CHANGE: Is this the new Air Force One?

I realize that a lot of people don't care much for "Dubya" Bush. I also realize that a lot of people don't care much for ANYBODY!

Armchair Quarterbacks always make the touchdowns happen.....they NEVER lose, they NEVER quit, they NEVER faint under pressure and they NEVER throw a game. They ALWAYS win, ALWAYS do it right the first time, ALWAYS do it better than anyone else, and ALWAYS criticize everyone except themselves.

There was a time when America pulled together. There was a time when Americans got where they were going because of hard work, unity and perseverance. But today we sit back in our laziness and demand our rights to be served by our government with "hand-out" programs like welfare, free medical, housing subsidies, and our "rights" to always be rescued from our own ignorance.

It doesn't matter WHO the President is, Americans are not a respector of persons. Whooeee! We don't even respect the OFFICE of the Presidency. What man could leave the White House after 4 t0 8 years of serving as President of the United States WITH dark hair? Why does it turn white? Do you have to ask?

The President gets blamed for all the mistakes the government makes. Rightly so, because he's supposed to be Superman! He is supposed to know all of the answers BEFORE the questions are asked, do EVERYTHING right, and PLEASE EVERYBODY! AND, as we all know, he is the one who makes all the decisions that direct our government. Congress.....uh oh.....now we must have forgotten about the "Congress". What is it they do? I've heard of checks and balances, where one single solitary individual absolutely CANNOT control our government or what we do as a Nation, by himself. That must mean......the majority rule? Wow! What a concept! You wouldn't know it by the whining the minority do!!

Now, to THINK that America is a better place than any other place in the world, staggers the imagination! I have been all around the world and visited dozens of countries. There is no other place that I would rather live than the "Land of the free and Home of the Whiners".

But sometimes.....I wish it could be better.

Reminiscing

Having been raised in the good ‘ol South, back in the 1950’s, things were much simpler and laid back; not so much chaos like we have today with drugs, disrespect and degradation. My first school-house, for example, was a one-room school that taught five or six grades how to do the reading, writing and ‘rithmetic. I was 5 then. I distinctly remember one of the “upper grade classman” reading to me from a kids book about a Little Yellow Taxi” . It had a picture inside the book of a little kid getting into the old Taxi to take a ride. The “upper grade classman”, in his “role model” role, made a “funny” by pointing to the little kid’s butt and making some comment, trying to get me to laugh, I suppose. I don’t know why I remember that particular day, except to think I probably DID think it was funny!

It’s an irony that even today; guys are still pointing to “backsides” and making jokes of it. In some ways we haven’t quite grown up, have we?

Next to the school was a cow pasture that bordered the intersection of two dirt roads. When the summers were hot and dry for too long, a passing car would stir up the dust so much that it would take half an hour to settle it down. The trees growing along these dirt roads would have their leaves coated with so much dust that it hid most of the “green”. The “big boys”, shirtless farmer’s kids in their bib overalls, straw hats, barefoot and bare handed, would gather in that pasture and play baseball. Rarely would any one of them own a leather baseball glove, as these were “poor folks”. It was always funny to me to watch one of the basemen catch a line drive, then juggle the ball into the air for a quick shake of his hand and a quick blow from his mouth to attempt to cool down the “hot catch” before burning it to first or second base for the “out”. All the “cool” guys used to chew on a piece of dry Johnson grass, like a toothpick today. I always imitated them by doing the same things, as I stood back out of the way watching the big boys play ball.

I suppose those days are gone except for the memories. To me they are still “alive”, in my mind. On occasion I relax and drift back in time to replay those old ball games. I can still see the field, the road, the grass, and the overalls; hear the sounds, feel the sun and watch the, now, faceless, players shaking off that “hot catch”.

The good ‘ol days of baseball….nothing like the game you would see today.

When Graphic Artists get bored......

I do find a certain amount of humor in these pictures. Some of the things we take for granted can be "brought to light", unusual though they may be, by looking at them through the eyes of another person, especially a person with strange ideas.......

THANKSGIVING

I have always loved the Thanksgiving Holidays. It’s a time of joy of having family come together to share a table of wonderful food, the smell of the baking turkey and dressing that has been cooking in the oven all day, the excitement of everyone sitting down together to eat and reminisce and the nap that followed after we gorged ourselves to pieces. It’s a wonderful holiday that prepares us for things yet to come. It’s also the beginning of more; a kick-off for Christmas, if you will. It’s a day where many stores begin Christmas sales to officially welcome the holiday shoppers. Tree lights are lit and familiar songs are being played.

I especially enjoy Thanksgiving as it reminds me I’m home. It was on Thanksgiving Day 1969 when I arrived in Phu Cat, Vietnam. That particular day felt so much less a holiday than any other time in my life. It was worse than spending Christmas in the tropics. The Mess hall did serve up carved turkey and the usual side dishes, topped off with Pumpkin Pie. The only thing missing was the soothing smell of home cooking and the noise and laughter of family conversation.

It was great to come back from Vietnam three weeks before the next Thanksgiving. Boy! Was I ready!

GOAT LAKE

This is called Goat Lake, in August. It rests on the side of a mountain in southern Washington in the Goat Rocks Wilderness. It can be viewed from the Pacific Crest Trail 2000 south of Old Snowy Mountain. The lake is usually frozen over or piled high with so much snow that it gives the appearance of being frozen. In years past, my view of this lake was very typical. I would expect it to be white...and it was! However, for the past 4 years and 3 trips into the Wilderness, the lake has been thawed. The result is a strange color of green. This year, as 8 of us approached the lake, it looked inviting enough to take a dip. That's exactly what Brian and Josha did! However, the water was still very cold, as there was yet snow on the opposite bank. It didn't take them long to be "refreshed", shivering until they dried out!

Veteran’s Day

This is the day we celebrate and honor those who have fought in foreign wars to keep this country free, as well as to protect the cause of freedom in other places. The ideals of freedom ring different tunes for different people. Like a pendulum swinging from left to right, we have extremes when it comes to war and our perception of how far we should go to protect those freedoms. Many are ready for battle at a moment’s notice while many others would beg for another peace pipe to discuss the issue further, again and again.

We are not always given the time to wait and talk terms of peace. Oftentimes we are dealing with an opposing team who has opposing values. The street bully is not easily convinced that he should not get his way. Dictators and little generals out there are nothing more than glorified street thugs who enforce “their way or the highway” in the only way they know how. When their way invades America’s turf, they may find that the Paper Tiger has teeth.

It is a sad time when our Nation stands divided by politics and is more obsessed with whose side is in power. When the floodwaters rise, many are quick to point blame and make excuses. When the Hurricanes blow and destroy, instead of assessing the damages, pitching in and helping, we are politicking, blaming and hindering.

The street value of freedom is diminished in a divided nation. Those of us who put our lives on the line to preserve freedoms understand what it means to be fragmented. Many came back from Vietnam to find an uncaring nation. They looked for the tickertape parades and found the streets empty. They looked for the “welcome home” signs and found “no trespassing” signs instead. They looked for jobs and found theirs had been filled by those who avoided enlistment and “stayed on the porch”.

Many of us came home with no anticipation of fanfare at all and were not disappointed. It is a matter of perspective. Those who are “part of the team” of protecting this Nation can find peace within. It is good to wake up each morning in a Nation waxing free of the violence that disturbs the sleep of those in other places. To be vigilant is who we are and we can be proud of that. But we could be so much more as a unified Nation.

I take my hat off to all of the men and women who have put their lives on the line to preserve our freedoms. Those of the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave are a blessed group of people. When tested, this nation has come together like no other, pushing back the violence to whence it came. How unfortunate it is that the unity we share during catastrophes dissipates like fog under the noon sun, and we find ourselves back at each other’s throats by evening.

May we stop to reflect upon our great fortune of living in such a great nation, as we celebrate Veteran’s Day, 2005. May we also shake the hand of those who helped to shape our country. God HAS blessed the USA.

Remembering my friend, Michael Ray Conner, Pleiku, Vietnam 1970.

Expectations.

The path of life often begins with a journey of plans and expectations. We start out having a pretty good plan of where we are going and how we will arrive. The only problem is the uncertainty of what the middle will look like. Life has a way of dropping those uncertainties into our path when we least expect it.

We began our life together with anticipation. The only thing I knew is that I had just met this cute girl and my heart began swaying to a tune I had never heard before. As it turned out, we hit it off so well that we met everyday to go out and have fun getting to know each other.

One day ran into the next with anticipation. Time was of the essence because I had orders for Vietnam. Our four weeks together passed by at mach speed. Time had never gone by that fast for me before, nor has it ever since then. Before I knew it, I was looking out the window of a 747 as it taxied toward the runway, bound for Travis Air Force Base, gateway to the Far East.

I arrived in Phu Cat, Vietnam on Thanksgiving Day. The following twelve months were long, drawn out days filled with sights, sounds and smells of things that were new to me. The things that happen in a war zone are things that you can never adequately prepare yourself for; similar to the uncertainties that life itself, at any other place, has to offer.

The next twelve months were over in about 5 years, or so it seemed. I landed back in the States on the 4th of November 1970. Marriage, school, work, children, and church filled our lives with a myriad of sights, sounds and smells.

One day ran into the next until 34 years passed by at almost mach speed. Each day began with one expectation, yet ended up with the sun going down on another. So it was as one year ran into the next.

The cool thing about life is that no matter what the expectation, good things can be discovered in it all. Sometimes you must search with more eagerness, or through tears caused by the bad, but it is there; found by those who diligently seek the Lord.

Looking for a short, adventurous hike close to the Portland area? One of my favorite is Wahclella Falls, on the Oregon side of the Columbia River close to Bonneville Dam.

Wahclella Falls is an easy to moderate one mile hike from the trailhead. There is a short uphill walk for about 500 feet, but the rest of the trail is quite easy. The falls is nestled in a box canyon at the end of a loop trail where Tanner Creek plummets into a rocky pool in the Cascade Mountains. The trailhead can be reached by taking Exit 40 off I-84, the Bonneville Dam exit. The parking lot is to the south of the exit. Trail parking fees apply so be prepared to display your US Forest Pass or purchase a Day Pass for the customary $5.00 fee, available at the trailhead.

The trail begins by walking south along a normally closed access road to a small diverting dam where water is diverted through a waterway to feed fresh water into the Fish Hatchery. The remaining excess water flows out of a pipe and back into the creekbed. A small low water dam has been created to increase the depth for diversion. From there the trail proceeds south and crosses the first of 3 foot bridges. A few hundred yards farther the trail splits. This is a loop trail so you can take either side. My personal favorite route is to keep to the right and walk downhill. It is the most scenic view.

This is one of those hikes where you can see something new and different each time you go. The wild flowers change with the elevation and season. Wildlife is not abundant due to the popularity of this hike, but it can be seen. One of my favorite birds can be viewed along this hike. It is called the American Dipper, a small, dark gray colored bird about the size of a Jay. The Dipper enjoys feasting on underwater plankton. It's quite common to see it dart underwater and walk along the rapids, against the current and emerge unscathed and dry, only to do it again.

This hike is best enjoyed on a hot summer day where the temperature drops 10 to 15 degrees as you approach Wahclella Falls. Enjoy.

Our trip to FIJI was to be one of our most memorable experiences ever. The sights, the sounds, the smells all come together to make Fiji something exciting and pleasant, yet different from anything we have previously known. Our Worldmark Resort was amazing! It boasts the longest swimming pool in the Southern Hemisphere. I swam in it everyday and believe it was! One day we decided to take a hike……

The Mountains of Fiji
The mountains are not so rugged; more like rolling hills, heavily volcanic in nature. The land is covered with thick, tall grasses and all kinds of bushes and trees. A type of Pine tree grows plentifully. Bushes are thick and easily hide the local animals, including the Wild Pig, often hunted by the Fijians with sharp bamboo sticks. Vegetation includes Lemon, Guava and other tropical fruit type trees. Coconut trees are plentiful and usually loaded with coconuts.

We began our trip at the top of a 3000 foot mountain and walked down the back side to the lower elevations. We looked at a place along the cliffs where people used to live in caves, cut into the cliffs. The Fijians were in hiding years ago from the Cannibals.

The Fijian Village
It is customary in Fijian culture for one’s knees to be covered, especially when entering a village or entertaining guests. It is otherwise, a sign of disrespect. We Americans were given the option. The Fijians were glad that we chose to show respect for their culture.

The Fijian village was a stark contrast to our own neighborhoods. The houses were very small, open to the world, without windows or doors. The better houses were built out of corrugated sheet metal pieces, thatched roofs and curtains; others out of poles and grass. Floors and walls may be covered with woven palm leaves.

The large hut, made from thatch, leaves and bamboo was a central meeting place for gatherings and ceremonies. It was a place where the Kava Ceremony was held. Kava is a Fijian drink made from the root of a certain plant.

We were guests (although we paid to have this ceremony and lunch prepared for us). The Kava Ceremony was performed as if we were guests of honor. The mixing of the water and powdered root was thorough. We were served in a cup made of Coconut shell. We would clap our hands three times, drink (bottoms up), return the cup and then clap three times again. After we each had a cup, we were given the option of another. The taste was similar to wet dirt, but some of us drank a second time. Following that, our lips began to tingle and go partially numb. Fijians will often sit for hours and drink this stuff, probably going numb all over, and waking up the next day without any side effects.

The Fijian lunch prepared for us was Taro Root, boiled; Taro Root cooked in Coconut Milk; and Taro Root some other way. We had a small portion of Deviled Ham and a few other dishes we could not spell. We drank lemonade. The Fijian Women would not eat until we had finished our lunch. It was their custom to wait until guests had eaten before the hosts would eat.

The children were fun loving and friendly. They wanted to be held, swung and pampered. They entertained us with the “tricks” they could do (like stand on a mound or beat on a log with a stick). Their clothes were well used and plain. They were barefoot and shirtless. Their hands were rough; their smiles warm. They enjoyed life.

We commented about the poverty and lack of electricity or running water or indoor facilities. Our guide agreed they were poor but “they had all they needed” to be happy. It did not seem to faze them that people like us were “rich”, having all the things they do not have.

The day we were there, the villagers were preparing a feast of a cow they found on someone else’s property because they could not kill a wild pig.

You should visit Fiji sometime……It’s a great experience.

The Sorghum Experience:

As a kid growing up in the hills of backwoods Arkansas,with the nearest neighbor almost a mile away, there wasn’t much for us kids to do in the quiet of summertime on a 360 acre farm. We kept busy working in the oversized garden raising our own food that was home canned and put away for the winter month’s meals. We also took care of farm animals that furnished us with meat, eggs and milk. We smoked bacon and hams and bartered with the neighbors, exchanging one thing for another.

The annual Sorghum Party brought in neighbors from miles around, participating in the cooking of Sugar Cane juices to make the best Sorghum Molasses you’ve ever tasted. Those who helped with the processing were the ones who went home with several gallons of the stuff. I remember helping carry the cans to the filling table where the rich amber liquid syrup was poured into the brand new shiny one gallon cans. During the harvesting of the Sugar Cane, our horses were hitched to the wagon and we helped Dad and Grandpa load the bundles of cane into the wagon for transport to the cooking site. It was fun to sit on top of the cane pile for the quarter mile ride to the old Liken’s place where the squeezing, the cooking process took place.

The squeezing machine was fun to watch. It was a device that had a long pole that stuck out several feet from the center and attached to the Mule. As the Mule walked around in a circle, the gears would turn and the operator would feed small bundles of Sorghum Cane into the rollers, pulled through by the action of the device. The juice would be squeezed out of the cane stalks where it ran down a chute and into a bucket. As the bucket got full, a worker would exchange it with an empty bucket, take the full one and dump it into one end of the large cooking vat. The vat was about 5 feet wide by 15 feet long and had some kind of division inside it to accommodate various stages of the cooking process.

The juice entered the vat on one end and the finished product was pulled off at the other. People along both sides had long poles with boards nailed to the end, used as stirring paddles to keep the Sorghum from sticking and burning. The fire was built beneath the raised vat and was fed by the fire tender to try to maintain a certain height of flame and heat, so as not to get too low, or too high, for the entire length of the vat.

It was a skill to make good Sorghum. Our community was noted to make the “best in the country”. I don’t know how the trade was handed down from other generations, but I do know the art of Sorghum making ended with my Grandfather when we moved from Arkansas to Kansas and my Dad began working as a welder. We still miss those days of fresh Sorghum Molasses with homemade butter and hot biscuits. The sights, the sounds and the smells can never be captured on film. Only in our minds do the memories of those events still come alive in a never ending mode of instant replay at our beckoning.

The Wallowa Mounains are spectactular! From the huge granite rock we camped on, sheared smooth by gigantic glaciers that moved across this area's valley floor eons ago, to the fantastic 9600 foot Eagle Cap Mountain reflected in the early morning calmness of Mirror Lake, paints an image in the hearts of every adventurer to this beautiful place.
Mirror Lake is one of my favorite camping spots in the Wallowas. To find this place, take Interstate 84 and exit at La Grande, Oregon. Turn North and follow the highway towards Joseph and the Wallowa Lake. Exit at a small town called Lostine and head east towards the valley between the mountain peaks. Park at Two Pan Trail Head and hike 8.5 Miles, taking the left fork in the trail towards Mirror Lake.
There are a couple of miles of uphill switchbacks in the beginning, then the terrain levels off and the trail heads East through a peaceful valley along a quiet stream. The trail takes you to the base of Eagle Cap and into several campsites. The trail actually continues around for several miles, past Moccasin Lake and Glacier Lake towards the North. For the very adventurous, the trail splits again just prior to Mirror Lake and winds it's way up the elevation climb to the top of Eagle Cap. Early in the morning, a quiet hiker can often view Deer, Elk and Big Horn Sheep along this trail. Best seen in August.

PHU CAT, VIETNAM, 1969-1970

During the Vietnam era, working within our confines of military duties we each had lingo of military language that we often used. Much of it was abbreviated or shortened so that it took less time to communicate. We knew what we were saying whether anyone else did or not. The following is a poetic message that is probably best understood by those “who were there”; otherwise it may leave the unsuspecting reader with questions. I could make an attempt to explain some of the jargon but I wouldn’t know where to end it. But I will say that the “Goon” is the EC-47 twin engine airplane built in the late 40’s and still running in 1970.


THE TALKING PHU CAT, GOONEY BIRD, 94TH BLUES

Long time ago, it was last July
Got on a silver plane to fly
Packed my clothes and kissed my Mom
‘Cause I had to hurry off to Vietnam
….’Goin to Phu Cat….. Paradise Acres
…..To fly a Gooney Bird.

Got to the Cat, I was feelin’ low,
Looked all around for a place to go.
Went up to a man and called him Sir,
He said, “Boy, go get a burr!”
…..Haircut that is …..called me a hippie
…..Long sideburns …..sure felt good.

I processed in and pretty soon
I went to fly on the magnificent Goon.
They cranked it up and it started to sputter
That radio talk sure made me stutter;
…..Rrrrrrrroger that …..Sssssstand by one
…..Ooooover and out.

We just took off and begin to fly
Said, “Sir, this is X off to key the K-Y”
He said “Alright, X, go right ahead”.
I said, “As long as I’m up I’ll go to the head”
…..He said “nice Timing” …..I said, “nice takeoff”
…..Roger that.

About feet wet, we had just begun
When I said, “Lock on number one”
He said, “What’s the strength?” I said, “I don’t know,
Got a little spike just beginning to show!”
…..He said “Wait” …..Got to get a Dop set” …..”Pilot, find me a bridge …..
“Or a ridge” …..or a fork in the river …..or a fork in
the road …..Oh, any fork -- I don’t care!”

Got in the area…right on time;
I just locked on to number nine.
Nav said “Slow down X you got too many;
Time to dig into your Box Bennie.”
…..So I did …Hey! Same thing I had yesterday
…..and the day before …..and the day before that
……Man! I got to eat this same stuff again??”
Whatever happened to the IF10?
Had ham and cheese between two dried buns
…And my boiled egg begin to run……
Allllllllll over my water soluble logs
…..One was runnin’ into two …..two into six
…..and six into my maintenance debrief!

I looked at the mess upon my pad
Turned to X and said ‘Hey, Dad!” “Give me a hand”
And he said “No!” “Sorry ‘bout that, I’m the S-R-O
…..Ok, Begger …..18 years and already a Staff

Looked out my window, I saw smoke.
Then the wing fell off and I begin to choke
I said, “Hey, AC, we gotta go back!”
He said, “Our seven hours ain’t up…..Sorry ‘bout that”.
…..As long as you’re up, give me a wing check.
…..I said, “Give me a parachute!”

We came back on a C-G-A
It had been one heck of a day.
The gear was down, we were ready to land,
AC took it to go around again.
Said, “Why stop at 7? …..Why not 7.2?
…..Log us down at 30, Nav!”

Finally got back and stowed my gear
Went to the porch to have some cheer.
Hit the sack and just started to snore
Rocket came in and I kissed the floor.
Somebody yelled “Out going” …..Big Bertha
…..Who’s that idiot under the bed?

People around me started to laugh.
I screamed, “I can’t stand any more of this GAF”
“I gotta leave this doggone place!”
A man smiled at me and said “23 days”
“In the war” …..and I started to cry
…..”350 what??”

Thinkin’ back to the Goons and rockets I’ve heard
And here I am on the Freedom Bird
Goin’ home…..getting’ out of the war.
Ain’t gonna wear the Uni no more.
…..I’m a civilian …..Goodbye, Vietnam!
………..Now what????

Slinging Persimmons:

Growing up in the Ozark Mountains, far away from city life and organized events, we had to make do with the things we could devise, which included procuring the pieces necessary to put something together. Persimmons were quite common in our part of the woods. They grew wild all over our farm and neighboring farms, as well. A very competitive game was "slinging persimmons". It was quite easy, really.

A Persimmon is a fruit. It’s about 1” in diameter and contains large seeds. The fruit remains very bitter until after the first frost. To bite into an unripened Persimmon would cause the mouth to shrink and become very dry, an experience that would remain with you for a lifetime! It’s similar to taking the taste of powdered Alum. In the Fall, after the first frost, the fruit began to ripen and became exceptionally sweet to the taste. It was a very good fruit; almost a natural candy.

During the summer months as the fruit began to grow, while it was yet green. We would cut a long, limber switch (stick) and sharpen one end to a point. On the sharpened end we would “skewer” a green persimmon, leaving it out towards the end of the stick. Drawing back as one throwing a fishing lure, we would swing the stick high into the air at a very fast speed and, using a whip action, cause the persimmon to fling from the end of the stick, at the 10:00 o’clock position, at rocket speed. The leverage one had with the whip action of a limber stick caused the Persimmon to take off like a shot; sailing high and away. We often had contests to see how far we could throw a green persimmon. We were never good at hitting anything with the Persimmons, only throwing them so far that they would disappear from sight. At that time of the year they weren’t any good to eat but they were great at throwing. Then in the Fall they were no good for throwing because they turned soft and as sweet as sugar. After all, a kid needs to have fun!

The Patriot

My G-G-G-Grandfather, Aaron Thomas, a farmer, was a soldier in the Revolutionary War. He was 16 years old in 1776 when the Declaration of Independence was made. Then the fighting began and for the next 7 years he served the United States as a Minuteman. His bag was always packed and his rifle always loaded.

In 1781 he marched against General Cornwallace in Yorktown, Virginia with General George Washington and helped win a great victory. This was the site where the Americans finally won the Revolutionary War.

Other Great Uncles on Mom’s side served as officers in the Revolutionary War. Still others fought in the Civil War.

In the 1800’s, an uncle on my Mother’s side became a great soldier during the Indian and Mexican Wars, and was given the name “Old Rough & Ready”. He also became the 12th President of the United States. He was Zachary Taylor.

My Dad served our country in WWII, as did Mom’s 3 brothers. All 5 boys in my family served in the Military. Three of us were in Vietnam for part of the same time.

For us, the American Flag carries a different meaning. We hold our flag in high respect and honor. It is discouraging to see her publicly dishonored as we have given so much to making her proud.

Johnny Cash wrote a song that I have enjoyed hearing for a number of years. Since Desert Storm, there seemed to be a piece missing. I have taken the liberty to add my words into his song to help make the story complete.

Here is that song:

Ragged Old Flag

I walked through a county courthouse square.
On a park bench, an old man was sittin’ there.
I said, “Your old court house is kinda run down”.
He said, “Naw, it’ll do for our little town”.

I said, “Your old flag pole is leaned a little bit,
And that’s a ragged old flag you got hangin’ on it”.
He said, “Have a seat”, and I sat down;
“Is this the first time you’ve been to our little town?”
I said, “I think it is”.

He said, “I don’t like to brag, but we’re kinda proud
Of that Ragged Old Flag”.
“You see, we got a little hole in that flag there,
When Washington took it across the Delaware.

“And it got power burned the night Francis Scott Key
sat watching it, writing, ‘Say Can You See’.
It got a bad rip in New Orleans, with Packingham and Jackson
Tugging at its seams.
And it almost fell at the Alamo beside the Texas flag,
But she waved on, though.

“She got cut with a sword at Chancellorsville
And she got cut again at Shiloh Hill.
There was Robert E. Lee and Beauregard and Bragg,
And the south wind blew hard on
That Ragged Old Flag.

“On Flanders Field in WW I
She got a big hole from a Bertha Gun.
She turned blood red in WW II
She hung limp, and low, a time or two.
She was in Korea and Vietnam; she went where she was sent
By her Uncle Sam.

(Added: “She flew high across Desert Storm
When 9-11 hit, she carried a new form.
Across Afghanistan, in a whirlwind of fire
She waved on for freedom
As we held her up higher.

“Now it’s Iraq that’s taking it’s toll
With the terrorists’ struggle,
But she calls, ‘Let’s roll’.)

“She waved from our ships upon the briny foam
And now they’ve about quit wavin’ her back here at home.
In her own good land here she’s been abused,
She’s been burned, dishonored, denied and refused,
And the government, for which she stands, is scandalized across the land.

“And she’s getting thread bare, and she’s wearin’ thin
But she’s in good shape, for the shape she’s in.
‘Cause she’s been through the fire before
And I believe she can take a whole lot more.

So we raise her up every morning
And we take her down every night.
We don’t let her touch the ground
And we fold her up right.

“On second thought, I do like to brag;
‘Cause I’m mighty proud of that
Ragged Old Flag.

********************************

The great thing about this country is that we can all enjoy the liberties won by the thousands who fought in wars to make it great. I am reminded by the Scripture in the New Testament that says God “makes His sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the just and the unjust”, (Matt 5:45). In other words, the blessing of freedom is extended to even those who desecrate our flag.

In Memory of my friend................................................
Michael Conner was stationed in Darmstadt, Germany with the 6910th Security Wing during 1968 and 1969. His next set of Orders came down sending him to Pleiku, Vietnam with Detachment 2, 6994th SS.

I spent time associating with Mike during our schooling in San Angelo, Texas, becoming good friends. I remember him as a man of good character and integrity. He was the kind of person that made you glad to be his friend.

May we never forget those who gave up their lives yesterday for the freedoms we enjoy today.

The next few paragraphs are bits of information gleaned from other sources, especially from Mike’s friend, Danny Russell who was on the very same flight that day.

A Memory of Cap-53

The Shoot down of Cap 53, 22 April 1970, as told by Danny E Russell.

I'm Danny Russell and I was a rear end crewmember with the 6994th, DET 2 at Pleiku. With the help of Phil Ehrhorn, MY SEFE, our crew consisted of Lt George M. Wall, Pilot; Lt. Nasipak, co-pilot; Capt. Carl Lemon, Navigator;;SSgt Edward J. Mosely, Flight Engineer, all with the 362nd TEWS and Ron Lawlor, our 203. Phil was in charge of the back end crew consisting of SSGT Michael R. Conner and myself.

Mike and I were in charge of scheduling and we were really excited about flying together. We had made a point to hand pick this crew to fly with.

Mike had just recovered from a broken finger and I had just come off DNIF due to hernia surgery.

“We took off about 3:30 AM and flew an un-eventful mission. It was the kind that you knew who you were after and where he was supposed to be but he just didn't come up. We joked back and forth saying he knew who was up here and he was afraid to come up with all the EXPERTS up here ready to copy. About 10 minutes before time to RTB he came up and we asked the AC for permission to stay on site to get him.

Capt Lemon got on him and directed the plane into position, I think we had a fix on him when KABOOM. Reports say we got hit with 37MM but I looked down and saw at least a 4-inch hole right next to the Doppler set. Capt Lemon was the only one hit. I think a piece of shrapnel went thru close to his elbow-- not too much blood and he did an excellent job. He hung right there and between him and Phil, they got out the MAYDAY and gave our exact position.

Rescue was Johnny on the spot and other than me trying to clean my pants I think everyone did a fine professional job. Our first intent was to get to sea because the damage was to the rear end control and the front-end crew didn't have a lot of options.

We lost one engine immediately and the other one was smoking pretty badly, so going over the mountains was out. Next I think they tried for a landing strip but rescue said it was VC controlled.

Our next option was to bail out, so Mike and I went to the jump door and tried to open it. It was jammed due to the concussion. We tried and tried and finally the door just fell off!!!!!! We looked at each other and both agreed we were way too low to jump, and about that time Lt Wall looked back at us expecting the back end to be clean and ordered us to strap in and prepare for crash landing.

As we went forward, Mike was ahead of me and he automatically went to my seat so I took his rear seat. I had just buckled in and looked out the left window to see the wing hit a tree and break loose.
I honestly don't know if I was knocked out or not. I did realize that something very heavy was on me when I tried to move. One of the consoles had broken loose and had landed on me. As I got free, I started hearing moans and groans so I knew someone else had made it also.

As we slowly started to un-pile each other I discovered my good friend Mike, who had went forward and had taken my seat was killed. To this day I still ask GOD why. This man was married and all he could do is talk about his wife and the baby they were about to have.

Rescue was talking to a plane that had tailed us in, and he had radioed back that he didn't think anyone could have survived but we straightened him out in a hurry.
We were really a rag tag mess to look at; we all had head wounds and you all know even a scratch on your head bleeds heavy. I kind of laughed to myself as I saw Phil and Ron trying to wrap Captain Lemon’s head. What a HOOT that was.

We formed up next to a crater about 12 ft across. Rescue had no trouble seeing us there. As we were moving around, my D ring got hooked on some twigs and my belly pack exploded out in front of me, what a mess. I’m glad I didn't have to repack it. Rescue would have been fun to watch under different circumstances. I think all 4 branches were there. I think there were F4’s, A6’s, Spads, Cobra’s, Sandy’s and even an OV-10. They were great and I can honestly say they worked to precision. They told us what was going to happen and it happened exactly as they told us.

My memories of the next few moments were intense. I went back to the plane to try to help anyone I could find but my back started to really act up. I guess my strength had been used up and I finally heard someone asking for help but I could hardly function on my own so I hollered back to stay put and I would report their location. I think it was Mosely but I'm not sure. Man that was tough to not be able to function when someone needs you.

As I got back to our rescue area, the air rescue support did their thing. Cobra gun ships were blazing and rockets were impacting really close. This made me realize we weren't down here alone. Charlie was trying to get us.
The first rescue Chopper came in and Phil, Ron, and Capt Lemon got on. The next Chopper came in and lifted right back out. They told me they were taking on small arms fire, assuring me they would be back. Then the show started all over. Under any other circumstances it would have been fun to watch. F-4's unloaded, Cobras set and fired rockets. A-6s strafed. I think the OV10 had his side arm out! Ha! (That would be a .38 Cal Pistol). A small LOCH came in and I got on, we got about 20 ft in the air and Charlie hit the rotor and down we went…TWICE IN 20 MINUTES? COME ON… ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!

Here we go again. Now let me talk about CHOPPER CREWS…. THEY ARE CRAZY. The gunner picked up his 50 or 60 cal??? I don't know which, and set up and started blazing. The pilot after shutting down came over to me while we were being fired at and was standing straight up telling me " You know, I never did like that chopper, I'm going to get a different one tomorrow!

After sanitizing the area again, rescue came in again and got me out.
Upon reaching the hospital I learned that Capt Wall had also been killed in the crash. Ron, Phil and Capt Lemon were all accounted for and visually seen. I never saw Lt Nasipak or SSGT Mosely.

After returning to base and starting to work we learned that Mike's widow had given birth to a son. One month to the day after the crash, Mike Jr. was born, 22 May 1970. WE took up a collection and started a college fund for him, and I must say 63 guys gave ‘til it hurt. I'M so proud of them.

Upon returning stateside Phil and I and Alan Brack and his wife went to Tennessee to visit the widow and son who never got to see DADDY. Mikes parents and his widows’ parents also attended. I do not use their names only for their privacy.
25 years later we all went to THE WALL for a gathering. The little baby I held in 1970 was now a married man. We went to the wall at exactly at 9:35AM the time of our shoot down. We held each other and cried. After about an hour we started moving towards the Lincoln Memorial, Mike and I were kind of dragging up the rear and we passed a t-shirt stand. A t-shirt with a hologram of a soldier looking out of the wall towards a little 5 year old caught our attention. >>>> The shirt said, "Here Daddy, I brought you a present" We both lost it again!!!!

Yours for a better tomorrow, Danny Russell

A Letter to Danny
Danny, My name is Richard Bonazza. I was called Ben over in ‘Nam. I was at Pleiku from March 69 to the 1st of May when I went to NKP in Thailand. I knew Phil real well. I was flying on a 2-seater in the area just west of Cap 53 when you got hit. Our plane had taken enemy fire earlier but thankfully "Charlie" missed us. I can still hear Phil's SOS going out over secure radio, and then our plane flying over to see your plane smoking and the choppers coming in. We were low on fuel so we couldn't stay long. On our way back to base we heard "cap Killer" on its way to destroy the plane. Since I left a few days after the crash I never got to see any of you guys again.

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I dedicate this article to my friend, Michael Conner. May we never forget the thousands of "sons" who paid the highest price in that foreign land called Vietnam.

Flying in Vietnam was a real eye-opener for me. After a few missions under our belts, we developed a sense of awareness that can’t be learned any other way. The rattle of the plane and various noises associated with the flight become the norm. Any deviation from that norm was picked up by our senses and we became acutely aware that something was amiss.

Likewise, learning to read the faces of fellow flyers was invaluable to our daily routine. I will never forget those looks from the Pilot and Co-Pilot as they would turn around in their seats and peer back down the aisle toward the RO’s (Radio Operators), especially when they noticed you getting up and going to the tail to relieve yourself. It didn’t take but a couple of those to know you needed to hang onto something as you stood back there trying to “hit the bucket”. They enjoyed playing those little jokes of “fish tailing” or the quick elevation changes. You can imagine what that might have looked like!

Thus, it’s with this experience that I tell this story.

Toward the end of my assignment in Vietnam, I caught a “hop” from Phu Cat to Cam Ranh Bay on a Caribou cargo plane. I recall that there were three of us passenger types. Beside myself, there were two seasoned jungle veterans on board; “Ground Pounders” we called them during those days. We were seated along the right side of the plane on bench seats. The walls were fashioned with loose webbing, used for tying off cargo, I suppose. Our baggage was stacked semi-neatly on the floor and lashed down loosely with a Cargo Net.

The Caribou is a plane that was designed to take off and land on relatively short runways, adapting very well to getting in and out of remote Landing Zones. The engine was powerful and the plane quickly responded to the Pilot’s commands.

On this particular flight, as we became airborne and leveled off, the remainder of the flight was uneventful and routine. After an hour or so of flying, my senses became aware of something out of the ordinary. I glanced towards the front in time to see two faces turned around in their seats and looking towards the rear. I quickly processed the vision and reached down to tighten my seat belt and harness, as I had loosened it following takeoff. Within seconds the bottom fell out! The plane dropped like a rock. The baggage, loosely stored under the lashing, lifted off the deck and strained against the Cargo Net like it was trying to get out! At the same time the two frantic passengers to my left began making loud, guttural noises, naturally muffled by the noise of the engines. Their hands groped behind them and found the loose webbing, as their feet lifted off the cargo deck and appeared to float in a horizontal fashion.

This was perhaps the funniest sight I had witnessed in months! I turned my head away from the two soldiers in order to laugh until I was content, without them seeing my face. I could just imagine what they might do if I was caught laughing at them! The look on their faces was priceless!! They turned at least two shades of white as the blood ran out of their faces! I am certain that, in their state of panic, visions of dying crossed their minds! Their knuckles boldly stood out from the “death grip” they had on the loose webbing, that did nothing to hold them down, but did prevent them from drifting closer to the ceiling! I also took notice of the two grinning faces peering around the corner from the cockpit.

All of this happened in an instant! The plane probably dropped 600 feet and then recovered it’s original altitude. I was still laughing on the inside, as the two boys next to me composed themselves and once again took their seats on the bench. Within seconds they were quickly reassembling their seat belts and slipping inside the shoulder harness behind them. At the same time, the pilot turned around and told us to buckle up because it was getting a little “rough out there”. Ha! I looked at the Pilot and grinned. I had learned from my 148 Missions that “air pockets” are often created in the minds of shrewd Pilots. … Mike Thomas

Grandparenting:

I was born at a very early age and becoming a grandpa wasn't something I had set out to become. Actually, becoming a grandparent was really quite easy for me. One minute I wasn't and the next minute I was! I'm thinking that you understand what I'm saying here.

I do believe that making a decision to become a grandpa took a lot more effort on my part. I'm not sure at what point in my life I willingly made that decision, but I know that I did make it. That decision wasn't because of something that I did or even an age level that I achieved. It was something asked of me by a little First Grader who wasn't even mine; but I love her just like she is. But that's another story. So what I want to say goes something like this.......

He was called "Mr. Bisbee". He was almost 70 years of age. His face was wrinkled from smiling so much over the years. He had a laugh that sounded like glass breaking. It cracked when he spoke and made the kids laugh just to hear it! I often wondered if his shaking hand was caused by the early stages of Parkinson's Disease. Whatever it was, it never got him down.

He regularly backpacked and camped whenever Boy Scout Troop 4 went out. He was loved and appreciated by the Scouts. He reminded me of a grandpa. To some of the boys, he was probably the only grandpa figure they had in their life.

Whenever we were on campouts, the Scouts were divided up into Patrols, which were smaller groups of similar ages with structured leadership. The Patrols each planned their own meals, cooked their own food and did their chores as required. The boys would bring Mr. Bisbee samples of their culinary creations, whether it was a sliced hot dog with cheese, chili, biscuits on a stick, fruit cobbler, or whatever their creation was.

It was like a formal presentation. The boys gathered around Mr. Bisbee as he sampled their delight; anxious faces awaiting approval from this wiry old man. He would take a smell, then a bite, then slowly savor the taste as he looked up into the sky. He always swallowed, licked his lips then looked into the eyes of the anxious boys.

His grin was priceless. He always had a good word to say about the food and commended their creativity. He thanked them for doing a good job and told them how great they were. Sometimes accompanying his laugh was a hug or a pat on the head.

During the daytime, around the campfire, he always had a joke for them. Mr. Bisbee had a way with telling jokes that it didn't matter if the joke was funny or not! Even if he had told it a dozen times before, Mr. Bisbee would always end it with his glass breaking laughter. That's all it took to start a chain reaction of laughter and bring on a dozen smiles from the boys.

He encouraged the boys in whatever they were doing. A worthless craft could be miraculously transformed into something of value simply because of what he said about it. He gave advice, led by example and laughed a lot! To these boys, his smile could take away the winter chill and make the sun shine on a rainy day. He was a mentor. He connected with their hearts.

He could do the 100 mile backpacking trips and be the evenings' entertainment with his stories and jokes. Rarely does anyone like Mr. Bisbee come along in a boy's life.

I wanted to be like Mr. Bisbee. I worked hard to tell the stories, or play the harmonica like he played, do the hikes, tie the 40 knots and connect with the boys. I did somewhat succeed, but that's another story.

I don't know much about being a grandma, but I do remember my "Granny" with all good thoughts. She was firm and opinionated. She seldom thought my Mom was taking good enough care of her son. But I have good memories of Granny. I enjoyed going to stay all night with her, all by myself. She was a good cook. Her house was warm and smelled good. Her farm had a lot of stuff for me to explore. She was kind and I remember her hugs.

Being a grandparent is a journey in love and learning. Just about the time you think you're getting it down, along comes a glitch big enough to put you back in grandpa school. But I wouldn't trade it for anything!

I have several grandkids. I'm really not sure how many I have! But three of those belong to my daughter. It seems to me that all of the energy I lost over the years...they found it!

Being a grandparent is an awesome responsibility. Whether you know it or not, you are being watched by little eyes. You may or may not be related to those eyes. It doesn't really matter. You have the power to lift a child high into the air or to dash his hopes upoon the rocks of despair. You are the one who can open a doorway for a child that no other adult can open. You can tell him about God when no one else can get through.

Perhaps when he turns 18 and goes before the Eagle Scout Board of Review and he's asked the question, "Who do you feel was the single most influence in your life", and he names your name, I can tell you from experience that nothing else matters. You could receive no greater reward than that.

It's a lot of work to become a surrogate grandpa to a friend's child who looks up to you and believes that you can do no wrong. It takes a lot of work to become a kind of grandma who's grandson or daughter desires to spend time with her, especially when he or she is a teenager! It takes a lot of work to become a Mr. Bisbee and help mould a boy's life into a man.

Whatever you do as a grandparent you can have an eternal influence on a child. Whether you realize it or not, you are being watched and mimicked. By the way you live your life, what are you saying to children? Are you making a difference in their life? Do you fill in the gap that's missing in their world?

Grandparenting is fun! Don't let it pass you by! It is like the vapor that appears for a little while, and then vanishes away.

Kids......enjoy your grandparents! There is not much time left. Have fun with them today!

Chow!