tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45129631581773313152024-02-20T23:11:34.280-08:00WING WIFEWING WIFEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15200111162708301369noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512963158177331315.post-89923304572244416132015-11-09T15:07:00.000-08:002015-11-09T16:03:24.545-08:00Darker Waters<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><b>When aviators and former aviators get
together, stories are told. Some are from personal experience, retold with ego
or humble there-but-for-the-grace-of. Some are stories heard from someone
involved or from mishap reports. And then there is scuttlebutt. A good ol’
Naval term, scuttlebutt.</b></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><b> </b> </span></b><br />
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<b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">The origin of the word "scuttlebutt," which is nautical
parlance for a rumor, comes from a combination of "scuttle" -- to
make a hole in the ship's hull and thereby causing her to sink --- and
"butt" -- a cask or hogshead used in the days of wooden ships to hold
drinking water. The cask from which the ship's crew took their drinking water
-- like a water fountain -- was the "scuttlebutt". Even in today's
Navy a drinking fountain is referred to as such. But, since the crew used to
congregate around the "scuttlebutt", that is where the rumors about
the ship or voyage would begin. Thus, then and now, rumors are talk from the
"scuttlebutt" or just "scuttlebutt".</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">(http://www.navy.mil/navydata/traditions/html/navyterm.html)</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></i></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Interesting
how this plays into the “<a href="http://www.eyewitnesstohistory.com/lslips.htm">Loose
Lips Sink Ships</a>” of World War II.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">A
few years back I blogged about one such story, Dark Waters I, <a href="http://wingwife.blogspot.com/2011/02/aviation-brief-xxi-dark-waters.html">here</a>.
“Everyone” in the military aviation community knew the story because it was so
unusual. Hynotizing an aviator! But no one I knew was within two degrees of
separation, much less an eyewitness. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Fastforward
to a recent dinner at Agile’s home, our friends for over forty years and a
fellow Marine fighter pilot with my Andy. The two aviators were reminiscing
over drinks and gazpacho with Agile’s grown son (yes, we are that old), telling
him stories of almosts—almost running out of fuel, almost crashing and burning,
way too many almosts for this member of the society of the grounded. And then
the A-4 pilot in the Sea of Japan story came up. I was telling what I knew from
what my guy had told me from what he had heard from the scuttlebutt, spooky
story of cold water in the night. And Agile spoke up. </span></b></div>
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</b></div>
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</b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">“The
full story is even spookier.”</span></b></div>
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<b>
</b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS 明朝"; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Agile
was at the Pentagon at the time and had occasion to hear the story that did not
make it into the official report. A couple days after the accident they found
the plane in 40 feet of water. The canopy had been wrenched off but lay upright
on the bottom of the ocean next to the plane. The pilot was hypnotized, but
couldn’t remember how he ended up in the water, how he got out, how he got the
canopy off. All he said under hypnosis was that “George” told him to take off
the canopy. “George” told him to get out of the plane and swim to the surface.
Further investigation turned up only one George in the pilot’s life: his
roommate at flight school who had been killed during training.</span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Comforting to think friends watch over us no matter what separates us--time, distance or death itself. </b></span></span>
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WING WIFEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15200111162708301369noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512963158177331315.post-50486683084538562592013-05-27T07:22:00.001-07:002015-11-09T16:30:42.128-08:00Memorial Day 2013<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="userContent">Memorial Day<br /> <br /> Semper Fi</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8g7yqp-ZYU8t6eYwYHoMzMd-GAvyIbFMSzgKS1JOL6jH6qYQyVXBvbYnbeibKoXZZ4R8146Qmt7UgjNxYVxAMzjwziw4VWLnLMhow2Yf527keviilgxcU5tCctN7Wi07htvmsb8uDOoHn/s1600/Donald+Stuart+Jones.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8g7yqp-ZYU8t6eYwYHoMzMd-GAvyIbFMSzgKS1JOL6jH6qYQyVXBvbYnbeibKoXZZ4R8146Qmt7UgjNxYVxAMzjwziw4VWLnLMhow2Yf527keviilgxcU5tCctN7Wi07htvmsb8uDOoHn/s320/Donald+Stuart+Jones.JPG" width="262" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Bullet" Maj Donald Stuart Jones USMC</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaQrkcPh_90qx7sh0EwUmKrY3V8TZ0Ybn6jYnerxzU9_m1oEfHiaQXjvjV27oWQBubMZtYiZvRAKtFG9E6l8n-0-Omt9fTs-xqHCQzW4ZRWNhNVp1wUYhwrQ7PmO7KlcbvQ7jVj6A9JVUx/s1600/Bernie+Plassmeyer.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaQrkcPh_90qx7sh0EwUmKrY3V8TZ0Ybn6jYnerxzU9_m1oEfHiaQXjvjV27oWQBubMZtYiZvRAKtFG9E6l8n-0-Omt9fTs-xqHCQzW4ZRWNhNVp1wUYhwrQ7PmO7KlcbvQ7jVj6A9JVUx/s320/Bernie+Plassmeyer.JPG" width="126" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1st Lt Bernie Plassmeyer USMC</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJu1t9xRyNjhVkjye-ZdupJMRLXhyrlluSjfziv2bMIcEpl_BvymPyespxKF01UAol8z_X2ALexesnLaSc5nfOjUQr8Jqqo0xmiQ9OCoM_Dx4Qu_ykZRh3JCZD1PSNx6J-F7YSXZhDc8Jb/s1600/Willie+Duncan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJu1t9xRyNjhVkjye-ZdupJMRLXhyrlluSjfziv2bMIcEpl_BvymPyespxKF01UAol8z_X2ALexesnLaSc5nfOjUQr8Jqqo0xmiQ9OCoM_Dx4Qu_ykZRh3JCZD1PSNx6J-F7YSXZhDc8Jb/s320/Willie+Duncan.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Donut" Capt Willie Duncan</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It is personal.</div>
WING WIFEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15200111162708301369noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512963158177331315.post-48354938187057828952013-03-17T23:43:00.000-07:002013-05-29T09:41:04.349-07:00Thank You for Voting for WING WIFE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrTpkapEhuOjn3wXV3wYwbiLfSUONXYHG1zrR3V-K5tbpRaxcfgrBeiTeZfW-mtJPlhIUOwMKZit2idn9ZTF_s5UQ4A2PbIO8Qci-bbZnVQTUKCFnnW7gkuZbjOkF2WifLlojO8kB7wMM7/s1600/BPnominee2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrTpkapEhuOjn3wXV3wYwbiLfSUONXYHG1zrR3V-K5tbpRaxcfgrBeiTeZfW-mtJPlhIUOwMKZit2idn9ZTF_s5UQ4A2PbIO8Qci-bbZnVQTUKCFnnW7gkuZbjOkF2WifLlojO8kB7wMM7/s320/BPnominee2013.jpg" width="320" /></a><span class="userContent"> </span><br />
<span class="userContent">Wing Wife: How to Be Married to a Marine Fighter Pilot An Al's Books and Pals Nominee for Memoir 2013!<br /> <br /> Here's the link. <a href="http://booksandpals.blogspot.com/2012/03/wing-wife-marcia-j-sargent.html">http://booksandpals.blogspot.com/2012/03/wing-wife-marcia-j-sargent.html</a><br /> <br /> </span><br />
<span class="userContent"><br /></span>
<span class="userContent">Writing a book is a labor of love. Recognition of the writing helps keep me slogging away. Thank you all who have read my memoir and help keep the fighter pilot attitude alive.</span></div>
WING WIFEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15200111162708301369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512963158177331315.post-84708698455631935242013-03-03T12:29:00.001-08:002013-03-03T12:35:14.192-08:00Flash Flood<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
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--</style><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Courier;"><b><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">An Excerpt From My Novel-in<span style="font-size: large;">-P</span>rogress, <i>A Commanding Officer's Wife</i></span></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I walked through the family
room. Julie, redhaired and petite, laughed with her husband Okie, named for his
accent and attitude. Blonde, tall Elaine listened, smiling with her husband
Packrat while a mustached Burner told some kind of funny story. There was young
Flash--last name Flood--with Lucy, his very young wife. She wore loose pants, a
Guatemalan woven hooded shirt and dangly bead earrings—a late-to-the-scene
hippie surfer chick. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Diane whispered in my ear. “I’m
told the video of his ‘taking a nap’ is making the rounds at the squadron.”</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Flash had just survived an
unconscious ejection near San Clemente Island. The accident had been the main
topic of conversation for weeks. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He’d been flying against another
fighter. Flash--trying to look good at the field and impress Fog, the other
plane’s veteran pilot--made a very quick turn at least a G or two above his
tolerance. Neither Flash nor the G-suit could compensate quickly enough when
the blood pulled out from his brain down to his feet. Flash checked his
six--looked behind the plane--over his left shoulder and promptly ‘took a nap’.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Is Steamboat Willie here yet?”
I asked Diane.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I saw him in the backyard with
a beer. He’s been drinking more than usual since--”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I could believe that. Steamboat
had been Flash’s RIO. With an unconscious pilot in the front seat, the fighter
came off the turn doing odd things, like rolling over and falling out of the
sky. Steamboat Willie, stuck in the back with no controls, tried to get Flash
on the intercom. No response. The plane continued doing weird things and
Steamboat Willie saw his front-seater’s head flopping from one side to the
other. He called out, “Flash? Flash!” As the plane pointed nose down, passing
10,000 feet above sea level, speeding toward the center of the earth, the wise
backseater yelled, “Eject! Eject! Eject!”, command-ejecting both of them. Flash
didn’t come to until he floated in his chute, about to hit the water, with
absolutely no clue where he was or how he got there.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As part of the accident
investigation, they put Flash in a centrifuge, spun him up to a certain amount
of G-force, told him to look back over his shoulder and he blacked out. In the
interest of scientific inquiry--and maybe to mess with him--the investigators
had the centrifuge cranked up twice more. Flash turned his head and it was,
“Say <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sayonara</i>, baby” all over again. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I’ve heard the tape’s a cult
hit,” I said. “Easy to believe the guys love watching Flash’s eyes roll back in
his head over and over. Simple minds. Simple pleasures.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Diane and I both laughed. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I just can’t believe Lucy’s
reaction the day of the accident,” I said, then wondered if I should have kept
my mouth shut. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“What reaction?” Her eyes lit
up. She loved hearing stories about other people. Any gossip she heard spread
faster than germs from a sneeze.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Never mind.” Yep, I should have kept my mouth
shut. “She can’t help being nineteen.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Diane grabbed my arm and pulled
me down the hall. “We can talk here without being overheard. She’s nineteen? I
thought she was still in high school.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The party behind me had kicked
into another level of laughter, beer bottles clinking and people arriving. I
knew I should go do my ‘hostess with the mostest’ thingy but I also knew Diane
wouldn’t let me until I told her the whole story.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I looked around to make sure no
one else listened in. “Once the helo had plucked the crew out of the water and
flown them to Miramar, Alex called Flash’s wife.” The guys tried to contact the
next of kin before the story came from unreliable sources--like other wives. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Fog never tells me anything,” she said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Alex calls me whenever anything
happens, so I’ll know he’s okay even if I hear there’s been an accident. I
worry more since my brother’s accident.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Diane patted my arm, her eyes
serious. She knew.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Anyway, when Lucy answered the
phone, he told her Flash’d been involved in an aircraft accident and had to eject
over water. He said, ‘He’s okay and uninjured.’ He braced himself for the cries
of panic, or the silent thump if she fainted following the words ‘accident’ and
‘eject’.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I would have.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Cried or fainted?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Both,” Diane said. “I get
hysterical when reminded how dangerous it all is. And ejecting’s more dangerous
than flying. At the very least, both Fog’s knees would be smashed if he’s
rocketed out.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I nodded. My brother used to
talk about the hazards of being six-three in a fighter jet. Unfortunately, he
never got a chance to pull the handle. “Alex told her Flash’d call as soon as
he could.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“And--?” Diane prompted.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“She said, ‘Oh. Okay. Tell him
I’ll be at the beach.’” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Oh my goodness!” A laugh burst
from Diane before her face softened as she looked over my shoulder toward the
very young wife of the youngest lieutenant. “She has no clue.”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> I nodded my head. I read somewhere that
ignorance is temporary, unless it proved fatal. Now thirty years old, my last
seven years of marriage, children and surviving one tragedy after another had
taught me a lifetime of lessons. Maybe I could help her find her way through
life with a pilot so they both survived. I vowed to get together with her soon.
Maybe we’d walk the beach together and talk.</span>
</div>
Wing Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03074750168942455606noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512963158177331315.post-12353740363847286392013-03-01T22:25:00.002-08:002013-03-01T22:34:35.735-08:00The WING WIFE: Interview by Keith Jones<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPEHumyyspMitdvD2uQHrYqffFXLJMUSO-2hd612uKFqjbwyxGVP0qwSJsdtjCzs5julRl2t9hMf1lqc0FK8hWbPPa5Hhe8NVVwqu1z3b94k3FeadSy0gKUPg7wJb2rWNlZd1qcuInmfsy/s1600/Marciainsnow.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPEHumyyspMitdvD2uQHrYqffFXLJMUSO-2hd612uKFqjbwyxGVP0qwSJsdtjCzs5julRl2t9hMf1lqc0FK8hWbPPa5Hhe8NVVwqu1z3b94k3FeadSy0gKUPg7wJb2rWNlZd1qcuInmfsy/s320/Marciainsnow.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="userContent">J Keith Jones author of<u> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Due-Time-J-Keith-Jones/dp/1453788360/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1362205036&sr=1-1&keywords=in+due+time">In Due Time</a></u> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Boys-Diamond-Hill-Abbeville-Carolina/dp/0786463333/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1362205135&sr=1-1&keywords=the+boys+of+diamond+hill">The Boys of Diamond Hill </a>read <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Wing-Wife-Married-Marine-Fighter/dp/1453809260/ref=tmm_pap_title_0">Wing Wife: How to Be Married to a Marine Fighter Pilot</a> and asked if I'd do an interview for
his blog. I am honored to have been asked. To read the interview and find out more about my writing life go <a href="http://jkjones-author.com/2013/03/02/marcia-sargent/">HERE</a>.</span>Wing Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03074750168942455606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512963158177331315.post-55547368437923487892012-10-09T10:30:00.003-07:002012-10-09T10:34:26.124-07:00Marine F-4 Phantom Foray<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span lang="EN">
</span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeW6qlzR8PsqinYlMmrNmTGoMS-XRUpnKy1OlT87W5CqoMN86ZPq_gPoF6F2p5wpzIKS9uZ95IfbAAc_-gfRuIADIoDo7t8IxknFPJEWZPWbo0JQGz74VOdvqTmabUpaJD_JV7vuhxOJBq/s1600/VMFA+314+F-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeW6qlzR8PsqinYlMmrNmTGoMS-XRUpnKy1OlT87W5CqoMN86ZPq_gPoF6F2p5wpzIKS9uZ95IfbAAc_-gfRuIADIoDo7t8IxknFPJEWZPWbo0JQGz74VOdvqTmabUpaJD_JV7vuhxOJBq/s320/VMFA+314+F-4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="center">
<b><span style="color: #cd0000; font-family: Bookman Old Style; font-size: x-large;">MARINE F-4 PHANTOM FORAY</span></b></div>
<div align="center">
<b><span style="color: #cd0000; font-family: Bookman Old Style; font-size: large;">November
1-4, 2012, San Diego</span></b></div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
<b><span lang="EN">
<span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: large;">From: </span></span></b><br />
<b><span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: large;">Mike "Lancer" Sullivan</span></span></b><br />
<b><span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: large;">Bob "Fox" Johnson</span></span></b><br />
<b><span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: large;">JP "Monk" Monroe</span>
</span></b></div>
<b>
</b>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
<span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: large;"><b><span lang="EN">
The contact email is: <a href="mailto:F4Phantom@afri.com">F4Phantom@afri.com</a>
</span></b></span></div>
<b>
</b>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN">
<span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype;"> </span></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype;">W</span></span></span></b><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype;">e are now ready to
proceed with the greatest ‘mother of them all’ reunions - the "Marine
F-4 Phantom Foray". San Diego, as the home of so much Marine TACAIR, has
been selected as the site of preference.
</span>
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"><b>The primary goal is to bring together all
participants of the Marine Corps</b> <b>community (aircrew,
maintenance, administrative and other personnel who have supported the F-4) for
long overdue recognition of their exceptional contribution to Marine Aviation
History.</b>
</span>
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN">
<b>
<div align="LEFT">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">The two committed speakers we have for the banquet are the
current Commandant of the Marine Corps, who flew F-4s, and the former President
of McDonnell Aircraft when the F-4 was the King on the Block!
</span>
</div>
</b>
<div align="LEFT">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">Wives, girlfriends, family and friends are invited and
encouraged!
</span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">The selected hotel is the <b>Town and Country Resort</b>,
which so many of you are familiar with. The dates are Thursday 1 November thru
Sunday 4 November 2012. Early arrivals will be Wednesday 31 October and checkout
Sunday 4 November. The room rate is $113 + 12.5% tax per night and we have
booked 400 rooms. We hope to grow this number and encourage each of you to
forward this information to your friends. If you plan to attend please consider
reserving your room as soon as possible so we can gauge potential additional
needs. A room deposit is required but you can always cancel your room later and
get a full refund. Hotel reservation information is at the end of this email. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">Communication regarding the reunion will be conducted exclusively by email from
Armed Forces Reunions, Inc. Mailed-in registrations must be paid via check or money order.
Advance sales of shirts, caps and other memorabilia will be available from a
merchant who is giving us a huge break on prices. Further information on this
will be provided later. Items will not be for sale at the reunion.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"> </span>
</div>
<b><u>
<div align="LEFT">
<span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">PROGRAM
</span>
</div>
</u></b>
<ul>
<li>
<div align="LEFT">
<span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">Thursday – Welcome Aboard Reception. Possible Early Bird Tour
Friday - Tours to USS Midway, Flying Leatherneck Museum, & Open House by
MAG-11
</span>
</div>
</li>
<li>
<div align="LEFT">
<span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">Friday Evening - Squadron Dinners (arranged separately by
sqd.
leaders)
</span>
</div>
</li>
<li>
<div align="LEFT">
<span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">Saturday - Pictures, Memorial Service and a Farewell Banquet
</span>
</div>
</li>
<li>
<div align="LEFT">
<span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">Sunday - Farewells</span></div>
</li>
</ul>
</span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN"><div align="LEFT">
<span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">
A large, centrally located Ready Room with beverages and snacks
will be open throughout the reunion. All are welcome! We also have on hold
several suites and smaller meeting rooms should squadrons wish to have their own
Ready Rooms. These are available on a first-come, first-served basis. Also,
function space is being held for squadron dinners on Friday night. Groups may
choose to contract with a local restaurant instead. Squadron dinners are to be
planned directly with the hotel by the squadron leader. Squadron leaders should
contact Molly Dey at Armed Forces Reunions, Inc. for further info on individual
squadron Ready Rooms and Friday Dinners.
</span></div>
</span></div>
<span lang="EN">
<div align="LEFT">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">
mollydey@afri.com</span><br />
</div>
<b>
<div align="LEFT">
<span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">Let’s all work together to make this an historic event! Ideas
and volunteers are always welcome.
</span></div>
</b>
<div align="LEFT">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">Semper Fi,
</span></div>
<i>
</i></span></div>
<br /><span lang="EN">
</span><br /><span lang="EN">
<div align="LEFT">
<i><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: large;">
Mike "Lancer" Sullivan, Bob "Fox" Johnson,
JP "Monk" Monroe</span></i><i>
</i></div>
</span><span lang="EN">
</span></div>
WING WIFEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15200111162708301369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512963158177331315.post-8697523848689916062012-06-02T15:21:00.000-07:002014-02-19T17:09:38.772-08:00Rank and Flying<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwhtjk8eTW2waDFJavwJQvqhH4TV_ncUDxn53kh8kzyS5sFhVP6VW9ipBhqajg-rSj89AYcjy8rabrfu04DHrHYXIU-scy_LEG5_gJWiqeOSZouzUsuYVq3YRHPpX4oYN2RMt8E4y9mF6b/s1600/F:A-18+in+Afterburner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwhtjk8eTW2waDFJavwJQvqhH4TV_ncUDxn53kh8kzyS5sFhVP6VW9ipBhqajg-rSj89AYcjy8rabrfu04DHrHYXIU-scy_LEG5_gJWiqeOSZouzUsuYVq3YRHPpX4oYN2RMt8E4y9mF6b/s320/F:A-18+in+Afterburner.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>The main job an officer had in the squadron was to be a
pilot or RIO. Pilots were judged on their competency in the air, whether they
were ‘a good stick’. This ranking went on a scale from “a damn fine stick’ to
‘unsafe at any speed’. </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Lieutenants, once they earned their wings, needed to fly
often to build up competence, confidence, and situational awareness. Good RIOs
helped with the training after the training command sent the young 'uns to an
operational squadron and the best RIOs helped keep them alive in bad
situations. With a nugget, also known as an FNG--Fucking New Guy, a RIO had to
keep an eye out for trouble on the horizon of the lieutenant's experience and a
hand ready to command eject. Generally, lieutenants knew less than they thought
they did and were an exemplar of a little knowledge being a dangerous thing. A
strong squadron scheduled flights to give the lieutenants the experience they
needed everyday. When not flying, FNGs were good for weekend duty and holiday
duty, voting officer, drug and alcohol officer, mailroom duty, mess officer,
dues collection--anything that had little or no effect on actual flying
operations.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>With luck, lieutenants became captains. Captains flew. The
backbone of the operational squadron, the good ones helped both ends: training
the lieutenants and getting work done for the OpsO, XO and Commanding Officer.
But they had no grey hair, no responsibilities to worry about except to become
the best damn pilots in the free world and beyond. Every fighter pilot wanted
to stay a captain forever.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Eventually captains either left the Corps or were promoted
to major. Majors in the squadron were the OpsO who scheduled flight, the XO who
took care of the admin and kept the CO happy, and the Maintenance Officer who
made sure the planes all took off each day. Responsibility was their life. Once
in awhile they got in some flighttime, at least enough to maintain flight
status and flight pay, but the dark specter of Life After Flying hulked over
their lives as shit hot pilots.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>The CO was a Lieutenant Colonel. Only one per squadron.
Being a CO of a fighter squadron in the Marine Corps was an honor, a privilege,
and life-changing. The good ones maintained ties throughout their lives to
those who served willingly under them and at their wing. </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>But not all get there. </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>In the Air Force, aviators fly. Someone else does all the
other jobs in a squadron. The Marine Corps, with a smaller force and budget to
draw on, needs all Marines to do their duty: to run the 3 mile PFT; to know how
to carry a rifle, to load, shoot and clean it; to serve with the grunts on
occasion and learn what the Marines are doing on the ground when they need fire
support.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Aviators fly, but good Marines do more than that. Good
Marines support the whole mission, the operation of the squadron, the training
of the lieutenants and stepping up to the responsibility of the rank of major
and above. A Marine who never serves a ground tour, never does a favor for his
Monitor (the guy in a cubicle in the Pentagon who has to fill all the billets),
that guy--he thinks he's Peter Pan, but he's just a lost boy. </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: large;">I
knew some of those lost boys. Some never married, never should have. A few people
I knew loved the flyboys and married them. Usually those boys stayed in NeverNeverLand,
while the spouse took care of the real world. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: large;">My
favorite people knew that Tink's fairy dust wouldn't last forever and they
accepted grounding in reality. Just as a squadron needs real Marines, so we
need men and women who get married, have children and teach them right from
wrong; people who do their best to do what's right. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: large;">I know my guy misses the rush of pushing the envelope, a cat
launch off a pitching deck, a perfect ACM against a worthy opponent. But I love
him for everything he was, has been since his last flight in a Hornet, and
still is today.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: large;">When were you last captain of your soul? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: Times;">Invictus</span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Out of the night that covers me,<br />
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,<br />
I thank whatever gods may be<br />
For my unconquerable soul.<br />
<br />
In the fell clutch of circumstance<br />
I have not winced nor cried aloud.<br />
Under the bludgeonings of chance<br />
My head is bloody, but unbowed.<br />
<br />
Beyond this place of wrath and tears<br />
Looms but the Horror of the shade,<br />
And yet the menace of the years<br />
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.<br />
<br />
It matters not how strait the gate,<br />
How charged with punishments the scroll.<br />
I am the master of my fate:<br />
I am the captain of my soul. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: Times;">William Ernest Henley</span></b></span>
</div>
WING WIFEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15200111162708301369noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512963158177331315.post-10363438145379625942012-04-25T15:07:00.001-07:002012-04-25T15:10:30.166-07:00Expect the Unexpected Part 2: Flight Suits<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ_rafCQkGzATx9869MyhJ6rEpsQM1nEB9QqDmh1ZK0Jye6q4rjj6RB9wwUbPOjEyiikW4tnmhm90kahc9jTBShd_9UEElY0m-vyXJMfOdCVf_Q322dEFX3CY06g6pwuvfV1mJdyt-yJ4r/s1600/scan0302_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ_rafCQkGzATx9869MyhJ6rEpsQM1nEB9QqDmh1ZK0Jye6q4rjj6RB9wwUbPOjEyiikW4tnmhm90kahc9jTBShd_9UEElY0m-vyXJMfOdCVf_Q322dEFX3CY06g6pwuvfV1mJdyt-yJ4r/s320/scan0302_3.jpg" width="202" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The green Marine flight suit with
its multiple pockets, zippers and velcro served many practical purposes.
Velcro allowed for squadron patches and nametags to be changed out as
needed when changing squadrons or when the guys wanted to "look
good at the field" of an O' Club away from home. Some
favorite nametags: "Dick Gazinia" "Hugh Jardon"
and "Roger Ball".</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The Marine Corps, frugal to the
core, issued one or two new flight suits a year. Lenny "Toad"
Bucko, a Marine fighter pilot who flew the MIGs out of Tonopah for
Red Flag, attached to the Air Force for the tour. He remains awestruck
with the number of gadgets and flightsuits he found in his locker when he
checked in. "Five!" he said. "And they told me to
just let them know if I needed more," confirming rumors the Air Force
got the good stuff.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Flight suits had front zippers
that zipped both ways, allowing aviators to "take a leak" while
strapped in the seat. A few intrepid souls used them to continue on
their quest to "look good at the field" by ball-walking at the O'Club--unzipping
from the bottom, pulling out the family jewels, rezipping down, and then
talking to women as if nothing was unusual.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">My guy's multiple pockets carried
a variety of items, all accessible with the g-suit on. The outside sleeve
had narrow pockets for US Government black pens, and a zipper to a
compartment underneath for a pad of paper. The baggy side pockets on
the legs held the most important items for survival.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">He kept flint and steel; firestarter--a
rectangle, the size of Double Bubble pink chewing gum, of a waxy
substance that pulled apart into cotton ball shreds; a signaling
mirror--an ingenious 3 by 4 inch mirror with a hole in the center
to allow sighting on an oncoming ship, plane or helo; Charms--yes, the
candy; bottled water, a survival knife, a shroud cutter switchblade
capable of cutting through fifteen shroudlines at a time, a survival
radio, a pen gun flare, a green flashlight with an optional red
plastic lens to keep the light from affecting night vision, and a foil
space blanket (thank you, race to the moon!).</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">And he always had a John Wayne
key, also known as a P-38 can opener, in his flight suit for ready access
to the C-rats in the raft. Everything had a lanyard attached. Even if he
dropped some lifesaving item, he still had it attached to his suit.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">He never expected to eject. He
never had to. But he was prepared if it should happen.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjxuTHYcK9sNwXEDfREWEQppsQPaQzBBB95m1zZLL81BSiTvTt7oLyNjMqt2bx1oY-lPpwyu_alQw3BbhdjAOgpt0I9wRu8xQakBkulVsbb3862H5JvziOIUVICO7xLjFkWeQQ6JDR846x/s1600/CANOPENER-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjxuTHYcK9sNwXEDfREWEQppsQPaQzBBB95m1zZLL81BSiTvTt7oLyNjMqt2bx1oY-lPpwyu_alQw3BbhdjAOgpt0I9wRu8xQakBkulVsbb3862H5JvziOIUVICO7xLjFkWeQQ6JDR846x/s320/CANOPENER-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">There are times when my purse
resembles the pockets of his flight suit. I always carry a small
flashlight--in the old days I had a mini Maglite, now I've converted
to an LED with my iPhone (the flashlight app) for backup. I
carry gum and breath mints, a Kind bar, aspirin and migraine meds, my Kindle with 1500 books on
it, extra pens (though the black US Government pens have disappeared
into the junk drawers of time), reading glasses, sunglasses, a glasses
repair kit, money (sometimes more, sometimes less, sometimes just
plastic), a glass nail file, nail polish, Jelly Bellies for
my grandkids, hand lotion, my moleskin notebook, Tide-to-Go, and
sometimes a bottle of water.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">There are always unexpected events in
our lives with our children, our spouses, our friends: a car accident, an
illness, an estrangement. My purse and his flight suit won't protect us. We
have to keep our mind and hearts just as prepared.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">I am
expecting the unexpected and I'll be ready.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="color: blue;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: small;">Also published as a column in the Military Writers Society of America's monthly magazine, Dispatches. <a href="http://www.mwsadispatches.com/node/950/view">MWSA Column</a></span></i>
</div>
</div>WING WIFEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15200111162708301369noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512963158177331315.post-26256287713377690462012-03-30T12:25:00.000-07:002012-03-30T12:32:10.756-07:00Fighter Pilot Rule for Life: Lowkey Information<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1VxYewV2D4pKjgw7Z8w33ruy4GxHi-wBQ5EoUnz_wXjJ6KZ4ZYonQpSrOgEXvwBb6NOtIirBeKNR9i7JoUHC3RAN-Z9dVnpVH3jBUCFJILw6wPeI3-BCdizjXDMvXa2enGQ9XxLg63wwn/s1600/VMFA-323_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1VxYewV2D4pKjgw7Z8w33ruy4GxHi-wBQ5EoUnz_wXjJ6KZ4ZYonQpSrOgEXvwBb6NOtIirBeKNR9i7JoUHC3RAN-Z9dVnpVH3jBUCFJILw6wPeI3-BCdizjXDMvXa2enGQ9XxLg63wwn/s320/VMFA-323_3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<i><span class="smallbody"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The
first plane my guy flew was a T-34 propeller trainer, the T-2 was his first
jet, then the T-2B, a twin engine T-2 jet, the TF-9 jet trainer, and finally in
VMFA-333, he flew the Phantom F-4. All of the planes were double-seaters with
an instructor or a Radar Intercept Officer (RIO) in the backseat ready to tell
him when he was doing it wrong. It served a dual purpose to have dual seats.
The backseaters kept the valuable plane from terminal damage and also kept the
young, brash, and maybe-not-yet-up-to-snuff pilot from terminal damage. A lot
of time and money had been invested in both aircraft and aviator. </span></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="color: #783f04;">
</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<i><span class="smallbody"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">If
a pilot had figured out a way to auger into the ground or lost his S/A or
departed from controlled flight, a RIO or instructor would verbally help him
get his act together. The best RIOs and instructors kept cool in the lightning
storm. The idea wasn't to destroy the young pilot's confidence but to train him
up to be a calm, steely-eyed gunslinger with wings and sidewinder missiles.
Even after leaving the training command there were many times an extra set of
eyes or another brain proved valuable. When worse went to worst, the RIO also
had a command-eject capability. </span></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="color: #783f04;">
</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="color: #783f04;">
</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<i><span class="smallbody"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">And
then in 1983, the new latest fighter arrived at El Toro Marine Corps Air
Station: the F/A-18 Hornet, a single-seat, high-tech aircraft that featured
computerized instrument panels, nine on-board computers (more now!), and television
screens to aid in bombing run accuracy. The training squadrons had two-seat
planes, but once finished with the flight simulator training and the
instructors, no RIO flew as a backseat driver or failsafe guy.</span></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="color: #783f04;">
</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="color: #783f04;">
</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<i><span class="smallbody"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">McDonnell
Douglas had a solution. They asked a secretary to record some standard warning
messages in a calm, female voice. (Millions of dollars went into research to
determine that a female voice was easier to hear in a stressful situation) </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The F/A-18 Hornet voice warning system was
called by the aviators Bitchin’ Betty. In the worst of circumstances, her voice
is composed and measured: “Left engine fire. Left engine fire” or “Bingo Fuel.
Bingo Fuel.” </span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="color: #783f04;">
</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Here's what I've
been wondering: why does my beloved other ignore my voice in disasters? Could
it be that jumping up and down screaming and using tons of !!!! does not make my
point better? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">So I've been
practicing. I keep my voice low and slow. "Honey, you are about to turn
left on a red light and I do not think that tractor-trailer sees you," and
"You might want to bring your wallet that is on the bedside table before
we leave with our luggage to catch a plane to Timbuktu," and
"Darling, the ladder you are climbing to put lights on the second story of
our house has not been latched properly and is about to collapse." </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Not my fault if
he does not hear my reasonable warnings. Not my fault, but in a marriage we
both suffer the consequences. </span></div>
</div>WING WIFEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15200111162708301369noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512963158177331315.post-28053037648121034672012-03-23T13:02:00.000-07:002012-03-23T21:41:35.244-07:00Military Writer's Society of America's Book Discussion Forum March 23-25<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkq2_yplRqbebXLTyrA_FrEewaote9kNxB1toHE-HqkPk1AoOmF8dMS-V4c9g3YscR3fcxahcQHqrjXFkzWUd_k7YLzb2ipou_2akVUVm0SjIzvsOrZpbNvt2N67mJK29cQ3AKDVz6njbb/s1600/WWPdf_Final_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkq2_yplRqbebXLTyrA_FrEewaote9kNxB1toHE-HqkPk1AoOmF8dMS-V4c9g3YscR3fcxahcQHqrjXFkzWUd_k7YLzb2ipou_2akVUVm0SjIzvsOrZpbNvt2N67mJK29cQ3AKDVz6njbb/s320/WWPdf_Final_2.jpg" width="206" /></a></div>
Please join us for the Military Writer's Society of America's first book discussion forum running March 23-25 on
the MWSA site. I am honored that the topic will be my memoir, WING WIFE: HOW TO BE MARRIED TO A MARINE FIGHTER PILOT. Joyce Faulkner, President of MWSA will be the moderator.<br />
<br />
I encourage everyone to part<span class="text_exposed_show">icipate,
even if you haven't read WING WIFE, especially if you have written, are
in the process of writing, or are thinking about writing a memoir. We'd
love the perspective of military types--Marines and other
services--aviators and/or their spouses. Everyone's comments will be
useful.<br /> <br /> The idea is to talk about craft and to talk about the military experience. <br /> <br /> Writing Techniques for Memoirs Link: <a href="http://www.mwsadispatches.com/node/840" rel="nofollow nofollow" target="_blank">http://www.mwsadispatches.com/node/840</a><br /> <br /> WING WIFE Content and Message Link: <a href="http://www.mwsadispatches.com/node/841" rel="nofollow nofollow" target="_blank">http://www.mwsadispatches.com/node/841 </a></span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show"><br /></span><br />
<span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text">If you are not a member and want to comment on a thread, write Joyce at MWSAPresident@gmail.com and ask to be added to the site.</span></div>WING WIFEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15200111162708301369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512963158177331315.post-14896690516411038022012-03-07T17:24:00.000-08:002012-03-23T21:40:48.790-07:00Lost Friends<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr align="left"><td><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4-agQ4j8fezosq6Sajfl9ZnvKCd4D8ttjfnjrEibGCcF_STCis3-CHYCYKFcednvuE42h2IX2rYKwWc2AKhGbsdTA58q5Aa9c6xXnKitT_7DDAcuawJ7AKKaq6c780h8_VP8mdnCD9BRT/s200/lex-kfir.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Captain Carroll LeFon USN (retired) RIP</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt;">It's not a penny found on the street</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt;">Scuffed, darkened and pocketed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt;">It requires penny after penny after penny </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt;">Of time and thought and laughter </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt;">Accumulated in a Mason jar in the kitchen
sunshine.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt;">I carried the jar </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt;">Toward the maple table to count moments, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt;">To plan a shared splurge when the phone rang. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt;">I answered </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt;">And the jar fell to the tile shattering </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt;">Into pennies rolling, clattering, circling,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt;">Glass shards everywhere.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt;">I scooped them into piles.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt;">Blood dripped from my hands </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt;">To stone squares, on clear glass running red,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt;">On piled and scattered pennies.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt;">There's not a good way found </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt;">To lose a friend.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span> <br />
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #783f04;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I never met him in person, yet we were friends. The first blog I followed when I started blogging, the blogger I stayed loyal to through the years. Wise words are like pennies collected on the street, as change, in drawers. In the end, we are richer for them.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #783f04;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #783f04;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Smart, a poet, a fighter pilot who loved his wife and family. I will miss him but there's joy in the words and photos and thoughts and friendships he nurtured on his blog Neptunus Lex. </span><span style="font-size: small;">In the end I am richer for knowing him. We are all richer. </span> </div>
</div>WING WIFEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15200111162708301369noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512963158177331315.post-9323421285478371782012-02-04T22:46:00.000-08:002012-02-04T22:46:09.197-08:00Find a Veteran Grave: Guest Post<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQiinVPXPBeyqiiZxtbp3qu3F2lgreWRbTsziRUWVXA0imerfEGb9kO9E2oU5hO6W2KA2uvKd0TnEvcqe0G4Lu2jc90bkGvEQgb9gyC5FO2eRm86xuOioi7BQRkEUs9mqqictvn6XQBALs/s1600/Ig+at+Arlington.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQiinVPXPBeyqiiZxtbp3qu3F2lgreWRbTsziRUWVXA0imerfEGb9kO9E2oU5hO6W2KA2uvKd0TnEvcqe0G4Lu2jc90bkGvEQgb9gyC5FO2eRm86xuOioi7BQRkEUs9mqqictvn6XQBALs/s320/Ig+at+Arlington.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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There are over 6 million veterans and family members of
veterans buried across the United States.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And when you want to pay your respects, it can be very hard to locate a
veteran’s burial place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
department of Veterans Affairs keeps a massive database of burial sites of
veterans and their beneficiaries, such as spouses and children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But this database is jumbled, messy and
confusing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But a new online tool
has cleaned up this data and made it searchable and easy to navigate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, anyone can easily <a href="http://locategrave.org/">find a veteran grave</a> for free on
<a href="http://locategrave.org/">LocateGrave.org</a>.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Users can search for a veteran by name, cemetery, date of
birth, military rank and <a href="" name="_GoBack">military branch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once you have narrowed down your
search, you can click on a </a>veteran to see the detailed information
regarding their burial.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A map will
help you locate the cemetery and the cemetery’s phone number will be
displayed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you are logged in to
facebook, you can also leave a prayer or note to remember the veteran.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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A similar online tool also powered by <a href="http://findthedata.org/">FindTheData.org</a> is the <a href="http://medal-of-honor.findthedata.org/">Medal of Honor Recipients</a>
database.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like the veteran grave
locator, the Medal of Honor tool allows you to search for recipients based on
war, rank and name. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This is a guest post
written by Evan Thomas, a student at UCSB that has partnered with FindTheData
to help create these tools.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>FindtheData is an unbiased search engine that allows you to compare
everything from </i><a href="http://section-8-housing.findthebest.com/"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Section-8 Housing</i></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> to </i><a href="http://non-profit-organizations.findthebest.com/"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Non-Profit Organizations</i></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you have any questions or comments
about the grave locator, feel free to contact Evan at evan_thomas (@)
umail.ucsb.edu</i></div>
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</style></div>WING WIFEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15200111162708301369noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512963158177331315.post-25429146166308912602012-01-05T14:07:00.000-08:002013-07-03T19:57:45.348-07:00Homecoming<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwLsa5LtStUsRVY8IEIwQYkaeaR1VKFuk_gjGT_mEtSglWI23-HMblt3xZpWyM58V3ow1l2LqrphUunPe90yVHyxjEa1zFWygtB-FgbFgrYWn5EqayU5d6KobllNj92BvbeKL7DGetAz20/s1600/scan0266.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwLsa5LtStUsRVY8IEIwQYkaeaR1VKFuk_gjGT_mEtSglWI23-HMblt3xZpWyM58V3ow1l2LqrphUunPe90yVHyxjEa1zFWygtB-FgbFgrYWn5EqayU5d6KobllNj92BvbeKL7DGetAz20/s320/scan0266.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i style="color: #783f04;"> <span style="font-size: large;">My last post was not in the finest tradition of military wives. Anniversaries of death are private. Remembering the one who’s gone by crazy stories of times past is supported and lauded. So here's one story:</span></i></span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"><i style="color: #783f04;"> </i> </span><span style="font-size: large;"><i style="color: #783f04;"> </i></span><br />
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #783f04; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i> My brother Don, a first lieutenant in the Marine Corps, was coming to MCAS El Toro on his first cross-country from VMFA 333 Beaufort SC in 1969. We knew he was on his way home; he’d told us he’d let us know when he was close. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i> </span><span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i> </span></div>
<div style="color: #783f04; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span></div>
<div style="color: #783f04; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i> About the time he was supposed to arrive, we heard a jet. Not unusual, except this one got closer and closer, louder and louder, way too close and way too loud--so close we were sure it was going to hit the house so we ran outside. We stood on our front lawn in Claremont, California and watched a Phantom F-4 divebomb to within a hundred yards of the ground, then turn up into the sky, great gouts of flame spouting from its twin engines and as it arrowed into the sky, afterburners lit. </i> </span><span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i> </span><span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span> </div>
<div style="color: #783f04; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span></div>
<div style="color: #783f04; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i> A neighbor with experience in the Korean War threw himself on his wife, knocking them both to the ground, certain the plate glass sliding door was going to shatter. Not one person had the presence of mind to get the tail number or remember the trefoil design on the tail. When MCAS El Toro was contacted, they responded with, “None of our jets are in the air.”</i> </span><span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span><br />
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #783f04; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span></div>
<div style="color: #783f04; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> My brother had let us know he was close. He was almost home.</i> </span><span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> The picture at the beginning of the post of Don with his wings in his Marine green uniform isn't my favorite. He's smiling, but not his smile of appreciation for crazy antics in the air and on the ground. Here's a picture of him at the training command before he got his wings. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMHODUkEpbsUK00eToibd9-cRYoSvUI6zK7nRvc63ERMt8aoiWlSSBWw1howkIP29EF22PWz2_vp1O_yr8PJGnbAyVT6334K3gREhQax4yrPZqxgZ6StTx-ju8R1u3eTsH0E8tRgJzsas7/s1600/00000011_7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMHODUkEpbsUK00eToibd9-cRYoSvUI6zK7nRvc63ERMt8aoiWlSSBWw1howkIP29EF22PWz2_vp1O_yr8PJGnbAyVT6334K3gREhQax4yrPZqxgZ6StTx-ju8R1u3eTsH0E8tRgJzsas7/s320/00000011_7.JPG" width="313" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Wouldn't it be fun to hang out with him? Yep.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span></span></div>
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WING WIFEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15200111162708301369noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512963158177331315.post-26736870781532163972012-01-02T16:12:00.000-08:002012-01-02T16:12:37.553-08:00January 2nd<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF2fcysC8qVzMpP-YSNSiAzM3aXtD44MyN1ZXKBvxHq2ULH8uWl8z_U8voQ0VP8DgMLEaIbOPoUplk_FpEsGjQzHLCA5pijK6MtBhU0y7CsxvZGmYdZRXICTMLfrVxAEO6VgD7qICOnKeb/s1600/16Jonesfamily.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF2fcysC8qVzMpP-YSNSiAzM3aXtD44MyN1ZXKBvxHq2ULH8uWl8z_U8voQ0VP8DgMLEaIbOPoUplk_FpEsGjQzHLCA5pijK6MtBhU0y7CsxvZGmYdZRXICTMLfrVxAEO6VgD7qICOnKeb/s320/16Jonesfamily.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Thirty-two years ago today I called my sister-in-law in Beaufort. We’d talked to her and my brother on Christmas Day but it was the New Year and we’d not touched base on the first. Six o-clock at night, but he was flying. Three hops that day. Kath said he’d call when he landed from the last. I remember Kath and I laughing about married life. I remember her talking about what a wonderful holiday season they’d had and Don fishing for crabs off the pier with Tim, their eight year old. She mentioned his new boat, a Boston Whaler. Andy immediately wanted to talk to him about it. I had to tell my other half to stop trying to grab the phone because Don wasn’t there to talk to. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Don would never be there to talk to again--except in my head. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Some days I feel his loss as a little ache, a tiny “oh I wish he were here” or a “things would be different if...” This week, a student at Santa Barbara contacted me. He’s working to digitize all the information to locate veterans’ graves. He wants to write a blogpost for my blog. I wrote back yes.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then I put in my brother’s name and San Diego, California. And found his grave marker. </div><div class="uiAttachmentTitle" data-ft="{"type":11}"><strong><a href="http://www.locategrave.org/l/358315/Jones?fb_comment_id=fbc_10150455186851674_20243357_10150455188536674" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span>http://www.locategrave.org/l/</span><wbr></wbr><span class="word_break"></span>358315/Jones</a></strong> </div><span class="caption"><a href="http://www.locategrave.org/" rel="nofollow nofollow" target="_blank">www.locategrave.org</a></span><div class="MsoNormal">A wave of grief and what ifs and loneliness and loss overwhelmed me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He’s not there, in body or in spirit. Midair collisions at night over the water are not so kind to return an aviator for burial. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There is no timeline for grief. No right or wrong way to grieve. Hold your loved ones close when you can. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Today I am sad.</span> </div>WING WIFEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15200111162708301369noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512963158177331315.post-13431414662971872862011-12-01T23:09:00.000-08:002011-12-02T15:41:46.068-08:00Collateral Damage<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><style>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMT3m7E9wJYqdAvmIBTA30EGJoQJC3sNjnovwvde_VpwxfBfkM5jmLK7gK_a7-X-jNCS5FIQghMHilzi1JxDK70SVYsrsLZfKo4Z4FIEWrceBFOEiqe_i8EHxi8htwcK71appP39SMPtkD/s1600/Airstrike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMT3m7E9wJYqdAvmIBTA30EGJoQJC3sNjnovwvde_VpwxfBfkM5jmLK7gK_a7-X-jNCS5FIQghMHilzi1JxDK70SVYsrsLZfKo4Z4FIEWrceBFOEiqe_i8EHxi8htwcK71appP39SMPtkD/s320/Airstrike.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">This last week I spent a lot of time eating, visiting with friends and family and thinking about my blessings. Last night, one of my blessings breathed deeply next to me: my husband. Twenty-two years a Marine aviator, as many landings as takeoffs, no POW experiences, no visions of war keeping him awake. I fell asleep thinking about some of my friends and family whose lives had changed because of the military service of others close to them. They were collateral damage.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Some of you know part of my story. My brother was killed in a mid-air as a Marine fighter pilot. His son, then eight, has just turned forty and had a party. His brother and sister came to celebrate with him. Bittersweet. My brother would have loved the people they grew into. They would have loved to know my brother as adults know their parents. They all show wounds from an explosion they never saw coming thirty some years ago.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Five years ago, my husband and I attended the marriage of my niece to her twenty-two year old Marine corporal at the County Clerk’s office. He’d already had two tours to Iraq and was about to leave for the third. Their daughter is now four years old. Their marriage has ended in the rages of PTSD and TBI. I asked him if the military makes it easy to get help. He said he didn’t want help, he just wanted to go back to what he knew how to do--fight a war and protect his buddies. He doesn’t want to know how to get the oil changed on the car, talk to his wife, or shop for groceries. Those everyday activities are difficult and full of tension. My niece wanted a husband who talks softly, with respect, sleeps at night, never raises his hand against her. She doesn’t want her daughter to grow up seeing her daddy yelling at mom. His explosions here reflect the explosions he can’t talk about over there.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A fighter pilot’s wife from Korean War vintage has become a friend. She’s shared how her husband never really knew what to do with himself as a civilian, so he drank. He was not a good drunk or an easy husband to have and to hold. She stayed with him. The shadows in her eyes remain even though he died a few years back.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The receptionist at my hairdresser’s is married to a Marine in Afghanistan. He’s only been gone a month, she has five more months to get through. Her struggle? Getting used to not talking to him everyday. He’s in a remote area, no Skype, no realtime emails. She can send him letters that get to him pretty quickly through some sort of email to print option. She asked, “What am I going to do with myself? I’ve already redecorated the whole house!” I hope she learns how to be herself and then find joy in his return. I hope he returns without leaving who he used to be in the Afghan hills. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Close is only good in horseshoes, hand grenades and pattern bombing,” is a gallows humor saying in the aviator world. Being close to those in military service results in collateral damage often coming as a sneak attack.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In this holiday season, I continue to count my blessings and look for ways to reach out and help out those who strayed into the bombing pattern inadvertently. </div></div>WING WIFEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15200111162708301369noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512963158177331315.post-13036305322010042462011-09-14T11:25:00.000-07:002011-09-14T11:30:08.631-07:00TADs and Deployments #4<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL6a-pIBKe56I46BEVvaHQJCa7BNSMnu7gwaP4nMznfTdNBbAGHeFLqL_o-A1qBsV68mp4dnrwpQgbiyXtMC_yHnBDY2xeoxECglPgcsGnYMwxotKPOEa4yFOPu9ETPyMhsPX2k8y_P2aG/s1600/scan0182.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL6a-pIBKe56I46BEVvaHQJCa7BNSMnu7gwaP4nMznfTdNBbAGHeFLqL_o-A1qBsV68mp4dnrwpQgbiyXtMC_yHnBDY2xeoxECglPgcsGnYMwxotKPOEa4yFOPu9ETPyMhsPX2k8y_P2aG/s320/scan0182.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="color: #783f04;">It used to be, during peacetime, overseas deployments happened once every three years or so. My aviator knew he’d be going to Japan for a year. I planned to learn Japanese and accompany him--to live out in town with my little one. Then he informed me what “unaccompanied tour” really meant. He’d be deployed to Okinawa, Japan and I wasn’t allowed to come. A year! A year apart! We’d only been married three years. I had an 18 month old. </span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">He left right after New Years’. Three weeks later I discovered I was pregnant with our second child. I called the overseas operator to tell him. </span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">Operator: “Sergeant Major who? There is no rank Major Sergeant.” </span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">“His last name is Sargent.”</span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">“Sergeant Major who?”</span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">Once the operator and I got the rank/name thing cleared up and he got on the phone, I told him the news.</span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">“Whose is it?” he asked. </span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">Really--three weeks gone and he thought I’d found a sperm donor? I’m not that kind of girl.</span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">The year went slowly. I tried distracting myself. I crewed for friends of ours on their Prindle racing catamaran until I couldn't fit in my wetsuit anymore. I modified our house with plants and makeovers as much as our budget allowed--which wasn't much since we had costs in the US and Japan. </span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">And I was still pregnant running around after a very active firstborn.</span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">It made me mad. Mad at Andy.</span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">Logically I knew he did not choose to go overseas, it was part of his job. I knew it wasn't much fun for him since it was a non-flying billet with the "Running 9th" Marines. </span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">Then the doctor put me on bed rest. </span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">My now two-year-old, strong-willed child made that difficult.</span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">So my mother came to stay with me. Bless her for that. It couldn’t have been easy to leave her own home and life and take care of a lonely, grumpy preggo and her challenging toddler. We didn't agree on much about child rearing. We didn't agree about much of anything. Yet she came to help me and I tried to be appreciative.</span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">Which led to an escalation in my anger at Andy. Maybe I should have been angry at the Marine Corps or my mother for being an additional stress instead of the supportive help I wished her to be. Nope. I blamed it all on Andy.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">An emotional, non-logical reaction.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So many of us have partners far away through no choice of their own. For some it’s orders from the military. Others travel for their work or work so hard they might as well be in Japan. Anger creates larger distances than deployments. My mother and my husband treated me with understanding and love until my own love remembered to be appreciative. </div></div>WING WIFEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15200111162708301369noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512963158177331315.post-90857428561144071872011-08-12T19:39:00.000-07:002011-08-26T19:30:43.304-07:00TADs and Deployments #3<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><style><br /><!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Cambria; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --><br /></style>
<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcb4GVaabsOcbjtx0dbtvn0q7x-pQNwW440sWMvzUokhi3p3jbeHMg0c1fVTfv0uaacLyHBWu2om0OvFIM6wNf2gFdbwpAi0uDbI5Ho_V6Yn_I46h5UAgt6_QbnZiVDYt6iwQd4wyb5onf/s1600/Scan10076.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcb4GVaabsOcbjtx0dbtvn0q7x-pQNwW440sWMvzUokhi3p3jbeHMg0c1fVTfv0uaacLyHBWu2om0OvFIM6wNf2gFdbwpAi0uDbI5Ho_V6Yn_I46h5UAgt6_QbnZiVDYt6iwQd4wyb5onf/s320/Scan10076.JPG" border="0" height="207" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;"><i>Deployments. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;"><i>Never liked them. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i style="color: #783f04;"> </i> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;"><i>When I was first married, even a night away from my guy brought lonely to live at my house until he returned. Later, before kids, I learned to tolerate it--appreciating the time to get projects done: a special Christmas present, putting mirror and redwood panels in our bath (It was 1976!), or just to have a day or two to read a book or visit friends without needing to cook dinner or hurry home. After kids, having him gone at all meant no relief at the end of the long day, no adult ear to listen to my joys and woes and ain’t-our-kid-cute? stories. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;"><i>But all those short cross-countries had a different quality than the TADs. Most of those lasted two or three weeks somewhere else: Tyndall AFB, or Nellis AFB, or Fallon NAS. When my husband left on a TAD, something always happened to remind me why he was indispensible around the house. TAD might as well stand for Things Always Deteriorated.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;"><i>One time my guy was TAD to Fallon. First, the car quit working. Of course. Then I opened the door to the tow-truck operator and my dog leaped in the air with shark eyes to bite him. I put my hand out to stop her and she bit me. The red feather pulsing out of my arm told me the bite had punctured an artery. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;"><i>Thank goodness for my civilian neighbors who drove me to the hospital, cleaned up the blood and watched my three young girls. We no longer see each other across the street, but I remember and am grateful. Pennies for Heaven.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;"><i>Later, when I shared my tale of woe with Andy, he felt bad but he couldn’t do anything about it. I remember he was angry and worried and helpless all at the same time. He flew fast jets, practiced Air Combat Maneuvers--ACMs; control and situational analysis were his mantras. When Things Always Deteriorated when he wasn't around us, he had no control and he couldn't watch out for the bogeys. He’d rather be with us at night</i><i> then go back to a BOQ room. </i><i>I’d rather have had him with me at night, too.</i><i> </i>
<br />
<br /><i>But he did love the flying. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">So many of our military today are serving back-to-back-to-back deployments, mostly in a war zone. This blog post is for those who stay at home, who take care of the kids and the house and the car and their hearts so there is something to come home to. Make friends with your neighbors--even if they don’t understand what your spouse does. Who knows, your car might break down.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And to the neighbors of our military families--reach out. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><span style=" ;font-family:Cambria;font-size:12pt;" >Thinking of all of you today.</span> </div>WING WIFEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15200111162708301369noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512963158177331315.post-37483470119308358142011-07-27T10:46:00.000-07:002011-07-27T10:46:20.905-07:00Fighter Pilot Rule #3: Be aware of neutral, offensive and defensive starts.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIvV7dDB-tqXm1UTzBGyvhzedB0O2yjx94ay67N0yCyite7GjD0XaNxODl51QVpvxbaH7bateSAASNh8w6yIFWNQfrj0GvKxk4fOwV7gNlooQyGvdwyh1c-bl__kkJ78hmqB62Endg53yk/s1600/HeadOn_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIvV7dDB-tqXm1UTzBGyvhzedB0O2yjx94ay67N0yCyite7GjD0XaNxODl51QVpvxbaH7bateSAASNh8w6yIFWNQfrj0GvKxk4fOwV7gNlooQyGvdwyh1c-bl__kkJ78hmqB62Endg53yk/s320/HeadOn_2.jpg" width="309" /></a></div><br />
Rereading some of my blogs from years past, I visited <a href="http://wingwife.blogspot.com/2008/03/brief-vii-ready-room.html">The Ready Room 2008</a>. I'm heading into new territory with my writing and wanted to go back to the comfort of the familiar. There were more lessons to learn from the procedures of aviators preparing for flight.<br />
<br />
<i style="color: #783f04;">Before pilots or RIOs took off and slipped the surly bonds of earth, they met in the Ready Room to get their shit together with the other flight members.<br />
<br />
First, they got the admin details out of the way: like when to walk to the plane, when to man-up--be in the plane ready to strap in--when to taxi and take-off.<br />
<br />
Second, they had to brief the set-ups and engagements. Would the air combat maneuvers, ACMs, be on radar or visual? A radar set-up meant starting BVR--Beyond Visual Range--a visual set-up began much closer in.<br />
<br />
Aviators then briefed where the planes would be the start of each engagement. Different start parameters meant different tactics. If 1v.1--one fighter fighting against one other--in a defensive start, then one plane had an advantage. The bogey--the bad guy--could come up on the fighter’s ass or could have an angle of attack to shoot a virtual sidewinder missile for a virtual kill. Fox Two!<br />
<br />
A neutral start began with bogey and fighter side by side, turning away 45 degrees in a butterfly maneuver before turning head on, so neither had an angle, no position of advantage on the other.<br />
<br />
An offensive start gave the fighter an advantage--say at the six-o-clock ready to attack the bogey up the rear. Aviators preferred an advantage right from the git-go but they needed to practice offensive and defensive tactics so in a real combat situation, they could get themselves out of tight spots, find the bogey, and shoot it down. The job of the fighter pilot. As the Red Baron said, “Anything else is nonsense.”</i><br />
<br />
In my relationships with others, too often I find myself thinking there’s my side and the other side (and the other side is so wrong). I want to prove my point, show them I’m right. I want to win.<br />
<br />
In tactical maneuvering in war or combat training winning is important. In war it can be a matter of life or death.<br />
<br />
In a relationship, winning or losing can also be a matter of life or death--the life of death of the relationship. Too many times, defense means not listening, offense speaks the unforgivable. A relationship--whether with a spouse, a family member or a friend--is not about offense or defense--except to defend and support the other. Relationships are about establishing common ground--neutral. Be aware of when it’s best to insist, when to break away and when to leave the ACM to fly another day.<br />
<br />
I have to remember to be a good wingman, not a Manfred Von Richtofen. We have enough nonsense in our lives.</div>WING WIFEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15200111162708301369noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512963158177331315.post-65234294252544489992011-05-10T12:37:00.000-07:002011-05-10T12:37:41.314-07:00Fighter Pilot Rule #2: Wingman<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeW6qlzR8PsqinYlMmrNmTGoMS-XRUpnKy1OlT87W5CqoMN86ZPq_gPoF6F2p5wpzIKS9uZ95IfbAAc_-gfRuIADIoDo7t8IxknFPJEWZPWbo0JQGz74VOdvqTmabUpaJD_JV7vuhxOJBq/s1600/VMFA+314+F-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeW6qlzR8PsqinYlMmrNmTGoMS-XRUpnKy1OlT87W5CqoMN86ZPq_gPoF6F2p5wpzIKS9uZ95IfbAAc_-gfRuIADIoDo7t8IxknFPJEWZPWbo0JQGz74VOdvqTmabUpaJD_JV7vuhxOJBq/s320/VMFA+314+F-4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>KNOW WHERE YOUR WINGMAN IS AT ALL TIMES<br />
<i><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">“Bird” was a Marine fighter pilot, a good stick--meaning he flew a jet around in the sky with skill and flair--and a good friend. Snatch first knew him in the Advanced Training Command at Kingsville, Texas where they were both instructors. </span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">Kingsville had about seventy-five instructors, fifteen of those Marines, and lots of students. Back in the late 1960s and early 70s, Marine pilots went to OCS, then Basic School where they did all the Marine grunt things like run with heavy packs, tbefore going to flight school where early on a decision was made to funnel some students to helos, some to fixed wings, then later fixed wing students learned if they’d fly jets or prop planes. </span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">One night while driving around Texas, the timing chain on Snatch’s Shelby broke when still hours away from home sweet bachelor apartment. Bird got the call at two o-clock in the morning. Did he tell his good ol’ buddy ol’ pal to get a motel room? Nope. Bird rubbed the sleep from his eyes, fired up his Corvette and drove three or four hours to the rescue and three or four hours back to Kingsville. That’s a good friend.</span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">A few years later, Bird and Snatch were both pilots in VMFA 314, flying Phantom F-4s based at MCAS El Toro on a cross-country.</span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">Immediately after taking off from Navy Dallas on their way back to MCAS El Toro, Bird’s jet suffered a utility hydraulic failure and had to land at the closest field: the one he’d just launched from.</span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">The utility system worked the brakes, the tailhook, and flaps. A utility failure was better than a primary control hydraulic failure, which affected all the flight control surfaces. The primary control hydraulics were redundant systems, losing one PC wasn’t catastrophic--the other system took over. Lose both primary control systems and the pilot had a rock without controls. </span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">With a utility failure like Bird’s, his flaps could be blown down by pneumatics, the hook would fall down by gravity, but being SOL--shit out of luck--on brakes, Bird required an arrested landing--trapping the wire. Snatch brought Bird around, talked to him on the radio since two heads were better than one in an emergency--made sure everything that could be done was done before landing. He stayed on Bird’s wing and made sure he landed okay. </span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">Bird taxied off the runway, and looked for Snatch’s plane to land. Snatch was not only a friend, he was the AMO--Aircraft Maintenance Officer of VMFA-314. AMOs knew how to get planes fixed, even at far from home airfields. Bird’s misery wanted company.</span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">Not so fast. </span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">Snatch saw an opportunity in Bird’s misfortune, an opportunity for a bit more flying and some socializing with his favorite brother. He told Mutt, his RIO, to re-file direct to Clovis, New Mexico where his Air Force brother was stationed. No reason for both pilots to be grounded. I’m sure Snatch heard some high and to the right language over his radio as he flew off.</span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">Maybe Bird should have told Snatch on that long ago Texas night to sleep in his Shelby and call for a tow.</span></i><br />
<br />
Friendships mean different things to different people. Snatch knew he left Bird at a base with repair facilities, a RIO to drink with and he also knew Bird was a big boy, able to deal with the situation all on his own. Bird, on the other hand, expected his friend’s company while grounded. <br />
<br />
Friendships change over time. What a young lieutenant would for his buddy was different than what a senior captain wanted to do. <br />
<br />
Regardless, I find more to admire in Bird’s middle of the night drive than in Snatch’s need to visit family.<br />
<br />
In my own friendships there is always a search for balance of expectations versus boundaries. I call a friend, wanting to get together, and they’ve got a crazy couple of weeks or can’t chat right then--no problem, no hurt feelings. A friend calls in need, I can drop most anything to listen or to help. A friend who calls in need everyday and doesn’t let me off the phone without guilt even after a hour--problem. A friend who never calls except to ask for favors--also a problem. <br />
<br />
Most importantly, am I the friend I want to be?<br />
<br />
Am I a middle of the night driving sort of friend or a leave them at Dallas Field friend? </div>WING WIFEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15200111162708301369noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512963158177331315.post-22195687170874127612011-04-11T21:29:00.000-07:002012-03-31T00:11:18.389-07:00WING WIFE has been selected as Book of the Month for MWSA April 2011<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://www.mwsadispatches.com/node/452">WING WIFE: How To Be Married To A Marine Fighter Pilot </a></div>WING WIFEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15200111162708301369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512963158177331315.post-46232925967947433452011-03-31T00:41:00.000-07:002011-05-10T12:39:08.466-07:00Fighter Pilot Rule #1: S/A<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfF2Xja_A9JIa9mt_Q0UUoLhdW1fUXAYbo5PFjd5917m3so30F2PfPI97OhVuYMaUtUjLAdcecHFKO20KI5C1pQBaeMzrv5GJgdxsUc5w9uu65hPjNwEyuIh4cCh_cUNQ-j96JFARQKmzx/s1600/2910507410_794c0bb6a3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfF2Xja_A9JIa9mt_Q0UUoLhdW1fUXAYbo5PFjd5917m3so30F2PfPI97OhVuYMaUtUjLAdcecHFKO20KI5C1pQBaeMzrv5GJgdxsUc5w9uu65hPjNwEyuIh4cCh_cUNQ-j96JFARQKmzx/s320/2910507410_794c0bb6a3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Keep your S/A--Situational Awareness</span><br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: #783f04;">Marine Corps Air Ground Combat Center at Twentynine Palms, California in 1979 was a base with a mission. A lot of predictions of future wars focused on the Middle East to protect US interests in the volatile region--desert wars. Twentynine Palms had lots of desert to practice in. My husband used to tease me that we lived at the beach--look at all the sand--too bad the water was located so far away. </span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">VMFA-321, a Marine Corps Reserve Squadron based at Andrews Air Force Base, had come out to practice close air support on the live fire range. On July 26th, in addition to the regular briefed mission, the CO of the squadron had a Time/Life photographer Mark E. Meyer in his backseat. The mission had been cleared through Headquarters Marine Corps, Mr. Meyer had flown in many high performance jet aircraft. </span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">Unfortunately, Mr. Meyer arrived only an hour before the hop, after the ready room brief, so he was given an individual “quickie” brief before climbing into the F-4N Phantom backseat of LtCol. Fritz Menning. No one checked the photographer’s flight gear to make sure it met safety parameters. </span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">The briefed hop went well. Afterward, while the F-4s flew in loose formation at 17,000 feet, the photographer asked his pilot, LtCol Menning to make a canopy roll over the lead plane flown by Capt. Rick Loibl. Pictures of the aircraft flying over the desert floor would look good in Life magazine. The squadron CO wanted Mr. Meyer to get the best shots so that his squadron and his planes looked good and got some great publicity on the national stage. </span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">The squadron got publicity all right, though not of the sort they were hoping for.</span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">LtCol Menning didn’t keep his SA. </span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: #783f04;">In his rollover, either he started too low so his wing fell down on to the wing of his leader (gravity at work), or he misjudged the up and over arc needed to stay clear. Wing surface contacted wing surface sending both planes into unrecoverable spins.</span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">All four crew ejected. Both planes--and the Time/Life photographer’s camera with great shots of the lead plane against the background of the desert floor--ended up in a couple of smoking holes.</span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">The Radar Intercept Officer in the backseat of the lead plane was CWO-4 Robert “Lizard” Waltzer, a combat experienced crewman with 3000 hours in the F-4 and a skydiving enthusiast who made a hobby of jumping out of perfectly good airplanes. He later told my Andy, who was the the fixed wing Air Officer at the Tactical Exercise Control Group, how jazzed he was to get to use his skills in a bonafide departure. His use of his chute’s four line release to steer clear of obstacles may have been the first time such a tactic had been used in a fighter jet ejection. Gives new meaning to the phrase, “hanging his Lizard out”!</span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">The photographer’s flight equipment made the accident report because no one wants to eject without steel-toed flight boots. History does not say if his feet sustained damage. I’m betting, yes.</span></i><br />
<br />
Fighter pilots have to be aware at all times of many different things. They not only have to keep an eye on their instruments, but also have a sense of where their wingman is and watch out for their adversary. They need to know which way is up and keep above the hard deck--the designated Above Ground Level. AGL is usually set at 10,000 ft above the ground to give aviators an opportunity to recover from a spin or a plane otherwise departing from normal flight that wants to obey the law of gravity and auger toward the center of the earth. At the same time, the fighter pilot has to fly his plane, communicate on the radio, plan and react to the bogey’s maneuvers. A moment of tunnel vision can be disastrous when flying at supersonic or even subsonic speeds with other fighters in the sky. <br />
<br />
Just like fighter pilots, we need to know where we are and know where we are in relation to others and other things around us. Take it all in. Be aware. If we only look at the artificial horizon, we won’t see the altimeter. We may be in level flight but heading straight toward a mountain.<br />
<br />
It is also important we need to know who we are. We all have our strengths and weaknesses. I’d make a terrible aviator of any kind. I wear contacts that are always getting dust under them. I drift off into other worlds. I write fantasy well, but dislike strict parameters of behavior. <br />
<br />
And once we know the where, the when and the who that we are, we must use that awareness in THIS moment--not be distracted by the fight with the spouse, the problems with the teenagers, that the grass has to be cut, the boss wants the report written, or a parent is sick. Each moment has it’s own imperative for focus. Multitasking in our lives takes focus away from what we need to understand and do right NOW. <br />
<br />
Oh--and let’s wear our steel-toed flight boots if we’re in a plane with ejection seats.</div></div>WING WIFEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15200111162708301369noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512963158177331315.post-48889154644982294952011-03-25T15:08:00.000-07:002011-03-25T15:08:32.800-07:00Aviation Brief XXIII: Landing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDgmarWakle5cGsDBGhAK_urv6p94cQ-NQNs6dQwYqKvXFn74le0_Gg5N0-s09XS-if6OKexbUon8pKhyphenhyphen-2A9xy1zaFpmfR76sisehFhdxuRzSq6DGhJPBu1OS1c1vpPbW8rCJAj41Mqo8/s1600/Canopies+Open.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDgmarWakle5cGsDBGhAK_urv6p94cQ-NQNs6dQwYqKvXFn74le0_Gg5N0-s09XS-if6OKexbUon8pKhyphenhyphen-2A9xy1zaFpmfR76sisehFhdxuRzSq6DGhJPBu1OS1c1vpPbW8rCJAj41Mqo8/s320/Canopies+Open.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="color: #783f04;">1. Take turns coming into the break to land.</span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">2. Open canopy with canopy lever when entering fuel pits; in case of fire, get out quickly.</span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">3. Hot refuel.</span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">4. Taxi to flightline.</span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">5. Wait while plane captain chocks airplane.</span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">6. Wait until plane captain signals, ‘Cut engine’</span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">7. Cut engine.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: #783f04;">8. Get face curtain pin out of pin bag and put it in to ‘safe’ seat. </span><br style="color: #783f04;" /><span style="color: #783f04;">9. Climb out of plane and on to deck.</span></i><br />
<br />
Aviators brief hops so the unexpected is expected. All involved know who comes into land first--usually the flight leader. An emergency such as bingo fuel might change that, but other routines prepare for anything not routine. <br />
<br />
The canopy is opened before going into the fuel pit because the risk of fire exists and someone somewhere wasn’t able to get out of a burning plane on the ground. <br />
<br />
The plane captain chocks the plane then signals to cut the engines because it helps to have hands and eyes on the ground to do and see what the strapped into the seat cannot. <br />
<br />
The aviator turns off the engine and makes sure the one very important pin safes the ejection seat from ejecting an aviator too close to the ground. Good to have control of your own life and power.<br />
<br />
In marriages we need to brief each other on the expected and be prepared for the unexpected. Who’s the flight leader? Are there any emergencies? Are there fires in the fuel pit? Do we need to make sure the plane doesn’t run over our plane captain? <br />
<br />
I confess I tend to take care of a lot of our life missions. Somedays I believe I briefed the hop as the flight leader only to realize Andy didn’t get the brief. He wants to take care of everything. Tension.<br />
<br />
Except when he doesn’t. Sometimes he wants someone else to take charge. Tension again.<br />
<br />
When it’s tough--the kids are misbehaving, the money’s tight, work is frustrating--then I want him to take charge and he wants me to be the flight leader and lead the way to a safe landing. I want to be refueled without fires and explosions. I want someone else to chock my plane and let me know I can cut the engine. So does he.<br />
<br />
The hard part is making sure we don’t just brief each other once--like 36 years ago when we married and I thought he was the next best thing to a god on earth. We have to keep briefing and re-briefing and looking out for our wingman.<br />
<br />
We all want a safe landing and to be able to climb out of the high-performance fighter jet that is our life on to solid ground. <br />
</div>WING WIFEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15200111162708301369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512963158177331315.post-52116139305453399602011-03-10T00:13:00.000-08:002011-03-23T15:48:03.858-07:00Aviation Brief XXII: Flight Procedures<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg2PxspiCIYso9WOYvPptBRuAxDcRArU2GZVFMrqA3FkHILy0hTIrgV-rs-cYNwCElwXPzQj_DsTJ8qEGq54gVn8do_xAMk00CbRhZDnVKMauR9oq-6TWjZptwIW0D5DsvP69pSFccVyWm/s1600/RedDevils_edited-1_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg2PxspiCIYso9WOYvPptBRuAxDcRArU2GZVFMrqA3FkHILy0hTIrgV-rs-cYNwCElwXPzQj_DsTJ8qEGq54gVn8do_xAMk00CbRhZDnVKMauR9oq-6TWjZptwIW0D5DsvP69pSFccVyWm/s320/RedDevils_edited-1_2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is <i>not</i> the correct two-finger start signal</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">(edited to protect the guilty)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div style="color: #783f04;"><i>1. Strap in<br />
2. Pull the ejection seat pins<br />
a. Done by the plane captain. 11 to 12 pins. Shows them to pilot between his/her fingers to </i></div><i style="color: #783f04;"> make sure </i><i style="color: #783f04;">all are out. Seat won’t fire if they’re in. <br />
3. Put away map bag and any other gear<br />
4. Check switch positions<br />
5. Make sure ICS is on (Inter-Cockpit System--mike with RIO)<br />
6. Give two-finger start up hand signal.<br />
7. Plane Captain checks plane to make sure all the flight surfaces work and there are no leaks<br />
8. Taxi out<br />
9. Take off<br />
a. Both planes roll--release the brakes--at the same time <br />
b. Execute section take-off so flight clearance can be made for both<br />
c. Put in burner<br />
d. Communicate with hand signals to other pilot<br />
10. No touch-touch <br />
11. Avoid clouds full of rocks</i><br />
<br />
The job of an aviator requires the use of an aircraft. Flight procedures help ensure the plane takes off and returns, or at least gives the aviator a chance to eject if something fails. For want of a pin, an ejection seat failed to fire? It’s the little things that make a big difference. <br />
<br />
Strap in. For fighter pilots that means connecting the torso harness to the coch fittings at the shoulders and snapping the lap fittings.That’s important. Just saying ‘Strap in’ means business--means ‘take it seriously’--means ‘get ready’. Everyday I need to strap in, get up, put my contacts in, look the day straight in the eye and mentally prepare myself for what might come. <br />
<br />
Putting away any loose gear prevents my life’s debris from hitting me upside-the-head when fighting gravity and maneuvering at a high rate of speed. <br />
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Making sure I can talk to my co-pilot. That’s what has whomped me in the head this week. Damn. I thought we talked. I thought we kept each other on a hot mike. I just learned that nothing is heard if he doesn’t press the ICS switch on the throttle--or if I don’t put my foot down (there’s a button on the floor for the backseater). <br />
<br />
I’m tempted to give a one-finger start up hand signal. We need a third party to make sure our flight surfaces work. Where’s a plane captain when I need one?<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo 1970 Iwakuni, Japan of Lt. Andrew R Sargent and Lt Morrone taking a picture with someone else’s camera. Surprise!</span></div>WING WIFEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15200111162708301369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512963158177331315.post-27231088730624297422011-02-25T18:43:00.000-08:002011-02-25T18:52:55.085-08:00I Know Him Too Well<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigSmz1aAXV4n9VBNXXwZ7rLCBBxGkdhuzhUp7s9mtkDXD93ORaQ-UCyW5H_RqjZlmFxBst5ySXlcpwRngjS_TqAC_beiZbd7xhk7nulmTLEQmZBSWgUmIfzwhrF9kukcmAcrjm-nZoXia4/s1600/Arlington+Cemetary.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 224px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigSmz1aAXV4n9VBNXXwZ7rLCBBxGkdhuzhUp7s9mtkDXD93ORaQ-UCyW5H_RqjZlmFxBst5ySXlcpwRngjS_TqAC_beiZbd7xhk7nulmTLEQmZBSWgUmIfzwhrF9kukcmAcrjm-nZoXia4/s320/Arlington+Cemetary.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577825452343259138" border="0" /></a><br />He’s never invited to our table, on base, in housing, with the kids.<br />He is not welcome to knock on my door, nor my neighbors’ doors<br />Nor my friends’, nor wanted on a visit to anyone I know.<br /><br />Yet he sneaks in anyway<br />Or blows in on a scrap of paper<br />Or on the evening news<br />Or in a chance phone call<br />An email<br />And he still knocks with the fist of the uniformed<br />The warm hand of a rabbi, priest, pastor.<br /><br />Dear God. No.<br /><br />If he announces his visit ahead of time,<br />We fight like muddy Marines in trenches,<br />Like top guns on ACMs over the Mekong,<br />Like sailors refusing to give up the ship,<br />We struggle to our last breath<br />To prevent him overrunning our position.<br /><br />He dresses in flames and blood, sometimes in mystery<br />Often in black as tears or red as sobs or gray as grief.<br /><br />I try not to think of him.<br />I never remember when he ends his visit.<br />Even when he has come and gone, he lingers.<br />And his specter follows me all the days of my life.<br /><br />When my guy goes out the door,<br />He sits with me<br />With the ghosts he came for, before.Wing Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03074750168942455606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512963158177331315.post-1925401496859138802011-02-22T23:14:00.000-08:002011-03-28T22:05:40.009-07:00Aviator Brief XXI: Dark Waters #2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjasD6blWF5Ha1y41mQIUNrU08uSAuFufRr9XFTAmwQdFryclKADPLcC620GAoF1dFPyZvQwMjM6AZmTmADnrHjp7wVmEo3pgjaOL1oQ7Ku2qEW6x40MLOQfC5gJjToGQEoCWwvXOv3C0h/s1600/main-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjasD6blWF5Ha1y41mQIUNrU08uSAuFufRr9XFTAmwQdFryclKADPLcC620GAoF1dFPyZvQwMjM6AZmTmADnrHjp7wVmEo3pgjaOL1oQ7Ku2qEW6x40MLOQfC5gJjToGQEoCWwvXOv3C0h/s320/main-3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i style="color: #783f04;">What could go wrong, would go wrong, and ejections were no exception. Jack Hartman on the USS Saratoga was on the catapult to launch. The bridle connecting his jet to the cat broke on one side and the catapult flung him and the plane from zero to two hundred miles per hour in six seconds--twisted sideways with one wing forward. He knew the plane would never fly, so he ejected. <br />
<br />
His plane crashed in front of the carrier. <br />
<br />
He floated down to the sea surface directly in front of the bow of the ship going twenty-five knots. The aircraft carrier ran over him. The last thing he remembered while underwater was the sound of the screws, with blades twice the size of a Volkswagen. No one could figure out how he was spat out by the wash without the parachute or parachute cords tangling in the blades.<br />
<br />
It wasn’t always enough to be good--sometimes an aviator had to be lucky.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">What could go wrong, would go wrong. Yep. My life resembled that. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Give Andy a cross-country or a TDY or send him overseas and that was when the car wouldn’t start and our dog would bite me trying to get through me to the tow truck driver. Thank goodness for neighbors to drive me to the hospital to have my artery repaired--and clean up the half inch of blood in the entryway while my three little girls watched with wide eyes. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Three weeks into his year overseas, I’d discover I was pregnant with our second child--and then six months into the pregnancy, I was put on bed rest for two and a half months. Have you ever tried being on bed rest with a two year old? What could I do? I called my mom. Thank you, Mom. My mom didn’t wrap my two year old in duct tape and I didn’t wrap my mother in duct tape either--though we were both tempted. What do women do without a mom close by and willing to put their life on hold for months on end? </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">He left one weekend and my cat fell off the headboard of our bed on to my face and I drove myself to the ER holding a pad over my eye to hold my upper eyelid together. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Ask any spouse with a partner in the military and I bet they have stories of their significant other gone and things gone wrong. What did we do when that happened? We dealt with what we had to deal with. We asked for help from the other people in our lives. We hoped we’d survive even when we were deep underwater and heard the screws turning.</div></div>WING WIFEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15200111162708301369noreply@blogger.com0