When I was a kid, Memorial Day was "Decoration Day" and we all trooped over to the cemetery where our family members, deceased, had been layed to rest. I remember that we always took peonys to put on the graves of so many people that I had no memories of. Grandpa Christensen died before I was born. My own father's sister had died as a child about 8 years old of diphtheria, a disease no one even knows about any more. Anyway, we were told to be reverent and to honor these relatives we had not known.
Also present in the cemetery were numerous American flags (48 star variety) and none of us kids knew why they were there. Some years later, Decoration Day became Memorial Day. We still went to the cemetery and placed flowers wherever a family member or dear friend was buried.
I didn't go to another cemetery for many years. I was on active duty with the U.S. Air Force and either overseas or many miles away when my remaining grandmothers passed away, actually in Southeast Asia when Grandma Christensen passed on.
I attended a few military ceremonies over the years. Most involved military honors and, since most of us were aviators, the mandatory "fly over." These were sad occasions but we all kept "stiff upper lips."
After I retired from the service, we lived in Folsom, CA where I was active in the local Chamber of Commerce. I was asked to head an effort to construct an appropriate military memorial in the city park. I got some of my friends together and, as a committee, we purchased a bronze plaque with the names of the young men of Folsom who had given their all in the various wars. My daughter composed a poem which was read at the dedication and we felt we had done something good.
Fast forward a few decades and we now live in Lincoln, CA. I am active in two veterans organizations and represent same on the Placer County Veterans Advisory Board. I and others assist veterans in filing for benefits and such. We also help those with needs for transportation and so forth. The veterans groups were tasked to construct appropriate memorials for each of the four cemeteries in the area and I was asked to assist. We took about two years to design and acquire the four memorials which were installed a couple of weeks back. We dedicated the one in the old city cemetery today, Memorial Day 2011.
I've done enough memorial construction. I routinely think about the hundreds of thousands of young American men and women who will never have the opportunity to become husbands and wives, to hold their children, to enjoy their parents as seniors and, yes, to become senior citizens themselves.
And for what? World War II was at least a response to an attempt to control the whole world and to eliminate our way of life. Since then, the goals of war, whatever they were, resulted in nothing more than continued hostilities. In Korea, we fought to a standoff, the results of which have never changed. In Vietnam, we continued to pour young people into that terrible mill which disgorged only wounded, whether on stretchers or walking. The result was an abandonment or a tacit surrender. Fifty-thousand young people who will never come home. And we veterans took the blame from a generation of coddled and overfed kids who burned flags and called us baby killers. We all discovered that, contrary to public opinion, soldiers did their duty not to Mom, country and apple pie, but to help their buddies, their brothers in arms.
Finally, we have the morass of southwest Asia. Sounds a lot like southeast Asia, doesn't it? Thousands of our best and brightest fighting other guerilla wars in a far off place. Dying in the company of men and women like themselves. The best and the brightest.
I will never build another memorial.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Friday, May 13, 2011
When the Balloon Almost Went Up
I left the crew force in 1974. I had the opportunity to transfer to the unit command post as a controller and I jumped at it. Even though it was shift work and holidays (the command post was a 24/7 operation) it provided me experience I needed to promotion to major.
The command post was the final link between the President of the United States and the weapons he had at his disposal should "the balloon go up." I don't know where this saying originated but it was used frequently to describe the onset of nuclear war! The command post was also the central control point for all that happened on the base. We handled emergencies of all types and security breaches. We issued instructions to aircraft crews and assisted personnel who had questions or concerns. We monitored the whereabouts of all of the senior staff who had to be available 24/7 on six rings of the telephone.
It was tough work but it was seldom boring. I came to work on a swing shift one afternoon. After a few minutes an F-105 belonging to a tenant reserve unit on the base, swerved off the runway into the mud at about the 5000 foot marker. The nose gear was about two feet into the dirt and the aircraft tail was extending out over the runway.
We were effectively closed! B-52s could not land with this aircraft blocking the active and we had several missions returning with various fuel states. I had to find alternates for the airborne aircraft and get the word to them. Somehow, our chairs got kicked back to the rear wall and we remained on our feet, talking on the phones and radios simultaneously. It took several hours, but we got everyone safely on the ground and got the stuck Thunderchief out of the mud.
Alert force exercises were another event we had to oversee. As the message came down from headquarters, we would decode it and know what it meant so we could start a chain of events that involved the personnel who had roles and ensured safety. These aircraft were loaded with nuclear weapons, after all, and we couldn't affort to compromise any procedure. These birds were all over twenty years of age and many had upwards of 25000 hours of flying time. Exercises usually resulted in several maintenance problems, engines that wouldn't start, hydraulics and electrics that were not right. The radio was jammed with continuous requests for instructions or reports of troubles.
Then came one late graveyard shift. At about 2 a.m., the alerting klaxon began to sound and the alerting system message began. We decoded it and found that it was not an exercise. It was a real message that increased the position of alert aircraft to ensure their survival. We thought the war had started. I stared and my enlisted controller and he said, "maybe we better decode this again." We did. Same result.
All of the aircraft, 6 bombers and 6 tankers, responded. Their times couldn't have been better. No maintenance problems noted. They were ready to take off.
Sometime later, it seemed longer than it was, we were returned to a normal alert status. I realized then how close we'd come and I now knew that the crews would do as they were directed.
The command post was the final link between the President of the United States and the weapons he had at his disposal should "the balloon go up." I don't know where this saying originated but it was used frequently to describe the onset of nuclear war! The command post was also the central control point for all that happened on the base. We handled emergencies of all types and security breaches. We issued instructions to aircraft crews and assisted personnel who had questions or concerns. We monitored the whereabouts of all of the senior staff who had to be available 24/7 on six rings of the telephone.
It was tough work but it was seldom boring. I came to work on a swing shift one afternoon. After a few minutes an F-105 belonging to a tenant reserve unit on the base, swerved off the runway into the mud at about the 5000 foot marker. The nose gear was about two feet into the dirt and the aircraft tail was extending out over the runway.
We were effectively closed! B-52s could not land with this aircraft blocking the active and we had several missions returning with various fuel states. I had to find alternates for the airborne aircraft and get the word to them. Somehow, our chairs got kicked back to the rear wall and we remained on our feet, talking on the phones and radios simultaneously. It took several hours, but we got everyone safely on the ground and got the stuck Thunderchief out of the mud.
Alert force exercises were another event we had to oversee. As the message came down from headquarters, we would decode it and know what it meant so we could start a chain of events that involved the personnel who had roles and ensured safety. These aircraft were loaded with nuclear weapons, after all, and we couldn't affort to compromise any procedure. These birds were all over twenty years of age and many had upwards of 25000 hours of flying time. Exercises usually resulted in several maintenance problems, engines that wouldn't start, hydraulics and electrics that were not right. The radio was jammed with continuous requests for instructions or reports of troubles.
Then came one late graveyard shift. At about 2 a.m., the alerting klaxon began to sound and the alerting system message began. We decoded it and found that it was not an exercise. It was a real message that increased the position of alert aircraft to ensure their survival. We thought the war had started. I stared and my enlisted controller and he said, "maybe we better decode this again." We did. Same result.
All of the aircraft, 6 bombers and 6 tankers, responded. Their times couldn't have been better. No maintenance problems noted. They were ready to take off.
Sometime later, it seemed longer than it was, we were returned to a normal alert status. I realized then how close we'd come and I now knew that the crews would do as they were directed.
What Crew Dogs Did
After I had completed my training to get rated, I spent the first five or so years alternating between deploying to Guam and Thailand for six month stints and pulling nuclear alert in B-52s. The former was 99% boredom and 1% stark terror as we did our support of the Greater Southeast Asian Land/Air War usually designated as the Vietnam War; however, we did do some bombing other places and so Vietnam War is not particularly accurate.
The alert part was, by comparison, 100% boredom. At Beale Air Force Base, in northern California, we pulled three and four day alert cycles. This was because the alert facility and the airplanes were about 7 miles from everything and so we couldn't go anywhere. The wheels thought that we'd better not keep these guys so isolated. Who knows what might happen! At Carswell Air Force Base in Texas, our alert tours were seven days in length. We could even go to the officers' club!
We ate, drank, slept, showered, and everything else in the alert shack. The shack had two stories and was built half underground. The top floor had the offices, the mission planning rooms, the briefing room, the T.V. lounge and the mess hall. Down below were the sleeping rooms and showers. We bunked two and three to a room. Just like college!
We began the day with the "daily briefing" (imagine that) followed by a check of the aircraft. We put external power on a fired up the radios for a check with the command post. After that, we returned to the alert facility for whatever the schedule directed. We studied our war mission and withstood the onslaught of questions from the staff as required. After this exercise, we might do some mission planning for a future flight, go get some simulator time, or perform any of a number of recurring training requirements.
Frequently, we were "exercised." This meant that the alert klaxon went off and we had to run to our aircraft and start engines. After we got radio contact, we would receive our orders. Sometimes this might be to taxi to the hold line and await further instructions, shut down engines and remain in the aircraft, or wrap things up and go back to the alert facility. These exercises were very important for timing and we were graded by headquarters for our response times.
After normal duty hours, we lined up for chow and then spent the evening at various avocations such as card playing, T.V. watching or b.s. sessions. It was difficult to be away from home for a week; however, we were able to invite family members to visit us on occasion. Holiday meals were open to family members. We had an important job and we realized that each of our alert aircraft carried more destruction than was used in World War II.
Exciting? Not really but see next blog.
The alert part was, by comparison, 100% boredom. At Beale Air Force Base, in northern California, we pulled three and four day alert cycles. This was because the alert facility and the airplanes were about 7 miles from everything and so we couldn't go anywhere. The wheels thought that we'd better not keep these guys so isolated. Who knows what might happen! At Carswell Air Force Base in Texas, our alert tours were seven days in length. We could even go to the officers' club!
We ate, drank, slept, showered, and everything else in the alert shack. The shack had two stories and was built half underground. The top floor had the offices, the mission planning rooms, the briefing room, the T.V. lounge and the mess hall. Down below were the sleeping rooms and showers. We bunked two and three to a room. Just like college!
We began the day with the "daily briefing" (imagine that) followed by a check of the aircraft. We put external power on a fired up the radios for a check with the command post. After that, we returned to the alert facility for whatever the schedule directed. We studied our war mission and withstood the onslaught of questions from the staff as required. After this exercise, we might do some mission planning for a future flight, go get some simulator time, or perform any of a number of recurring training requirements.
Frequently, we were "exercised." This meant that the alert klaxon went off and we had to run to our aircraft and start engines. After we got radio contact, we would receive our orders. Sometimes this might be to taxi to the hold line and await further instructions, shut down engines and remain in the aircraft, or wrap things up and go back to the alert facility. These exercises were very important for timing and we were graded by headquarters for our response times.
After normal duty hours, we lined up for chow and then spent the evening at various avocations such as card playing, T.V. watching or b.s. sessions. It was difficult to be away from home for a week; however, we were able to invite family members to visit us on occasion. Holiday meals were open to family members. We had an important job and we realized that each of our alert aircraft carried more destruction than was used in World War II.
Exciting? Not really but see next blog.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Royalty
My wife and I had completed a 4000 mile automobile trip and we arrived back home just before the wedding of William and Kate. My daughter was visiting and so she and my wife sat down to watch the recording I had made of the big shindig. For the next 6 or so hours, I "watched the watchers" as I went about my business.
Royalty, like much of organized religion, is another sham perpetrated on the folks but some slick operators. Somehow, these folks have convinced everyone in Great Britain that they are the appropriate persons to hold the position of ruler of this country. Even though the position is largely ceremonial as no power to govern exists, they are still held in high esteem, own a lot of valuable real estate, are supported by public funds and are followed by all of the news organizations. Queen Liz can't have a hangnail without all of the world's press organization sending interviewers. Sounds just like the attention given to the Pope when he has a bout with the flu, or something similar.
When I visit the British Isles, as a courteous tourist, I do not expound on the idiocy of the notion that some elderly lady has a "divine right" to govern me and that she was forordained to this purpose by a controlling diety.
In addition, the papers and television news coverage of the Queen's family, including kids and grandkids and ex grandkids in-law sent reporting entourages to every party, wedding, birth or other event.
Come on. When are we going to grow up and quit aspiring to be princes and princesses?
Royalty, like much of organized religion, is another sham perpetrated on the folks but some slick operators. Somehow, these folks have convinced everyone in Great Britain that they are the appropriate persons to hold the position of ruler of this country. Even though the position is largely ceremonial as no power to govern exists, they are still held in high esteem, own a lot of valuable real estate, are supported by public funds and are followed by all of the news organizations. Queen Liz can't have a hangnail without all of the world's press organization sending interviewers. Sounds just like the attention given to the Pope when he has a bout with the flu, or something similar.
When I visit the British Isles, as a courteous tourist, I do not expound on the idiocy of the notion that some elderly lady has a "divine right" to govern me and that she was forordained to this purpose by a controlling diety.
In addition, the papers and television news coverage of the Queen's family, including kids and grandkids and ex grandkids in-law sent reporting entourages to every party, wedding, birth or other event.
Come on. When are we going to grow up and quit aspiring to be princes and princesses?
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Liberty Park
When I was a kid in Salt Lake City in the late 1940s and early 1950s, I lived on Green Street, close to downtown and adjacent to the largest city park, Liberty Park. My park was huge, being about a half mile on each side. There were two or three substantial ponds where you could fish, hundreds of trees to climb, baseball diamonds, football fields, a concert band shell, rides, a zoo and a swimming pool. Everything was free.
In the summer, the Parks Department showed movies on Monday nights at the band shell. Hundreds of kids walked through the dark park after the movies were out. No body every got attacked or kidnapped.
We went swimming in the pool during the hot summer days. We fished in the ponds. We were lucky to have such a great place to enjoy. Our families often took picnics to the park.
When we visited Salt Lake recently, Sue and I drove through the park. It was full of people - people walking, walking dogs, skating, running, riding bikes, picnicking and just enjoying life. No gangs, no fights, just people having a good time. All colors, too.
Thank goodness some things don't change that much.
In the summer, the Parks Department showed movies on Monday nights at the band shell. Hundreds of kids walked through the dark park after the movies were out. No body every got attacked or kidnapped.
We went swimming in the pool during the hot summer days. We fished in the ponds. We were lucky to have such a great place to enjoy. Our families often took picnics to the park.
When we visited Salt Lake recently, Sue and I drove through the park. It was full of people - people walking, walking dogs, skating, running, riding bikes, picnicking and just enjoying life. No gangs, no fights, just people having a good time. All colors, too.
Thank goodness some things don't change that much.
Can't Go Home Again
My bride and I spent a couple of weeks, less a day or so, on a road trip back to some of the places we've lived. I spent 21 years in the Air Force and so we got around. As a young captain, we were stationed at Fort Worth, TX at what was Carswell Air Force Base. After that, we were transferred to Bellevue, NE, to what was Strategic Air Command Headquarters. Bellevue is just south of Omaha.
Took us four days to get to Fort Worth. We stopped for a couple of days in New Mexico. Fort Worth has grown by leaps and bounds. Where we bought our first home, used to be the end of Fort Worth's western boundary. Today the city goes on further west than we could see. The base is now a naval air station. We drove around and only recognized a few places. Lots of new construction. Our first home has fared well and we were happy to see that someone had kept it up.
After a couple of days in Texas, we drove to Nebraska. Bellevue is a little bit bigger but seems prosperous. Our home, the second we bought, also had fared well and had been upgraded. It was also nice to see that it had good occupants.
We then drove back to California.
We both enjoyed the trip; but, we both also felt the same feeling that there is no way we could return to those parts of our lives. The past was the past and we could never repeat it, only recall it. Nostalgia isn't all it's purported to be......
Took us four days to get to Fort Worth. We stopped for a couple of days in New Mexico. Fort Worth has grown by leaps and bounds. Where we bought our first home, used to be the end of Fort Worth's western boundary. Today the city goes on further west than we could see. The base is now a naval air station. We drove around and only recognized a few places. Lots of new construction. Our first home has fared well and we were happy to see that someone had kept it up.
After a couple of days in Texas, we drove to Nebraska. Bellevue is a little bit bigger but seems prosperous. Our home, the second we bought, also had fared well and had been upgraded. It was also nice to see that it had good occupants.
We then drove back to California.
We both enjoyed the trip; but, we both also felt the same feeling that there is no way we could return to those parts of our lives. The past was the past and we could never repeat it, only recall it. Nostalgia isn't all it's purported to be......
Flying
I've been a flying advocate for as long as I can remember. My Uncle Bill Baughman was a pilot in World War II and returned to Salt Lake to start a flying school. I got to fly with him when I was about 4 or 5 years old and it was habit forming.
I joined the Civil Air Patrol when I was 14 and got to fly in an old L-1 observation plane and in a Steerman Biplane. Duane Smith was the pilot in the L-1 and he let me take the controls. I was flying higher than the plane!
Swept out a hangar and washed airplanes for flying lessons to get time to get a private license at 16. Begged, borrowed and stole flying time whenever I could.
Went in the Air Force and flew several different aircraft. Did some time in the Great Southeastern Air and Land War. That was exciting at times. Moved up to staff jobs in the 1980s and flew less and less.
Retired from the Air Force in 1986 and sort of lost interest in flying. However, met another afficianado in 1980s and we have flow together, in his 1969 Cessna 150 quite a few times since. We split the gas charges and always fly somewhere nice to have lunch. It's great fun for a couple of old farts and between the two of us, we have one good set of eyes and ears.
As soon as you takeoff, you are separated from the Earth and all its problems. You have to think in three dimensions. You have to stay sharp, watch out for other aircraft, and listen to the radio. You also have to pay attention to navigation, fuel and other instruments. Although the 150 is forgiving, you can still get it out of the envelope and buy the farm. It's an entirely different skill set than other daily chores.
Gayland is great company and we enjoy the drill. One of these days, either one of us or 51084 (aircraft number) will age out of the program. That's going to be a sad day.
I joined the Civil Air Patrol when I was 14 and got to fly in an old L-1 observation plane and in a Steerman Biplane. Duane Smith was the pilot in the L-1 and he let me take the controls. I was flying higher than the plane!
Swept out a hangar and washed airplanes for flying lessons to get time to get a private license at 16. Begged, borrowed and stole flying time whenever I could.
Went in the Air Force and flew several different aircraft. Did some time in the Great Southeastern Air and Land War. That was exciting at times. Moved up to staff jobs in the 1980s and flew less and less.
Retired from the Air Force in 1986 and sort of lost interest in flying. However, met another afficianado in 1980s and we have flow together, in his 1969 Cessna 150 quite a few times since. We split the gas charges and always fly somewhere nice to have lunch. It's great fun for a couple of old farts and between the two of us, we have one good set of eyes and ears.
As soon as you takeoff, you are separated from the Earth and all its problems. You have to think in three dimensions. You have to stay sharp, watch out for other aircraft, and listen to the radio. You also have to pay attention to navigation, fuel and other instruments. Although the 150 is forgiving, you can still get it out of the envelope and buy the farm. It's an entirely different skill set than other daily chores.
Gayland is great company and we enjoy the drill. One of these days, either one of us or 51084 (aircraft number) will age out of the program. That's going to be a sad day.
Death
My sister died about 10 days ago. One usually uses words like "passed on" or "passed away" or some other less direct term; but, just the same, he life ended less than two months after her 65th birthday. I was able to see her the day before the event and it was evident that the end was near; however, I opted not to go to the funeral.
My wife and I had just finished a road trip to two of our prior homes and, to say the least, we were fatigued. I didn't think there was anything I could do for her because she was no longer here. I had stayed in touch with her over the years, mostly by phone but we did visit occasionally. She never visited us, whether by choice or by simple omission. I certainly didn't hold it against her. I believe we all have the right to make choices.
I am now the only survivor from the family of my childhood. Dad's been dead over thirty years and my Mother died in 2007, just before her 90th birthday. Now sister Carolyn is gone. The feeling is sort of sobering and I have spent a bit of time thinking about this since she died.
My sister died as a result of multiple causes, not the least of which was many years sufffering from Krohn's disease. The malady caused her to be perpetually short of hemoglobin and she spent a lot of time in hospital getting transfusions. She also had complications regarding liver, pulmonary and other vital functions. She became very ill at the end and her directives precluded extraordinary measures.
At any rate, life can be capricious and short in some instances. I learned many years past that, in all liklihood, any experience you miss in this life will be forever missed. Do your own thing now and, if you haven't already done so, create a "bucket list."
My wife and I had just finished a road trip to two of our prior homes and, to say the least, we were fatigued. I didn't think there was anything I could do for her because she was no longer here. I had stayed in touch with her over the years, mostly by phone but we did visit occasionally. She never visited us, whether by choice or by simple omission. I certainly didn't hold it against her. I believe we all have the right to make choices.
I am now the only survivor from the family of my childhood. Dad's been dead over thirty years and my Mother died in 2007, just before her 90th birthday. Now sister Carolyn is gone. The feeling is sort of sobering and I have spent a bit of time thinking about this since she died.
My sister died as a result of multiple causes, not the least of which was many years sufffering from Krohn's disease. The malady caused her to be perpetually short of hemoglobin and she spent a lot of time in hospital getting transfusions. She also had complications regarding liver, pulmonary and other vital functions. She became very ill at the end and her directives precluded extraordinary measures.
At any rate, life can be capricious and short in some instances. I learned many years past that, in all liklihood, any experience you miss in this life will be forever missed. Do your own thing now and, if you haven't already done so, create a "bucket list."
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