The Chicago Cubs are in the playoffs. They beat the Reds today while the Padres beat the Brewers...and that was all it took.
Dummy me, however, was under the impression the Cubs magic number was three and not two and that Saturday's televised game between the Cubs and Reds would be the party event of the baseball season for me. But it won't be. Instead, while the Cubs were winning their way to the Central Division title of the National League, I was watering horses and watching the snow fall on nearby hills. By the time I came in and went to the computer to check the score, the Cubs had won and saw that they had clinched. I then looked at the Brewers score already knowing they lost. It was still a good moment in time.
Cubs Win! Cubs Win!
Now to see them in the World Series along with the Cleveland Indians. That will be a series worth watching.
Saturday's ballgame will still be good to watch. I rarely see any of the Cubs games where I live. After all, how many people in central Oregon care what a Chicago ball team is doing? That is quit evident when the on the news around here, the sports announcer gives the final score to every game except that of the Cubs. I even met one in Texas in April and let him have it. He knows there is at least one Cubs fan in central Oregon. But they still don't give the Cubs scores.
Maybe now they will.
And to celebrate the title, tomorrow I will treat myself to some Spicy Roll Shrimp Sushi and a beer.
But the weekend games still mean something to the Cubs. They don't know who the first team they will face in the playoffs will be. That should be decided this weekend.
Oh...and the pitcher who beat the Padres: well it was Greg Maddux. Maddux started his career with the Cubs in 1985, was traded to Atlanta years later, went back to the Cubs a couple of years ago and ended up with Padres.
It's fitting then, that Maddux helped the Cubs to title.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Monday, September 24, 2007
When is Autumn?
Winter is coming to the high desert.
I say that not because summer is over, but because the winter critters of the high desert are starting to move to their wintering grounds in town.
Today while out on safari, I saw and heard a number Townsend's Solitaires on the tops of trees. These birds come to town in the winter. During the summer, they spend a lot of their time in badland areas (areas of scrub, sage and juniper found anywhere outside of towns in the area of where I live).
Something else I noticed was only one butterfly, one dragonfly and few bees. There were a lot of Honey Bees around, but when I say bees, I mean those big, gorgeous Bumble Bee type bees. The last time I passed through the area I went to today, I noticed several large, and I do mean large, Bumble Bees I wanted to photograph. But I didn't have my camera with me that day. Today I did, and of course, I didn't see the bugs. But I didn't see many bugs and I like shooting bugs.
I can only assume the week or so of below freezing temps we have had here lately has taken a toll on the wildlife...mostly the small stuff that flies around. I did notice a Common Raven nest I hadn't seen before and was about to take a photo of it with a couple of birds nearby, when I saw a Steller's Jay. I have only one photo of a Steller's Jay and figured I could go back to the raven nest. I probably would have had I not spaced it entirely.
But I chased after the jay hoping to get a shot of it and it led me to the northern end of the Dry Canyon...and I still couldn't get a shot of it. The bird constantly stayed far enough ahead of me and in the trees making a good shot almost impossible. But after wandering around trying to get close, I gave up and headed back to my bicycle. Just as I mounted my "Specialized" beast, I saw a lizard moving.
It was a young Western Fence Lizard and it wasn't more than six feet away from me. So I brought out the camera and began shooting. I have seen (and photographed) a lot of lizards lately. But I don't care. All the shots are cool (in my opinion). Besides, lately they have been almost all I have found to shoot.
But back to what's coming. One thing I haven't seen yet, is snow in the mountains. That's a sure fire indication of winter here...and probably anywhere mountains and snows meet. I remember when I was stationed in Alaska at Elmendorf AFB outside of Anchorage, you could literally watch winter come down on you.
Elmendorf had mountains to the east...the Chugach Mountains, the northern part of a series of coastal ranges in the northwest. When the first snows would come, it normally blanketed the top portions of the mountains. Days later, another snowfall would drop the snow line lower. As more snowfall came, the line lowered and lowered until it met the ground and snow was everywhere. Then, everyone knew winter had come to Anchorage, Alaska.
It's not that easy here. Snow falls in the mountains, but normally when it does, it blankets the slopes. And it continues to blanket the slopes. Sometimes it will spread to the 3,000 foot level where I live and blanket the ground, but not often (knock on wood). Last winter I think we got less than two inches the entire season. However, four or five years ago, we got something like 60 inches, with several storms dumping 18 inches each.
Generally when the first snows fall in the mountains, the birds which live high in the ranges, move down to the valleys and towns of central Oregon. The most prominent of these birds is the Dark-eyed Junco. They come down after the first flakes fall so regularly, that they are called Snow Birds by the locals. But I haven't seen one of them yet.
But the lack of insects to photograph is a sure sign change that seasonal change is coming. And when that happens, I am going to miss summer. You see, I love the heat of the high desert. The hotter the better.
And believe me, I'll be waiting for the summer of 2008.
I say that not because summer is over, but because the winter critters of the high desert are starting to move to their wintering grounds in town.
Today while out on safari, I saw and heard a number Townsend's Solitaires on the tops of trees. These birds come to town in the winter. During the summer, they spend a lot of their time in badland areas (areas of scrub, sage and juniper found anywhere outside of towns in the area of where I live).
Something else I noticed was only one butterfly, one dragonfly and few bees. There were a lot of Honey Bees around, but when I say bees, I mean those big, gorgeous Bumble Bee type bees. The last time I passed through the area I went to today, I noticed several large, and I do mean large, Bumble Bees I wanted to photograph. But I didn't have my camera with me that day. Today I did, and of course, I didn't see the bugs. But I didn't see many bugs and I like shooting bugs.
I can only assume the week or so of below freezing temps we have had here lately has taken a toll on the wildlife...mostly the small stuff that flies around. I did notice a Common Raven nest I hadn't seen before and was about to take a photo of it with a couple of birds nearby, when I saw a Steller's Jay. I have only one photo of a Steller's Jay and figured I could go back to the raven nest. I probably would have had I not spaced it entirely.
But I chased after the jay hoping to get a shot of it and it led me to the northern end of the Dry Canyon...and I still couldn't get a shot of it. The bird constantly stayed far enough ahead of me and in the trees making a good shot almost impossible. But after wandering around trying to get close, I gave up and headed back to my bicycle. Just as I mounted my "Specialized" beast, I saw a lizard moving.
It was a young Western Fence Lizard and it wasn't more than six feet away from me. So I brought out the camera and began shooting. I have seen (and photographed) a lot of lizards lately. But I don't care. All the shots are cool (in my opinion). Besides, lately they have been almost all I have found to shoot.
But back to what's coming. One thing I haven't seen yet, is snow in the mountains. That's a sure fire indication of winter here...and probably anywhere mountains and snows meet. I remember when I was stationed in Alaska at Elmendorf AFB outside of Anchorage, you could literally watch winter come down on you.
Elmendorf had mountains to the east...the Chugach Mountains, the northern part of a series of coastal ranges in the northwest. When the first snows would come, it normally blanketed the top portions of the mountains. Days later, another snowfall would drop the snow line lower. As more snowfall came, the line lowered and lowered until it met the ground and snow was everywhere. Then, everyone knew winter had come to Anchorage, Alaska.
It's not that easy here. Snow falls in the mountains, but normally when it does, it blankets the slopes. And it continues to blanket the slopes. Sometimes it will spread to the 3,000 foot level where I live and blanket the ground, but not often (knock on wood). Last winter I think we got less than two inches the entire season. However, four or five years ago, we got something like 60 inches, with several storms dumping 18 inches each.
Generally when the first snows fall in the mountains, the birds which live high in the ranges, move down to the valleys and towns of central Oregon. The most prominent of these birds is the Dark-eyed Junco. They come down after the first flakes fall so regularly, that they are called Snow Birds by the locals. But I haven't seen one of them yet.
But the lack of insects to photograph is a sure sign change that seasonal change is coming. And when that happens, I am going to miss summer. You see, I love the heat of the high desert. The hotter the better.
And believe me, I'll be waiting for the summer of 2008.
Good Days Coming...I Hope
This weekend, a friend of mine was very happy. Her Cleveland Indians clinched the American League Central Division. It's been since 2001 that the Indians have gone on past the end of regular season play.
My team is still contesting their berth in the playoffs. The lovable Chicago Cubs are sitting with a magic number of 4 right now. They were on fire over the weekend, sweeping the Pittsburgh Pirates at home and belting a crap-load of home runs.
Not long ago, I mentioned to my friend that it would be nice to see the Cubs and Indians in the World Series. It will really test our friendship...hehehe. Lucky for us, we are a couple of thousands of miles apart, so tossing things at each other will not be possible.
Funny thing about the Cubs, they have fans across the country. Fair weather fans for the most part. Me? I'm a die-hard Cubs fan, having been a fan since either the late 50s or early 60s...can't exactly remember when the Cubs bug hit me.
I was rooting for the Cubs when they were perennial cellar dwellers. I rooted for the Cubs when everyone around me (south side of Chicago) were die-hard White Sox fans. I have been a Cubs fan for so long, I remember when the Chicago Cardinals football team played in Wrigley Field before they move to St. Louis.
I can recall the '69 season. A couple of times during that year, I skipped school and took the CTA to Wrigley, got me a $1 bleacher ticket and joined the Right Field Bleacher Bums. I wasn't a regular bleacher bum, but I did have my share of moments there. When in September of that year, the New York Mets came to town to face the first place Cubs, I was at the second game. Little did I know at the time that the series with the Mets would be a turning point that would send the Cubs spiraling out of first, and vaulting the Mets to the top spot. But it happened and at the end of the season, I was still a Cubs fan.
It was 15 years before the Cubs were to see light at the playoffs at the end of the regular season. I was in Alaska then. On Wednesday afternoons, I would wait at the golf course clubhouse on base for 1 pm to chime, at which time I would head out to a bus full of people wanting a tour of Elmendorf AFB. While I waited, I would watch the Cubs play if the game was still on. Sometimes, when I got on the bus, I would ask if any were Cubs fans and then relay the score at the time I departed.
Then came a game in Pittsburgh which, if the Cubs won, they would go on to the playoffs. I sat in my boss' office, while he and I watched the game. Near the end of the game, several co-workers came in and asked if I could give them a ride to the barracks. I knew the game would be on in the dayroom there, so I left with them. When I got to the dayroom, it was the bottom of the ninth, the Pirates had one out and the Cubs were ahead. I sat down in one of the chairs, and watched. Then with two out and a 2-2 count on the batter, I watched as he swung and missed the next pitch. The Cubs were in the playoffs!
They went on to win the first two games in Wrigley Field against the San Diego Padres and needed one more win to go to the World Series. They ended up losing three straight in San Diego and the Padres went to the series. They lost in five games to the Detroit Tigers.
Then came 1989. Then Cubs were again in the playoffs. They didn't make the world series that year. It was the Oakland Athletics and the San Fransisco Giants in the earthquake extended Bay Area World Series. Then again in 1998, the Cubs were in the playoffs. But they were defeated by the Atlanta Braves in the first round.
However, 2003 was the year...the year the Cubs were to go to the World Series. But, they didn't. They were playing the Florida Marlins for the National League title and the right to go to the World Series. They were playing at home and the catch which wasn't made, was made. Every Cubs fan remembers that play. A pop-up to the foul side of left field, the fielder going over to make the grab and end the inning and then...a fan reaches up, catches the ball and instead of an out, it was nothing more than a foul ball. The Marlins went on to take the title and beat the New York Yankees in the World Series.
The worst part of that foul ball was the fan who caught the ball wasn't a Marlins fan...he was a Cubs fan...and he will never live that catch down...not as long as he's in Chicago at least.
It's four years later and the Cubs are looking like a contender for the crown. They have a long road to travel still, but they can do it. The team has a good leader who has led a number of teams to the victory.
But win or lose, you can bet on one thing...this die-hard Cubs fan will be looking forward to next season...and will still be cussing out Fox Saturday baseball or ESPN when they don't show a Cubs game here when everyone else is seeing it.
Go Cubbies!!!!!!!!
My team is still contesting their berth in the playoffs. The lovable Chicago Cubs are sitting with a magic number of 4 right now. They were on fire over the weekend, sweeping the Pittsburgh Pirates at home and belting a crap-load of home runs.
Not long ago, I mentioned to my friend that it would be nice to see the Cubs and Indians in the World Series. It will really test our friendship...hehehe. Lucky for us, we are a couple of thousands of miles apart, so tossing things at each other will not be possible.
Funny thing about the Cubs, they have fans across the country. Fair weather fans for the most part. Me? I'm a die-hard Cubs fan, having been a fan since either the late 50s or early 60s...can't exactly remember when the Cubs bug hit me.
I was rooting for the Cubs when they were perennial cellar dwellers. I rooted for the Cubs when everyone around me (south side of Chicago) were die-hard White Sox fans. I have been a Cubs fan for so long, I remember when the Chicago Cardinals football team played in Wrigley Field before they move to St. Louis.
I can recall the '69 season. A couple of times during that year, I skipped school and took the CTA to Wrigley, got me a $1 bleacher ticket and joined the Right Field Bleacher Bums. I wasn't a regular bleacher bum, but I did have my share of moments there. When in September of that year, the New York Mets came to town to face the first place Cubs, I was at the second game. Little did I know at the time that the series with the Mets would be a turning point that would send the Cubs spiraling out of first, and vaulting the Mets to the top spot. But it happened and at the end of the season, I was still a Cubs fan.
It was 15 years before the Cubs were to see light at the playoffs at the end of the regular season. I was in Alaska then. On Wednesday afternoons, I would wait at the golf course clubhouse on base for 1 pm to chime, at which time I would head out to a bus full of people wanting a tour of Elmendorf AFB. While I waited, I would watch the Cubs play if the game was still on. Sometimes, when I got on the bus, I would ask if any were Cubs fans and then relay the score at the time I departed.
Then came a game in Pittsburgh which, if the Cubs won, they would go on to the playoffs. I sat in my boss' office, while he and I watched the game. Near the end of the game, several co-workers came in and asked if I could give them a ride to the barracks. I knew the game would be on in the dayroom there, so I left with them. When I got to the dayroom, it was the bottom of the ninth, the Pirates had one out and the Cubs were ahead. I sat down in one of the chairs, and watched. Then with two out and a 2-2 count on the batter, I watched as he swung and missed the next pitch. The Cubs were in the playoffs!
They went on to win the first two games in Wrigley Field against the San Diego Padres and needed one more win to go to the World Series. They ended up losing three straight in San Diego and the Padres went to the series. They lost in five games to the Detroit Tigers.
Then came 1989. Then Cubs were again in the playoffs. They didn't make the world series that year. It was the Oakland Athletics and the San Fransisco Giants in the earthquake extended Bay Area World Series. Then again in 1998, the Cubs were in the playoffs. But they were defeated by the Atlanta Braves in the first round.
However, 2003 was the year...the year the Cubs were to go to the World Series. But, they didn't. They were playing the Florida Marlins for the National League title and the right to go to the World Series. They were playing at home and the catch which wasn't made, was made. Every Cubs fan remembers that play. A pop-up to the foul side of left field, the fielder going over to make the grab and end the inning and then...a fan reaches up, catches the ball and instead of an out, it was nothing more than a foul ball. The Marlins went on to take the title and beat the New York Yankees in the World Series.
The worst part of that foul ball was the fan who caught the ball wasn't a Marlins fan...he was a Cubs fan...and he will never live that catch down...not as long as he's in Chicago at least.
It's four years later and the Cubs are looking like a contender for the crown. They have a long road to travel still, but they can do it. The team has a good leader who has led a number of teams to the victory.
But win or lose, you can bet on one thing...this die-hard Cubs fan will be looking forward to next season...and will still be cussing out Fox Saturday baseball or ESPN when they don't show a Cubs game here when everyone else is seeing it.
Go Cubbies!!!!!!!!
Friday, September 21, 2007
To Live and Let Live
I love where I live.
And believe me, that's an accurate statement.
I spent 22 years, two months and two days in the U.S. Air Force, lived or visited throughout the world and nothing, and I do mean nothing, beats central Oregon.
It has everything I enjoy.
The summers days are hot. There are normally numerous days in triple digits...but with the heat comes low humidity. Several years ago, I went out for a bicycle ride. It was 104 degrees that afternoon and I rode for about 12 miles. When I got home, I was tired, but my T-shirt was dry as an old bone. A look at the local humidity told the story...it was at six percent.
The summer nights are cool. Temperature swings from day to night can be more than 60 degrees. Though I love sleeping on cool a night, I also enjoy laying out at night, watching meteor showers. To do that, I need to bundle up somewhat on the nights of my favorite show in mid-August. And the fact that the night skies are still dark enough for me to setup in my backyard to enjoy the spectacle, makes it even better.
Autumns here are nice. The days are warm for the most part and nights cool. Towards the end of the season, the weather appears more like winter than autumn, but even then, it's not all that bad.
Winters can be full of snow and cold, or snowless and warm. Twelve years or so ago, my nephew visited me in January. His birthday is at the end of the month and he made the comment to me on that day, that it was the first birthday he has had which didn't have snow on the ground. We had an El Nino winter that year and the days were 60 degrees or so and the nights 30 or thereabout. A very comfortable winter it was.
The spring time in central Oregon is really where things get fun. We can have snow, sleet, freezing rain, sunshine and 70 degree temps all on the same day. It's fun and very enjoyable. However, we don't have many storms in my area. I sit in a sort of protected spot. It's not that we never get storms, it is simply storms have several tracks they can take in this area which two out of three times takes them away from me...and I love storms.
But there is also a lot more this area offers. To the west of me are national forest areas and mountains. During the summer, these areas are great for those who enjoy the outdoors. To the south of me are the volcanic lands, dominated by Newberry National Volcanic Monument, one of my favorite areas on Earth. There are lava flows throughout the area, small cinder cones, large cinder cones and further south of some of these areas, the northern reaches of the great basin.
To my north are the high plateau lands with carved canyons showing signs of countless volcanic eruptions. There is also irrigated farm lands which go on forever it seems. Eastward are more forests, more volcanic terrains and more of the northern reaches of the high desert and great basin.
And in all these areas are lakes, reservoirs, rivers, streams, ponds, grasslands, badlands, hills, canyons, gullies and everything else which makes the great outdoors great for everyone.
And there lies the reason I love where I live. I love going out and photographing the natural world I enjoy so much. The photos on my Flickr photostream from Oregon are primarily from the Redmond area where I live. But there are some photos from areas north and south of me. But for the most part, Redmond is where I live and Redmond is what I photograph.
I'd like to expand my area of operations for photography, and someday I might, but for now, I can still get great shots along the Dry Canyon Trail, or Smith Rock area, or the badlands around the airport, or at Fireman's Pond.
However, there are things about this area which aren't all that great. First of all, the infrastructure was never designed to handle a rapidly growing population. It's slowly improving, but no sooner than one fix is finished, the population growth forces another fix. So road work and construction will be a continuously on-going project.
And then there are the wildfires. Every years brings large wildfires nearby, and a large fire means smoke. Smoke in the air makes breathing difficult, makes eyes burn and itch, gives everything a smoky smell and limits visibility. And in areas near the fires, fears of evacuation and loss of everything is constant threat.
Even with all these problems, for me the good things of the area by far makes central Oregon "God's Country."
And that, my friends, is the reason I love where I live.
And believe me, that's an accurate statement.
I spent 22 years, two months and two days in the U.S. Air Force, lived or visited throughout the world and nothing, and I do mean nothing, beats central Oregon.
It has everything I enjoy.
The summers days are hot. There are normally numerous days in triple digits...but with the heat comes low humidity. Several years ago, I went out for a bicycle ride. It was 104 degrees that afternoon and I rode for about 12 miles. When I got home, I was tired, but my T-shirt was dry as an old bone. A look at the local humidity told the story...it was at six percent.
The summer nights are cool. Temperature swings from day to night can be more than 60 degrees. Though I love sleeping on cool a night, I also enjoy laying out at night, watching meteor showers. To do that, I need to bundle up somewhat on the nights of my favorite show in mid-August. And the fact that the night skies are still dark enough for me to setup in my backyard to enjoy the spectacle, makes it even better.
Autumns here are nice. The days are warm for the most part and nights cool. Towards the end of the season, the weather appears more like winter than autumn, but even then, it's not all that bad.
Winters can be full of snow and cold, or snowless and warm. Twelve years or so ago, my nephew visited me in January. His birthday is at the end of the month and he made the comment to me on that day, that it was the first birthday he has had which didn't have snow on the ground. We had an El Nino winter that year and the days were 60 degrees or so and the nights 30 or thereabout. A very comfortable winter it was.
The spring time in central Oregon is really where things get fun. We can have snow, sleet, freezing rain, sunshine and 70 degree temps all on the same day. It's fun and very enjoyable. However, we don't have many storms in my area. I sit in a sort of protected spot. It's not that we never get storms, it is simply storms have several tracks they can take in this area which two out of three times takes them away from me...and I love storms.
But there is also a lot more this area offers. To the west of me are national forest areas and mountains. During the summer, these areas are great for those who enjoy the outdoors. To the south of me are the volcanic lands, dominated by Newberry National Volcanic Monument, one of my favorite areas on Earth. There are lava flows throughout the area, small cinder cones, large cinder cones and further south of some of these areas, the northern reaches of the great basin.
To my north are the high plateau lands with carved canyons showing signs of countless volcanic eruptions. There is also irrigated farm lands which go on forever it seems. Eastward are more forests, more volcanic terrains and more of the northern reaches of the high desert and great basin.
And in all these areas are lakes, reservoirs, rivers, streams, ponds, grasslands, badlands, hills, canyons, gullies and everything else which makes the great outdoors great for everyone.
And there lies the reason I love where I live. I love going out and photographing the natural world I enjoy so much. The photos on my Flickr photostream from Oregon are primarily from the Redmond area where I live. But there are some photos from areas north and south of me. But for the most part, Redmond is where I live and Redmond is what I photograph.
I'd like to expand my area of operations for photography, and someday I might, but for now, I can still get great shots along the Dry Canyon Trail, or Smith Rock area, or the badlands around the airport, or at Fireman's Pond.
However, there are things about this area which aren't all that great. First of all, the infrastructure was never designed to handle a rapidly growing population. It's slowly improving, but no sooner than one fix is finished, the population growth forces another fix. So road work and construction will be a continuously on-going project.
And then there are the wildfires. Every years brings large wildfires nearby, and a large fire means smoke. Smoke in the air makes breathing difficult, makes eyes burn and itch, gives everything a smoky smell and limits visibility. And in areas near the fires, fears of evacuation and loss of everything is constant threat.
Even with all these problems, for me the good things of the area by far makes central Oregon "God's Country."
And that, my friends, is the reason I love where I live.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
I was reading a blog post of a friend of mine and laughter came over me. Not that I was laughing at the post (it was funny), but I was laughing at what I had done a couple of days earlier.
I had laid back in my Lazyboy and tuned the TV to Fox News Channel to catch up on the news of the day when out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something crawling on my wall. Normally when I see something on my wall, it is a spider. I don't mind spiders, and am not afraid of them, but I refuse to share my living space with them. I figure the great outdoors is big enough for them to find a nice a place to live.
Anyway, I looked at the critter on the wall and realized it was a centipede. My first thought was, where did this creature come from. My second thought was "get a photo" (after all, I love nature photography). Well, I don't like unnatural images, so I figured I would capture the bug, take him outside, release him in an apple tree in the back and take its picture there.
So I got a paper towel, and after a bit of an adventure, I finally got the critter on the towel, folded it in such a way to keep the centipede inside and grabbed my camera. As I moved past my bed (I live in a small studio style apartment) with camera in hand, I felt something on my hand which held the paper towel containing the bug.
A bit of background here is needed. When I was stationed in The Philippines, I found a large centipede on the keyboard of my office computer. I picked it up thinking to toss it outside and when I did, it bit me...and the bite hurt. Then the bite swelled and remained slightly puffy for several days before things got back to normal.
Back to the present and the paper towel.
As soon as I felt whatever it was on my hand, I flashed to the biting centipede in The Philippines and flicked my hand up and away, thinking the centipede had gotten out. I then looked around the area where whatever was on my hand would have landed and saw nothing. Confused about what was on my hand, I tucked my camera under my left arm (my right hand held the towel) and slowly unfolded the paper towel to see if the centipede was still there.
After undoing the third fold, something dark and long came flying out of the towel. It was a blur as it traveled up my left forearm towards my shoulder and parts elsewhere on my body. And I knew what it was...it was the centipede! I again flashed back to the biting centipede in The Philippines and flicked my arm to get the bug off it. Unfortunately, I forgot about my camera.
As soon as my arm moved, I remembered the camera and lifted my left leg, which caught the camera...momentarily...then swung my leg in such a way as to get the camera to fall on the bed. But I wasn't quite nimble enough. I did catch the camera, and I did deflect fall, but it hit the side of the bed and fell heavily onto my right foot. When I am in the house, I wear moccasin style slippers exclusively. They are comfortable to me for wearing but provide very little protection from falling objects, which includes a Canon Digital Rebel with vertical grip and 70-300mm image stabilized telephoto lens.
Seeing the camera now sliding off the corner of the mattress on the bed, headed towards the floor and my exposed foot, I quickly reached down and grabbed the strap, but was a little too late. There was enough slack in the strap for the camera to land squarely on the ridge of the foot, just as I was able to lift it out of the way. And it hurt.
Fearing I would do more damage to either my camera or myself or both, I froze and watched the camera come up and land squarely on the bed and stop there. With the camera safe on the bed, I looked down at my foot, lifted it and rubbed the ridge of it against the calf of my left leg. Pissed at what had just too place, I began to sit down when I remember the centipede.
Bolting back to a standing position while at the same time release my hold on my camera strap, I looked down on my arm and saw nothing. You see, what I described above took about two or three seconds to happen and the centipede should have still been on my arm. Again, I scanned the area the creature would have, or should have landed had the flick of my arm worked to dislodge him, but it wasn't there.
I then began to look elsewhere for the centipede...behind books, under the chest of drawers, behind the TV, on the Lazyboy, on the walls...all to no avail. The centipede was nowhere to be found.
It's been almost two days since all this took place. I have yet to see the centipede again. But I figure being caged inside a paper towel and flicked off a human arm to parts unknown, it decided that life in the world of humans isn't worth the exposure and has gone underground...hopefully there to remain.
But I still don't know what it was on my hand to cause me to flick the first time bringing about the chain of events described above...and probably never will.
As for the camera, it's none the worse for wear, or dropping in this case.
I had laid back in my Lazyboy and tuned the TV to Fox News Channel to catch up on the news of the day when out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something crawling on my wall. Normally when I see something on my wall, it is a spider. I don't mind spiders, and am not afraid of them, but I refuse to share my living space with them. I figure the great outdoors is big enough for them to find a nice a place to live.
Anyway, I looked at the critter on the wall and realized it was a centipede. My first thought was, where did this creature come from. My second thought was "get a photo" (after all, I love nature photography). Well, I don't like unnatural images, so I figured I would capture the bug, take him outside, release him in an apple tree in the back and take its picture there.
So I got a paper towel, and after a bit of an adventure, I finally got the critter on the towel, folded it in such a way to keep the centipede inside and grabbed my camera. As I moved past my bed (I live in a small studio style apartment) with camera in hand, I felt something on my hand which held the paper towel containing the bug.
A bit of background here is needed. When I was stationed in The Philippines, I found a large centipede on the keyboard of my office computer. I picked it up thinking to toss it outside and when I did, it bit me...and the bite hurt. Then the bite swelled and remained slightly puffy for several days before things got back to normal.
Back to the present and the paper towel.
As soon as I felt whatever it was on my hand, I flashed to the biting centipede in The Philippines and flicked my hand up and away, thinking the centipede had gotten out. I then looked around the area where whatever was on my hand would have landed and saw nothing. Confused about what was on my hand, I tucked my camera under my left arm (my right hand held the towel) and slowly unfolded the paper towel to see if the centipede was still there.
After undoing the third fold, something dark and long came flying out of the towel. It was a blur as it traveled up my left forearm towards my shoulder and parts elsewhere on my body. And I knew what it was...it was the centipede! I again flashed back to the biting centipede in The Philippines and flicked my arm to get the bug off it. Unfortunately, I forgot about my camera.
As soon as my arm moved, I remembered the camera and lifted my left leg, which caught the camera...momentarily...then swung my leg in such a way as to get the camera to fall on the bed. But I wasn't quite nimble enough. I did catch the camera, and I did deflect fall, but it hit the side of the bed and fell heavily onto my right foot. When I am in the house, I wear moccasin style slippers exclusively. They are comfortable to me for wearing but provide very little protection from falling objects, which includes a Canon Digital Rebel with vertical grip and 70-300mm image stabilized telephoto lens.
Seeing the camera now sliding off the corner of the mattress on the bed, headed towards the floor and my exposed foot, I quickly reached down and grabbed the strap, but was a little too late. There was enough slack in the strap for the camera to land squarely on the ridge of the foot, just as I was able to lift it out of the way. And it hurt.
Fearing I would do more damage to either my camera or myself or both, I froze and watched the camera come up and land squarely on the bed and stop there. With the camera safe on the bed, I looked down at my foot, lifted it and rubbed the ridge of it against the calf of my left leg. Pissed at what had just too place, I began to sit down when I remember the centipede.
Bolting back to a standing position while at the same time release my hold on my camera strap, I looked down on my arm and saw nothing. You see, what I described above took about two or three seconds to happen and the centipede should have still been on my arm. Again, I scanned the area the creature would have, or should have landed had the flick of my arm worked to dislodge him, but it wasn't there.
I then began to look elsewhere for the centipede...behind books, under the chest of drawers, behind the TV, on the Lazyboy, on the walls...all to no avail. The centipede was nowhere to be found.
It's been almost two days since all this took place. I have yet to see the centipede again. But I figure being caged inside a paper towel and flicked off a human arm to parts unknown, it decided that life in the world of humans isn't worth the exposure and has gone underground...hopefully there to remain.
But I still don't know what it was on my hand to cause me to flick the first time bringing about the chain of events described above...and probably never will.
As for the camera, it's none the worse for wear, or dropping in this case.
The Comical Life of a Blogger
I was reading a blog post of a friend of mine and laughter came over me. Not that I was laughing at the post (it was funny), but I was laughing at what I had done a couple of days earlier.
I had laid back in my Lazyboy and tuned the TV to Fox News Channel to catch up on the news of the day when out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something crawling on my wall. Normally when I see something on my wall, it is a spider. I don't mind spiders, and am not afraid of them, but I refuse to share my living space with them. I figure the great outdoors is big enough for them to find a nice a place to live.
Anyway, I looked at the critter on the wall and realized it was a centipede. My first thought was, where did this creature come from. My second thought was "get a photo" (after all, I love nature photography). Well, I don't like unnatural images, so I figured I would capture the bug, take him outside, release him in an apple tree in the back and take its picture there.
So I got paper towel, and after a bit of an adventure, I finally got the critter on the towel, folded it in such a way to keep the centipede inside and grabbed my camera. As I moved past my bed (I live in a small studio style apartment) with camera in hand, I felt something on my hand which held the paper towel containing the bug.
A bit of background here is needed. When I was stationed in The Philippines, I found a large centipede on the keyboard of my office computer. I picked it up thinking to toss it outside and when I did, it bit me...and the bite hurt. Then the bite swelled and remained slightly puffy for several days before things got back to normal.
Back to the present and the paper towel.
As soon as I felt whatever it was on my hand, I flashed to the biting centipede in The Philippines and flicked my hand up and away, thinking the centipede had gotten out. I then looked around the area where whatever was on my hand would have landed and saw nothing. Confused about what was on my hand, I tucked my camera under my left arm (my right hand held the towel) and slowly unfolded the paper towel to see if the centipede was still there.
After undoing the third fold, something dark and long came flying out of the towel. It was a blur as it traveled up my left forearm towards my shoulder and parts elsewhere on my body. And I knew what it was...it was the centipede! I again flashed back to the biting centipede in The Philippines and flicked my arm to get the bug off it. Unfortunately, I forgot about my camera.
As soon as my arm moved, I remembered the camera, lifted my left leg, which caught the camera...momentarily...and swung my leg in such a way as to get the camera to fall on the bed. But I wasn't quite nimble enough. I did catch the camera, and I did deflect fall, but it hit the side of the bed and fell heavily onto my right foot. When I am in the house, I wear moccasin style slippers exclusively. They are comfortable to me for wearing but provide very little protection from falling objects, which includes a Canon Digital Rebel with vertical grip and 70-300mm image stabilized telephoto lens.
Seeing the camera now sliding off the corner of the mattress on the bed, headed towards the floor and my exposed foot, I quickly reached down and grabbed the strap, but was a little too late. There was enough slack in the strap for the camera to land squarely on the ridge of the foot, just as I was able to lift it out of the way. And it hurt.
Fearing I would do more damage to either my camera or myself or both, I froze and watched the camera come up and land squarely on the bed and stop there. With the camera safely on the bed, I looked down at my foot, lifted it and rubbed the ridge of it against the calf of my left leg. Pissed at what had just too place, I began to sit down when I remember the centipede.
Bolting back to a standing position while at the same time release my hold on my camera strap, I looked down on my arm and saw nothing. You see, what I described above took about two or three seconds to happen and the centipede should have still been on my arm. Again, I scanned the area the creature would have, or should have landed had the flick of my arm worked to dislodge him, but it wasn't there.
I then began to look elsewhere for the centipede...behind books, under the chest of drawers, behind the TV, on the Lazyboy, on the walls...all to no avail. The centipede was nowhere to be found.
It's been almost two days since all this took place. I have yet to see the centipede again. But I figure being caged inside a paper towel and flicked off a human arm to parts unknown, it decided that life in the world of humans isn't worth the exposure and has gone underground...hopefully there to remain.
But I still don't know what it was on my hand to cause me to flick the first time bringing about the chain of events described above...and probably never will.
As for the camera, it's none the worse for wear, or dropping in this case.
I had laid back in my Lazyboy and tuned the TV to Fox News Channel to catch up on the news of the day when out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something crawling on my wall. Normally when I see something on my wall, it is a spider. I don't mind spiders, and am not afraid of them, but I refuse to share my living space with them. I figure the great outdoors is big enough for them to find a nice a place to live.
Anyway, I looked at the critter on the wall and realized it was a centipede. My first thought was, where did this creature come from. My second thought was "get a photo" (after all, I love nature photography). Well, I don't like unnatural images, so I figured I would capture the bug, take him outside, release him in an apple tree in the back and take its picture there.
So I got paper towel, and after a bit of an adventure, I finally got the critter on the towel, folded it in such a way to keep the centipede inside and grabbed my camera. As I moved past my bed (I live in a small studio style apartment) with camera in hand, I felt something on my hand which held the paper towel containing the bug.
A bit of background here is needed. When I was stationed in The Philippines, I found a large centipede on the keyboard of my office computer. I picked it up thinking to toss it outside and when I did, it bit me...and the bite hurt. Then the bite swelled and remained slightly puffy for several days before things got back to normal.
Back to the present and the paper towel.
As soon as I felt whatever it was on my hand, I flashed to the biting centipede in The Philippines and flicked my hand up and away, thinking the centipede had gotten out. I then looked around the area where whatever was on my hand would have landed and saw nothing. Confused about what was on my hand, I tucked my camera under my left arm (my right hand held the towel) and slowly unfolded the paper towel to see if the centipede was still there.
After undoing the third fold, something dark and long came flying out of the towel. It was a blur as it traveled up my left forearm towards my shoulder and parts elsewhere on my body. And I knew what it was...it was the centipede! I again flashed back to the biting centipede in The Philippines and flicked my arm to get the bug off it. Unfortunately, I forgot about my camera.
As soon as my arm moved, I remembered the camera, lifted my left leg, which caught the camera...momentarily...and swung my leg in such a way as to get the camera to fall on the bed. But I wasn't quite nimble enough. I did catch the camera, and I did deflect fall, but it hit the side of the bed and fell heavily onto my right foot. When I am in the house, I wear moccasin style slippers exclusively. They are comfortable to me for wearing but provide very little protection from falling objects, which includes a Canon Digital Rebel with vertical grip and 70-300mm image stabilized telephoto lens.
Seeing the camera now sliding off the corner of the mattress on the bed, headed towards the floor and my exposed foot, I quickly reached down and grabbed the strap, but was a little too late. There was enough slack in the strap for the camera to land squarely on the ridge of the foot, just as I was able to lift it out of the way. And it hurt.
Fearing I would do more damage to either my camera or myself or both, I froze and watched the camera come up and land squarely on the bed and stop there. With the camera safely on the bed, I looked down at my foot, lifted it and rubbed the ridge of it against the calf of my left leg. Pissed at what had just too place, I began to sit down when I remember the centipede.
Bolting back to a standing position while at the same time release my hold on my camera strap, I looked down on my arm and saw nothing. You see, what I described above took about two or three seconds to happen and the centipede should have still been on my arm. Again, I scanned the area the creature would have, or should have landed had the flick of my arm worked to dislodge him, but it wasn't there.
I then began to look elsewhere for the centipede...behind books, under the chest of drawers, behind the TV, on the Lazyboy, on the walls...all to no avail. The centipede was nowhere to be found.
It's been almost two days since all this took place. I have yet to see the centipede again. But I figure being caged inside a paper towel and flicked off a human arm to parts unknown, it decided that life in the world of humans isn't worth the exposure and has gone underground...hopefully there to remain.
But I still don't know what it was on my hand to cause me to flick the first time bringing about the chain of events described above...and probably never will.
As for the camera, it's none the worse for wear, or dropping in this case.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
A little more than six years ago, the world changed. Terrorists saw to that.
I'm sure everyone knows where they were and what they were doing when they heard the news. I was asleep at the time. On the west coast, it was a little past 8 am and my phone rang. I woke, but as I was pulling myself out of bed, the ringing stopped, so back to the pillow I went. But a moment later, the phone rang again. Still half asleep, I went into the living room and picked up the phone.
"Hello."
"They took out the twin towers."
"Who? Bin Laden?"
"Turn on your TV."
That was extent of the conversation with a friend of mine. After the 1993 bombings, I had expected that group of scumbags to go after the towers again. Bin Laden was logical mastermind for me...even half asleep. I was called moments before the first tower collapsed...and watched the panic which ensued after it and the second tower went down. I spent the rest of the morning like everyone else...watching the news.
As I watched, I thought back to my days in the US Air Force...to the days terrorists went after me. Yes...I was a terrorist target.
The first time it happ ened was in Italy in 1977. The Brigate Rosse, or Red Brigade was terrorizing the people of northern Italy. I was then stationed at Aviano AB, in the northeast portion of Italy, near the Red Brigade area of operations. They worked out of Milan, Italy. Their tactics were not to kill, but to maim. They would shoot their targets in the knee, known as "knee-capping," which would in effect cripple the person. Their targets initially, were journalists who wrote negative articles about them. Later on, they changed their modus operandi and got into kidnapping and murder. But that isn't what this story is about.
One day, I was called to the office of the Carabinieri, the Italian State Police. When I arrived, our Security Police commander, base commander and few other people who I don't recall were present. I was told the Red Brigade had issued a threat to "knee-cap" an American journalist. Since my job at the time was that of editor of The Vigileer, the base newspaper for Aviano AB, there was the possibility I could be targeted. There were more American military journalists at an Army post near Vicenza, Italy and I am sure they were told the same thing I was.
I was told since Aviano was an open base, it would be a lot easier for the Red Brigade to get to me. The Carabinieri informed me what to watch for, and what to do if I saw anything suspicious. Then they told me to limit my trips off base. Well, that was almost impossible for me, since my newspaper was put together and printed in Pordenone, Italy, about 10 miles away and I had to be at the printing plant the two days prior to publishing the paper. I told them that, and told them I would keep an close eye on my surroundings and then asked if there was anything else because I had work to do. They mentioned things to watch for again and I went back to my office.
For the next three weeks, whenever I saw a car with plates from Milan, Italy in my rear view mirror, or parked near where I was going, I changed my plans. I would perform a scouting mission before I parked my car looking for Milan plated vehicles. Sometimes I would see a nearby Carabinieri vehicle parked near where I was, sometimes I wouldn't. I would think that they were watching me and they probably were. I didn't mind...I liked my knees.
Then, on a bright, sunny Saturday morning, a rail car on a supply train heading towards Aviano AB from the station in Pordenone, blew up. A couple of hours after the explosion, the Red Brigade claimed responsibility. In their communique, they said that rather than "knee-capping" someone who would be replaced, they wanted to hurt the Americans where it hurt most...by blowing up some of our needed supplies. So they planted a bomb on a rail car they knew was headed towards Aviano, set the timer and waited. Had the bomb gone off at the supply depot on base, it might have been a different story. But bomb went off before the car arrived on base. The damage it did, didn't hurt the base at all. The car they picked contained nothing but office supplies, something which was held back from news reports.
It hit home to me when I heard about the train incident, that I could easily have been the target instead. I became a lot more aware of my surroundings after that. I also noticed that I didn't see Carabinieri cars as often after that. I figure the Italian police had a lot to do with the change in tactics. It's possible that every time the Red Brigade looked for me, they also found nearby Carabinieri keeping an eye on me. That forced their hand and they changed tactics.
Flash forward to 1989. I was now on a temporary assignment to an Army unit at Soto Cano AB, Honduras. I was the Noncommissioned Officer in Charge of the Public Affairs office. The position had to be an Air Force member, since USAF aircraft flew in and out of the base on a regular basis. If there was an incident, an Air Force person in Public Affairs would be needed to handle the press queries.
Honduras at that time, was having a problem with the Morazanist Front for the Liberation of Honduras or FMLH. They had already made several attacks on the American military stationed in the country, and wanted nothing more than to cause more damage.
One morning, there was a bad auto accident right outside the gates to the base. American medical personnel responded and saved a number of lives. This was a good thing and we wanted to spread the word that we did good things for the country. So after a news release on the incident was translated into Spanish, my boss and I went into Comeyagua, the nearby town, to deliver the release to a number of the news outlets. The third drop point was a radio station near the center of town. When we arrived, my boss, an Army major, said he would be right out. So, I put the vehicle in neutral and waited. Standard operating procedure was to leave someone in the vehicle with the engine running and I was following that directive.
Five minutes passed and the major was still inside. At about ten minutes, I began to wonder what was going on. While I was trying to figure out the scenario, an Honduran walked up to the driver's side of the truck I was in and asked in a very unfriendly tone, if I needed help. I replied I didn't and that I was waiting for someone. The person then walked away from the truck towards the rear and I watched him go into a building about 100 feet away. Moments later, a different person came out of the doorway, paused a moment while he looked at me and took off down the street away from me. I made note of him and continued my vigil around the truck, making plans on what I would do should trouble break out before the major returned.
Less than five minutes later, I observed a pea-soup green Chevy Impala, probably early '70s, I don't remember now, pull up in front of the door and stop. Both front doors opened and the man who a short time earlier ran off in the direction the car came from, stepped out and went inside the building. The driver turned, faced my direction and stretched, then opened the back driver's side door and leaned in to do something. As he did that, the man who left the car moments earlier, along with the man who came to my truck earlier and third man came out of the building. One opened the rear passenger side door, while the other two climbed in the front and leaned over the seat to do something in the back seat area.
I now had a plan for a possible contingency and watched the quartet closely in my rear view mirror. As I watched, my stomach suddenly tightened. I saw the business end of an AK-47 pop up over the top of the front seat. Then it hit me what was going on. They were preparing their weapons they were going to use to attack me. A chill ran up and down my spine, my hands rubbed the cool, blue steel of the only protection I had, and I step on the clutch and slowly put the transmission into first gear. I had decided the moment I saw the first weapon come out, I would give the horn two quick blasts as I sped around a corner 20 feet in front of me. I would make the first left I saw then turn right at each of the first four right turns I came upon. I would then stop and wait. After a short time, if I didn't see the bad guys, I would return to the area of the square, hopefully pick up my boss and get the hell out of there.
Well, I didn't have to use my plan. Right around the time the group had finished what they were doing, and during what I assumed was the leader giving them the game plan for the attack, something happened that I will never forget. A bell rang and from a building on the other side of the street, behind the Chevy, a bunch of young, school aged Honduran children came running out, into the square.
The four guys behind me all jumped out to the street, straightened up and began looking around. Then they started arguing with each other until the original driver said something and the three others got in the car. The driver remained outside the car, staring at me and our eyes locked in the mirror. He stared for a few moments, then with his hand formed in the fashion of a pistol, he pointed it at me and pretended to shoot me. He pretended to blow the smoke out of the barrel, then got in the car and backed down the street a way, turned around and headed out of sight.
I was happy to see those kids. As a few of them walked past my truck on their way home, I reached into my pocket, grabbed all the money I had (Honduran limpiras, both paper and coin) and tossed it into the street and said, Gracias los niños! The children of course, picked it up, a couple tried to return it to me, but I waved it off and the kids for the most part hung nearby until my boss came out. He got in the truck, apologized for being so long and asked what was going on. I told him on the way to our last stop, which he wanted to skip. We then headed back to the safety of the base, where I was debriefed by intelligence.
My third confrontation with terrorists occurred in The Philippines a year and a half later. It was December 1990, and I had just picked up my Filipina girlfriend. We decided to get something to eat at a hotdog near her apartment before we headed out to do whatever it was we had planned to do. There wasn't a lot we could do, and few places we could go. Several months earlier, the New Peoples Army, or NPA, a group of murdering thugs, had walked up to two airmen just outside a hotel near the base and put a .45 round into the back of their heads. The assassinations forced the officials to declare almost all the local area, off-limits to Americans. A few weeks later, a small area known as "The Fish" was opened and declared secure by both the Air Force Security Police and the Philippine Army Police.
In December, the "fish" was still the only part of Angeles City most Americans could go...and outside of visiting strip bars filled with Filipina bar gals, there wasn't much to do in the "Fish."
The hotdog stand I was in, was right near the main gate to the base, on the other side of Field Avenue from the gate. It was recessed into the front of a building with the front wall completely open to the street. After we got our food, we went to back of the building and I sat with my back to the back wall where I could keep a close eye on the happenings in the street in front of me. I watched as American GIs walked by with their girlfriends, and Philippine military troops walked by. Then I watched three Philippino men walk by in leather coats.
I thought this was strange since even though it was 6:30 pm, the temperature was still about 80. But the three glanced inside the building and continued walking. A few minutes later, they came back. The first person walked across the street and stopped under a tree and leaned up against it. The other two stopped on either side of the building and leaned up against the wall. As I continued to talk to my girlfriend, I was watching the three out of the corner of my eye. I could tell the person across the street had a weapon under his jacket...the bulge wasn't obvious, but it was detectable. And I thought I could see bulges under the coats of the other two, but wasn't sure. So then my mind started going down the options list.
After watching dozens of GIs walk by the threesome and the three not even batting an eye their way, including very drunk airmen who would have been easy pickings for thieves, I decide they weren't criminals waiting for score. They had to have an agenda and most likely, I was that agenda. By an odd coincidence, I resembled my boss who was constantly on television announcing closures, openings and things of interest to all Americans at Clark AB. We knew from intelligence briefings, that my boss was on the hit list for the NPA. I could only assume the three surly looking Philippino guys waiting outside the hotdog stand, were in fact, NPA Sparrows (the name the group gave to their assassins) and they were waiting for me, thinking I was my boss, or they knew I worked in the same office and decided I was a target of opportunity. Either way, I knew I was in trouble if I left the building. And, as long as I was inside, they were content to wait. Again, I began forming a plan. When I finalized the idea, I told my girlfriend, as she was very important to it.
The plan was simple. I would go to the counter and get two more cokes. After sitting down, I would reach for my cigarettes (I was a smoker then) and crumple up the pack (there were several left in it) and ask her to go get me a pack of Camel Lights. I knew the cigarette stand next to where one of the thugs was waiting didn't have that brand and told my girlfriend to ask for them and when told they didn't have that brand, to ask where she could get them. She would then ask if Checkpoint would have them because everyone knew Checkpoint was the largest of all the street vendors. I explained to her when she got to Checkpoint, she was to go to the Philippine police and tell them about the three guys waiting outside the hotdog stand.
Then it was time to implement the plan. I got our drinks, tossed my not-really-empty-pack of cigarettes into a nearby trash can and asked my gal to go get me a pack. She did, and followed the plan. I drank my drink and waited and watched. The three looked at each other and a few moments later, I watched as the one near the tree snapped his head to his right, then say something and all three began running off down the street. A moment later, six Philippine Army troopers ran by in the same direction and behind them, my girlfriend with a big smile on her face. When she came over to me, I hugged her and said, "Let's get out of here." We walked over to the bus stop on base and waited for the bus. While we waited, I heard a series of gun shot off in the distance.
The next morning, I heard several possible NPA members had been shot and one or two wounded were captured. I smiled knowing I probably assisted in their demise.
Memories of those incidents came back to me as I sat and watched the events of 9/11. And as I watched, an intense hatred of terrorist grew in me.
That hatred is still there. To this day, I wish I was helping fight this global terror war the United States is involved in. But I can't. So my hatred grows. It will remain with me to the day I die. And so will the depression I feel everyday knowing I can't help my fellow fighting Americans fight that war.
I'm sure everyone knows where they were and what they were doing when they heard the news. I was asleep at the time. On the west coast, it was a little past 8 am and my phone rang. I woke, but as I was pulling myself out of bed, the ringing stopped, so back to the pillow I went. But a moment later, the phone rang again. Still half asleep, I went into the living room and picked up the phone.
"Hello."
"They took out the twin towers."
"Who? Bin Laden?"
"Turn on your TV."
That was extent of the conversation with a friend of mine. After the 1993 bombings, I had expected that group of scumbags to go after the towers again. Bin Laden was logical mastermind for me...even half asleep. I was called moments before the first tower collapsed...and watched the panic which ensued after it and the second tower went down. I spent the rest of the morning like everyone else...watching the news.
As I watched, I thought back to my days in the US Air Force...to the days terrorists went after me. Yes...I was a terrorist target.
The first time it happ ened was in Italy in 1977. The Brigate Rosse, or Red Brigade was terrorizing the people of northern Italy. I was then stationed at Aviano AB, in the northeast portion of Italy, near the Red Brigade area of operations. They worked out of Milan, Italy. Their tactics were not to kill, but to maim. They would shoot their targets in the knee, known as "knee-capping," which would in effect cripple the person. Their targets initially, were journalists who wrote negative articles about them. Later on, they changed their modus operandi and got into kidnapping and murder. But that isn't what this story is about.
One day, I was called to the office of the Carabinieri, the Italian State Police. When I arrived, our Security Police commander, base commander and few other people who I don't recall were present. I was told the Red Brigade had issued a threat to "knee-cap" an American journalist. Since my job at the time was that of editor of The Vigileer, the base newspaper for Aviano AB, there was the possibility I could be targeted. There were more American military journalists at an Army post near Vicenza, Italy and I am sure they were told the same thing I was.
I was told since Aviano was an open base, it would be a lot easier for the Red Brigade to get to me. The Carabinieri informed me what to watch for, and what to do if I saw anything suspicious. Then they told me to limit my trips off base. Well, that was almost impossible for me, since my newspaper was put together and printed in Pordenone, Italy, about 10 miles away and I had to be at the printing plant the two days prior to publishing the paper. I told them that, and told them I would keep an close eye on my surroundings and then asked if there was anything else because I had work to do. They mentioned things to watch for again and I went back to my office.
For the next three weeks, whenever I saw a car with plates from Milan, Italy in my rear view mirror, or parked near where I was going, I changed my plans. I would perform a scouting mission before I parked my car looking for Milan plated vehicles. Sometimes I would see a nearby Carabinieri vehicle parked near where I was, sometimes I wouldn't. I would think that they were watching me and they probably were. I didn't mind...I liked my knees.
Then, on a bright, sunny Saturday morning, a rail car on a supply train heading towards Aviano AB from the station in Pordenone, blew up. A couple of hours after the explosion, the Red Brigade claimed responsibility. In their communique, they said that rather than "knee-capping" someone who would be replaced, they wanted to hurt the Americans where it hurt most...by blowing up some of our needed supplies. So they planted a bomb on a rail car they knew was headed towards Aviano, set the timer and waited. Had the bomb gone off at the supply depot on base, it might have been a different story. But bomb went off before the car arrived on base. The damage it did, didn't hurt the base at all. The car they picked contained nothing but office supplies, something which was held back from news reports.
It hit home to me when I heard about the train incident, that I could easily have been the target instead. I became a lot more aware of my surroundings after that. I also noticed that I didn't see Carabinieri cars as often after that. I figure the Italian police had a lot to do with the change in tactics. It's possible that every time the Red Brigade looked for me, they also found nearby Carabinieri keeping an eye on me. That forced their hand and they changed tactics.
Flash forward to 1989. I was now on a temporary assignment to an Army unit at Soto Cano AB, Honduras. I was the Noncommissioned Officer in Charge of the Public Affairs office. The position had to be an Air Force member, since USAF aircraft flew in and out of the base on a regular basis. If there was an incident, an Air Force person in Public Affairs would be needed to handle the press queries.
Honduras at that time, was having a problem with the Morazanist Front for the Liberation of Honduras or FMLH. They had already made several attacks on the American military stationed in the country, and wanted nothing more than to cause more damage.
One morning, there was a bad auto accident right outside the gates to the base. American medical personnel responded and saved a number of lives. This was a good thing and we wanted to spread the word that we did good things for the country. So after a news release on the incident was translated into Spanish, my boss and I went into Comeyagua, the nearby town, to deliver the release to a number of the news outlets. The third drop point was a radio station near the center of town. When we arrived, my boss, an Army major, said he would be right out. So, I put the vehicle in neutral and waited. Standard operating procedure was to leave someone in the vehicle with the engine running and I was following that directive.
Five minutes passed and the major was still inside. At about ten minutes, I began to wonder what was going on. While I was trying to figure out the scenario, an Honduran walked up to the driver's side of the truck I was in and asked in a very unfriendly tone, if I needed help. I replied I didn't and that I was waiting for someone. The person then walked away from the truck towards the rear and I watched him go into a building about 100 feet away. Moments later, a different person came out of the doorway, paused a moment while he looked at me and took off down the street away from me. I made note of him and continued my vigil around the truck, making plans on what I would do should trouble break out before the major returned.
Less than five minutes later, I observed a pea-soup green Chevy Impala, probably early '70s, I don't remember now, pull up in front of the door and stop. Both front doors opened and the man who a short time earlier ran off in the direction the car came from, stepped out and went inside the building. The driver turned, faced my direction and stretched, then opened the back driver's side door and leaned in to do something. As he did that, the man who left the car moments earlier, along with the man who came to my truck earlier and third man came out of the building. One opened the rear passenger side door, while the other two climbed in the front and leaned over the seat to do something in the back seat area.
I now had a plan for a possible contingency and watched the quartet closely in my rear view mirror. As I watched, my stomach suddenly tightened. I saw the business end of an AK-47 pop up over the top of the front seat. Then it hit me what was going on. They were preparing their weapons they were going to use to attack me. A chill ran up and down my spine, my hands rubbed the cool, blue steel of the only protection I had, and I step on the clutch and slowly put the transmission into first gear. I had decided the moment I saw the first weapon come out, I would give the horn two quick blasts as I sped around a corner 20 feet in front of me. I would make the first left I saw then turn right at each of the first four right turns I came upon. I would then stop and wait. After a short time, if I didn't see the bad guys, I would return to the area of the square, hopefully pick up my boss and get the hell out of there.
Well, I didn't have to use my plan. Right around the time the group had finished what they were doing, and during what I assumed was the leader giving them the game plan for the attack, something happened that I will never forget. A bell rang and from a building on the other side of the street, behind the Chevy, a bunch of young, school aged Honduran children came running out, into the square.
The four guys behind me all jumped out to the street, straightened up and began looking around. Then they started arguing with each other until the original driver said something and the three others got in the car. The driver remained outside the car, staring at me and our eyes locked in the mirror. He stared for a few moments, then with his hand formed in the fashion of a pistol, he pointed it at me and pretended to shoot me. He pretended to blow the smoke out of the barrel, then got in the car and backed down the street a way, turned around and headed out of sight.
I was happy to see those kids. As a few of them walked past my truck on their way home, I reached into my pocket, grabbed all the money I had (Honduran limpiras, both paper and coin) and tossed it into the street and said, Gracias los niños! The children of course, picked it up, a couple tried to return it to me, but I waved it off and the kids for the most part hung nearby until my boss came out. He got in the truck, apologized for being so long and asked what was going on. I told him on the way to our last stop, which he wanted to skip. We then headed back to the safety of the base, where I was debriefed by intelligence.
My third confrontation with terrorists occurred in The Philippines a year and a half later. It was December 1990, and I had just picked up my Filipina girlfriend. We decided to get something to eat at a hotdog near her apartment before we headed out to do whatever it was we had planned to do. There wasn't a lot we could do, and few places we could go. Several months earlier, the New Peoples Army, or NPA, a group of murdering thugs, had walked up to two airmen just outside a hotel near the base and put a .45 round into the back of their heads. The assassinations forced the officials to declare almost all the local area, off-limits to Americans. A few weeks later, a small area known as "The Fish" was opened and declared secure by both the Air Force Security Police and the Philippine Army Police.
In December, the "fish" was still the only part of Angeles City most Americans could go...and outside of visiting strip bars filled with Filipina bar gals, there wasn't much to do in the "Fish."
The hotdog stand I was in, was right near the main gate to the base, on the other side of Field Avenue from the gate. It was recessed into the front of a building with the front wall completely open to the street. After we got our food, we went to back of the building and I sat with my back to the back wall where I could keep a close eye on the happenings in the street in front of me. I watched as American GIs walked by with their girlfriends, and Philippine military troops walked by. Then I watched three Philippino men walk by in leather coats.
I thought this was strange since even though it was 6:30 pm, the temperature was still about 80. But the three glanced inside the building and continued walking. A few minutes later, they came back. The first person walked across the street and stopped under a tree and leaned up against it. The other two stopped on either side of the building and leaned up against the wall. As I continued to talk to my girlfriend, I was watching the three out of the corner of my eye. I could tell the person across the street had a weapon under his jacket...the bulge wasn't obvious, but it was detectable. And I thought I could see bulges under the coats of the other two, but wasn't sure. So then my mind started going down the options list.
After watching dozens of GIs walk by the threesome and the three not even batting an eye their way, including very drunk airmen who would have been easy pickings for thieves, I decide they weren't criminals waiting for score. They had to have an agenda and most likely, I was that agenda. By an odd coincidence, I resembled my boss who was constantly on television announcing closures, openings and things of interest to all Americans at Clark AB. We knew from intelligence briefings, that my boss was on the hit list for the NPA. I could only assume the three surly looking Philippino guys waiting outside the hotdog stand, were in fact, NPA Sparrows (the name the group gave to their assassins) and they were waiting for me, thinking I was my boss, or they knew I worked in the same office and decided I was a target of opportunity. Either way, I knew I was in trouble if I left the building. And, as long as I was inside, they were content to wait. Again, I began forming a plan. When I finalized the idea, I told my girlfriend, as she was very important to it.
The plan was simple. I would go to the counter and get two more cokes. After sitting down, I would reach for my cigarettes (I was a smoker then) and crumple up the pack (there were several left in it) and ask her to go get me a pack of Camel Lights. I knew the cigarette stand next to where one of the thugs was waiting didn't have that brand and told my girlfriend to ask for them and when told they didn't have that brand, to ask where she could get them. She would then ask if Checkpoint would have them because everyone knew Checkpoint was the largest of all the street vendors. I explained to her when she got to Checkpoint, she was to go to the Philippine police and tell them about the three guys waiting outside the hotdog stand.
Then it was time to implement the plan. I got our drinks, tossed my not-really-empty-pack of cigarettes into a nearby trash can and asked my gal to go get me a pack. She did, and followed the plan. I drank my drink and waited and watched. The three looked at each other and a few moments later, I watched as the one near the tree snapped his head to his right, then say something and all three began running off down the street. A moment later, six Philippine Army troopers ran by in the same direction and behind them, my girlfriend with a big smile on her face. When she came over to me, I hugged her and said, "Let's get out of here." We walked over to the bus stop on base and waited for the bus. While we waited, I heard a series of gun shot off in the distance.
The next morning, I heard several possible NPA members had been shot and one or two wounded were captured. I smiled knowing I probably assisted in their demise.
Memories of those incidents came back to me as I sat and watched the events of 9/11. And as I watched, an intense hatred of terrorist grew in me.
That hatred is still there. To this day, I wish I was helping fight this global terror war the United States is involved in. But I can't. So my hatred grows. It will remain with me to the day I die. And so will the depression I feel everyday knowing I can't help my fellow fighting Americans fight that war.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Memories of Bad Days
A little more than six years ago, the world changed. Terrorists saw to that.
I'm sure everyone knows where they were and what they were doing when they heard the news. I was asleep at the time. On the west coast, it was a little past 8 am and my phone rang. I woke, but as I was pulling myself out of bed, the ringing stopped, so back to the pillow I went. But a moment later, the phone rang again. Still half asleep, I went into the living room and picked up the phone.
"Hello."
"They took out the twin towers."
"Who? Bin Laden?"
"Turn on your TV."
That was extent of the conversation with a friend of mine. After the 1993 bombings, I had expected that group of scumbags to go after the towers again. Bin Laden was logical mastermind for me...even half asleep. I was called moments before the first tower collapsed...and watched the panic which ensued after it and the second tower went down. I spent the rest of the morning like everyone else...watching the news.
As I watched, I thought back to my days in the US Air Force...to the days terrorists went after me. Yes...I was a terrorist target.
The first time it happened was in Italy in 1977. The Brigate Rosse, or Red Brigade was terrorizing the people of northern Italy. I was then stationed at Aviano AB, in the northeast portion of Italy, near the Red Brigade area of operations. They worked out of Milan, Italy. Their tactics were not to kill, but to maim. They would shoot their targets in the knee, known as "knee-capping," which would in effect cripple the person. Their targets initially, were journalists who wrote negative articles about them. Later on, they changed their modus operandi and got into kidnapping and murder. But that isn't what this story is about.
One day, I was called to the office of the Carabinieri, the Italian State Police. When I arrived, our Security Police commander, base commander and few other people who I don't recall were present. I was told the Red Brigade had issued a threat to "knee-cap" an American journalist. Since my job at the time was that of editor of The Vigileer, the base newspaper for Aviano AB, there was the possibility I could be targeted. There were more American military journalists at an Army post near Vicenza, Italy and I am sure they were told the same thing I was.
I was told since Aviano was an open base, it would be a lot easier for the Red Brigade to get to me. The Carabinieri informed me what to watch for, and what to do if I saw anything suspicious. Then they told me to limit my trips off base. Well, that was almost impossible for me, since my newspaper was put together and printed in Pordenone, Italy, about 10 miles away and I had to be at the printing plant the two days prior to publishing the paper. I told them that, and told them I would keep an close eye on my surroundings and then asked if there was anything else because I had work to do. They mentioned things to watch for again and I went back to my office.
For the next three weeks, whenever I saw a car with plates from Milan, Italy in my rear view mirror, or parked near where I was going, I changed my plans. I would perform a scouting mission before I parked my car looking for Milan plated vehicles. Sometimes I would see a nearby Carabinieri vehicle parked near where I was, sometimes I wouldn't. I would think that they were watching me and they probably were. I didn't mind...I liked my knees.
Then, on a bright, sunny Saturday morning, a rail car on a supply train heading towards Aviano AB from the station in Pordenone, blew up. A couple of hours after the explosion, the Red Brigade claimed responsibility. In their communique, they said that rather than "knee-capping" someone who would be replaced, they wanted to hurt the Americans where it hurt most...by blowing up some of our needed supplies. So they planted a bomb on a rail car they knew was headed towards Aviano, set the timer and waited. Had the bomb gone off at the supply depot on base, it might have been a different story. But bomb went off before the car arrived on base. The damage it did, didn't hurt the base at all. The car they picked contained nothing but office supplies, something which was held back from news reports.
It hit home to me when I heard about the train incident, that I could easily have been the target instead. I became a lot more aware of my surroundings after that. I also noticed that I didn't see Carabinieri cars as often after that. I figure the Italian police had a lot to do with the change in tactics. It's possible that every time the Red Brigade looked for me, they also found nearby Carabinieri keeping an eye on me. That forced their hand and they changed tactics.
Flash forward to 1989. I was now on a temporary assignment to an Army unit at Soto Cano AB, Honduras. I was the Noncommissioned Officer in Charge of the Public Affairs office. The position had to be an Air Force member, since USAF aircraft flew in and out of the base on a regular basis. If there was an incident, an Air Force person in Public Affairs would be needed to handle the press queries.
Honduras at that time, was having a problem with the Morazanist Front for the Liberation of Honduras or FMLH. They had already made several attacks on the American military stationed in the country, and wanted nothing more than to cause more damage.
One morning, there was a bad auto accident right outside the gates to the base. American medical personnel responded and saved a number of lives. This was a good thing and we wanted to spread the word that we did good things for the country. So after a news release on the incident was translated into Spanish, my boss and I went into Comeyagua, the nearby town, to deliver the release to a number of the news outlets. The third drop point was a radio station near the center of town. When we arrived, my boss, an Army major, said he would be right out. So, I put the vehicle in neutral and waited. Standard operating procedure was to leave someone in the vehicle with the engine running and I was following that directive.
Five minutes passed and the major was still inside. At about ten minutes, I began to wonder what was going on. While I was trying to figure out the scenario, an Honduran walked up to the driver's side of the truck I was in and asked in a very unfriendly tone, if I needed help. I replied I didn't and that I was waiting for someone. The person then walked away from the truck towards the rear and I watched him go into a building about 100 feet away. Moments later, a different person came out of the doorway, paused a moment while he looked at me and took off down the street away from me. I made note of him and continued my vigil around the truck, making plans on what I would do should trouble break out before the major returned.
Less than five minutes later, I observed a pea-soup green Chevy Impala, probably early '70s, I don't remember now, pull up in front of the door and stop. Both front doors opened and the man who a short time earlier ran off in the direction the car came from, stepped out and went inside the building. The driver turned, faced my direction and stretched, then opened the back driver's side door and leaned in to do something. As he did that, the man who left the car moments earlier, along with the man who came to my truck earlier and third man came out of the building. One opened the rear passenger side door, while the other two climbed in the front and leaned over the seat to do something in the back seat area.
I now had a plan for a possible contingency and watched the quartet closely in my rear view mirror. As I watched, my stomach suddenly tightened. I saw the business end of an AK-47 pop up over the top of the front seat. Then it hit me what was going on. They were preparing their weapons they were going to use to attack me. A chill ran up and down my spine, my hands rubbed the cool, blue steel of the only protection I had, and I step on the clutch and slowly put the transmission into first gear. I had decided the moment I saw the first weapon come out, I would give the horn two quick blasts as I sped around a corner 20 feet in front of me. I would make the first left I saw then turn right at each of the first four right turns I came upon. I would then stop and wait. After a short time, if I didn't see the bad guys, I would return to the area of the square, hopefully pick up my boss and get the hell out of there.
Well, I didn't have to use my plan. Right around the time the group had finished what they were doing, and during what I assumed was the leader giving them the game plan for the attack, something happened that I will never forget. A bell rang and from a building on the other side of the street, behind the Chevy, a bunch of young, school aged Honduran children came running out, into the square.
The four guys behind me all jumped out to the street, straightened up and began looking around. Then they started arguing with each other until the original driver said something and the three others got in the car. The driver remained outside the car, staring at me and our eyes locked in the mirror. He stared for a few moments, then with his hand formed in the fashion of a pistol, he pointed it at me and pretended to shoot me. He pretended to blow the smoke out of the barrel, then got in the car and backed down the street a way, turned around and headed out of sight.
I was happy to see those kids. As a few of them walked past my truck on their way home, I reached into my pocket, grabbed all the money I had (Honduran limpiras, both paper and coin) and tossed it into the street and said, Gracias los niños! The children of course, picked it up, a couple tried to return it to me, but I waved it off and the kids for the most part hung nearby until my boss came out. He got in the truck, apologized for being so long and asked what was going on. I told him on the way to our last stop, which he wanted to skip. We then headed back to the safety of the base, where I was debriefed by intelligence.
My third confrontation with terrorists occurred in The Philippines a year and a half later. It was December 1990, and I had just picked up my Filipina girlfriend. We decided to get something to eat at a hotdog near her apartment before we headed out to do whatever it was we had planned to do. There wasn't a lot we could do, and few places we could go. Several months earlier, the New Peoples Army, or NPA, a group of murdering thugs, had walked up to two airmen just outside a hotel near the base and put a .45 round into the back of their heads. The assassinations forced the officials to declare almost all the local area, off-limits to Americans. A few weeks later, a small area known as "The Fish" was opened and declared secure by both the Air Force Security Police and the Philippine Army Police.
In December, the "fish" was still the only part of Angeles City most Americans could go...and outside of visiting strip bars filled with Filipina bar gals, there wasn't much to do in the "Fish."
The hotdog stand I was in, was right near the main gate to the base, on the other side of Field Avenue from the gate. It was recessed into the front of a building with the front wall completely open to the street. After we got our food, we went to back of the building and I sat with my back to the back wall where I could keep a close eye on the happenings in the street in front of me. I watched as American GIs walked by with their girlfriends, and Philippine military troops walked by. Then I watched three Philippino men walk by in leather coats.
I thought this was strange since even though it was 6:30 pm, the temperature was still about 80. But the three glanced inside the building and continued walking. A few minutes later, they came back. The first person walked across the street and stopped under a tree and leaned up against it. The other two stopped on either side of the building and leaned up against the wall. As I continued to talk to my girlfriend, I was watching the three out of the corner of my eye. I could tell the person across the street had a weapon under his jacket...the bulge wasn't obvious, but it was detectable. And I thought I could see bulges under the coats of the other two, but wasn't sure. So then my mind started going down the options list.
After watching dozens of GIs walk by the threesome and the three not even batting an eye their way, including very drunk airmen who would have been easy pickings for thieves, I decide they weren't criminals waiting for score. They had to have an agenda and most likely, I was that agenda. By an odd coincidence, I resembled my boss who was constantly on television announcing closures, openings and things of interest to all Americans at Clark AB. We knew from intelligence briefings, that my boss was on the hit list for the NPA. I could only assume the three surly looking Philippino guys waiting outside the hotdog stand, were in fact, NPA Sparrows (the name the group gave to their assassins) and they were waiting for me, thinking I was my boss, or they knew I worked in the same office and decided I was a target of opportunity. Either way, I knew I was in trouble if I left the building. And, as long as I was inside, they were content to wait. Again, I began forming a plan. When I finalized the idea, I told my girlfriend, as she was very important to it.
The plan was simple. I would go to the counter and get two more cokes. After sitting down, I would reach for my cigarettes (I was a smoker then) and crumple up the pack (there were several left in it) and ask her to go get me a pack of Camel Lights. I knew the cigarette stand next to where one of the thugs was waiting didn't have that brand and told my girlfriend to ask for them and when told they didn't have that brand, to ask where she could get them. She would then ask if Checkpoint would have them because everyone knew Checkpoint was the largest of all the street vendors. I explained to her when she got to Checkpoint, she was to go to the Philippine police and tell them about the three guys waiting outside the hotdog stand.
Then it was time to implement the plan. I got our drinks, tossed my not-really-empty-pack of cigarettes into a nearby trash can and asked my gal to go get me a pack. She did, and followed the plan. I drank my drink and waited and watched. The three looked at each other and a few moments later, I watched as the one near the tree snapped his head to his right, then say something and all three began running off down the street. A moment later, six Philippine Army troopers ran by in the same direction and behind them, my girlfriend with a big smile on her face. When she came over to me, I hugged her and said, "Let's get out of here." We walked over to the bus stop on base and waited for the bus. While we waited, I heard a series of gun shot off in the distance.
The next morning, I heard several possible NPA members had been shot and one or two wounded were captured. I smiled knowing I probably assisted in their demise.
Memories of those incidents came back to me as I sat and watched the events of 9/11. And as I watched, an intense hatred of terrorist grew in me.
That hatred is still there. To this day, I wish I was helping fight this global terror war the United States is involved in. But I can't. So my hatred grows. It will remain with me to the day I die. And so will the depression I feel everyday knowing I can't help my fellow fighting Americans fight that war.
I'm sure everyone knows where they were and what they were doing when they heard the news. I was asleep at the time. On the west coast, it was a little past 8 am and my phone rang. I woke, but as I was pulling myself out of bed, the ringing stopped, so back to the pillow I went. But a moment later, the phone rang again. Still half asleep, I went into the living room and picked up the phone.
"Hello."
"They took out the twin towers."
"Who? Bin Laden?"
"Turn on your TV."
That was extent of the conversation with a friend of mine. After the 1993 bombings, I had expected that group of scumbags to go after the towers again. Bin Laden was logical mastermind for me...even half asleep. I was called moments before the first tower collapsed...and watched the panic which ensued after it and the second tower went down. I spent the rest of the morning like everyone else...watching the news.
As I watched, I thought back to my days in the US Air Force...to the days terrorists went after me. Yes...I was a terrorist target.
The first time it happened was in Italy in 1977. The Brigate Rosse, or Red Brigade was terrorizing the people of northern Italy. I was then stationed at Aviano AB, in the northeast portion of Italy, near the Red Brigade area of operations. They worked out of Milan, Italy. Their tactics were not to kill, but to maim. They would shoot their targets in the knee, known as "knee-capping," which would in effect cripple the person. Their targets initially, were journalists who wrote negative articles about them. Later on, they changed their modus operandi and got into kidnapping and murder. But that isn't what this story is about.
One day, I was called to the office of the Carabinieri, the Italian State Police. When I arrived, our Security Police commander, base commander and few other people who I don't recall were present. I was told the Red Brigade had issued a threat to "knee-cap" an American journalist. Since my job at the time was that of editor of The Vigileer, the base newspaper for Aviano AB, there was the possibility I could be targeted. There were more American military journalists at an Army post near Vicenza, Italy and I am sure they were told the same thing I was.
I was told since Aviano was an open base, it would be a lot easier for the Red Brigade to get to me. The Carabinieri informed me what to watch for, and what to do if I saw anything suspicious. Then they told me to limit my trips off base. Well, that was almost impossible for me, since my newspaper was put together and printed in Pordenone, Italy, about 10 miles away and I had to be at the printing plant the two days prior to publishing the paper. I told them that, and told them I would keep an close eye on my surroundings and then asked if there was anything else because I had work to do. They mentioned things to watch for again and I went back to my office.
For the next three weeks, whenever I saw a car with plates from Milan, Italy in my rear view mirror, or parked near where I was going, I changed my plans. I would perform a scouting mission before I parked my car looking for Milan plated vehicles. Sometimes I would see a nearby Carabinieri vehicle parked near where I was, sometimes I wouldn't. I would think that they were watching me and they probably were. I didn't mind...I liked my knees.
Then, on a bright, sunny Saturday morning, a rail car on a supply train heading towards Aviano AB from the station in Pordenone, blew up. A couple of hours after the explosion, the Red Brigade claimed responsibility. In their communique, they said that rather than "knee-capping" someone who would be replaced, they wanted to hurt the Americans where it hurt most...by blowing up some of our needed supplies. So they planted a bomb on a rail car they knew was headed towards Aviano, set the timer and waited. Had the bomb gone off at the supply depot on base, it might have been a different story. But bomb went off before the car arrived on base. The damage it did, didn't hurt the base at all. The car they picked contained nothing but office supplies, something which was held back from news reports.
It hit home to me when I heard about the train incident, that I could easily have been the target instead. I became a lot more aware of my surroundings after that. I also noticed that I didn't see Carabinieri cars as often after that. I figure the Italian police had a lot to do with the change in tactics. It's possible that every time the Red Brigade looked for me, they also found nearby Carabinieri keeping an eye on me. That forced their hand and they changed tactics.
Flash forward to 1989. I was now on a temporary assignment to an Army unit at Soto Cano AB, Honduras. I was the Noncommissioned Officer in Charge of the Public Affairs office. The position had to be an Air Force member, since USAF aircraft flew in and out of the base on a regular basis. If there was an incident, an Air Force person in Public Affairs would be needed to handle the press queries.
Honduras at that time, was having a problem with the Morazanist Front for the Liberation of Honduras or FMLH. They had already made several attacks on the American military stationed in the country, and wanted nothing more than to cause more damage.
One morning, there was a bad auto accident right outside the gates to the base. American medical personnel responded and saved a number of lives. This was a good thing and we wanted to spread the word that we did good things for the country. So after a news release on the incident was translated into Spanish, my boss and I went into Comeyagua, the nearby town, to deliver the release to a number of the news outlets. The third drop point was a radio station near the center of town. When we arrived, my boss, an Army major, said he would be right out. So, I put the vehicle in neutral and waited. Standard operating procedure was to leave someone in the vehicle with the engine running and I was following that directive.
Five minutes passed and the major was still inside. At about ten minutes, I began to wonder what was going on. While I was trying to figure out the scenario, an Honduran walked up to the driver's side of the truck I was in and asked in a very unfriendly tone, if I needed help. I replied I didn't and that I was waiting for someone. The person then walked away from the truck towards the rear and I watched him go into a building about 100 feet away. Moments later, a different person came out of the doorway, paused a moment while he looked at me and took off down the street away from me. I made note of him and continued my vigil around the truck, making plans on what I would do should trouble break out before the major returned.
Less than five minutes later, I observed a pea-soup green Chevy Impala, probably early '70s, I don't remember now, pull up in front of the door and stop. Both front doors opened and the man who a short time earlier ran off in the direction the car came from, stepped out and went inside the building. The driver turned, faced my direction and stretched, then opened the back driver's side door and leaned in to do something. As he did that, the man who left the car moments earlier, along with the man who came to my truck earlier and third man came out of the building. One opened the rear passenger side door, while the other two climbed in the front and leaned over the seat to do something in the back seat area.
I now had a plan for a possible contingency and watched the quartet closely in my rear view mirror. As I watched, my stomach suddenly tightened. I saw the business end of an AK-47 pop up over the top of the front seat. Then it hit me what was going on. They were preparing their weapons they were going to use to attack me. A chill ran up and down my spine, my hands rubbed the cool, blue steel of the only protection I had, and I step on the clutch and slowly put the transmission into first gear. I had decided the moment I saw the first weapon come out, I would give the horn two quick blasts as I sped around a corner 20 feet in front of me. I would make the first left I saw then turn right at each of the first four right turns I came upon. I would then stop and wait. After a short time, if I didn't see the bad guys, I would return to the area of the square, hopefully pick up my boss and get the hell out of there.
Well, I didn't have to use my plan. Right around the time the group had finished what they were doing, and during what I assumed was the leader giving them the game plan for the attack, something happened that I will never forget. A bell rang and from a building on the other side of the street, behind the Chevy, a bunch of young, school aged Honduran children came running out, into the square.
The four guys behind me all jumped out to the street, straightened up and began looking around. Then they started arguing with each other until the original driver said something and the three others got in the car. The driver remained outside the car, staring at me and our eyes locked in the mirror. He stared for a few moments, then with his hand formed in the fashion of a pistol, he pointed it at me and pretended to shoot me. He pretended to blow the smoke out of the barrel, then got in the car and backed down the street a way, turned around and headed out of sight.
I was happy to see those kids. As a few of them walked past my truck on their way home, I reached into my pocket, grabbed all the money I had (Honduran limpiras, both paper and coin) and tossed it into the street and said, Gracias los niños! The children of course, picked it up, a couple tried to return it to me, but I waved it off and the kids for the most part hung nearby until my boss came out. He got in the truck, apologized for being so long and asked what was going on. I told him on the way to our last stop, which he wanted to skip. We then headed back to the safety of the base, where I was debriefed by intelligence.
My third confrontation with terrorists occurred in The Philippines a year and a half later. It was December 1990, and I had just picked up my Filipina girlfriend. We decided to get something to eat at a hotdog near her apartment before we headed out to do whatever it was we had planned to do. There wasn't a lot we could do, and few places we could go. Several months earlier, the New Peoples Army, or NPA, a group of murdering thugs, had walked up to two airmen just outside a hotel near the base and put a .45 round into the back of their heads. The assassinations forced the officials to declare almost all the local area, off-limits to Americans. A few weeks later, a small area known as "The Fish" was opened and declared secure by both the Air Force Security Police and the Philippine Army Police.
In December, the "fish" was still the only part of Angeles City most Americans could go...and outside of visiting strip bars filled with Filipina bar gals, there wasn't much to do in the "Fish."
The hotdog stand I was in, was right near the main gate to the base, on the other side of Field Avenue from the gate. It was recessed into the front of a building with the front wall completely open to the street. After we got our food, we went to back of the building and I sat with my back to the back wall where I could keep a close eye on the happenings in the street in front of me. I watched as American GIs walked by with their girlfriends, and Philippine military troops walked by. Then I watched three Philippino men walk by in leather coats.
I thought this was strange since even though it was 6:30 pm, the temperature was still about 80. But the three glanced inside the building and continued walking. A few minutes later, they came back. The first person walked across the street and stopped under a tree and leaned up against it. The other two stopped on either side of the building and leaned up against the wall. As I continued to talk to my girlfriend, I was watching the three out of the corner of my eye. I could tell the person across the street had a weapon under his jacket...the bulge wasn't obvious, but it was detectable. And I thought I could see bulges under the coats of the other two, but wasn't sure. So then my mind started going down the options list.
After watching dozens of GIs walk by the threesome and the three not even batting an eye their way, including very drunk airmen who would have been easy pickings for thieves, I decide they weren't criminals waiting for score. They had to have an agenda and most likely, I was that agenda. By an odd coincidence, I resembled my boss who was constantly on television announcing closures, openings and things of interest to all Americans at Clark AB. We knew from intelligence briefings, that my boss was on the hit list for the NPA. I could only assume the three surly looking Philippino guys waiting outside the hotdog stand, were in fact, NPA Sparrows (the name the group gave to their assassins) and they were waiting for me, thinking I was my boss, or they knew I worked in the same office and decided I was a target of opportunity. Either way, I knew I was in trouble if I left the building. And, as long as I was inside, they were content to wait. Again, I began forming a plan. When I finalized the idea, I told my girlfriend, as she was very important to it.
The plan was simple. I would go to the counter and get two more cokes. After sitting down, I would reach for my cigarettes (I was a smoker then) and crumple up the pack (there were several left in it) and ask her to go get me a pack of Camel Lights. I knew the cigarette stand next to where one of the thugs was waiting didn't have that brand and told my girlfriend to ask for them and when told they didn't have that brand, to ask where she could get them. She would then ask if Checkpoint would have them because everyone knew Checkpoint was the largest of all the street vendors. I explained to her when she got to Checkpoint, she was to go to the Philippine police and tell them about the three guys waiting outside the hotdog stand.
Then it was time to implement the plan. I got our drinks, tossed my not-really-empty-pack of cigarettes into a nearby trash can and asked my gal to go get me a pack. She did, and followed the plan. I drank my drink and waited and watched. The three looked at each other and a few moments later, I watched as the one near the tree snapped his head to his right, then say something and all three began running off down the street. A moment later, six Philippine Army troopers ran by in the same direction and behind them, my girlfriend with a big smile on her face. When she came over to me, I hugged her and said, "Let's get out of here." We walked over to the bus stop on base and waited for the bus. While we waited, I heard a series of gun shot off in the distance.
The next morning, I heard several possible NPA members had been shot and one or two wounded were captured. I smiled knowing I probably assisted in their demise.
Memories of those incidents came back to me as I sat and watched the events of 9/11. And as I watched, an intense hatred of terrorist grew in me.
That hatred is still there. To this day, I wish I was helping fight this global terror war the United States is involved in. But I can't. So my hatred grows. It will remain with me to the day I die. And so will the depression I feel everyday knowing I can't help my fellow fighting Americans fight that war.
Oh where, oh where have the blogs all gone?
Back in the early part of this year, I started this blog. I actually published two rants before I lost the bookmark and forgot just where it was that I started this blog. I know...my bad...and a really bad bad at that.
Enter this afternoon.
While conversing through a chat program with a friend back east, she sent me at link to her blog. I went to the blog and began seeing things that looked familiar. I looked at the upper right corner on the page of her blog and there was a sign in link...so I clicked it and using the same user name I use on almost all my sites, I typed the first letter and a drop down box containing the full name appeared. I clicked on that name and the password box was filled in along with the user name box.
Could it be, I began to wonder.
So I hit sign in and BANG! I was at my dashboard! I had found my long lost BLOG!
So, I loaded up the two posts I had already made and noticed not one single comment 8v( Did that mean no one missed my absence? I figure it does and since no one commented, no one will know I lost this blog...until now 8v)
However, now that I have found this place again, I'll start bloggin' here instead of my other blogs. Yeah...that's right...my other blogs. I have two other blogs. One is on (dare I say it?) Yahoo! 360 and the other on MySpace. I generally did up the blog on MySpace, copied it then pasted it to the Yahoo site. But I never got many comments on those blogs so I guess it don't matter much where I post my blog...the results will be the same.
Maybe.
I say maybe, because things have changed somewhat for me. I have new friends (yes, that's right...I do make friends even though I rant a lot) and they just might be interested in what I have to say. If not, no biggie...things will remain as they always have.
In any case, my rants will continue here from now on...and I'll copy/paste to the other two until such time I decide to trash them and do only one blog...which is probably the best way to go.
Oh...and if you're interested in what I blogged during my absence here, go to the following sites and read some great posts...at least I think they are great.
Yahoo! 360 (Update: I have since deleted my MySpace blog...so ignore any reference to it)
At both, you'll have to click on View Blog, or something like that. But I think you'll find some of them worth it.
So, until later when I do a real blog entry (which I was planning to do on the other site), happy reading or whatever.
Damn...it's good to be back.
Enter this afternoon.
While conversing through a chat program with a friend back east, she sent me at link to her blog. I went to the blog and began seeing things that looked familiar. I looked at the upper right corner on the page of her blog and there was a sign in link...so I clicked it and using the same user name I use on almost all my sites, I typed the first letter and a drop down box containing the full name appeared. I clicked on that name and the password box was filled in along with the user name box.
Could it be, I began to wonder.
So I hit sign in and BANG! I was at my dashboard! I had found my long lost BLOG!
So, I loaded up the two posts I had already made and noticed not one single comment 8v( Did that mean no one missed my absence? I figure it does and since no one commented, no one will know I lost this blog...until now 8v)
However, now that I have found this place again, I'll start bloggin' here instead of my other blogs. Yeah...that's right...my other blogs. I have two other blogs. One is on (dare I say it?) Yahoo! 360 and the other on MySpace. I generally did up the blog on MySpace, copied it then pasted it to the Yahoo site. But I never got many comments on those blogs so I guess it don't matter much where I post my blog...the results will be the same.
Maybe.
I say maybe, because things have changed somewhat for me. I have new friends (yes, that's right...I do make friends even though I rant a lot) and they just might be interested in what I have to say. If not, no biggie...things will remain as they always have.
In any case, my rants will continue here from now on...and I'll copy/paste to the other two until such time I decide to trash them and do only one blog...which is probably the best way to go.
Oh...and if you're interested in what I blogged during my absence here, go to the following sites and read some great posts...at least I think they are great.
Yahoo! 360 (Update: I have since deleted my MySpace blog...so ignore any reference to it)
At both, you'll have to click on View Blog, or something like that. But I think you'll find some of them worth it.
So, until later when I do a real blog entry (which I was planning to do on the other site), happy reading or whatever.
Damn...it's good to be back.
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