country Club

It was a typical Southern California Thursday. The sun was scheduled to shine (surprise) and I had rented two automatic photo booths to a father who wanted the units for his daughter’s Bat Mitzvah. You know, a young Jewish girl turns thirteen, reaches adulthood and …. Well, that’s about the extent of my knowledge of jewish tradition, pomp and rites of passage. Anyway, Chris Tebow and I had put 2 photo studios on our 10 foot stake bed truck and we were going to deliver and operate the units during the evening’s festivities. So, off we went. Chris in the driver’s seat and I rode shotgun as we navigated the early afternoon traffic in Los Angeles. Our destination was a country club on the west side of the city.

The Hillcrest Country Club was born out of ethnic necessity. In the first half of the 20th century Jewish patrons were not allowed to frequent the area’s Country Clubs and golf courses. Let’s face it there was a significant influx of Jewish talent into the Los Angeles/Hollywood areas at that time. (Does any part of Metro Goldwyn Mayer sound Jewish?) Well the Jewish elite of the film industry did the only logical thing. They built their own country club. Does it surprise you to know that they built it directly across the street from the 20th Century Fox studios?

Early that afternoon we arrived at the clubhouse and drove up the circular drive way. We needed to locate the entry we would use to take 2 1000 pound photo machines into the facility. Now I hadn’t risen to the position of Regional Manager because I was totally stupid. I somehow deducted that the management of the facility would not welcome our taking those two units in the front door of a posh, plush trendy clubhouse. Therefore I instructed Chris to park the truck on the outer reaches of the circular drive way and I would go find out how to proceed. I walked across the center part of the circle to reach the front door of the clubhouse.

I was trying to get the valet captain to tell me where we needed to go, but I was having some difficulty. I don’t know whether it was my Spanish or the valet captain’s English that was to blame but we were having problems communicating. Making the matter worse was the fact that another person had launched a conversation with another of the valet people and I could not help but overhear the conversation. It wasn’t that the conversation was that interesting, quite the contrary. It was a simple yet direct request that his car be brought to the valet station. But that voice! I was occupied by trying to get the needed information from the valet captain and at the same time intrigued by that voice. Was it really……….? The valet captain finished his explanation to me; I thanked him and turned to walk back to the truck. As I turned I recognized the man that had made the request for his car. I was right and yes the voice had been that recognizable.

As I got back in the truck Chris immediately asked what he was to do. My response was simply to tell him to set still a minute. “Come on Frank, we need to unload this truck!” “Wait a minute!” I said. A black Buick was pulling up in front of the valet station. “Chris watch that Buick! In just a minute God is going to get in that car!” “Come on Frank, we need to g….” George Burns stood to enter the back seat of his car. Chris was stunned. He was left completely speechless. He sat there mouth agape in total shock.

Frankly Speaking-Bucky Diltz

It was the late summer or early fall of 1972. The USS Saratoga was making regular visits to the Subic Bay Naval Station for rest, relaxation and much needed repairs. These visits were the highlight of our activities. Maybe highlight isn’t the correct term. See, it was either Subic or we were involved in flight operations on Yankee Station, some choice!

Yankee Station was simply the area of the Tonkin Gulf north of the DMZ (demilitarized zone for younger readers). Viewed another way, it was off the coast of North Vietnam and Yankees were from the north so ……. Yes, there was a Dixie station off the South Vietnam coast but aircraft carriers didn’t spend a great deal of time there. There is some twisted logic that one could make about those locales and their relationship to the United States’ own civil war. Oh, if you are less than 30 years old you may not know that a long time ago in a place far away there was both a North and a South Vietnam and we managed to involve ourselves in their civil war. Anyway….

As I said we were at Subic Bay Naval Station. The use of drugs had become an issue on the ship and for that matter throughout the armed forces. Cigarettes were laced with pure uncut heroin and being smoked by addicted sailors and marines. Therefore Captain J R Sanderson made a command decision. Anyone boarding his ship would be frisked prior to walking up the gangplank. Sounds simple right? Put another way, 5000 drunken sailors would congregate at the bottom of the gangplank every night at 12:30am when Marshall Law mandated that everyone be off the streets of Olongapo City, Philippines. Those failing to heed that edict faced imprisonment.

At the appointed time Bucky Diltz, Bill Seehorn and I congregated in the mass of humanity to return to our bunks for the night. After about an hour we reached the front of the line. Diltz went first. He stepped in front of a folding table with a Marine noncom standing behind it and another Marine positioned behind Diltz. The Marine Noncom then said, “Empte ur pokits.” In a slightly inebriated state Diltz just stood there baffled. Again the Marine across from Diltz said, “Empte ur pokits.” Again Diltz stood there motionless and totally unaware of the instruction. The Marine behind Diltz slapped the back of his head and said rather emphatically, “Empty your pockets!” That Diltz understood and he promptly complied. Wallet, keys and miscellaneous change were placed on the table.

The Marine at the table then said, “Takurmoneyoutaurwallet.” Once again Diltz had no idea what was said. “Takurmoneyoutaurwallet”, was repeated. After Diltz failed to respond the second Marine once again slapped the back of Diltz’s head saying, “Take your money out of your wallet.” Once again Diltz got it. He picked up his wallet and emptied its contents onto the table.

The Marine at the table said “Piupurpaprmoney.” Again Diltz was clueless.
“Piupurpaprmoney!” Once again Diltz mimics a deer in a car’s headlights.
“Pick up your paper money”, announces the second marine! Diltz immediately complies.
The Marine at the table says, “Puurandsontopourhed.” Diltz just stands there.
“Puurandsontopourhed.” No response.
“Put your hands on top of your head!”
Being the astute follower that Diltz was he immediately put down the paper money and placed his hands on top of his head.

Both Marines lost it at that point. The Marine behind Diltz picked up the paper money, placed it in Diltz’s hand and held both hands on top of Diltz’s head with one hand while unceremoniously frisking Bucky with his other hand. The shakedown found squat, zero, zilch nothing. For that Diltze should probably be grateful.

Diltz was finished with the evening and waited patiently while Bill and I endured the same shakedown. Watching Bucky had given us some fantastic on-the-job training. We breezed through the process.

Together the three of us headed up the Saratoga’s gangplank. Diltz led the pack followed by Seehorn and I. But wait; there were actually two gangplanks between the ship and the pier. One was for people leaving while the other was for those arriving. As we were going up the arrival gangplank the Shore Patrol was escorting a very drunk Hispanic sailor up the down gangplank.

Bucky made a rather negative comment about the Marines who had shaken him down at the bottom of the gangplank. Hearing that, the Shore Patrol’s captive leaned over the rail separating the gangplanks and struck Bucky with his fist. The Shore Patrol grabbed their customer and continued up the gangplank. Bucky found it advisable to remain behind them, well behind them.

When the drunk reached the top of the gangplank he simply passed out and fell face first onto the ship. Diltz stopped dead in his tracks! The gangplank was beginning to backup with guys going aboard, but Diltz was not going to pass that guy again. Bill and I had to physically force Bucky to pass that guy.

The following evening Rick Ivy thought that a film canister filled with sugar would be an interesting diversion for the Marines. Believe it or not those Marines didn’t inspect that film canister. Rick was upset that we had to endure that wait and they did not find evidence that would evoke some sort of response. We did finally convince him that provoking them was not wise. Those nights were the only times we had to endure that process. I wonder why?

Frankly Speaking- Isaac Campbell Kidd

I first became aware of Isaac Campbell Kidd in 1971. Isaac Campbell Kidd was one tough S.O.B. To be honest, my knowledge of him was rather limited but his impact on my activities during the summer of that year was unmatched. You see, Isaac Campbell Kidd was more accurately described as Vice Admiral Isaac Campbell Kidd, Jr., Commander U.S. Sixth Fleet.

Admiral Kidd visited the USS Saratoga on numerous occasions that summer. Unfortunately these visits were necessitated by rather unfortunate events that had occurred. First, a sea water intake manifold in one of the ship’s four engine rooms ruptured. That would have been OK were it not for the fact that the valve that shuts off the manifold was stuck in the open position. In the end that engine room flooded. The good news was that the ship was at that time making a port call to the city of Athens Greece. Hence we got to spend some extra time there. But, imagine the Admiral’s displeasure with having one of his two attack carriers on the disabled list.

Of course, there were war games going on that needed the support of a number of the ship’s aircraft and there we sat. Well the obvious answer was hey this is an aircraft carrier, launch the aircraft that were needed and get on with it. Remember where we were. Athens, Greece; home of the Acropolis, temple of Zeus, lots of antiquities…

The decision was made to launch the aircraft while sitting at anchor and dead in the water. The bow of the ship was pointed directly at the Acropolis and the pilots were instructed NOT to engage their afterburners at takeoff. The first aircraft to launch was an E2 Hawkeye needed for forward air control. The instructions were to initiate a 180 degree turn to the right immediately after launch. I observed that launch from a position in a helicopter parked on the flight deck. When the catapult fired the E2 down the flight deck the aircraft disappeared below the flight deck after takeoff. I swear it did not climb back up to flight deck level (60 feet) until it had executed the 180 degree turn. The next aircraft was an F4J Phantom. Somehow, someway he managed to keep that aircraft airborne. Finally another Phantom was readied for launch. As the catapult officer prepared to give the command to fire the catapult the pilot activated the afterburner. After the catapult launched the aircraft it immediately began to climb; the pilot executed a left turn and began to initiate a victory roll. Not the politically correct thing to do. The pilot was grounded and Admiral Kidd re-visited us in Athens.

After about 2 weeks the ship was repaired well enough to get it underway using 3 of the 4 engines. The other carrier in the Mediterranean needed a break (one of the ships had to be at sea at all times). So they hoisted the anchor and we sailed into the sunset. Well, at least that was the plan.

Down in the bowels of that 80,000 ton floating airport something caused another boiler room to stop generating the needed propulsion. The result was simple. We were no longer the USS Saratoga, CV-60. We were now a floating mass of steel and humanity driven by the ocean currents and the wind. But luck had left us adrift in an area with conditions best described as the doldrums. There was no wind and there were no currents. We didn’t drift; we simply sat there.

Now 5000 men generate quite a bit of trash. We lacked a landfill to dispose of our refuse but the sea is vast and dumping our garbage over the fantail was the prescribed manner of waste disposal. Picture all the trash generated in a city of 5000; put it all in 30 gallon trash bags and heave it out your front door. There sat the mighty USS Saratoga floating in the midst of a sea of filled 30 gallon trash bags.

Guess who flew out to inspect the damage? Yes, it was Vice Admiral Isaac Kidd. How happy do you think he was to find HIS aircraft carrier in that condition? I was told that while flying aboard the Admiral was rather upset by the scene of his U.S. Navy aircraft carrier drifting amidst all that trash.

Ok, so we had an eventful deployment to the Mediterranean, but we limped back in to Athens. Eventually our deployment came to an end. That was the end of my knowledge and interest in Vice Admiral Isaac Kidd, Jr. for eighteen years.

In 1989 I was standing in front of a war memorial. I was not looking at the names written on the memorial expecting to recognize any of them. I was just looking at a piece of history. Suddenly one name on the memorial literally jumped into my conscious recognition. The name that grabbed my attention was, “RADM ISAAC KIDD, SR.” Suddenly the name and the place had a bit more of my interest.

In 1971 the limited knowledge I had of Vice Admiral Isaac Kidd, Jr. did not include the fact that his father Rear Admiral Isaac Kidd, Sr. was present aboard the USS Arizona on the morning of December 7, 1941.

I was unaware that:
1. The senior Isaac Kidd was among the first casualties of WWII.
2. The senior Isaac Kidd was the first general/admiral the United States lost in WWII.
3. The senior Isaac Kidd was posthumously awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor for his actions that fateful morning.

Interestingly enough I have learned a few other facts about the junior Isaac Kidd. These include:

1. He was enrolled at the U.S. Naval Academy by appointment of President Franklin Roosevelt.
2. He achieved virtually a perfect score on his Naval Academy entrance examinations.
3. He was commissioned as a U.S. Naval officer on December 19, 1941. Twelve days after the attack on Pearl Harbor and his father’s death.
4. He eventually achieved the rank of Admiral (4 stars).
5. He retired from active service in 1978.
6. Admiral Kidd, Jr. died June 27, 1999.

There is another chapter to the Isaac Kidd, Jr. saga that I am yet to embark on. That chapter involves the Israeli attack on the U.S.S. Liberty. I think there may be an interesting story there. My initial research of that fiasco includes another significant name, Admiral John McCain, Jr.

Frankly Speaking- April 10, 1972 part 2

As mentioned in the previous installment of Frankly Speaking Admiral Zumwalt (the CNO, Uncle Elmo, the Z) had come aboard the Saratoga without warning and had announced that he would address the ship’s company and the air wing in hanger bay 3.

Three of us began to make our way to hanger bay 3; Ken Casson (aka Killer Ken), Bill Seehorn (aka Chilly Willie) and myself (aka Fearless Frank). We made good time getting there and positioned ourselves next to an aircraft mule (tow tractor to those not familiar with the term). The tow tractor would not block our view, gave us something to lean on and the top was flat and covered with non-skid material. Altogether rather insignificant until Admiral Zumwalt decided that standing on the top of that tractor made him more visible to the assembled mass of humanity. I remember that he never said where we were going. He gave us a pep talk and nothing else. He thanked us for our patriotism and dedication. Then he climbed down off the tractor and came face to face with our little band of brothers. Killer Ken was the senior member of our group and he spoke up saying, “Admiral Zumwalt, I only have one question.” Zumi recognized Ken and took the question from him. “Admiral, when will we come home?” The Admiral’s response was, “I don’t know, but I promise you that when you come home it will be over. This is the last big push, theirs and ours.”

At this point I’ve got to mention an event that occurred 9 months later. We were coming home our mission was complete. It was January 23, 1973 and the U.S.S. Saratoga was rounding Cape Hope, the Southern tip of Africa. A number of us were sunning ourselves on the flight deck and it was quiet. Suddenly the Captain spoke on the ship’s public address systems. “I have two announcements of make. First, we have left operational command of the seventh fleet (the pacific) being transferred back to the second fleet (the atlantic). Second, a peace treaty was initialed last night in Paris that will end the Vietnam conflict.” Not a sound was made by anyone on the flight deck. Funny though, my first thought was of the comment made by Admiral Zumwalt nine months earlier. He called it to the day!

Back to April 10, Admiral Zumwalt departed our presence. As was and probably still is the case, the Navy did not confirm our destination; but we knew.

Well there was nothing left for us to do. We were their, our equipment, clothes and personal effects were loaded and stowed. As they say about military life, “Hurry up and wait”. So it was time to relax and unwind a bit before the Saratoga sailed. You know, Anchors Aweigh, Drink to the Foam, Until we Meet Again… The Miller Brewing Company on hearing of our imminent departure had dispatched a semi loaded with Miller Hi Life to the Carrier Pier at the Mayport Naval Station. I don’t recall that there was any charge for consumption of their product. In short, I think it was free beer for everyone.

I do remember going back aboard the Saratoga that evening. The Junior Officer of the Deck wanted to check my ID. I know I advised him that only an absolute idiot (or something similar) would try to sneak aboard the ship that night. I called it a night.

The next morning the Saratoga set sail. When the coast line disappeared over the horizon the Captain addressed the crew. Surprise, surprise, we had won an all expense paid trip to the Tonkin Gulf. But the next declaration he made changed the mood of everyone on board. “We will be crossing the Equator.” With that declaration everyone was immediately placed in one of two camps, Pollywog or Shellback.

For the next seven days the war that existed was between the pollywogs (4600 strong) and the shellbacks (only 400 of them). Nothing else mattered. The outcome was preordained (the Shellbacks would win) but the pollywogs resisted anyway.

There was a Pollywog Press published daily that detailed the skirmishes that took place between the two camps. Many of those incidents happened in Hang Gar Bay, Sik Bay and Chow Hall.

King Neptune was going to board the ship and test the crew’s sea fairing worthiness. But some among of us wanted to witness how water went down the drain at the equator. Priorities you know. So began our cruise.