I am a man of many names. Yes, I have alternate identities.
There is my give name, then my nickname and my online name.
As for my given name, my parents gave it to me shortly after I was born. I guess most folks get named that way.
My nickname is Bear. It is something I picked up somewhere along the way during my adventures in life. However, it didn't start out being what it is now. My nickname has gone through a variety of changes until it finally settled down. During my military career, I was called The Mad Russian (a reference to what, I don't know), Ol' Yeller (a reference to a small, plastic, yellow coffee cup I used for a long time), Larry (a shortened version of my given name), Enzo (the Italian version of Larry) and finally, the early stages of my final nickname, Kodiak and Grizz (a reference to my rough, tough NCO attitude resembling that of a grizzly bear).
During my second assignment to Alaska, I didn't make a good impression on my bosses at first. Several errors on my part made them question my capabilities and after several changes in my job positions, I was finally placed in media relations where I handled almost all media queries regarding the base. It was in that position which I made a name for myself and was one of only two people on base authorized by a three-star general to talk to the media. I'll get into that in a future post.
During that assignment, I worked for the 21st Tactical Fighter Wing commander in the public affairs office. However, there was also the headquarters for the Alaskan Air Command on base and there was a public affairs office there also...and they were higher up the chain of command. In other words, my office was subordinate to them. The command office was run by a full colonel who had a good sense of humor. Shortly after the general told him I would be included in the short list of people able to speak for the Air Force at Elmendorf AFB, the colonel began calling me Kodiak. If you know my last name (Sobkoviak), it's not a far reach from the last six letters. He also developed a joke regarding the nickname.
First, let me explain something. In Alaska, there are Brown Bears...big mean Brown Bears. There are also bigger and meaner Kodiak Brown Bears...known as Kodiak Bears. Now for the joke. This colonel enjoyed telling the joke around me, and I didn't mind it, as it added to my reputation. It went like this:
Q. What's meaner than a Brown Bear?
A. A Sub-kodiak!
Well, the nickname Kodiak came about and it stuck....for a while.
Fast forward to Scott AFB, in Illinois three years later. Someone there had heard about my Alaska nickname and mentioned it to someone else. For some reason however, no one liked it, but a new one came about, which was actually a growth of Kodiak. Someone there began calling my Grizz, in reference to my rough demeanor similar to that of a Grizzly Bear.
Several years later, I was transfered to Clark AB, The Philippines. One of the first things I did there, was join an intramural softball team. When I did, I was asked what number I wanted and name I wanted on the back of my shirt. I picked the number 26 (for Billy Williams, my favorite Cubs ballplayer) and my then current nickname, Grizz. But the people at Clark didn't like calling me Grizz, so they started calling me Bear.
The name stuck and when someone asks me what they should call me, I said, "Bear." The nickname Bear for me was popular with everyone on base who knew me. Clark was my last assignment in the Air Force and was badly damaged in a volcanic eruption. During the aftermath of the eruption, everyone left on base (about 1,200 at first) carried multifunction radios around for communications. The radios were capable of clear air transmissions, private channel transmissions, scrambled transmissions, telephone calls, and a few other things I can't remember. When you needed to contact someone, you would say call-sign of the person you wanted to contact, then your call-sign on the clear air channel. Everyone could hear what was said on that transmission.
However, if you wanted to talk privately to the person, you would punch in a set of numbers for the person you were calling and talk away and no one would be able to hear the conversation. It was a rarely used capability as there were limited channels for private conversations, but the higher ranking officials often used the private channels to talk between members of their staff.
However, there were several times when I would get a private channel call from my boss regarding something I needed to do. Generally, he would punch in my code and say, "Bear?" into the mic and wait for my reply. Then there were several times when the vice commander needed to contact me and he would do the same thing, but follow-up with his call-sign. At first he would say my call-sign, then his. But then he began saying, "Bear...(his call-sign which I don't recall)." The first time he did it, it took me by surprise. But I got used to it. Then one day, the general in charge of the post-Pinatubo activities called me. "Bear...Gator here." I grabbed my brick (what we called the heavy, brick sized radios we carried around) and replied, "Bear here...go Gator." He asked me to track down my boss and have him contact his office immediately. I replied in the affirmative and that was that. I was the only person on the radio net who would be referred to by his nickname, rather than call-sign.
Today, people still call me Bear to my face. I have promoted a book about Clark AB in which I am prominently featured in the final 100 pages. The author of the book uses my Bear nickname in it and some of my friends have picked it up and now use it when calling me.
Finally, there is my online persona. If you're reading this post, you know the title of my blog. Ashrunner's Rants. I also have Ashrunner's Photo Safaris (my Flickr account) and all the forums I belong to, I am known as Ashrunner.
I developed that persona when I first started an online life many years ago. It was somewhere around 1993 or 1994 when I joined AOL. I had actually tried to use Ash Warrior as my nickname there, but for some reason (probably too many letters) it wouldn't take. After several moments of thought, I decided since I've had three volcanos dump ash on me, and once, was forced to flee the occurrence, that Ashrunner would be a good name to use. So I entered it, it was accepted and a legend was born.
For the most, I'll answer to any one of the names listed here. But if you see me in person, please call me Bear.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Thursday, March 27, 2008
It's Almost Time!!!
Ahhh...Spring....warmer weather (usually -- it snowed here last night)...the renewal of life for a not-so-world-famous nature photograher like me (see my not-so-world-famous nature photographs here). It's also the end of Spring Training!
March 31 is the beginning of the Chicago Cubs' regular season of baseball. It's also the beginning of the 100th year of the Cubs not being World Series Champions. That fact doesn't mean a lot to me. What does mean something to me, is that the Cubs have not appeared in a World Series game since I have been around and that's been going on 57 years!
Sure, I have seen the Cubs in the playoffs. I've seen the team play in the league championship series, but I haven't seen them progress further than that...and yes, I would like to...someday.
Every year, Cub fans the world over, dust off their blue or white jerseys, their blue ball caps with that red C in the front (no...it doesn't stand for the Cleveland Indians), their leather gloves, and head to homepage of the Cubs to see what's in store for the coming year.
But the true Cubs fan has been following what the team did over the winter, what has happened during spring training and for the past month or so, has been sitting around the bars of the establishments surrounding Wrigley Field making their predictions for the coming season, arguing with friends and blowing off remarks they consider stupid.
I almost wish I was there.
But I am in central Oregon and though there isn't a nearby major league team (Seattle is about the closest) and the sports announcers never talk about the Cubs, I still do what I can to follow my team.
Yes, the Cubs are my team. They have been for as long as I can remember. I have posted some of this in previous posts, possibly here and definitely on some of the other blogs I have used, but it's the CUBS! and it's soon Opening Day and I am going to repeat myself again 8v)
My earliest Cubs memory is one of me, my dad, my uncle and my grandfather going to a game at Wrigley Field against the St. Louis Cardinals. It may not have been my first game, but it is the first game which I retain somewhat of a memory. I recall getting my first look at that expanse of green as my father walked up the catwalk with me on his shoulders and I knew I loved baseball at that moment.
We took our seats down along the left field line, back up away from the wall and waited for the game to begin. I don't have much of a memory of that game as it was played, but I was hooked on baseball. Maybe it was the cheering crowds around me, but I knew I liked baseball and I liked the Cubs.
Over time, I went to many more games. I was at a game in the early '60s which was the last away game Stan Musial played for the St. Louis Cardinals. I was at a game against the Los Angeles Dodgers which Ken Holtzman lost a no-hitter in the top of the ninth with one out. He went on to pitch two no-hitters for the Cubs. I watched great players such as Willy Mays, Lou Brock, Maury Wills and many others play against the Cubs. And win or lose, I loved every minute of each game.
I spent time in the right field bleachers during the summer of 1969. The Cubs were headed to the World Series that year...until the New York Mets came to town. The Cubs dropped the series to them, dropped out of first place and the Mets went on to take it all. That was the year of the Miracle Mets. I went on to the join the U.S. Air Force a month after that season ended and I lost touch with a lot of what the Cubs were doing. Letters from home or friends would mention them during the season, newspapers where I was had the standings and I always knew where to find the Cubs...I only had to look near the bottom of the National League standings. But I still loved the Cubs.
One of the things I remember from the 1969 season was Jack Brickhouse. He started the "Die Hard Cubs Fan Club that year. Of course, he was the first member of the club. For a certain amount of money, your membership got you some Cubs items, a card declaring you to be a Die Hard Cubs Fan, with your membership number (mine was 11,000 something by the time I got around to joining the club). I proudly showed that card to every baseball fan I met until my wallet was lost and with it, my membership card. But I remained a Cubs fan...win or lose.
The one thing I didn't like about my military movements, was that they normally occurred in the off-season. Most of the time when I would go to Chicago on leave, baseball would still be in hibernation. Even when I was in Chicago during the regular season, the Cubs wouldn't be. It was almost like I was being punished for losing my membership card. But I did make a game in the late '80s against the St. Louis Cardinals. I was sitting along the right field line in the lower level with my brother, enjoying the game. I mentioned the right field line, as that was the side of the field most of the Cardinal fans sat. You see, the Cubs and Cards are rivals. So, when the Cubs play in St. Louis, a lot of blue invades Busch Stadium (or whatever it is called now) and when the Cards are in Chicago, a sea of red shows up and occupies the right field area.
The Cubs lost that game, but that's not what I remember most about the game. Sometime during the seventh inning, a Cardinal fan in the upper level, dropped down a Teddy Bear with a noose around it's neck. It dropped to about 10 feet above and in front of my brother and I. Around us, Cardinal fans were cheering...I was booing...and I was one of the few booing. How that person above us knew to drop that effigy in front of us was probably an accident, but it was a cool one.
That was the last Cubs home game I went to. Even when in 1995, I lived for a little under a month four blocks away from Wrigley Field...but the Cubs, of course, were on the road during most of that time, the days they were home, I was busy with the reason I was in Chicago.
I also remember the first time I watched the Cubs play not in Wrigley Field. It was around 1966 and the Cubs and White Sox every year, played a benefit game at Comiskey Park, the south side home of the Chicago White Sox. A friend of mine was going and his dad invited me to join them. So off we went. When we got there, we purchased bleacher tickets and made our way to the outfield seats. Before we got there, we were told by an Andy Frame Usher that the bleacher area was full and that they had roped off the warning track for fans to watch the game from. We were some of the first people to walk out of stadium and onto the playing field for the game.
We made our way over to the right field area and stood there right in the front of the crowds, against the ropes, waiting for the game to start. When it did, I was thrilled to see Billy Williams heading out to play right field. He was my favorite Cubs player and is still my all-time favorite Cubs. Several innings into the game, during a change of pitchers, Billy walked over to where we were. I had just gotten a Coke and was standing there when he came over and asked if he could have a drink. I handed him my cup, he lifted the lid and took a good drink, placed the lid back on it, and handed it back to with a thank you. Needless to say, I was beaming. My favorite player had just taken a drink of my Coke, while I stood on the warning track, watching professional ballplayers play the game. It was a great evening for a Cubs fans...even though the Cubs lost.
But that wasn't the only time I saw the Cubs play outside of Wrigley Field. I did see the Cubs play in Houston's Astrodome in 1985 when I was assigned to Kelly AFB, in San Antonio, Texas. I was almost thrown out of that game. My brother who lived in Dallas at the time, came down for a visit and we decided to drive to Houston for the game. Nolan Ryan was pitching for the Astros (the only time I saw him pitch), but he left in the fourth inning with a sore elbow. Anyway, we were sitting right at the wall along the left field line, about 30 feet from the left field wall. Around the middle part of the game, an Astro was at bat with a man on second. There was fly ball hit to the left field area down the line and Gary Matthews, the Cubs left fielder came running over. He didn't get to the ball in time and it hit in foul territory and bounced over the wall.
I said, "Nice try, Gary," and he started to reply, but suddenly stopped and looked at the umpire with a shocked look on his face. I turned and looked at the ump and he was signally a ground-rule double. I glared at the ump and at the same time yelled, "Are you nuts?" He came running over to me and we began a running argument which lasted a few seconds and ended with him saying, "Be careful...my ruling is law," and he sat down next to a ball boy there for the bullpen. He wasn't one of the base umps, but a line ump placed where he was due to the odd angle of the field there made it difficult for the third base ump to see well.
The two weren't far from us and I watched the ump lean over and then ask the ball boy if the ball was fair or foul. The ball boy, wearing an Astro's jersey top, said, "Yes...it was a foul ball." Hearing that, I yelled back at the ump, "You see? You blew it." Well, the inning then ended and the ump got up, walked over to where I was and we started the argument up again...a little less intense this time. In the end, the ump apologized and the game went on. And of course, the Cubs lost...all because of a ground-rule double that wasn't....not really, but the final was something like 4-0.
When I was stationed near St. Louis in the latter part of the '80s, a friend of mine and I twice attempted to go see the Cubs play in Busch Stadium. Both times, the Air Force had different plans for me and when the day came, I wasn't in town to go to the game.
Over the years here, I have followed the Cubs best as I could. I watched on TV, a stupid Cubs fans interfere with an foul ball out that cost the Cubs the league championship against the Florida Marlins. I watched on TV the Arizona Diamondbacks sweep the Cubs last year in the playoffs. And I will watch the Cubs, win or lose, as often as I can here.
Why? Because I really am a Die Hard Cubs Fan!
My only regret this season, is that during interleague play, they don't play the Cleveland Indians.
March 31 is the beginning of the Chicago Cubs' regular season of baseball. It's also the beginning of the 100th year of the Cubs not being World Series Champions. That fact doesn't mean a lot to me. What does mean something to me, is that the Cubs have not appeared in a World Series game since I have been around and that's been going on 57 years!
Sure, I have seen the Cubs in the playoffs. I've seen the team play in the league championship series, but I haven't seen them progress further than that...and yes, I would like to...someday.
Every year, Cub fans the world over, dust off their blue or white jerseys, their blue ball caps with that red C in the front (no...it doesn't stand for the Cleveland Indians), their leather gloves, and head to homepage of the Cubs to see what's in store for the coming year.
But the true Cubs fan has been following what the team did over the winter, what has happened during spring training and for the past month or so, has been sitting around the bars of the establishments surrounding Wrigley Field making their predictions for the coming season, arguing with friends and blowing off remarks they consider stupid.
I almost wish I was there.
But I am in central Oregon and though there isn't a nearby major league team (Seattle is about the closest) and the sports announcers never talk about the Cubs, I still do what I can to follow my team.
Yes, the Cubs are my team. They have been for as long as I can remember. I have posted some of this in previous posts, possibly here and definitely on some of the other blogs I have used, but it's the CUBS! and it's soon Opening Day and I am going to repeat myself again 8v)
My earliest Cubs memory is one of me, my dad, my uncle and my grandfather going to a game at Wrigley Field against the St. Louis Cardinals. It may not have been my first game, but it is the first game which I retain somewhat of a memory. I recall getting my first look at that expanse of green as my father walked up the catwalk with me on his shoulders and I knew I loved baseball at that moment.
We took our seats down along the left field line, back up away from the wall and waited for the game to begin. I don't have much of a memory of that game as it was played, but I was hooked on baseball. Maybe it was the cheering crowds around me, but I knew I liked baseball and I liked the Cubs.
Over time, I went to many more games. I was at a game in the early '60s which was the last away game Stan Musial played for the St. Louis Cardinals. I was at a game against the Los Angeles Dodgers which Ken Holtzman lost a no-hitter in the top of the ninth with one out. He went on to pitch two no-hitters for the Cubs. I watched great players such as Willy Mays, Lou Brock, Maury Wills and many others play against the Cubs. And win or lose, I loved every minute of each game.
I spent time in the right field bleachers during the summer of 1969. The Cubs were headed to the World Series that year...until the New York Mets came to town. The Cubs dropped the series to them, dropped out of first place and the Mets went on to take it all. That was the year of the Miracle Mets. I went on to the join the U.S. Air Force a month after that season ended and I lost touch with a lot of what the Cubs were doing. Letters from home or friends would mention them during the season, newspapers where I was had the standings and I always knew where to find the Cubs...I only had to look near the bottom of the National League standings. But I still loved the Cubs.
One of the things I remember from the 1969 season was Jack Brickhouse. He started the "Die Hard Cubs Fan Club that year. Of course, he was the first member of the club. For a certain amount of money, your membership got you some Cubs items, a card declaring you to be a Die Hard Cubs Fan, with your membership number (mine was 11,000 something by the time I got around to joining the club). I proudly showed that card to every baseball fan I met until my wallet was lost and with it, my membership card. But I remained a Cubs fan...win or lose.
The one thing I didn't like about my military movements, was that they normally occurred in the off-season. Most of the time when I would go to Chicago on leave, baseball would still be in hibernation. Even when I was in Chicago during the regular season, the Cubs wouldn't be. It was almost like I was being punished for losing my membership card. But I did make a game in the late '80s against the St. Louis Cardinals. I was sitting along the right field line in the lower level with my brother, enjoying the game. I mentioned the right field line, as that was the side of the field most of the Cardinal fans sat. You see, the Cubs and Cards are rivals. So, when the Cubs play in St. Louis, a lot of blue invades Busch Stadium (or whatever it is called now) and when the Cards are in Chicago, a sea of red shows up and occupies the right field area.
The Cubs lost that game, but that's not what I remember most about the game. Sometime during the seventh inning, a Cardinal fan in the upper level, dropped down a Teddy Bear with a noose around it's neck. It dropped to about 10 feet above and in front of my brother and I. Around us, Cardinal fans were cheering...I was booing...and I was one of the few booing. How that person above us knew to drop that effigy in front of us was probably an accident, but it was a cool one.
That was the last Cubs home game I went to. Even when in 1995, I lived for a little under a month four blocks away from Wrigley Field...but the Cubs, of course, were on the road during most of that time, the days they were home, I was busy with the reason I was in Chicago.
I also remember the first time I watched the Cubs play not in Wrigley Field. It was around 1966 and the Cubs and White Sox every year, played a benefit game at Comiskey Park, the south side home of the Chicago White Sox. A friend of mine was going and his dad invited me to join them. So off we went. When we got there, we purchased bleacher tickets and made our way to the outfield seats. Before we got there, we were told by an Andy Frame Usher that the bleacher area was full and that they had roped off the warning track for fans to watch the game from. We were some of the first people to walk out of stadium and onto the playing field for the game.
We made our way over to the right field area and stood there right in the front of the crowds, against the ropes, waiting for the game to start. When it did, I was thrilled to see Billy Williams heading out to play right field. He was my favorite Cubs player and is still my all-time favorite Cubs. Several innings into the game, during a change of pitchers, Billy walked over to where we were. I had just gotten a Coke and was standing there when he came over and asked if he could have a drink. I handed him my cup, he lifted the lid and took a good drink, placed the lid back on it, and handed it back to with a thank you. Needless to say, I was beaming. My favorite player had just taken a drink of my Coke, while I stood on the warning track, watching professional ballplayers play the game. It was a great evening for a Cubs fans...even though the Cubs lost.
But that wasn't the only time I saw the Cubs play outside of Wrigley Field. I did see the Cubs play in Houston's Astrodome in 1985 when I was assigned to Kelly AFB, in San Antonio, Texas. I was almost thrown out of that game. My brother who lived in Dallas at the time, came down for a visit and we decided to drive to Houston for the game. Nolan Ryan was pitching for the Astros (the only time I saw him pitch), but he left in the fourth inning with a sore elbow. Anyway, we were sitting right at the wall along the left field line, about 30 feet from the left field wall. Around the middle part of the game, an Astro was at bat with a man on second. There was fly ball hit to the left field area down the line and Gary Matthews, the Cubs left fielder came running over. He didn't get to the ball in time and it hit in foul territory and bounced over the wall.
I said, "Nice try, Gary," and he started to reply, but suddenly stopped and looked at the umpire with a shocked look on his face. I turned and looked at the ump and he was signally a ground-rule double. I glared at the ump and at the same time yelled, "Are you nuts?" He came running over to me and we began a running argument which lasted a few seconds and ended with him saying, "Be careful...my ruling is law," and he sat down next to a ball boy there for the bullpen. He wasn't one of the base umps, but a line ump placed where he was due to the odd angle of the field there made it difficult for the third base ump to see well.
The two weren't far from us and I watched the ump lean over and then ask the ball boy if the ball was fair or foul. The ball boy, wearing an Astro's jersey top, said, "Yes...it was a foul ball." Hearing that, I yelled back at the ump, "You see? You blew it." Well, the inning then ended and the ump got up, walked over to where I was and we started the argument up again...a little less intense this time. In the end, the ump apologized and the game went on. And of course, the Cubs lost...all because of a ground-rule double that wasn't....not really, but the final was something like 4-0.
When I was stationed near St. Louis in the latter part of the '80s, a friend of mine and I twice attempted to go see the Cubs play in Busch Stadium. Both times, the Air Force had different plans for me and when the day came, I wasn't in town to go to the game.
Over the years here, I have followed the Cubs best as I could. I watched on TV, a stupid Cubs fans interfere with an foul ball out that cost the Cubs the league championship against the Florida Marlins. I watched on TV the Arizona Diamondbacks sweep the Cubs last year in the playoffs. And I will watch the Cubs, win or lose, as often as I can here.
Why? Because I really am a Die Hard Cubs Fan!
My only regret this season, is that during interleague play, they don't play the Cleveland Indians.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Seeing is believing...or is it?
In my life, I have seen a lot of really cool things. Anytime I want, I can close my eyes and see each one of them as they happened...they were that memorable.
Take the day I was sitting on the edge of a cliff near Thule AB, Greenland with several friends. The view of the ice over Baffin Bay with Saunders Island in the distance was nice enough. But then someone pointed out a small, dark, moving dot on the ice to the south. All of us sat there, keeping an eye on the dot as it got larger and larger. It wasn't long before we realized we were watching an Inuit Eskimo on his dog sled heading home after a hunt. We watched him pass by in total silence. When he then became a small, dark, moving dot on the ice to the north, we left. No one said a word. It was an amazing sight.
Months later, I was down near the docks at Thule when a sound from North Star Bay (the small bay Thule was near) drew my attention. I looked up and at that moment, watched an iceberg roll over in the water. I continued to watch as waves of water moved out from around the berg and washed onto a nearby shore. Between the sound the rolling iceberg, it was an amazing sight.
A couple of years earlier, I was at Fairchild AFB, Washington. It was the day of the annual air show at the base, May 18, 1980. But I never saw the air show. No one did. That morning, Mt. St. Helens, a volcano 300 miles west of where I was, erupted. By the time I got to the show, there was a massive, black cloud of ash on the western horizon growing larger and larger. By 2 pm that formerly beautiful Saturday, it was pitch black outside. I watched it get darker and darker and watched as the sun turned blue in color. I watched as lightning in the colors of pink, green, orange, red and other colors, streaked through the dark sky. And I watched as gray flakes of ash fell around me. In the end, five inches of ash lay on the ground. It was an amazing sight.
Two years before that, I was stationed at Aviano AB, Italy. The base was located at the foot of the Dolomite Mountains, part of the Italian Alps. It was a great place to be stationed. One evening, after I had finished working on the base newspaper (my job was editor of the paper), I was returning from Pordenone, where the paper was printed, when I noticed a thunderstorm forming about midway up the mountains. After I had arrived at a bar I frequented, I went in and found my friends sitting in a booth near the door. I took a seat with them which had a good view out the window of the storm in the mountains. Now, if you know anything about me, you know I love a good storm. So I sat there and watched as lightning strikes flashed, and listened as the thunder echoed through the area. Then I saw something I had never seen before. I saw ball lightning. It wasn't little eight inch balls of glowing plasma or anything like that. It was lightning rolled into a ball. And it wasn't just one...it was three balls. They slowly fell from the sky looking like glowing spaghetti rolled into a loose ball. When the three objects landed, they bounced once or twice then sat on the ground. Because they landed almost on top of a nearby car, I could estimate their sizes. Two were maybe four feet in diameter, possibly three, and the third was twice their size. I was frozen to what I was seeing out the window. For maybe 10 seconds, the three balls sat on the ground, sparkling. I don't know any other way to describe it, but they crackled and sparkled, and suddenly, they exploded. The lights in the bar dimmed, the sound of massive thunder echoed through the land and the balls of lightning were gone. It was an amazing sight.
In October 1973, I was nearing the end of my first term of service in the US Air Force and was stationed at Kincheloe AFB, in the upper peninsula of Michigan. The base was situated in the middle of the northern woods not far from Interstate 75. On a particularly, windy day, I was outside with some friends. We were trying to toss a football around, when a sound was heard in the trees. At first, no one knew what the sound was. But our confusion was short-lived as suddenly, millions of brown, dry leaves, being pushed by the wind, came out of the trees and covered the open area we were standing in. The leaves were 12-18 inches deep and moving as fast as the wind, maybe 25 mph. The leaves flowed all around us and continued for a good 10 minutes. When I would look down at my feet, I would get dizzy looking at the movement of the leaves. I squatted down and put my hands in the path of the oncoming leaves and they would flow up my arms and over my shoulders and continue their journey to the other side of the open area. One of my friends said it looked like I was a lump of leaves in the middle of an ocean of leaves. And as quickly as the leaves arrived, they were gone, back into the trees on the other side. A look around the area we were in showed not a leaf to be seen. It was one of the most amazing sights I had ever experienced.
These are but a few of the wonders I have seen. I have been through earthquakes which did strange things, I was less than 10 miles away from one of the most powerful volcanic eruptions of the 20th Century, I have watched some of the most amazing meteor showers ever seen and I have seen animals do some of the strangest things.
Most of what I have seen is hard to believe. But they happened and they happened to me.
I am just soooo glad I was in the right place, at the right time, to see all the amazing things I have seen.
Take the day I was sitting on the edge of a cliff near Thule AB, Greenland with several friends. The view of the ice over Baffin Bay with Saunders Island in the distance was nice enough. But then someone pointed out a small, dark, moving dot on the ice to the south. All of us sat there, keeping an eye on the dot as it got larger and larger. It wasn't long before we realized we were watching an Inuit Eskimo on his dog sled heading home after a hunt. We watched him pass by in total silence. When he then became a small, dark, moving dot on the ice to the north, we left. No one said a word. It was an amazing sight.
Months later, I was down near the docks at Thule when a sound from North Star Bay (the small bay Thule was near) drew my attention. I looked up and at that moment, watched an iceberg roll over in the water. I continued to watch as waves of water moved out from around the berg and washed onto a nearby shore. Between the sound the rolling iceberg, it was an amazing sight.
A couple of years earlier, I was at Fairchild AFB, Washington. It was the day of the annual air show at the base, May 18, 1980. But I never saw the air show. No one did. That morning, Mt. St. Helens, a volcano 300 miles west of where I was, erupted. By the time I got to the show, there was a massive, black cloud of ash on the western horizon growing larger and larger. By 2 pm that formerly beautiful Saturday, it was pitch black outside. I watched it get darker and darker and watched as the sun turned blue in color. I watched as lightning in the colors of pink, green, orange, red and other colors, streaked through the dark sky. And I watched as gray flakes of ash fell around me. In the end, five inches of ash lay on the ground. It was an amazing sight.
Two years before that, I was stationed at Aviano AB, Italy. The base was located at the foot of the Dolomite Mountains, part of the Italian Alps. It was a great place to be stationed. One evening, after I had finished working on the base newspaper (my job was editor of the paper), I was returning from Pordenone, where the paper was printed, when I noticed a thunderstorm forming about midway up the mountains. After I had arrived at a bar I frequented, I went in and found my friends sitting in a booth near the door. I took a seat with them which had a good view out the window of the storm in the mountains. Now, if you know anything about me, you know I love a good storm. So I sat there and watched as lightning strikes flashed, and listened as the thunder echoed through the area. Then I saw something I had never seen before. I saw ball lightning. It wasn't little eight inch balls of glowing plasma or anything like that. It was lightning rolled into a ball. And it wasn't just one...it was three balls. They slowly fell from the sky looking like glowing spaghetti rolled into a loose ball. When the three objects landed, they bounced once or twice then sat on the ground. Because they landed almost on top of a nearby car, I could estimate their sizes. Two were maybe four feet in diameter, possibly three, and the third was twice their size. I was frozen to what I was seeing out the window. For maybe 10 seconds, the three balls sat on the ground, sparkling. I don't know any other way to describe it, but they crackled and sparkled, and suddenly, they exploded. The lights in the bar dimmed, the sound of massive thunder echoed through the land and the balls of lightning were gone. It was an amazing sight.
In October 1973, I was nearing the end of my first term of service in the US Air Force and was stationed at Kincheloe AFB, in the upper peninsula of Michigan. The base was situated in the middle of the northern woods not far from Interstate 75. On a particularly, windy day, I was outside with some friends. We were trying to toss a football around, when a sound was heard in the trees. At first, no one knew what the sound was. But our confusion was short-lived as suddenly, millions of brown, dry leaves, being pushed by the wind, came out of the trees and covered the open area we were standing in. The leaves were 12-18 inches deep and moving as fast as the wind, maybe 25 mph. The leaves flowed all around us and continued for a good 10 minutes. When I would look down at my feet, I would get dizzy looking at the movement of the leaves. I squatted down and put my hands in the path of the oncoming leaves and they would flow up my arms and over my shoulders and continue their journey to the other side of the open area. One of my friends said it looked like I was a lump of leaves in the middle of an ocean of leaves. And as quickly as the leaves arrived, they were gone, back into the trees on the other side. A look around the area we were in showed not a leaf to be seen. It was one of the most amazing sights I had ever experienced.
These are but a few of the wonders I have seen. I have been through earthquakes which did strange things, I was less than 10 miles away from one of the most powerful volcanic eruptions of the 20th Century, I have watched some of the most amazing meteor showers ever seen and I have seen animals do some of the strangest things.
Most of what I have seen is hard to believe. But they happened and they happened to me.
I am just soooo glad I was in the right place, at the right time, to see all the amazing things I have seen.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Where is the thrill?
If you have read my previous posts, you know I am a Cubs fan. I do like the Chicago Cubs. I went to my first ballgame in Wrigley Field so long ago, I don't remember when it was. But I remember seeing a lot of games there after that first one.
I remember going to Stan Musial's last away game before he retired. I remember seeing Maury Wills steal two bases in one at bat. I remember seeing Lou Brock play in his first game before he was traded. I remember watching Kenny Holtzman take a no-hitter into the ninth and watched as Maury Wills spoiled it with a single. I remember a lot of games Wrigley Field.
It's been a long time since I watched a game live at Wrigley. Twelve years ago, I spent six weeks in a brownstone only three blocks away from Wrigley. It was during the hottest summer Chicago ever had. Temperatures rose to 105 or more and with the humidity, felt like 125 or more. Coming from a desert climate, I could take the heat, but that humidity I couldn't. More than 500 people passed away during the heat spell.
One day when the Cubs were in town, I decided I would walk up to Wrigley, buy myself a ticket and watch a game. I never made it. I got halfway there and the heat and humidity had drained me. I stopped in at a bar I passed by and since they were showing the game, I ordered myself a Fosters, leaned back in booth I was sitting in and enjoyed not only the game, but the beautiful waitress taking care of the area I was sitting. The Cubs lost the game, but I didn't care. Cubs fans get over losses quickly. It's simple...there's always tomorrow in their mind.
Earlier this evening, I watched a movie called Fever Pitch. The male lead in the movie was an out-of-the-envelope Boston Red Sox fan. His apartment was wall-to-wall Red Sox. I've seen that before in other sports fans. They let anyone and everyone know who they root for. Walk into my place, and you'd wonder if I was a sports fan of anything. Hanging on my wall is a laminated poster a friend gave me back around 1988. It's an outrageous depiction of a Cubs game in Wrigley Field. Look closely and you'll see Dorothy and Toto...the Tinman and Scarecrow...Waldo...and many other characters. I'm sure the Cowardly Lion is in the crowd somewhere, but I haven't found him yet.
And on top of my desk you'll see a Jimmie Johnson pad of paper.
That's it. Two of the three sports I really enjoy...baseball and NASCAR racing. The third sport is air racing, especially the Red Bull World Series of Air Racing. I don't have a particular favorite pilot, but if I did, I think it would be Peter "The Hungarian" Besenyei.
What about other sports, you ask? There aren't any other sports in my mind. Everything else is a timed competition...football - 60 minutes; basketball - 48 minutes; ice hockey - 60 minutes...and other so-called sporting events. Baseball and racing...those are sports.
A baseball game can theoretically last forever. As long as the home team ties the game in the bottom of the inning, it goes on. It's a team sport where nine players do their best to overcome the capabilities of nine other players. There is no clock for the teams to watch, and use...just a scoreboard. And to top it all off, the offense is one person facing nine others with a wooden stick...so to speak. There could be as many as three more offensive players involved, but the main thrust is the one man in the box waiting for the pitch. The team will live or die by his actions. Now that's a sporting competition. The goal, of course, is to win the game.
Racing, though not really "timed," does have specific goal. That goal is to be the first person across the finish line at the end of a set amount of laps around the track. For the most part, the only time a clock comes in to play is when a driver goes to his (or her) pit for fueling or fixing bad parts. A clock is also used to check how fast a driver is going, but that information has very little to do with the actual race. Auto racing is another sport where one team does their best to overcome the capabilities of another team. A pit crew can win or lose for a driver just as easily as a driver can win or lose the race himself. It's the driver's skill in negotiating his vehicle around the track, combined with the pit crew's ability to quickly refuel, change tires and in some cases, make minor adjustments to the vehicle, that make a winner. And if either one is not at the top of their game, someone else will cross the finish line first.
Red Bull Air Racing also uses a clock. But it pits each pilot against each other using the clock as a means to determine the best. In previous years, eight pilots would qualify to fly the final day and each one would be put up against the seven other pilots. When all qualifying pilots have flown their final time around the course, the one with the best would be the winner. This year is a bit different. The pilots with the eight best qualifying times are in the final day of racing. Based on their times in their final qualifying run, they are seeded against each other. The fastest pilot is seeded against the eighth fastest, the second fastest against the seventh and so on. As each seeded race in finished, the pilot with the fastest time goes on to the next level. In the final race, it's the two pilots with the best times in their previous races against each other for the top spot on the podium. It's skill versus skill in the end.
I haven't been to the Reno Air Races, but I have seen the race on television. It's the pilot's ability for the most part which wins the race, but the people behind the scene who fix the aircraft, tune the engine, wax the surfaces and generally make sure the bird is ready to fly at it's peak performance have a lot to do with it also. There, heat races are held with a number of aircraft flying a circuit with the first to cross the finish line advancing and in the end, winning.
Those are real sports in my eyes. They get my blood pumping and my heart pounding. Not football or any of the other timed competitions. If one team gets ahead and the clock is close to the end, there is very little chance for the other team to win. Not like in baseball where the home team could go to their final inning on offense 12 runs behind the other team and still win the game.
Look at it this way...there are nine innings in each baseball game. Divide that into the 60 minutes of a football game and you get just over six and a half minutes. Take those minutes and divide it in half again and you get just under three and a half. This represents the time in football equal to one team's offensive action in baseball...or a half inning. In those roughly three and a half minutes, might be able to score a game tying or game winning touchdown...they might even be able to score two touchdowns to win the game. But it would be very difficult for them to score 12 times in those three or so minutes if they have to give the other team a chance after they score. The team which is ahead will always have the advantage in a timed event when the clock is close to the finish line.
Not so in baseball and not so in racing. It is skill and ability from beginning to end.
I know some will argue that those limitations were fixed with play clocks and the like, but those only make sure an offensive play is run quickly. Get to 23 seconds on the clock in a football and basically the game is over. The team ahead and with the ball only need "spike" the ball and everyone is walking on the field congratulating each other while the clock is clicking down the final seconds. Basketball games, some will argue, have been won "at the buzzer," but that only happens when the "winning" team works the clock in their favor to place them in the position to win the game if the buzzer beating shot goes through the hoop.
Don't get me wrong here...football players, basketball players, hockey players and all the other timed competition team members are great athletes. They have to be, to do what they do. But what they do just doesn't thrill me as much as the home team coming from 12 runs down in the bottom of the ninth to win the game, or a home team batter hitting a walk-off homerun in the bottom of the 22nd inning to win game. Nor does it thrill me as much as watching two drivers side-by-side heading towards the finish line and one of them winning by two thousandth of a second, or watching one pilot fly three hundredths of a second faster than another pilot over a closed course. Those are exciting.
Payton Manning tossing a "Hail Mary" pass in the final seconds of a football game in the hopes his team will win, just doesn't thrill me at all.
I remember going to Stan Musial's last away game before he retired. I remember seeing Maury Wills steal two bases in one at bat. I remember seeing Lou Brock play in his first game before he was traded. I remember watching Kenny Holtzman take a no-hitter into the ninth and watched as Maury Wills spoiled it with a single. I remember a lot of games Wrigley Field.
It's been a long time since I watched a game live at Wrigley. Twelve years ago, I spent six weeks in a brownstone only three blocks away from Wrigley. It was during the hottest summer Chicago ever had. Temperatures rose to 105 or more and with the humidity, felt like 125 or more. Coming from a desert climate, I could take the heat, but that humidity I couldn't. More than 500 people passed away during the heat spell.
One day when the Cubs were in town, I decided I would walk up to Wrigley, buy myself a ticket and watch a game. I never made it. I got halfway there and the heat and humidity had drained me. I stopped in at a bar I passed by and since they were showing the game, I ordered myself a Fosters, leaned back in booth I was sitting in and enjoyed not only the game, but the beautiful waitress taking care of the area I was sitting. The Cubs lost the game, but I didn't care. Cubs fans get over losses quickly. It's simple...there's always tomorrow in their mind.
Earlier this evening, I watched a movie called Fever Pitch. The male lead in the movie was an out-of-the-envelope Boston Red Sox fan. His apartment was wall-to-wall Red Sox. I've seen that before in other sports fans. They let anyone and everyone know who they root for. Walk into my place, and you'd wonder if I was a sports fan of anything. Hanging on my wall is a laminated poster a friend gave me back around 1988. It's an outrageous depiction of a Cubs game in Wrigley Field. Look closely and you'll see Dorothy and Toto...the Tinman and Scarecrow...Waldo...and many other characters. I'm sure the Cowardly Lion is in the crowd somewhere, but I haven't found him yet.
And on top of my desk you'll see a Jimmie Johnson pad of paper.
That's it. Two of the three sports I really enjoy...baseball and NASCAR racing. The third sport is air racing, especially the Red Bull World Series of Air Racing. I don't have a particular favorite pilot, but if I did, I think it would be Peter "The Hungarian" Besenyei.
What about other sports, you ask? There aren't any other sports in my mind. Everything else is a timed competition...football - 60 minutes; basketball - 48 minutes; ice hockey - 60 minutes...and other so-called sporting events. Baseball and racing...those are sports.
A baseball game can theoretically last forever. As long as the home team ties the game in the bottom of the inning, it goes on. It's a team sport where nine players do their best to overcome the capabilities of nine other players. There is no clock for the teams to watch, and use...just a scoreboard. And to top it all off, the offense is one person facing nine others with a wooden stick...so to speak. There could be as many as three more offensive players involved, but the main thrust is the one man in the box waiting for the pitch. The team will live or die by his actions. Now that's a sporting competition. The goal, of course, is to win the game.
Racing, though not really "timed," does have specific goal. That goal is to be the first person across the finish line at the end of a set amount of laps around the track. For the most part, the only time a clock comes in to play is when a driver goes to his (or her) pit for fueling or fixing bad parts. A clock is also used to check how fast a driver is going, but that information has very little to do with the actual race. Auto racing is another sport where one team does their best to overcome the capabilities of another team. A pit crew can win or lose for a driver just as easily as a driver can win or lose the race himself. It's the driver's skill in negotiating his vehicle around the track, combined with the pit crew's ability to quickly refuel, change tires and in some cases, make minor adjustments to the vehicle, that make a winner. And if either one is not at the top of their game, someone else will cross the finish line first.
Red Bull Air Racing also uses a clock. But it pits each pilot against each other using the clock as a means to determine the best. In previous years, eight pilots would qualify to fly the final day and each one would be put up against the seven other pilots. When all qualifying pilots have flown their final time around the course, the one with the best would be the winner. This year is a bit different. The pilots with the eight best qualifying times are in the final day of racing. Based on their times in their final qualifying run, they are seeded against each other. The fastest pilot is seeded against the eighth fastest, the second fastest against the seventh and so on. As each seeded race in finished, the pilot with the fastest time goes on to the next level. In the final race, it's the two pilots with the best times in their previous races against each other for the top spot on the podium. It's skill versus skill in the end.
I haven't been to the Reno Air Races, but I have seen the race on television. It's the pilot's ability for the most part which wins the race, but the people behind the scene who fix the aircraft, tune the engine, wax the surfaces and generally make sure the bird is ready to fly at it's peak performance have a lot to do with it also. There, heat races are held with a number of aircraft flying a circuit with the first to cross the finish line advancing and in the end, winning.
Those are real sports in my eyes. They get my blood pumping and my heart pounding. Not football or any of the other timed competitions. If one team gets ahead and the clock is close to the end, there is very little chance for the other team to win. Not like in baseball where the home team could go to their final inning on offense 12 runs behind the other team and still win the game.
Look at it this way...there are nine innings in each baseball game. Divide that into the 60 minutes of a football game and you get just over six and a half minutes. Take those minutes and divide it in half again and you get just under three and a half. This represents the time in football equal to one team's offensive action in baseball...or a half inning. In those roughly three and a half minutes, might be able to score a game tying or game winning touchdown...they might even be able to score two touchdowns to win the game. But it would be very difficult for them to score 12 times in those three or so minutes if they have to give the other team a chance after they score. The team which is ahead will always have the advantage in a timed event when the clock is close to the finish line.
Not so in baseball and not so in racing. It is skill and ability from beginning to end.
I know some will argue that those limitations were fixed with play clocks and the like, but those only make sure an offensive play is run quickly. Get to 23 seconds on the clock in a football and basically the game is over. The team ahead and with the ball only need "spike" the ball and everyone is walking on the field congratulating each other while the clock is clicking down the final seconds. Basketball games, some will argue, have been won "at the buzzer," but that only happens when the "winning" team works the clock in their favor to place them in the position to win the game if the buzzer beating shot goes through the hoop.
Don't get me wrong here...football players, basketball players, hockey players and all the other timed competition team members are great athletes. They have to be, to do what they do. But what they do just doesn't thrill me as much as the home team coming from 12 runs down in the bottom of the ninth to win the game, or a home team batter hitting a walk-off homerun in the bottom of the 22nd inning to win game. Nor does it thrill me as much as watching two drivers side-by-side heading towards the finish line and one of them winning by two thousandth of a second, or watching one pilot fly three hundredths of a second faster than another pilot over a closed course. Those are exciting.
Payton Manning tossing a "Hail Mary" pass in the final seconds of a football game in the hopes his team will win, just doesn't thrill me at all.
Friday, October 19, 2007
And Who Is That?
It has been a long time since I last added to this blog. For those wondering, it had nothing to do with the defeat of the Chicago Cubs by the Arizona Diamondbacks. Really...it didn't.
I spent most of the time between the Cubs defeat and now taking care of my sister's place and animals while they were in Europe. I don't like their keyboard, so I didn't do much typing there. But something came up in a conversation last night and I thought I would expand on it here.
I mentioned to an online friend that I had met a number of famous people during my military career. Most of the people I met were down-to-earth folk who just happened to make a lot more money than me, doing something I couldn't do. And some of them were arrogant idiots watching the clock, waiting for the moment they could leave and get on with their lives.
I may have met 12-15 people who would be easily recognized by the world. There may have been more, but this blog is about three particular people.
The first one who stands out in my mind is Bob Hope.
I met him in 1985 at Elmendorf AFB just outside of Anchorage, Alaska. Bob loved the play golf and he really liked the course at Elmendorf. During a stopover in the Anchorage area, he came to the base to play a round of golf. My boss at the time, tagged me with being his escort while on the base. I had no problem with the tasking and met Hope's party at the clubhouse for the course. As we walked out to the first tee box, a group of admiring fans had already gathered and were waiting for Bob to appear. There was a round of applause, which Mr. Hope acknowledged as he approached the tee.
I was leading the way through the crowd for him and when we got the tee, he and other three people in his group teed up and sent their first shots down the fairway. Bob had told them what to expect on the first hole, which I believe was a dog-leg to the right. When it was Bob's turn, he setup, went into his swing and let loose with a nice drive down the center of the fairway, placing the ball in perfect position for an approach to the green. He then turned to fans, did his "Ho-hum" routine, winked at me with a smile and headed towards his second shot, swinging his club in his hand as he walked the course.
His game was cut short after the third hole due to weather, but he seemed to enjoy the short game he had.
Prior to Bob Hope teeing off at the first hole, my boss pulled out his camera and took a shot of me and Mr. Hope. It's one of the few photos of me I really like, and having the late Bob Hope standing next to me makes it somewhat special to me.
See the photo of Bob Hope and me here.
The second person who comes to mind is Dean Paul Martin. He was the son of Dean Martin (if you don't know who he is, google him) and had joined the Air Force Reserves to become a pilot. After he received his commission, he was assigned to Undergraduate Pilot Training at Columbus AFB, Mississippi. I happened to have been stationed there in the Public Affairs Office at the time.
When he arrived for training, myself, my boss, the base commander and deputy wing commander got together with him to discuss how we would handle his time on base. Lt. Martin said he didn't want any preferential treatment (and he got none, graduating somewhere around the 70 percent group). I then asked him how he wanted to handle any publicity. His response was, "Do what you would normally do." Well, we wanted to publicize his training and he and I agreed that I would arrange photo sessions and interviews of him during milestone events of his training and that I would be the releasing authority for anything regarding him and the Air Force. His publicity people agreed, as long as they were provided with copies of all photos (released and non-released images) and news releases for each event.
So, as time progressed for Lt. Martin's training, I would get a phone call about an upcoming event, and when it happened, I would be there with notebook and photographer. One of the things which was previously agreed on, was no outside media coverage other than what I released, would happen with him. At the time, I was in good favor with the local media and had asked them to not ask for time with Lt. Martin unless I offered the time. They agreed and left him alone to concentrate on training.
On the day of his first solo flight in a jet aircraft, his girl friend at the time, arrived to watch. She was Dorothy Hamill, the gold medal winning figure skater from the 1976 Olympics. I had gone to the compulsory events in Innsbruck, Austria when I was stationed at Aviano AB, Italy and had seen Dorothy skate in those events. It was really cool to be able to meet her.
I arrived about 30 minutes before Lt. Martin was scheduled to take-off and he introduced me to Dorothy and I was able to chat with her for several minutes. The one thing I remember from that meeting was her legs. They were the most powerful looking appendages I had ever seen! Talking to her was great and she made me feel like a friend whom she had known for a long time. I was able to get some good shots and good quotes for a news release and things went back to normal for me until just before Lt. Martin's graduation.
He asked to meet with me prior to graduation regarding his family and friends who would be attending the ceremony. We also discussed holding a press conference before the ceremony, so the news media could have some live time with him. During that discussion, Lt. Martin mentioned to me that he had asked Dorothy to marry him and she had said yes. He wanted to know if he should say something about it during the press conference. I told him it was up to him and then he told me I was one of the first people outside of family and friends he had told. Well, the local media all showed up for the conference, they got answers to their questions and a couple of days later, it was graduation time.
On that day, our office was inundated with requests for photographers and video crews from all over to attend the ceremonies. After a request from Lt. Martin, no media were being invited to the ceremony and I was passing that on to each requester. It wasn't until the National Enquirer called and wanted to send out a photographer to get a photo, that things got weird. I told the editor (whose name I won't mention here) that I would be releasing photos of the graduation the following day and he said it wasn't good enough. He threatened to send a photographer anyway, because there was nothing I could do to stop him. At that point, I informed him if I caught anyone representing his paper on the base, I would have them arrested and detained. I also told him the base was a close area to civilians and any unauthorized people coming on base would be violation of federal laws. He didn't like that, and threatened to ruin my career and other strange things. When he finished with his rant, he hung up.
About 20 minutes later, I got a phone call from one of the photographers of a local newspaper asking if he could come on base to photograph Dean Paul Martin's graduation. I told him it was a close ceremony and he said, "Well, there goes $2,000." I asked him if he had been contacted by the National Inquirer and he said he had. I felt bad about telling him no and him loosing out on $2,000, but I also felt good about the fact that this person had an open pass to the base (several of the local media had passes which allowed them access to the base without me being required to escort them) and still asked me and honored my request not to photograph the ceremony.
Several years later, I was saddened by the news that Lt. Martin and another person had died in an aircraft accident.
Then there was Billy Joel.
The entertainer's arrival at Clark AB was a surprise to my office. It was probably a surprise to a lot of people, but the office I worked in was one of the few offices which needed to know things like famous people coming to the base. One reason for that was, the Public Affairs Office (PA) was the only office authorized to setup tours of the base and a few other things.
Well, all the offices on Clark knew that. And the fact that the PA shop was assigned under a higher headquarters on base than any other wing office (we were assigned to a numbered Air Force...13th Air Force to be exact) made some of the other offices a little jealous, I think. But that morning at the wing staff meeting, the Morale, Welfare and Recreation officer stood up and announced that Billy Joel would be arriving on base within the hour. He also announced that Joel would give a USO sponsored concert for all the base people that evening and in the meantime, he would be provided a tour of the base. This was news to my boss and a heated exchange ensued between my boss and the MWR representatives.
When the wing staff meeting completed, my boss came back and headed directly to my office. "Bear...Billy Joel is arriving on base in 35 minutes. Meet up with the party at the MAC terminal and represent PA during the tour Wing has setup. If they have any problems, fix 'em." And he was gone. I grabbed my gear, took a taxi to the terminal and told the waiting party I was the PA rep for the tour. I got a few sneers from some of the base officials waiting for the arrival. But my job was, my job, and I was going to do it.
When Billy Joel arrived, I did what I normally do, I stood in the background and made sure nothing out of the ordinary was going to happen, and waiting for the fire to put out (which never came). The group went to a variety of workshops around the flightline and then headed to the local AFRTS station (the on-base Armed Forces Radio and Television Service station). While the group toured the station and Billy Joel was interviewed by one of the television reporters, I had gone into the wire service room to check what was going on in the world. You see, the date was January 16, 1991, the day before the start of Gulf War I. As I looked over the wire reports, one caught my eye. It talked about the assassination of body guards of Yassir Arafat. I quickly read it, then stuffed it in my pocket to give to my boss later.
When Billy Joel finished his interview, it was off to the dining hall for lunch. After giving him time to talk to some of the folks working in the dining hall, food was served and I sat down with members of the Joel party (Billy was with the brass of course, along with his manager and some of the band members). We talked about what was going on in Kuwait and all during the meal and at one point, I mentioned what I read in the news release. As soon as he heard what I said, a Joel party member called to Billy and motioned for him to come to our table. When he arrived, the guy told me to show Billy the news report. I did, and he quietly read it, then looked at me and asked, "What do you think this means?" For the next 15 minutes we discussed the report and then it was time to go elsewhere.
Since the group had to have time to setup their gear for the concert, the final place to visit was set for right after lunch. The wing operations people had arranged for two of the base aircraft to be available for Billy Joel and his group to get a close look at. They were F-4E and F-4G Phantom II fighters. Earlier, I had contacted my boss and asked him if he could rush through an orientation flight request. He tried, but was unsuccessful due to the time differences and red tape we had to go through to arrange one. When Joel climbed into the cockpit of the E model F-4, I climbed the ladder on the other side and the first thing he asked me was, "Can I get a ride?" I apologized to him that I was unable to arrange it in such short notice, and stared at the man who kept Billy Joel's arrival a secret to my office while I said it. That captain got my point.
The party then went to the departure end of the runway to watch aircraft take off. Clark AB at the time, was hosting a Cope Thunder exercise. The exercise was designed to give pilots a realistic training environment for an armed conflict. We had a bombing range with "smokey SAM" which imitated surface-to-air missiles, and an area where mock dogfights using hi-tech gear to determine the victor was used. The exercise participants were broken into Red and Blue forces with missions for each force.
When the two vans carrying the Joel party stopped, the only person to get out of the lead van was Billy Joel himself. I was in the other van and decided I would get out and answer any questions he had. There we were, the two of us standing 30 feet away from F-16s (exercise participants from other bases) taking off for their missions. Each aircraft taking off was part of a ground strike package as evident by the 25 and 50 pound practice bombs on the wings. As each pilot pulled up to take-off position, they would each turn, look our way, and salute. Billy Joel returned each salute, though I am not sure the pilots were saluting him (which is most likely) or saluting the staff vehicle we were standing next to. Either way, Billy Joel watched a half dozen or so aircraft depart. Then, during a quiet moment (quieter than they had been), he turned to me and over the noise of the active runway pointed to an aircraft taxiing up and said, "Sarge...this is why we are going to kick Saddam's ASS!" He emphasized the last word. We looked each other straight in the eye and we both smiled. And then, with a short beep of the horn of the lead vehicle, he got in his van and I got in mine.
Back at the stadium where the group was let out to finalize setup, Billy Joel walked over to me, shook my hand and thanked me. He then asked if I was going to the concert. I told him I wouldn't miss it for anything.
That evening, I listened to Billy Joel's Storm Front concert, courtesy of the USO, knowing war was around the corner.
The next morning, Joel and his group departed for Subic Bay Naval Station about 50 miles from Clark. He was giving his concert there when the first aircraft took off in Saudi Arabia for targets in Iraq.
Those are my most memorable meetings with the famous folks. Most of those meetings were in an official capacity due to my job in the Air Force. Good or bad, they were all something to remember.
I spent most of the time between the Cubs defeat and now taking care of my sister's place and animals while they were in Europe. I don't like their keyboard, so I didn't do much typing there. But something came up in a conversation last night and I thought I would expand on it here.
I mentioned to an online friend that I had met a number of famous people during my military career. Most of the people I met were down-to-earth folk who just happened to make a lot more money than me, doing something I couldn't do. And some of them were arrogant idiots watching the clock, waiting for the moment they could leave and get on with their lives.
I may have met 12-15 people who would be easily recognized by the world. There may have been more, but this blog is about three particular people.
The first one who stands out in my mind is Bob Hope.
I met him in 1985 at Elmendorf AFB just outside of Anchorage, Alaska. Bob loved the play golf and he really liked the course at Elmendorf. During a stopover in the Anchorage area, he came to the base to play a round of golf. My boss at the time, tagged me with being his escort while on the base. I had no problem with the tasking and met Hope's party at the clubhouse for the course. As we walked out to the first tee box, a group of admiring fans had already gathered and were waiting for Bob to appear. There was a round of applause, which Mr. Hope acknowledged as he approached the tee.
I was leading the way through the crowd for him and when we got the tee, he and other three people in his group teed up and sent their first shots down the fairway. Bob had told them what to expect on the first hole, which I believe was a dog-leg to the right. When it was Bob's turn, he setup, went into his swing and let loose with a nice drive down the center of the fairway, placing the ball in perfect position for an approach to the green. He then turned to fans, did his "Ho-hum" routine, winked at me with a smile and headed towards his second shot, swinging his club in his hand as he walked the course.
His game was cut short after the third hole due to weather, but he seemed to enjoy the short game he had.
Prior to Bob Hope teeing off at the first hole, my boss pulled out his camera and took a shot of me and Mr. Hope. It's one of the few photos of me I really like, and having the late Bob Hope standing next to me makes it somewhat special to me.
See the photo of Bob Hope and me here.
The second person who comes to mind is Dean Paul Martin. He was the son of Dean Martin (if you don't know who he is, google him) and had joined the Air Force Reserves to become a pilot. After he received his commission, he was assigned to Undergraduate Pilot Training at Columbus AFB, Mississippi. I happened to have been stationed there in the Public Affairs Office at the time.
When he arrived for training, myself, my boss, the base commander and deputy wing commander got together with him to discuss how we would handle his time on base. Lt. Martin said he didn't want any preferential treatment (and he got none, graduating somewhere around the 70 percent group). I then asked him how he wanted to handle any publicity. His response was, "Do what you would normally do." Well, we wanted to publicize his training and he and I agreed that I would arrange photo sessions and interviews of him during milestone events of his training and that I would be the releasing authority for anything regarding him and the Air Force. His publicity people agreed, as long as they were provided with copies of all photos (released and non-released images) and news releases for each event.
So, as time progressed for Lt. Martin's training, I would get a phone call about an upcoming event, and when it happened, I would be there with notebook and photographer. One of the things which was previously agreed on, was no outside media coverage other than what I released, would happen with him. At the time, I was in good favor with the local media and had asked them to not ask for time with Lt. Martin unless I offered the time. They agreed and left him alone to concentrate on training.
On the day of his first solo flight in a jet aircraft, his girl friend at the time, arrived to watch. She was Dorothy Hamill, the gold medal winning figure skater from the 1976 Olympics. I had gone to the compulsory events in Innsbruck, Austria when I was stationed at Aviano AB, Italy and had seen Dorothy skate in those events. It was really cool to be able to meet her.
I arrived about 30 minutes before Lt. Martin was scheduled to take-off and he introduced me to Dorothy and I was able to chat with her for several minutes. The one thing I remember from that meeting was her legs. They were the most powerful looking appendages I had ever seen! Talking to her was great and she made me feel like a friend whom she had known for a long time. I was able to get some good shots and good quotes for a news release and things went back to normal for me until just before Lt. Martin's graduation.
He asked to meet with me prior to graduation regarding his family and friends who would be attending the ceremony. We also discussed holding a press conference before the ceremony, so the news media could have some live time with him. During that discussion, Lt. Martin mentioned to me that he had asked Dorothy to marry him and she had said yes. He wanted to know if he should say something about it during the press conference. I told him it was up to him and then he told me I was one of the first people outside of family and friends he had told. Well, the local media all showed up for the conference, they got answers to their questions and a couple of days later, it was graduation time.
On that day, our office was inundated with requests for photographers and video crews from all over to attend the ceremonies. After a request from Lt. Martin, no media were being invited to the ceremony and I was passing that on to each requester. It wasn't until the National Enquirer called and wanted to send out a photographer to get a photo, that things got weird. I told the editor (whose name I won't mention here) that I would be releasing photos of the graduation the following day and he said it wasn't good enough. He threatened to send a photographer anyway, because there was nothing I could do to stop him. At that point, I informed him if I caught anyone representing his paper on the base, I would have them arrested and detained. I also told him the base was a close area to civilians and any unauthorized people coming on base would be violation of federal laws. He didn't like that, and threatened to ruin my career and other strange things. When he finished with his rant, he hung up.
About 20 minutes later, I got a phone call from one of the photographers of a local newspaper asking if he could come on base to photograph Dean Paul Martin's graduation. I told him it was a close ceremony and he said, "Well, there goes $2,000." I asked him if he had been contacted by the National Inquirer and he said he had. I felt bad about telling him no and him loosing out on $2,000, but I also felt good about the fact that this person had an open pass to the base (several of the local media had passes which allowed them access to the base without me being required to escort them) and still asked me and honored my request not to photograph the ceremony.
Several years later, I was saddened by the news that Lt. Martin and another person had died in an aircraft accident.
Then there was Billy Joel.
The entertainer's arrival at Clark AB was a surprise to my office. It was probably a surprise to a lot of people, but the office I worked in was one of the few offices which needed to know things like famous people coming to the base. One reason for that was, the Public Affairs Office (PA) was the only office authorized to setup tours of the base and a few other things.
Well, all the offices on Clark knew that. And the fact that the PA shop was assigned under a higher headquarters on base than any other wing office (we were assigned to a numbered Air Force...13th Air Force to be exact) made some of the other offices a little jealous, I think. But that morning at the wing staff meeting, the Morale, Welfare and Recreation officer stood up and announced that Billy Joel would be arriving on base within the hour. He also announced that Joel would give a USO sponsored concert for all the base people that evening and in the meantime, he would be provided a tour of the base. This was news to my boss and a heated exchange ensued between my boss and the MWR representatives.
When the wing staff meeting completed, my boss came back and headed directly to my office. "Bear...Billy Joel is arriving on base in 35 minutes. Meet up with the party at the MAC terminal and represent PA during the tour Wing has setup. If they have any problems, fix 'em." And he was gone. I grabbed my gear, took a taxi to the terminal and told the waiting party I was the PA rep for the tour. I got a few sneers from some of the base officials waiting for the arrival. But my job was, my job, and I was going to do it.
When Billy Joel arrived, I did what I normally do, I stood in the background and made sure nothing out of the ordinary was going to happen, and waiting for the fire to put out (which never came). The group went to a variety of workshops around the flightline and then headed to the local AFRTS station (the on-base Armed Forces Radio and Television Service station). While the group toured the station and Billy Joel was interviewed by one of the television reporters, I had gone into the wire service room to check what was going on in the world. You see, the date was January 16, 1991, the day before the start of Gulf War I. As I looked over the wire reports, one caught my eye. It talked about the assassination of body guards of Yassir Arafat. I quickly read it, then stuffed it in my pocket to give to my boss later.
When Billy Joel finished his interview, it was off to the dining hall for lunch. After giving him time to talk to some of the folks working in the dining hall, food was served and I sat down with members of the Joel party (Billy was with the brass of course, along with his manager and some of the band members). We talked about what was going on in Kuwait and all during the meal and at one point, I mentioned what I read in the news release. As soon as he heard what I said, a Joel party member called to Billy and motioned for him to come to our table. When he arrived, the guy told me to show Billy the news report. I did, and he quietly read it, then looked at me and asked, "What do you think this means?" For the next 15 minutes we discussed the report and then it was time to go elsewhere.
Since the group had to have time to setup their gear for the concert, the final place to visit was set for right after lunch. The wing operations people had arranged for two of the base aircraft to be available for Billy Joel and his group to get a close look at. They were F-4E and F-4G Phantom II fighters. Earlier, I had contacted my boss and asked him if he could rush through an orientation flight request. He tried, but was unsuccessful due to the time differences and red tape we had to go through to arrange one. When Joel climbed into the cockpit of the E model F-4, I climbed the ladder on the other side and the first thing he asked me was, "Can I get a ride?" I apologized to him that I was unable to arrange it in such short notice, and stared at the man who kept Billy Joel's arrival a secret to my office while I said it. That captain got my point.
The party then went to the departure end of the runway to watch aircraft take off. Clark AB at the time, was hosting a Cope Thunder exercise. The exercise was designed to give pilots a realistic training environment for an armed conflict. We had a bombing range with "smokey SAM" which imitated surface-to-air missiles, and an area where mock dogfights using hi-tech gear to determine the victor was used. The exercise participants were broken into Red and Blue forces with missions for each force.
When the two vans carrying the Joel party stopped, the only person to get out of the lead van was Billy Joel himself. I was in the other van and decided I would get out and answer any questions he had. There we were, the two of us standing 30 feet away from F-16s (exercise participants from other bases) taking off for their missions. Each aircraft taking off was part of a ground strike package as evident by the 25 and 50 pound practice bombs on the wings. As each pilot pulled up to take-off position, they would each turn, look our way, and salute. Billy Joel returned each salute, though I am not sure the pilots were saluting him (which is most likely) or saluting the staff vehicle we were standing next to. Either way, Billy Joel watched a half dozen or so aircraft depart. Then, during a quiet moment (quieter than they had been), he turned to me and over the noise of the active runway pointed to an aircraft taxiing up and said, "Sarge...this is why we are going to kick Saddam's ASS!" He emphasized the last word. We looked each other straight in the eye and we both smiled. And then, with a short beep of the horn of the lead vehicle, he got in his van and I got in mine.
Back at the stadium where the group was let out to finalize setup, Billy Joel walked over to me, shook my hand and thanked me. He then asked if I was going to the concert. I told him I wouldn't miss it for anything.
That evening, I listened to Billy Joel's Storm Front concert, courtesy of the USO, knowing war was around the corner.
The next morning, Joel and his group departed for Subic Bay Naval Station about 50 miles from Clark. He was giving his concert there when the first aircraft took off in Saudi Arabia for targets in Iraq.
Those are my most memorable meetings with the famous folks. Most of those meetings were in an official capacity due to my job in the Air Force. Good or bad, they were all something to remember.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Red Moon Risen?
Fifty years ago, the world woke to something they hadn't seen before.
It was the first artificial satellite orbiting the globe.
Yes, it was a Soviet achievement, and yes, it struck fear in a lot of people, but it was in reality, the beginning of a lot of Soviet space firsts in what would later become known as the Space Race. But that isn't what I want to talk about.
I remember going out in my backyard in a then, unincorporated area just south of Chicago, and watching Sputnik 1 pass overhead. To this day, I recall the look of that lighted object as it grew bright, then fade a bit, only to grow bright again, as it passed by. But I was too young to understand the effect it had on everyone.
I didn't understand it at all. But it did light a fire in me regarding space. I remember wanting to get a ride in that Sputnik. But I didn't know the object wasn't even two feet in diameter (23 inches to be exact). All I knew is that it was way, way up there.
Months later, I remember watching the US attempt to put a satellite in space. It blew up and I knew I would never get a ride in that satellite. But it still instilled in me, a desire to learn about space, about the stars, the planets, the sun, the moon and everything else "up there." That desire soon developed into a passion for astronomy. I even had an astronomer I considered my hero...Clyde Tombaugh. He discovered Pluto, and I don't care what that idiot at the Hayden Planetarium in New York thinks, Pluto is STILL a planet to me. Tombaugh must be rolling over in his grave knowing what his peers of today have done to his discovery.
After that failed US attempt to put a satellite in orbit, I thought of nothing else but space. My desire to learn other things, such as the basic subjects folks learn in school, suffered. But if you had a question about space, I had an answer...right or wrong, I had an answer.
Today, I still have a passion for space...I still want to ride one of those orbiting objects, and I still enjoy watching the night sky for moving objects, be they meteors, satellite, space stations or the occasional unidentified object. Sputnik instilled this passion in me.
Yesterday, I watched an interview with an author of a book called "Red Moon Rising." I haven't read the book, but the author didn't do a good job of selling his book to me and making me want to read it. According to him in this interview, Sputnik was directly responsible for our space program, directly responsible for cable, directly responsible for the internet, directly responsible for a lot of things. All I have to say about that is this: BULL HOCKEY PUCK!
We were working on our own satellite at the time Sputnik reached the heavens. All Sputnik did, was make us realize we weren't going to be first. It was almost four months later when Explorer 1 entered orbit. It was the United States' first artificial satellite. It was something we had been working on for years. Sputnik 1 was not directly responsible for it. The US didn't wake up the morning of Oct. 4, 1957 and look up at Sputnik and collectively say, "Wait a minute! The Soviets put an object in orbit? We need to get an object in orbit also! Pete...you design a satellite, Tom...you figure out something to put inside it. Dave, you and Dan design a rocket to send it up there. Arthur...you and I will look for somewhere to launch it from. Okay people...let's DO THIS THING!!"
No...the people in the US working on their free world's version of an artificial moon, probably looked at each other with saddened eyes, waited for the butterflies in stomach to stop fluttering around, and said, "We can still do this thing, people." And back to work they went, knowing they were to place second.
Everything which has been accomplished since Sputnik 1 was launched into orbit, was something which came about because of man's desire to explore. Sputnik might have lit a fire under some people to finish things they were working on, or inspire a young person to get into the aerospace industry. But had the US been the first to launch a satellite into orbit, I believe today's world would still be what it is today.
To say everything which has been invented, which has made life easier, or better, for everyone, which helps folks relax after a long, hard day, is directly linked to Sputnik, is in my opinion, doing an absolute disservice to the men and women who had an idea, worked on it, and watched it develop into what it is today.
Our lifestyle today is a direct result of what those people did...not some hunk of Soviet metal that orbited the Earth, sending out a beep-beep signal for 22 days, only to disintegrate while reentering the atmosphere three months after launch.
I don't want to take anything away from the Soviet scientists and engineers of the time. It was a great accomplishment and one they can be proud of. And although it put the fear of nuclear annihilation from space into the minds of a lot of people in the Western world, it didn't give the world something to replace their telephones, nor something to allow a person to carry a calculator in his pocket, nor something to make postage stamps obsolete. It gave back absolutely nothing.
Sputnik 1 was first out of the gate for the Space Race...that is all.
It was the first artificial satellite orbiting the globe.
Yes, it was a Soviet achievement, and yes, it struck fear in a lot of people, but it was in reality, the beginning of a lot of Soviet space firsts in what would later become known as the Space Race. But that isn't what I want to talk about.
I remember going out in my backyard in a then, unincorporated area just south of Chicago, and watching Sputnik 1 pass overhead. To this day, I recall the look of that lighted object as it grew bright, then fade a bit, only to grow bright again, as it passed by. But I was too young to understand the effect it had on everyone.
I didn't understand it at all. But it did light a fire in me regarding space. I remember wanting to get a ride in that Sputnik. But I didn't know the object wasn't even two feet in diameter (23 inches to be exact). All I knew is that it was way, way up there.
Months later, I remember watching the US attempt to put a satellite in space. It blew up and I knew I would never get a ride in that satellite. But it still instilled in me, a desire to learn about space, about the stars, the planets, the sun, the moon and everything else "up there." That desire soon developed into a passion for astronomy. I even had an astronomer I considered my hero...Clyde Tombaugh. He discovered Pluto, and I don't care what that idiot at the Hayden Planetarium in New York thinks, Pluto is STILL a planet to me. Tombaugh must be rolling over in his grave knowing what his peers of today have done to his discovery.
After that failed US attempt to put a satellite in orbit, I thought of nothing else but space. My desire to learn other things, such as the basic subjects folks learn in school, suffered. But if you had a question about space, I had an answer...right or wrong, I had an answer.
Today, I still have a passion for space...I still want to ride one of those orbiting objects, and I still enjoy watching the night sky for moving objects, be they meteors, satellite, space stations or the occasional unidentified object. Sputnik instilled this passion in me.
Yesterday, I watched an interview with an author of a book called "Red Moon Rising." I haven't read the book, but the author didn't do a good job of selling his book to me and making me want to read it. According to him in this interview, Sputnik was directly responsible for our space program, directly responsible for cable, directly responsible for the internet, directly responsible for a lot of things. All I have to say about that is this: BULL HOCKEY PUCK!
We were working on our own satellite at the time Sputnik reached the heavens. All Sputnik did, was make us realize we weren't going to be first. It was almost four months later when Explorer 1 entered orbit. It was the United States' first artificial satellite. It was something we had been working on for years. Sputnik 1 was not directly responsible for it. The US didn't wake up the morning of Oct. 4, 1957 and look up at Sputnik and collectively say, "Wait a minute! The Soviets put an object in orbit? We need to get an object in orbit also! Pete...you design a satellite, Tom...you figure out something to put inside it. Dave, you and Dan design a rocket to send it up there. Arthur...you and I will look for somewhere to launch it from. Okay people...let's DO THIS THING!!"
No...the people in the US working on their free world's version of an artificial moon, probably looked at each other with saddened eyes, waited for the butterflies in stomach to stop fluttering around, and said, "We can still do this thing, people." And back to work they went, knowing they were to place second.
Everything which has been accomplished since Sputnik 1 was launched into orbit, was something which came about because of man's desire to explore. Sputnik might have lit a fire under some people to finish things they were working on, or inspire a young person to get into the aerospace industry. But had the US been the first to launch a satellite into orbit, I believe today's world would still be what it is today.
To say everything which has been invented, which has made life easier, or better, for everyone, which helps folks relax after a long, hard day, is directly linked to Sputnik, is in my opinion, doing an absolute disservice to the men and women who had an idea, worked on it, and watched it develop into what it is today.
Our lifestyle today is a direct result of what those people did...not some hunk of Soviet metal that orbited the Earth, sending out a beep-beep signal for 22 days, only to disintegrate while reentering the atmosphere three months after launch.
I don't want to take anything away from the Soviet scientists and engineers of the time. It was a great accomplishment and one they can be proud of. And although it put the fear of nuclear annihilation from space into the minds of a lot of people in the Western world, it didn't give the world something to replace their telephones, nor something to allow a person to carry a calculator in his pocket, nor something to make postage stamps obsolete. It gave back absolutely nothing.
Sputnik 1 was first out of the gate for the Space Race...that is all.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Life's a Handful...
I am typing this blog with an injured hand. You see, I did a very dumb thing early this morning...well, actually a couple of really dumb things.
First, I put my spare batteries on the charger so they would have a full charge when I went out on a photo safari today. Second, I let the dog out (which I have always done in the morning), but did so before he had a chance to eat (which is inside the house). It wasn't intentional, it just happened. I fed the horses and the cat and the dog, but Rosco (the dog) was so glad to see me this morning, he followed me on every step I took and when I went out to feed the horses, he naturally followed me outside.
Well, when I finished the outside chores, I came back in to gather my things and got ready to go on my safari. And even though Rosco wanted to follow me into the house, I told him to stay outside. When I was ready, I climbed into the rig, backed out of the garage and headed off.
I went eastward at first, to see if any Rough-legged Hawks were around to photograph. And although I saw a couple they were too far away to get any good shots. Since I was close to Prineville (somewhere I used to live), I thought I would stop and say hi to folks there I hadn't seen in a while. At one of the stops, I was told I should go see a friend's daughter, and that she would love to see me. So after getting directions, I headed that way. But I never got to the daughter's place....well, maybe I did, but the directions I got were so bad, I had no idea which building or which place (or even if I was in the right place) her daughter lived, so I turned around and headed to one of my main areas of interest for some photography.
When I arrived at the Ochoco Reservoir, I gathered my camera and headed towards the waterline to check on the shore birds. There were a number of birds there, most of which I have yet to photograph. So I started to move toward a good group and a Great Blue Heron caught my eye. I turned, fired off five shots and my camera froze on me. Actually, it just stopped working. This had happened before and I knew the problem...the batteries were dead.
I headed back to the rig, reached for the fanny pack I keep my spare stuff in and suddenly realized that the spare batteries I was about to get weren't where they were suppose to be. They were still on the charger here at the house. DUH!!!!! So, after kicking myself several times, I got back in the rig and headed out of town. At this point, I was so angry with myself, I blew off going back to another friend's place, didn't stop to clarify directions to the daughter's place, and didn't notice the poorly marked change in traffic flow at a construction site.
Lucky for me, when I did notice my error, I was able to swing back to where I was suppose to be before anyone came from the opposite direction, but the folks behind me must have wondered what kind of yahoo was driving that Jeep Cherokee. By the time I got back here to the house, I was really angry at myself. So I decide I would grab my fully charged batteries and head back out to shoot some photos somewhere. However, I remembered Rosco and figured I would keep up his spirits a little and play a game of catch, or fetch, with him.
For those who don't know, Rosco is like a 120 pound baby. Actually, he's a BIG Pit Bull and one of the best dogs I have ever been around. He isn't mine (he belongs to my sister's family), but I know he'd take a bullet for me. I'm one of his favorite people...or so I thought.
When I walked into the backyard to see Rosco, he was on the far side of the yard. The moment he saw me, he headed straight for me at full speed. I figured out a moment to late what he was going to do. He leaped off the porch and hit me square in the chest, knocked me flat on my ass and had his tongue covering my face before I could react. After catching my breath, I rolled over, got to my feet and reached for the hard rubber toy I had been tossing around for Rosco to run, get and bring back to me and as I went to toss it, Rosco figured he would get a jump on the fetch part and leaped again. This time, he headed straight for the object in my hand.
He grabbed it before I could release it. Unfortunately, he grabbed something else...my hand. He realized what he had done as soon as he did it, but the damage was already done. His powerful jaws had come down on my hand just inside the area of the right thumb. He let go as soon as he could, and slinked away knowing he was a bad dog. I naturally, jerked my hand away from the pain, and luckily did so just a split second after Rosco had released his jaws, which saved me from pulling my hand out through his teeth.
I grabbed my aching hand, winced in pain and looked for Rosco. He was laying down near the back door of the house, ears back and tail still tucked between his legs. I walked over to him and he naturally went into a submissive mood and when I scratched him behind his ear and said he was a good dog, he jumped up and once again, began inhaling my face with his tongue.
That happened two hours ago, and the hand still hurts. Typing this isn't helping it, but at least I can move (more or less) all my appendages. There is swelling and a very sore spot about an inch above the wrist. But overall, I was lucky.
Rosco didn't mean to get my hand...all he wanted to do was play and he got a little over anxious. And, it wasn't the first time a dog my sister's family owned missed something and got me.
Years ago, I came home on leave and found my mom visiting my sister when I arrived. Since I had been gone several years, they were making me a dinner in the house. I had gone out to the backyard to see Brutus, my sister's beautiful Staffordshire Terrier (Pit Bull in other words). After he welcomed me back (in the typical fashion Pit Bulls welcome me), he brought over a rope he liked to play tug-of-war with. I think he played that because he knew he could win every time...well, almost every time.
We both started pulling and I was yanking and pulling as hard as I could, when Brutus decide he wanted to better grip on the rope. So he loosened his grip at the same time I gave the rope a yank. His end of the rope went flying out of his mouth and directly towards my crotch. Again, I realized what was going to happen a moment to late. Brutus lunged for the rope, mouth opened wide, headed straight for my family jewels.
And he got them...and the rope.
I was suddenly in so much pain, I fell backwards with my hands covering the source of the pain and rocked back and forth. And then I saw my mom looking out the kitchen window. She had seen the entire incident and was laughing. I got up, slightly bent over, and headed into the house. When I got to the kitchen, my mom said, "I sure wish I had had a video camera. We could split $10,000!" At that time, America's Funniest Home Videos was not in reruns, and I am sure my fun in the sun with the dog would have made the show, if not taken the prize for that episode.
But there was no way I was going to play tug-of-war with Brutus for a long time.
Well, the incident with Brutus is long over, but it was the first thing that flashed through my mind when I saw Rosco leaping for the hard rubber toy.
I don't think anything is broken, but my hand does hurt. I'll keep an eye on it for now, and keep it away from Rosco.
The worst part of it is the hand Rosco clipped, is the hand I hold I my camera with.
I just wonder if it wasn't revenge for leaving him alone in the backyard for long...without food.
Oh...he gobbled down his food and I even gave him a new chew toy. Hopefully he won't want to go leaping at me for a while.
First, I put my spare batteries on the charger so they would have a full charge when I went out on a photo safari today. Second, I let the dog out (which I have always done in the morning), but did so before he had a chance to eat (which is inside the house). It wasn't intentional, it just happened. I fed the horses and the cat and the dog, but Rosco (the dog) was so glad to see me this morning, he followed me on every step I took and when I went out to feed the horses, he naturally followed me outside.
Well, when I finished the outside chores, I came back in to gather my things and got ready to go on my safari. And even though Rosco wanted to follow me into the house, I told him to stay outside. When I was ready, I climbed into the rig, backed out of the garage and headed off.
I went eastward at first, to see if any Rough-legged Hawks were around to photograph. And although I saw a couple they were too far away to get any good shots. Since I was close to Prineville (somewhere I used to live), I thought I would stop and say hi to folks there I hadn't seen in a while. At one of the stops, I was told I should go see a friend's daughter, and that she would love to see me. So after getting directions, I headed that way. But I never got to the daughter's place....well, maybe I did, but the directions I got were so bad, I had no idea which building or which place (or even if I was in the right place) her daughter lived, so I turned around and headed to one of my main areas of interest for some photography.
When I arrived at the Ochoco Reservoir, I gathered my camera and headed towards the waterline to check on the shore birds. There were a number of birds there, most of which I have yet to photograph. So I started to move toward a good group and a Great Blue Heron caught my eye. I turned, fired off five shots and my camera froze on me. Actually, it just stopped working. This had happened before and I knew the problem...the batteries were dead.
I headed back to the rig, reached for the fanny pack I keep my spare stuff in and suddenly realized that the spare batteries I was about to get weren't where they were suppose to be. They were still on the charger here at the house. DUH!!!!! So, after kicking myself several times, I got back in the rig and headed out of town. At this point, I was so angry with myself, I blew off going back to another friend's place, didn't stop to clarify directions to the daughter's place, and didn't notice the poorly marked change in traffic flow at a construction site.
Lucky for me, when I did notice my error, I was able to swing back to where I was suppose to be before anyone came from the opposite direction, but the folks behind me must have wondered what kind of yahoo was driving that Jeep Cherokee. By the time I got back here to the house, I was really angry at myself. So I decide I would grab my fully charged batteries and head back out to shoot some photos somewhere. However, I remembered Rosco and figured I would keep up his spirits a little and play a game of catch, or fetch, with him.
For those who don't know, Rosco is like a 120 pound baby. Actually, he's a BIG Pit Bull and one of the best dogs I have ever been around. He isn't mine (he belongs to my sister's family), but I know he'd take a bullet for me. I'm one of his favorite people...or so I thought.
When I walked into the backyard to see Rosco, he was on the far side of the yard. The moment he saw me, he headed straight for me at full speed. I figured out a moment to late what he was going to do. He leaped off the porch and hit me square in the chest, knocked me flat on my ass and had his tongue covering my face before I could react. After catching my breath, I rolled over, got to my feet and reached for the hard rubber toy I had been tossing around for Rosco to run, get and bring back to me and as I went to toss it, Rosco figured he would get a jump on the fetch part and leaped again. This time, he headed straight for the object in my hand.
He grabbed it before I could release it. Unfortunately, he grabbed something else...my hand. He realized what he had done as soon as he did it, but the damage was already done. His powerful jaws had come down on my hand just inside the area of the right thumb. He let go as soon as he could, and slinked away knowing he was a bad dog. I naturally, jerked my hand away from the pain, and luckily did so just a split second after Rosco had released his jaws, which saved me from pulling my hand out through his teeth.
I grabbed my aching hand, winced in pain and looked for Rosco. He was laying down near the back door of the house, ears back and tail still tucked between his legs. I walked over to him and he naturally went into a submissive mood and when I scratched him behind his ear and said he was a good dog, he jumped up and once again, began inhaling my face with his tongue.
That happened two hours ago, and the hand still hurts. Typing this isn't helping it, but at least I can move (more or less) all my appendages. There is swelling and a very sore spot about an inch above the wrist. But overall, I was lucky.
Rosco didn't mean to get my hand...all he wanted to do was play and he got a little over anxious. And, it wasn't the first time a dog my sister's family owned missed something and got me.
Years ago, I came home on leave and found my mom visiting my sister when I arrived. Since I had been gone several years, they were making me a dinner in the house. I had gone out to the backyard to see Brutus, my sister's beautiful Staffordshire Terrier (Pit Bull in other words). After he welcomed me back (in the typical fashion Pit Bulls welcome me), he brought over a rope he liked to play tug-of-war with. I think he played that because he knew he could win every time...well, almost every time.
We both started pulling and I was yanking and pulling as hard as I could, when Brutus decide he wanted to better grip on the rope. So he loosened his grip at the same time I gave the rope a yank. His end of the rope went flying out of his mouth and directly towards my crotch. Again, I realized what was going to happen a moment to late. Brutus lunged for the rope, mouth opened wide, headed straight for my family jewels.
And he got them...and the rope.
I was suddenly in so much pain, I fell backwards with my hands covering the source of the pain and rocked back and forth. And then I saw my mom looking out the kitchen window. She had seen the entire incident and was laughing. I got up, slightly bent over, and headed into the house. When I got to the kitchen, my mom said, "I sure wish I had had a video camera. We could split $10,000!" At that time, America's Funniest Home Videos was not in reruns, and I am sure my fun in the sun with the dog would have made the show, if not taken the prize for that episode.
But there was no way I was going to play tug-of-war with Brutus for a long time.
Well, the incident with Brutus is long over, but it was the first thing that flashed through my mind when I saw Rosco leaping for the hard rubber toy.
I don't think anything is broken, but my hand does hurt. I'll keep an eye on it for now, and keep it away from Rosco.
The worst part of it is the hand Rosco clipped, is the hand I hold I my camera with.
I just wonder if it wasn't revenge for leaving him alone in the backyard for long...without food.
Oh...he gobbled down his food and I even gave him a new chew toy. Hopefully he won't want to go leaping at me for a while.
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