My dear friend, Misty of Misty's Musings tagged me for this. Normally, I don't participate in this sort of thing, but how can ya say no to someone named "Misty"?
Ok...the rules......
1. Link your tagger and list these rules on your blog.
2. Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.
3. Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.
4. Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.
I'm going to have to plead the fifth on part of the rules, as I have no one I can tag to further participation. So, since I have already accomplished Rule #1 (see above), I'll begin working on Rule #2 and see what happens.
Fact #1 -- I'm a REAL city boy. When I was knee-high to a grasshopper, my dad got a job in the Chicago area. I lived there until I was 18 when I joined the Air Force.
Fact #2 -- I have twice been to the North Pole. Once in the air and the other on the ice. By the way, there is no red and white striped barber style pole there. I looked and looked and couldn't find it. It must be on the South Pole.
Fact #3 -- I have a great sense of direction (as opposed to someone else I know). I can look at a map and not need it thereafter even if I'm driving 2,000 miles...which I have done many times.
Fact #4 -- In my teenage years, a friend of mine and I were instrumental in saving hundreds of lives in South America. My friend is a HAM...amateur radio operator...and one evening, we intercepted a general call for help. We copied down the information, contacted a local hospital and told them the story and lucky for us, the person who took the call was also a HAM. He then contacted the people in South America, made arrangements to have the needed medication sent there and my friend and I were featured on the front page of the Metro Section of the Chicago Tribune, the largest paper in the city at the time. I got the photo...my friend has the story.
Fact #5 -- I am also known as Ashrunner and for good reason. If you have read my previous posts, you know I have had up an up close and personal encounter with a volcanic eruption. But it wasn't my first. I also experienced the Mt. St. Helens eruption. But those aren't the only disasters I have experienced. Two major earthquakes also rattled my chains, one in The Philippines and one in Italy. Both didn't let up with the shaking and continued rolling minor tremors through the areas.
Fact #6 -- I have spent a lot of time with some rather famous people. One of them was Billy Joel. He was at Clark AB to put on a USO sponsored concert, but prior to the show, we gave him a tour of the base. I was his "unofficial" escort. We spent the day discussing world news regarding the up-coming Gulf War One. I have also spent time with Dorothy Hamil, the Olympic ice skater, the late Bob Hope and a number of others whose names escape me.
Fact #7 -- Ok...a weird one now. I can not drink a drink out of a glass which has ice cubes in it without a straw. I must have a straw. If I don't use a straw, I actually fear swallowing an ice cube and choking to death on it before it melts.
Well, there you have it...seven things about me no one cares about 8v)
As for the number 3 and 4 rules, since I don't have anyone I can tag to do this, I'll leave it to those of you who read this blog and decide they want to do it. Just follow the rules (as close as possible) listed at the top of this post.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Visitors from the East
I spent most of last week in the company of my mother, her sister, my cousin and her husband. They came to Oregon from Illinois for a visit and to see the gorgeous beauty of this country.
For the most part, I acted as a tour guide for the group, and took them to local areas well worth seeing...and of course, I took along my camera.
It had been so long since I spent any time in the high country, that I actually felt like crying when I returned. There are two spots in central Oregon which are my favorite top two favorite spots in the state. The top spot on the list is the McKenzie Pass area. The pass, along the McKenzie Highway, is located between the North Sister and Mt. Washington in the area of Belnap Crater. The view there at the right time of the day, is absolutely spectacular.
Unfortunately, the area is still blocked by snow and the pass is closed until the end of July at the earliest. I'll get there again...I hope. And when I do, I'll once again be awed by what I see.
The second place on that list encompasses a large area of central Oregon and is known as Newberry National Volcanic Monument. I got to know this area before it became a national monument. Though not a lot has changed, it does cost more to get into the park and some places I could go before, I'm not allowed to go to now. Not that I would these days as my Davy Crockett days are long gone, but it would be nice to go there if I could.
There are so many volcanic features throughout the caldera, that a person could spend a lifetime inside the volcano studying it all. Among other sights, are the Big Obsidian Flow, Central Pumice Cone, lava flows, smaller obsidian flows, pumice flats, two lakes formed by the collapsed summit, a beautiful waterfall and Paulina Peak.
The peak is the highest point at the monument at 7,989 feet. It can be driven to along a gravel road cut into the flanks of the mountain. The drive itself is interesting, as in spots, you're driving the edge of a three hundred foot drop to oblivion. But the views from the roadway are gorgeous and well worth the time. One of my most memorable trips up to Paulina Peak occurred in 1992 when I took a friend of mine up there. We were in an old Ford pickup and the road was extremely wash-boarded at the time. Since the drop offs were on the passenger side, my friend from St. Louis wasn't accustomed to looking out his window and seeing nothing at road level. He certainly was glad when we finally made it to the top.
Once at the top of Paulina Peak, the views are spectacular. On clear days (few and far between these days in the summer wildfire season), a person can easily see into the states of Washington and California. To the north, Washington's Mt. St. Helens and Mt. Adams are easily seen. Further north, Mt. Rainier can be made out on the horizon. To the south, Crater Lake in Oregon and Mt. Shasta in California grace the distance landscape. I have seen what I believe is Lassen Peak, a volcano which erupted in California in 1915.
Still looking south but moving more to the east, a person can easily make out Fort Rock and Hole-in-the-Ground. In the distance, the flats of the Great Basin show and further south, the fault block system of the Hart Mountains.
There is much more to see in the High Desert area of central Oregon. And I hope to someday be able to visit the areas I have been before, along with those I haven't seen. In the meantime, I'll continue to do what I can to see what I can and when I do, I'll have my camera and record it for all to see.
I have posted some of the photos I took from Paulina Peak during my recent visit at my Flickr site. Although it was a nice day, my views were limited due to smoke from the California fires.
I do hope you enjoy my photos and if you decide to visit the central Oregon area, I do hope you enjoy your visit. But please...just visit...don't plan to stay 8v)
For the most part, I acted as a tour guide for the group, and took them to local areas well worth seeing...and of course, I took along my camera.
It had been so long since I spent any time in the high country, that I actually felt like crying when I returned. There are two spots in central Oregon which are my favorite top two favorite spots in the state. The top spot on the list is the McKenzie Pass area. The pass, along the McKenzie Highway, is located between the North Sister and Mt. Washington in the area of Belnap Crater. The view there at the right time of the day, is absolutely spectacular.
Unfortunately, the area is still blocked by snow and the pass is closed until the end of July at the earliest. I'll get there again...I hope. And when I do, I'll once again be awed by what I see.
The second place on that list encompasses a large area of central Oregon and is known as Newberry National Volcanic Monument. I got to know this area before it became a national monument. Though not a lot has changed, it does cost more to get into the park and some places I could go before, I'm not allowed to go to now. Not that I would these days as my Davy Crockett days are long gone, but it would be nice to go there if I could.
There are so many volcanic features throughout the caldera, that a person could spend a lifetime inside the volcano studying it all. Among other sights, are the Big Obsidian Flow, Central Pumice Cone, lava flows, smaller obsidian flows, pumice flats, two lakes formed by the collapsed summit, a beautiful waterfall and Paulina Peak.
The peak is the highest point at the monument at 7,989 feet. It can be driven to along a gravel road cut into the flanks of the mountain. The drive itself is interesting, as in spots, you're driving the edge of a three hundred foot drop to oblivion. But the views from the roadway are gorgeous and well worth the time. One of my most memorable trips up to Paulina Peak occurred in 1992 when I took a friend of mine up there. We were in an old Ford pickup and the road was extremely wash-boarded at the time. Since the drop offs were on the passenger side, my friend from St. Louis wasn't accustomed to looking out his window and seeing nothing at road level. He certainly was glad when we finally made it to the top.
Once at the top of Paulina Peak, the views are spectacular. On clear days (few and far between these days in the summer wildfire season), a person can easily see into the states of Washington and California. To the north, Washington's Mt. St. Helens and Mt. Adams are easily seen. Further north, Mt. Rainier can be made out on the horizon. To the south, Crater Lake in Oregon and Mt. Shasta in California grace the distance landscape. I have seen what I believe is Lassen Peak, a volcano which erupted in California in 1915.
Still looking south but moving more to the east, a person can easily make out Fort Rock and Hole-in-the-Ground. In the distance, the flats of the Great Basin show and further south, the fault block system of the Hart Mountains.
There is much more to see in the High Desert area of central Oregon. And I hope to someday be able to visit the areas I have been before, along with those I haven't seen. In the meantime, I'll continue to do what I can to see what I can and when I do, I'll have my camera and record it for all to see.
I have posted some of the photos I took from Paulina Peak during my recent visit at my Flickr site. Although it was a nice day, my views were limited due to smoke from the California fires.
I do hope you enjoy my photos and if you decide to visit the central Oregon area, I do hope you enjoy your visit. But please...just visit...don't plan to stay 8v)
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
What's in a Word?
A few minutes ago, the Top Chef reunion concluded and it reminded me of something from my past. Yes, I watched Top Chef and my favorite chef - Antonia - didn't win. I can't cook worth a squat, but I enjoy eating food and watching some really cool dishes cook is interesting.
Anyway, what happened to trigger a memory was all the dead air during the show. When the chefs were being interviewed, or while they were cooking away, four-letters words flowed from their mouths. I spent 20 plus years in the military and four-letters are just words to me. One of my favorite cartoons is a Doonesbury strip. It was during the build-up phase to the first Gulf War. The star of the strip was talking to the person next to him who related he was too old for war. He then turned to Doonesbury and said, "Hell, I don't even remember how to use the f-word."
Doonesbury looked at him and said, "Just use it like an adjective."
I love that particular cartoon. I cut it out and stuck it on the wall next to my desk. I loved it because in a way, it rang true.
The last job I had in the Air Force was that of a public affairs specialist. I could work on the base newspaper, edit the paper, write news releases for public release, conduct tours of the base, arrange for speakers to attend civilian functions and a variety of other jobs. But the one job I enjoyed the most was working with the civilian media.
My baptism of fire so to speak was when I worked at the US Air Force Survival School at Fairchild AFB, west of Spokane, Wash. I arranged several media interviews with survival instructors and had my own radio show on a Spokane station where I interviewed an instructor about survival techniques unique to the Inland Empire area. It wasn't difficult working under those conditions.
However, to make sure I was ready for anything the media might throw at me in the future, the Air Force sent me to DINFOS, the Defense Information School, in Indianapolis to learn more of my trade. During one of the courses, we were lectured on how to handle the tough, hard-hitting news questions which seem to always happen at a news conference. After the classroom discussion, we were given scenarios to study and then we would be put in front of the camera and be interviewed by a local reporter.
My scenario was that of a mid-air collision of two US Navy Blue Angels during an air show. No one was killed, but the pilots ejected and private property had been destroyed.
One of the things they told us was when you are asked a question which takes several minutes to ask and in which the reporter is making a number of unsubstantiated points, that we not answer the question at the end, as that will validate all the points made during the asking of the question. The proper thing to do is to ask the person to repeat the question. Most of the time, they will ask only the actual question the second time, leaving the unsubstantiate crap off. When the interviewee then answers the question, there is no other points being validate.
So when my turn came to be interviewed, I got up went to the front of the class and began my exercise. The first question I was asked was what happened. So I gave a brief statement of events, highlighting that everyone survived and the private property destroyed would be compensated for. Then added that a board of qualified officers will investigate the cause of the accident.
The reporter then went into a long, drawn out question berating flight training, demonstration teams, and the military in general and ended it all with the question, "Is what happened today worth the cost?" I looked at her, remembered the training and asked her to repeat question. You'd figure they would throw a curve at ya and they did. This reporter asked the exact same question, almost word for word and ended with the same question.
I figured if I asked her to repeat it again, I'd get the same practiced question, so there wasn't any reason for me to do so. Instead, I cocked my head to the side, squint just so slightly, looked the reporter straight in the eye and said, "Shit happens." Well, everyone cracked up, including the reporter who told me to sit down. I actually got through the exercise without answering a single question. But it was a learning experience for me and that was the entire purpose of the training.
Following the survival school, I was assigned to Columbus AFB, Miss., where I had a couple of run-ins with the media, but for the most part, they treated me good and weren't any trouble. After that assignment, I went to Thule AB, Greenland. There wasn't any media there to worry about except for those who travelled through for one reason or another. I have an interesting story about a Scandinavian reporter who brought all sorts of trouble down on my office and commander of the base...but it's a story I'll save for a future post.
Following Greenland, I was assigned to Elmendorf AFB, near Anchorage, Alaska. It was there where I really came under fire, and from when the memory surfaced.
About a year after my arrival at Elmendorf, the base was holding their annual air show. On that particular weekend, I had the on-call duty. It was the on-call person's job to field telephone queries from the media, obtain the required anwers, clear the information, then pass it on to the requestor. Not a hard job, but one that could take a long time to accomplish since we had to have everything reviewed by the three-star general on base before we could release it...and that was a pain in the ass.
Early in the morning of the air show day, I had been contacted by the command post on base and told that rising flood water at Galena AS, located on the north side of the Yukon River in the interior of Alaska, was going to force an evacuation of the site until the waters resceded. That wouldn't have been a big deal except for two things. First, the evacuees were being flown into Elmendorf during the air show; and second, the two Alert F-15s were being relocated to Elmendorf.
Now, this incident took place at the height of the Cold War. Soviet aircraft were constantly making moves towards US airspace, and Alert aircraft at two sites in Alaska, Galena being one and King Salmon Airport being the other, would be launched to intercept them before they reached our airspace. It was a cat and mouse game, that was played seriously by both sides.
As soon as the C-130s carrying the first of the evacuees to Elmendorf landed, an announcement was made for the show attendees that a real world situation had developed and that it might cause some delays in the scheduled flying activities. That announcement was all the local media needed to flood me with phone calls. I took all the questions (at the time, I had no data what-so-ever) and told each reporter I would get back to them as soon as I could. After getting the required information, I located my counterpart who worked for the general, told him what I had, and he basically gave it the nod of approval as it was strictly harmless facts.
I then proceeded to call back the reporters and pass on the information to them. At one of the call-backs to one of the local newspapers, I was asked another question. The reporter asked if the relocation of the Alert F-15 aircraft posed any problems with the reaction time of the aircraft should the Soviets decide to head our way again. My mind instantly went through a number of scenarios of what would happen with each answer. One of those instant thoughts was that if I said I would get back to you, the reporter would think there was a problem and wouldn't believe anything I got back to him with...and I didn't want that. I also thought that if I answered the question right then and there, without the general's approval, I would probably being damaging my career. But my job at the time was to help people understand the role of the Air Force in their day-to-day lives, and not do anything which would portray the Air Force or this county in poor light. So I answered the question right then and there. I told the reporter it in no way affected the response time of the Alert birds.
The next day my boss and I were called to the general's office. He wanted to know the story surrounding a headline in the morning's newspaper which read: Air Force evacuates Galena: Officials say they can still do their job...or something like that. Inside the article, I was quoted as saying the change in location of the aircraft had no affect on our ability to intercept any Soviet intrusion. The article also talked about the evacuation and flood waters, but the general knew about those questions. Fearing the worst, my boss and I waited for the hammer to fall. But it didn't. The general was so impressed with how I handled the situation, that he stated that from that point on, no one else, other than my boss or I, were allowed to talk to the media about anything, and best of all, we were to use our own judgement as to whether it the information needed to be cleared by his office or not.
Eight months later and hundreds of media queries, I was again in tricky situation and facing the news media. On a Friday afternoon, an F-15B model, a two seat version of the single seat air superiority fighter, took off with an enlisted man in the back seat. The back seater was being given an incentive flight for doing a good job as a crew chief. Two hours into the flight, the aircraft disappeared off radar and never reappeared. We immediately dispatched search teams to the last known radar position of the aircraft and I went to the Rescue Coordination Center which was my job when any search and rescue was occuring. As soon as I got there, I knew we wouldn't be doing a lot of searching that day, as the weather in the area was bad.
In town, the media had found out that we lost and aircraft and I was being flooded with calls regarding the lost aircraft. Since we had not been able to contact the next of kin I was unable to say anything regarding the lost aircraft. Everyone who called knew what we lost. But since I wasn't verifying the information, no one was using it. When I finally could release the information, it was late in the day. I explained about the poor weather conditions in the search area and that we would try again Saturday.
The next morning, I got up and went to the RCC and found the same thing going on which we had the previous day. The weather was just too rotten to do any searching. So, I again called the media I had contacted the previous day, told them there wouldn't be a search that day either and headed home after making sure I had a good battery in my beeper. The news that night made mention that bad weather was thrwarting attempts to locate the missing aircraft and that we would try again Sunday which according to forecasts, would give searchers a good window in which to operate.
The next morning, there was a lot more interest in the lost aircraft, as the news of it had been picked up by national outlets. By 6 am, I had already had half a dozen calls and I knew more would come in. So I called back the earlier callers and as others called, told them I would hold a news conference at one of the gates at noon.
At the appointed time, I was at the gate and so were dozens of news media. Everyone from radio to newspapers to television were there, waiting for what I had to say. Armed with the latest information, I made a short announcement that we would begin a extensive search of the target area at 2 pm when the weather would begin to clear from the area. I then added on the known facts and finally, opened it up for a question and answer period. Most of the questions were simple to answer...until a television reporter from Seattle raised his hand.
I acknowledged him and he began his question. It went something like this: "I have sources which have told me that you didn't loose the aircraft at all, that the pilot actually flew the aircraft across the straits and turned it over to the Soviet for a substantial reward. Do you have anything to say about that?"
I looked straight at the reporter and without hesitation said, "That's a stupid fucking statement. Does anyone have a serious question?"
There was a moment of silence, then everyone, except for the reporter who asked the question, burst out laughing. That statement basically ended the news conference. The reporters headed back to Anchorage to file what they had, I headed back to the RCC to monitor events. Four hours later, called the media again to tell them we had located the crash site.
And it was nowhere near the Soviet Union.
Anyway, what happened to trigger a memory was all the dead air during the show. When the chefs were being interviewed, or while they were cooking away, four-letters words flowed from their mouths. I spent 20 plus years in the military and four-letters are just words to me. One of my favorite cartoons is a Doonesbury strip. It was during the build-up phase to the first Gulf War. The star of the strip was talking to the person next to him who related he was too old for war. He then turned to Doonesbury and said, "Hell, I don't even remember how to use the f-word."
Doonesbury looked at him and said, "Just use it like an adjective."
I love that particular cartoon. I cut it out and stuck it on the wall next to my desk. I loved it because in a way, it rang true.
The last job I had in the Air Force was that of a public affairs specialist. I could work on the base newspaper, edit the paper, write news releases for public release, conduct tours of the base, arrange for speakers to attend civilian functions and a variety of other jobs. But the one job I enjoyed the most was working with the civilian media.
My baptism of fire so to speak was when I worked at the US Air Force Survival School at Fairchild AFB, west of Spokane, Wash. I arranged several media interviews with survival instructors and had my own radio show on a Spokane station where I interviewed an instructor about survival techniques unique to the Inland Empire area. It wasn't difficult working under those conditions.
However, to make sure I was ready for anything the media might throw at me in the future, the Air Force sent me to DINFOS, the Defense Information School, in Indianapolis to learn more of my trade. During one of the courses, we were lectured on how to handle the tough, hard-hitting news questions which seem to always happen at a news conference. After the classroom discussion, we were given scenarios to study and then we would be put in front of the camera and be interviewed by a local reporter.
My scenario was that of a mid-air collision of two US Navy Blue Angels during an air show. No one was killed, but the pilots ejected and private property had been destroyed.
One of the things they told us was when you are asked a question which takes several minutes to ask and in which the reporter is making a number of unsubstantiated points, that we not answer the question at the end, as that will validate all the points made during the asking of the question. The proper thing to do is to ask the person to repeat the question. Most of the time, they will ask only the actual question the second time, leaving the unsubstantiate crap off. When the interviewee then answers the question, there is no other points being validate.
So when my turn came to be interviewed, I got up went to the front of the class and began my exercise. The first question I was asked was what happened. So I gave a brief statement of events, highlighting that everyone survived and the private property destroyed would be compensated for. Then added that a board of qualified officers will investigate the cause of the accident.
The reporter then went into a long, drawn out question berating flight training, demonstration teams, and the military in general and ended it all with the question, "Is what happened today worth the cost?" I looked at her, remembered the training and asked her to repeat question. You'd figure they would throw a curve at ya and they did. This reporter asked the exact same question, almost word for word and ended with the same question.
I figured if I asked her to repeat it again, I'd get the same practiced question, so there wasn't any reason for me to do so. Instead, I cocked my head to the side, squint just so slightly, looked the reporter straight in the eye and said, "Shit happens." Well, everyone cracked up, including the reporter who told me to sit down. I actually got through the exercise without answering a single question. But it was a learning experience for me and that was the entire purpose of the training.
Following the survival school, I was assigned to Columbus AFB, Miss., where I had a couple of run-ins with the media, but for the most part, they treated me good and weren't any trouble. After that assignment, I went to Thule AB, Greenland. There wasn't any media there to worry about except for those who travelled through for one reason or another. I have an interesting story about a Scandinavian reporter who brought all sorts of trouble down on my office and commander of the base...but it's a story I'll save for a future post.
Following Greenland, I was assigned to Elmendorf AFB, near Anchorage, Alaska. It was there where I really came under fire, and from when the memory surfaced.
About a year after my arrival at Elmendorf, the base was holding their annual air show. On that particular weekend, I had the on-call duty. It was the on-call person's job to field telephone queries from the media, obtain the required anwers, clear the information, then pass it on to the requestor. Not a hard job, but one that could take a long time to accomplish since we had to have everything reviewed by the three-star general on base before we could release it...and that was a pain in the ass.
Early in the morning of the air show day, I had been contacted by the command post on base and told that rising flood water at Galena AS, located on the north side of the Yukon River in the interior of Alaska, was going to force an evacuation of the site until the waters resceded. That wouldn't have been a big deal except for two things. First, the evacuees were being flown into Elmendorf during the air show; and second, the two Alert F-15s were being relocated to Elmendorf.
Now, this incident took place at the height of the Cold War. Soviet aircraft were constantly making moves towards US airspace, and Alert aircraft at two sites in Alaska, Galena being one and King Salmon Airport being the other, would be launched to intercept them before they reached our airspace. It was a cat and mouse game, that was played seriously by both sides.
As soon as the C-130s carrying the first of the evacuees to Elmendorf landed, an announcement was made for the show attendees that a real world situation had developed and that it might cause some delays in the scheduled flying activities. That announcement was all the local media needed to flood me with phone calls. I took all the questions (at the time, I had no data what-so-ever) and told each reporter I would get back to them as soon as I could. After getting the required information, I located my counterpart who worked for the general, told him what I had, and he basically gave it the nod of approval as it was strictly harmless facts.
I then proceeded to call back the reporters and pass on the information to them. At one of the call-backs to one of the local newspapers, I was asked another question. The reporter asked if the relocation of the Alert F-15 aircraft posed any problems with the reaction time of the aircraft should the Soviets decide to head our way again. My mind instantly went through a number of scenarios of what would happen with each answer. One of those instant thoughts was that if I said I would get back to you, the reporter would think there was a problem and wouldn't believe anything I got back to him with...and I didn't want that. I also thought that if I answered the question right then and there, without the general's approval, I would probably being damaging my career. But my job at the time was to help people understand the role of the Air Force in their day-to-day lives, and not do anything which would portray the Air Force or this county in poor light. So I answered the question right then and there. I told the reporter it in no way affected the response time of the Alert birds.
The next day my boss and I were called to the general's office. He wanted to know the story surrounding a headline in the morning's newspaper which read: Air Force evacuates Galena: Officials say they can still do their job...or something like that. Inside the article, I was quoted as saying the change in location of the aircraft had no affect on our ability to intercept any Soviet intrusion. The article also talked about the evacuation and flood waters, but the general knew about those questions. Fearing the worst, my boss and I waited for the hammer to fall. But it didn't. The general was so impressed with how I handled the situation, that he stated that from that point on, no one else, other than my boss or I, were allowed to talk to the media about anything, and best of all, we were to use our own judgement as to whether it the information needed to be cleared by his office or not.
Eight months later and hundreds of media queries, I was again in tricky situation and facing the news media. On a Friday afternoon, an F-15B model, a two seat version of the single seat air superiority fighter, took off with an enlisted man in the back seat. The back seater was being given an incentive flight for doing a good job as a crew chief. Two hours into the flight, the aircraft disappeared off radar and never reappeared. We immediately dispatched search teams to the last known radar position of the aircraft and I went to the Rescue Coordination Center which was my job when any search and rescue was occuring. As soon as I got there, I knew we wouldn't be doing a lot of searching that day, as the weather in the area was bad.
In town, the media had found out that we lost and aircraft and I was being flooded with calls regarding the lost aircraft. Since we had not been able to contact the next of kin I was unable to say anything regarding the lost aircraft. Everyone who called knew what we lost. But since I wasn't verifying the information, no one was using it. When I finally could release the information, it was late in the day. I explained about the poor weather conditions in the search area and that we would try again Saturday.
The next morning, I got up and went to the RCC and found the same thing going on which we had the previous day. The weather was just too rotten to do any searching. So, I again called the media I had contacted the previous day, told them there wouldn't be a search that day either and headed home after making sure I had a good battery in my beeper. The news that night made mention that bad weather was thrwarting attempts to locate the missing aircraft and that we would try again Sunday which according to forecasts, would give searchers a good window in which to operate.
The next morning, there was a lot more interest in the lost aircraft, as the news of it had been picked up by national outlets. By 6 am, I had already had half a dozen calls and I knew more would come in. So I called back the earlier callers and as others called, told them I would hold a news conference at one of the gates at noon.
At the appointed time, I was at the gate and so were dozens of news media. Everyone from radio to newspapers to television were there, waiting for what I had to say. Armed with the latest information, I made a short announcement that we would begin a extensive search of the target area at 2 pm when the weather would begin to clear from the area. I then added on the known facts and finally, opened it up for a question and answer period. Most of the questions were simple to answer...until a television reporter from Seattle raised his hand.
I acknowledged him and he began his question. It went something like this: "I have sources which have told me that you didn't loose the aircraft at all, that the pilot actually flew the aircraft across the straits and turned it over to the Soviet for a substantial reward. Do you have anything to say about that?"
I looked straight at the reporter and without hesitation said, "That's a stupid fucking statement. Does anyone have a serious question?"
There was a moment of silence, then everyone, except for the reporter who asked the question, burst out laughing. That statement basically ended the news conference. The reporters headed back to Anchorage to file what they had, I headed back to the RCC to monitor events. Four hours later, called the media again to tell them we had located the crash site.
And it was nowhere near the Soviet Union.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
June 7
It's June 7, 1944 and war is raging in Europe. The day before, Allied units from Great Britain, Canada and the U.S.A. stepped off troop carriers and into a wall of death.
The reason? To rid the world of a dictator...a mass murderer. Thousands died on June 6, 1944...thousands more in the days which followed. Less than a year later, the war in Europe was over. A war which began more than four years earlier, was over. Europe was free of oppression.
Now, it's June 7, 2008 and all I heard about on the news was Obama this, Hillary that. The Democratic nominee race is finished, the presidential race is five months away and news organizations throughout the U.S. could only talk about a Wannabe and Has-been.
What really got me though, was this website. In honor of the anniversary of June 6, 1944, the owner of this site designed a cardstock model of a Stinson L-5 Sentinel. The aircraft was used throughout World War II as an observation plane, a small transport and was nicknamed the Flying Jeep. While you are on Roman's site, look around and see what else he has to offer.
Readers of my blog (the few, the proud, the readers of rarely published material) know I enjoy cardstock modeling. I have designed my own models based on the Flintstones world of comic fame. And those who go to the Stinson L-5 site above might realize why I am writing this. Clicking on Flintstones above will take you to where my models are hosted. And, I would like to thank Rick "The Webdude" for giving my creation space to roam the world. You can check out more offerings scrolling on the link for my models and can go to the Webdude's homepage.
But the fact remains, it took a website of a talented person in the Ukraine for me to see something which honored those who fought and died, and those who fought and survived the battle on the beaches of Normandy, France 64 years ago.
The reason? To rid the world of a dictator...a mass murderer. Thousands died on June 6, 1944...thousands more in the days which followed. Less than a year later, the war in Europe was over. A war which began more than four years earlier, was over. Europe was free of oppression.
Now, it's June 7, 2008 and all I heard about on the news was Obama this, Hillary that. The Democratic nominee race is finished, the presidential race is five months away and news organizations throughout the U.S. could only talk about a Wannabe and Has-been.
What really got me though, was this website. In honor of the anniversary of June 6, 1944, the owner of this site designed a cardstock model of a Stinson L-5 Sentinel. The aircraft was used throughout World War II as an observation plane, a small transport and was nicknamed the Flying Jeep. While you are on Roman's site, look around and see what else he has to offer.
Readers of my blog (the few, the proud, the readers of rarely published material) know I enjoy cardstock modeling. I have designed my own models based on the Flintstones world of comic fame. And those who go to the Stinson L-5 site above might realize why I am writing this. Clicking on Flintstones above will take you to where my models are hosted. And, I would like to thank Rick "The Webdude" for giving my creation space to roam the world. You can check out more offerings scrolling on the link for my models and can go to the Webdude's homepage.
But the fact remains, it took a website of a talented person in the Ukraine for me to see something which honored those who fought and died, and those who fought and survived the battle on the beaches of Normandy, France 64 years ago.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Taking Everything in Stride
I often see something somewhere which reminds of something somewhere which happened to me. Most of the time, those happenings are personal to me and I'll only share them with my better half if I ever find her. But then there are the ones that to me are so comical, that I want to share them with the world so someone somewhere can find a reason to laugh.
Well, one of those somethings occurred yesterday and I am still smiling about it.
I was watching television at the time (don't remember the program) when a commercial for a long lasting gum aired. The advertisement began with a man walking along and suddenly a goat runs up and slams into him. He gets up and the goat does it again. The commercial then goes on to spread the name of the product around and regularly scheduled programming continues. But I was laughing at a past experience to much to remember much after the man got "rammed."
Ten years ago I lived in a mobile home located on the property of a family north of Prineville, Oregon. The landlord had a number of acres of land and some of it was set aside for animal. At this particular time, there were goats in the fenced area. Two of the goats were billys who were crafty fellows. Somehow or another they would get out of the pasture and would then be found munching on garden plants around the houses. When that happened, my landlord, Don, and I would go out and each pick one up and carry it back to the field and release it with the rest of the herd.
After a while, the billys began to realize that when they had escaped and the humans came near, they would be unceremoniously removed from freedom and placed once again within the confines of the herd. I guess they loved their freedom, as they soon began running off to other areas of the various nearby gardens and grab a quick bite before running off again. It would then take both of us (sometimes my mother would assist us) to corner one of the goats before we could grab him and carry it back to the pasture. However, this didn't last long.
The goats soon learned they could kick and wail about we wouldn't attempt to pick them up. So, we started roping the goats and leading them to the pasture. This worked for about half a dozen time before the billys started thrashing about. The first time it happened, I ended up with a nice rope burn as the goat suddenly dart off, pulling the rope through my hands. After that I began wearing gloves and when they would thrash about, I'd wrap the rope around my hand and start pulling harder.
But doing that was very hard on my arms and shoulder. Besides, anyone driving by and seeing the happenings would swear there was some sort of animal abuse going on. But it was something that had to be done. After all, no one wanted to a goat to go missing.
The odd thing was, every time we put the billys back in the pasture, we would walk the fence line to see if we could find how they were getting out. And every time, we were stumped. We speculated that they were climbing on the hood of a car in the field near the fence and leaping over. However, the dirt and dust on the hood was undisturbed. We looked for areas where they were getting their nose under the fence and wiggling through, but couldn't find anywhere that looked to be happening. We finally decided they were just leaping over four foot or so fence line, which neither of us really believed since we never saw them jumping at all. We were stumped.
One particularly hot afternoon, my mother and I, along with Don and his wife, were relaxing under the shaded back porch of my landlord talking about things. We were all sort of watching the goats in the field for some reason when it happened. As we sat watching, the two escape artist goats walked over towards the wooden gate and when the first was about five feet away, it lowered his head and took off. It hit the gate to the side of the latch causing it to fly open just long enough for the goat to escape before the gate slammed shut again. Without a pause, the second goat followed suit and both billys were free with no evidence of their escape showing anywhere.
Well, we on the porch couldn't help but start laughing. After weeks of trying to figure out how the goats got loose, they made their escape if full view for our enjoyment. After we finished laughing, Don and I got up to herd in the goats. They evidently realized the error of their ways, as they were standing within 10 feet of the gate staring at us. I told my landlord I would circle around the other side of the garage so if they tried to escape capture via that route, I would be there to cut them off. But those critters must have known they were busted, as they just stood there as my landlord checked out the gate, then opened it. At the same time, I grabbed one by the horns and led it back through the gate.
I then turned around to herd the other one back inside and as soon as I grabbed one of his horns, he went spread-eagle on the ground. I grabbed the other horn and attempted to wrestle him up, but he fought me the entire time, remaining on the ground with all four legs splayed out to the side. Don decided he would grab the goat by the back end and lift, but the billy squirmed enough to prevent him from getting his hands underneath. The goat was actually fighting us to keep his freedom.
Finally, I got down on my knees, wrapped my arm around the goats neck and with the other controlling his head (and horns...which wasn't easy as this goat had strong neck muscles), I rose up and was able to drag the goat through the gate. Oddly enough, as soon as he knew it was a lost cause, he gave up fighting me, making my job a lot easier.
To prevent further escapes, we tied down the top and bottom of the gate and then went back to the shade of the back porch.
There were no more escapes after that, and several months later, the entire gaggle of goats was sold and moved to another pasture where Ben and Jerry (my names for the two escapees) could plot new dashes to freedom.
But I'll never forget watching those two goats ram the gate and escape. Nor will I soon forget the fun I had getting them back into the pasture.
Well, one of those somethings occurred yesterday and I am still smiling about it.
I was watching television at the time (don't remember the program) when a commercial for a long lasting gum aired. The advertisement began with a man walking along and suddenly a goat runs up and slams into him. He gets up and the goat does it again. The commercial then goes on to spread the name of the product around and regularly scheduled programming continues. But I was laughing at a past experience to much to remember much after the man got "rammed."
Ten years ago I lived in a mobile home located on the property of a family north of Prineville, Oregon. The landlord had a number of acres of land and some of it was set aside for animal. At this particular time, there were goats in the fenced area. Two of the goats were billys who were crafty fellows. Somehow or another they would get out of the pasture and would then be found munching on garden plants around the houses. When that happened, my landlord, Don, and I would go out and each pick one up and carry it back to the field and release it with the rest of the herd.
After a while, the billys began to realize that when they had escaped and the humans came near, they would be unceremoniously removed from freedom and placed once again within the confines of the herd. I guess they loved their freedom, as they soon began running off to other areas of the various nearby gardens and grab a quick bite before running off again. It would then take both of us (sometimes my mother would assist us) to corner one of the goats before we could grab him and carry it back to the pasture. However, this didn't last long.
The goats soon learned they could kick and wail about we wouldn't attempt to pick them up. So, we started roping the goats and leading them to the pasture. This worked for about half a dozen time before the billys started thrashing about. The first time it happened, I ended up with a nice rope burn as the goat suddenly dart off, pulling the rope through my hands. After that I began wearing gloves and when they would thrash about, I'd wrap the rope around my hand and start pulling harder.
But doing that was very hard on my arms and shoulder. Besides, anyone driving by and seeing the happenings would swear there was some sort of animal abuse going on. But it was something that had to be done. After all, no one wanted to a goat to go missing.
The odd thing was, every time we put the billys back in the pasture, we would walk the fence line to see if we could find how they were getting out. And every time, we were stumped. We speculated that they were climbing on the hood of a car in the field near the fence and leaping over. However, the dirt and dust on the hood was undisturbed. We looked for areas where they were getting their nose under the fence and wiggling through, but couldn't find anywhere that looked to be happening. We finally decided they were just leaping over four foot or so fence line, which neither of us really believed since we never saw them jumping at all. We were stumped.
One particularly hot afternoon, my mother and I, along with Don and his wife, were relaxing under the shaded back porch of my landlord talking about things. We were all sort of watching the goats in the field for some reason when it happened. As we sat watching, the two escape artist goats walked over towards the wooden gate and when the first was about five feet away, it lowered his head and took off. It hit the gate to the side of the latch causing it to fly open just long enough for the goat to escape before the gate slammed shut again. Without a pause, the second goat followed suit and both billys were free with no evidence of their escape showing anywhere.
Well, we on the porch couldn't help but start laughing. After weeks of trying to figure out how the goats got loose, they made their escape if full view for our enjoyment. After we finished laughing, Don and I got up to herd in the goats. They evidently realized the error of their ways, as they were standing within 10 feet of the gate staring at us. I told my landlord I would circle around the other side of the garage so if they tried to escape capture via that route, I would be there to cut them off. But those critters must have known they were busted, as they just stood there as my landlord checked out the gate, then opened it. At the same time, I grabbed one by the horns and led it back through the gate.
I then turned around to herd the other one back inside and as soon as I grabbed one of his horns, he went spread-eagle on the ground. I grabbed the other horn and attempted to wrestle him up, but he fought me the entire time, remaining on the ground with all four legs splayed out to the side. Don decided he would grab the goat by the back end and lift, but the billy squirmed enough to prevent him from getting his hands underneath. The goat was actually fighting us to keep his freedom.
Finally, I got down on my knees, wrapped my arm around the goats neck and with the other controlling his head (and horns...which wasn't easy as this goat had strong neck muscles), I rose up and was able to drag the goat through the gate. Oddly enough, as soon as he knew it was a lost cause, he gave up fighting me, making my job a lot easier.
To prevent further escapes, we tied down the top and bottom of the gate and then went back to the shade of the back porch.
There were no more escapes after that, and several months later, the entire gaggle of goats was sold and moved to another pasture where Ben and Jerry (my names for the two escapees) could plot new dashes to freedom.
But I'll never forget watching those two goats ram the gate and escape. Nor will I soon forget the fun I had getting them back into the pasture.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Rocky and Bullwinkle
Wednesday evening, I recorded the newest Mythbusters for later viewing and found the time to watch it last night. The show was interesting, in that they were tackling Alaskan Myths.
I lived in Alaska twice for two years and loved every moment of the time I spent there. I spent most of my time in the Anchorage area, but I did work for short periods of time in other areas. As I said, I loved the state. Alaska is definitely the land of extremes and amazement.
In the Mythbusters show, one of the myths they were tackling was whether or not you could lessen damage to your car if you speed up when hitting a moose in the middle of the road is the only recourse a driver has. They sort of proved it wrong, and I sort of knew they would. Moose legs are really long and most cars would go under the moose bringing it right into the windshield. As they were discussing their experiment, I thought back to one of my first moose encounters in Alaska.
It happened shortly after I arrived at Elmendorf AFB. I was tasked with driving an F-6S fuel truck containing low grade aviation fuel to Six Mile Lake. Once there, I was to refuel several Civil Air Patrol de Havilland Beavers. The lake was called Six Mile Lake for a reason...it was six miles from main base area along a dirt road cut through some of the thick on-base Alaskan wilderness.
I went out to my truck, inspected it, climbed in, did my radio check and drove off. The trip was uneventful for the first couple of miles and I was enjoying the scenery around me as I drove along. Most of the other workers in my job didn't like the Six Mile Lake run as it was long and dirty (dirt road, remember?), but it gave me the chance to get out and about and see things I wouldn't normally see. As I neared the midway point on the outbound run, I came across a sweeping right turn with woods on the left and an open prairie on the right. I also noticed a moose just entering the open field. The moose was on a fast run away from something, or wanting to go somewhere mighty fast.
As I watched the moose heading towards the road, I realized there was a very good chance that if both of us remained at the same speed we were going, that a collision would occur. Not wanting to damage government equipment, I decided I would slow down and let the moose cross in front of me. But as I began doing that, the moose also slowed and the collision again seemed likely. I decided the moose was slowing to eat or something and again applied pressure to the gas peddle and sped up. By this time, I was halfway through the turn, the moose was off to my right requiring me to lean forward a little and turn my head far to the right to see it and I needed to concentrate on navigating a washboard section of the turn.
I hadn't gone fifty feet, when BAMM! and the several ton fuel truck I was driving, began rocking. I knew what had happened and slammed on the breaks and came to a stop at the apex of the turn I was making. I immediately leaned forward and to the right and looked out the passenger side window of the cab. There, 20 feet away, I saw the moose. It was heading back into the woods from the direction it came, but it wasn't running. It was walking...slowly walking...and staggering. It's head was down and swaying from side-to-side as it walked. I got out of my truck and walked around to the passenger side, keeping an eye on the large creature heading away from me.
I wasn't much more than 40 feet from it, but it was ignoring me and my truck. I watched it for a moment and then looked at the side of the truck. There in the passenger's door, was a large dent. It wasn't there when I checked the truck out prior to departure...and my stomached cringed. How would I explain this to my boss? I looked closer at the dent and realized there were moose hairs around it. That would help, I thought. I went back around to the driver's side, reached in for my radio and keyed the mike.
"Fuels 4 to Control," I said.
"Go ahead four," came the reply from the dispatcher.
"A moose has hit my truck and damaged the door."
There was a long delay and then a new voice came on the net.
"Say again, four?" said my boss.
I repeated what I said and after a few seconds, came my boss' voice again.
"Where did you hit the moose?"
"I didn't...it hit me."
"Is the truck operable?"
"Yes."
"Finish the mission and bring the truck back to dispatch when finished."
After acknowledging the order, I glanced back at the moose who was now reentering the woods from where it came, started the truck and drove off. I finished my job and made my way back to the dispatch office. When I arrived there, everyone came out to see for themselves just what happened. I showed my supervisor the dent the moose made. While looking it over, they had also found moose hairs in the area of the dent and shook their heads in amazement. After I explained to them in more detail what had happened, we all retired to the office area where I got a cup of coffee.
As I stood at the bar sipping the hot liquid, my section chief, or boss, walked over and said, "Jones was able to pop the dent out with little effort. There was also a little damage to the pump section of the truck. You think it just didn't like yellow trucks?"
"Either that," I said, "or it was blind or just plain stupid."
That wasn't the last encounter I had with Alaskan wildlife. Stay tuned for more moose stories from The Last Frontier.
I lived in Alaska twice for two years and loved every moment of the time I spent there. I spent most of my time in the Anchorage area, but I did work for short periods of time in other areas. As I said, I loved the state. Alaska is definitely the land of extremes and amazement.
In the Mythbusters show, one of the myths they were tackling was whether or not you could lessen damage to your car if you speed up when hitting a moose in the middle of the road is the only recourse a driver has. They sort of proved it wrong, and I sort of knew they would. Moose legs are really long and most cars would go under the moose bringing it right into the windshield. As they were discussing their experiment, I thought back to one of my first moose encounters in Alaska.
It happened shortly after I arrived at Elmendorf AFB. I was tasked with driving an F-6S fuel truck containing low grade aviation fuel to Six Mile Lake. Once there, I was to refuel several Civil Air Patrol de Havilland Beavers. The lake was called Six Mile Lake for a reason...it was six miles from main base area along a dirt road cut through some of the thick on-base Alaskan wilderness.
I went out to my truck, inspected it, climbed in, did my radio check and drove off. The trip was uneventful for the first couple of miles and I was enjoying the scenery around me as I drove along. Most of the other workers in my job didn't like the Six Mile Lake run as it was long and dirty (dirt road, remember?), but it gave me the chance to get out and about and see things I wouldn't normally see. As I neared the midway point on the outbound run, I came across a sweeping right turn with woods on the left and an open prairie on the right. I also noticed a moose just entering the open field. The moose was on a fast run away from something, or wanting to go somewhere mighty fast.
As I watched the moose heading towards the road, I realized there was a very good chance that if both of us remained at the same speed we were going, that a collision would occur. Not wanting to damage government equipment, I decided I would slow down and let the moose cross in front of me. But as I began doing that, the moose also slowed and the collision again seemed likely. I decided the moose was slowing to eat or something and again applied pressure to the gas peddle and sped up. By this time, I was halfway through the turn, the moose was off to my right requiring me to lean forward a little and turn my head far to the right to see it and I needed to concentrate on navigating a washboard section of the turn.
I hadn't gone fifty feet, when BAMM! and the several ton fuel truck I was driving, began rocking. I knew what had happened and slammed on the breaks and came to a stop at the apex of the turn I was making. I immediately leaned forward and to the right and looked out the passenger side window of the cab. There, 20 feet away, I saw the moose. It was heading back into the woods from the direction it came, but it wasn't running. It was walking...slowly walking...and staggering. It's head was down and swaying from side-to-side as it walked. I got out of my truck and walked around to the passenger side, keeping an eye on the large creature heading away from me.
I wasn't much more than 40 feet from it, but it was ignoring me and my truck. I watched it for a moment and then looked at the side of the truck. There in the passenger's door, was a large dent. It wasn't there when I checked the truck out prior to departure...and my stomached cringed. How would I explain this to my boss? I looked closer at the dent and realized there were moose hairs around it. That would help, I thought. I went back around to the driver's side, reached in for my radio and keyed the mike.
"Fuels 4 to Control," I said.
"Go ahead four," came the reply from the dispatcher.
"A moose has hit my truck and damaged the door."
There was a long delay and then a new voice came on the net.
"Say again, four?" said my boss.
I repeated what I said and after a few seconds, came my boss' voice again.
"Where did you hit the moose?"
"I didn't...it hit me."
"Is the truck operable?"
"Yes."
"Finish the mission and bring the truck back to dispatch when finished."
After acknowledging the order, I glanced back at the moose who was now reentering the woods from where it came, started the truck and drove off. I finished my job and made my way back to the dispatch office. When I arrived there, everyone came out to see for themselves just what happened. I showed my supervisor the dent the moose made. While looking it over, they had also found moose hairs in the area of the dent and shook their heads in amazement. After I explained to them in more detail what had happened, we all retired to the office area where I got a cup of coffee.
As I stood at the bar sipping the hot liquid, my section chief, or boss, walked over and said, "Jones was able to pop the dent out with little effort. There was also a little damage to the pump section of the truck. You think it just didn't like yellow trucks?"
"Either that," I said, "or it was blind or just plain stupid."
That wasn't the last encounter I had with Alaskan wildlife. Stay tuned for more moose stories from The Last Frontier.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Who? Me...A Smart Ass?
I wasn't a good student in school. In high school, I failed and had to retake in summer school, English. One of the last things my English teacher said to me, was, "Never get a job requiring the use of the English language."
Well, the Air Force didn't hear that and made me a journalist. I had never had any training in it, but I was a quick learner. Within a year, I had made my way to editor of the paper and I turned into a pretty good one, taking several Air Force level awards and placing third (out of five) at Department of Defense level during my 16 plus years as a public affairs specialist which included the journalist job (I spent my first four years as a fuels specialist).
One reason I did well in that job was I wanted to learn the job. It was better than pumping gas to an airplane, which I didn't mind doing when I had to, but the public affairs job sounded a lot better.
These days, I use my writing skills for blogging (you know that already if you are reading this) and for writing short stories and several novels I am working on. I also have a lot of experiences in my life I can rely on and modify in one way or another for certain areas of my writing. Being in the Air Force, traveling the world, helped me with gathering these experiences.
But what also helps me with my writing in my broad knowledge base of things. Like I mentioned above, I catch on quick to things...especially things I want to learn about. I know a lot about a lot of things. I know about earthquakes because I have experienced several killer quakes around the world. I know about volcanoes because I have experienced several eruptions around the world. I know about astronomy because I became interested in it when was 14 years old. I know about birds and bugs because I photograph them and want to know what it is I have created an image of. There are a many other topics I am knowledgeable of, because I wanted to learn about those things.
Because of my knowledge, I have been called a smart ass, a know-it-all, and a few other things. I have also been disbelieved when I answered a question about a topic so obscure that few people even knew what the question was about. But that's me. I love to share my knowledge of things. It comes partly from my military career where I was in a public service position. I would give tours of the bases I was stationed at and have to be able to answer any and all questions thrown at me. So I learned about the places I visited and objects which would be seen along the tour route.
But these days, I don't give tours of anything. I only occasionally do something new which peaks my interest, such as card modeling. I thought it would be fun to create my own card models. So I did. I selected objects from one of my favorite cartoons, The Flintstones. If you go to the website here, and scroll down about halfway, you'll come across my stone age designs. They are available free for downloading and printing. Then with some scissors, Xacto knife, white glue and a little time, you can create your own stone age world. There are other designs from other people, all free for the downloading, but if you go there, don't forget to locate the designs from Ashrunner and look at them. If you do, let me know what you think of them.
But I still have a lot of knowledge in my brain I use. When I can, I pass on that information to others. Recently a friend of mine commented about our relationship being so one sided. When I asked for clarification and was told that I have taught this person so much about a lot of things, while I have gotten very little in return. Well, I don't pass on my knowledge with the expectation that I get something in return. Knowing that I have added to someone else's level of knowledge is a good enough feeling for me. When I was writing news stories, knowing at least one person read any particular of mine, was enough for me to continue. It's the same with sharing my vast database of knowledge.
I love learning something new and I retain that information because you never know when that information will come in handy. But you need to know that the information you are passing on is the correct information. I have made mistakes with my information in past. But I try to limit those errors in fact as much as possible. But there was one time I was wrong and that one time was the impetus for me to learn as much as I can about as much as I can. That incident happened when I was in the fifth grade.
More on that later, but first a some background is needed. When I was four or five years old, I was staying at my aunt's house in Alvin, Illinois. While I was there, a thunderstorm developed. Not long after that, we heard of a tornado warning on the radio. My aunt's family, being accustomed to this sort of thing, gathered up all the children, and led everyone down into the basement. We had tuned in the local radio station we waited for the "All clear." When it came, we went upstairs and checked things out. Things were okay on my aunt's farm, but on the late news that evening, was a story about the damage done to a farm not far from aunt's place.
A photo of the damage was shown and I looked at that black and white picture on the round
cathode ray tube of my aunt's television set with fascination. I also listened as the announcer said, "This is what the tornado did to the home of (I can't remember the name so I'll just say:)
John Smith of Alvin." On the screen was a picture of a tree which had been broken and tossed against the house. That picture was burned in my mind forever, along with what the announcer said.
The next day, my father came out to pick me up and he went out to see the damage himself. He took his camera with him and took a photo of the house damage which I had seen the night before. This is that image.
Flash forward to the fifth grade for me. It was science class time and we were learning about storms. At one point in the class, the teacher asked, "Does anyone know what a tornado is?" Excited that a question was asked which I actually knew the the answer to, I raised my hand. The teacher raised his head, pointed to me and called my name. I stood, fully prepared to give my answer. Now, remember, I was young at the time the above incident happened and it did make a lasting impression on me. I can still see the image on the television screen to this day taken from a slightly different angle than the photo.
I cleared my throat and proudly blurted out my answer. "A tornado is a walking tree which goes around destroying houses."
I slowly sat back in my seat even as the laughter from the rest of the class got louder and louder. I couldn't believe I was wrong and when the smiling, head shaking teacher finally calmed the classroom down, he pointed out the error of my description.
I vowed at that point in time, I would never again volunteer to answer any question in school. I also vowed that I would learn as much as I could about everything.
If that makes me a smart ass, so be it. 8v)
Well, the Air Force didn't hear that and made me a journalist. I had never had any training in it, but I was a quick learner. Within a year, I had made my way to editor of the paper and I turned into a pretty good one, taking several Air Force level awards and placing third (out of five) at Department of Defense level during my 16 plus years as a public affairs specialist which included the journalist job (I spent my first four years as a fuels specialist).
One reason I did well in that job was I wanted to learn the job. It was better than pumping gas to an airplane, which I didn't mind doing when I had to, but the public affairs job sounded a lot better.
These days, I use my writing skills for blogging (you know that already if you are reading this) and for writing short stories and several novels I am working on. I also have a lot of experiences in my life I can rely on and modify in one way or another for certain areas of my writing. Being in the Air Force, traveling the world, helped me with gathering these experiences.
But what also helps me with my writing in my broad knowledge base of things. Like I mentioned above, I catch on quick to things...especially things I want to learn about. I know a lot about a lot of things. I know about earthquakes because I have experienced several killer quakes around the world. I know about volcanoes because I have experienced several eruptions around the world. I know about astronomy because I became interested in it when was 14 years old. I know about birds and bugs because I photograph them and want to know what it is I have created an image of. There are a many other topics I am knowledgeable of, because I wanted to learn about those things.
Because of my knowledge, I have been called a smart ass, a know-it-all, and a few other things. I have also been disbelieved when I answered a question about a topic so obscure that few people even knew what the question was about. But that's me. I love to share my knowledge of things. It comes partly from my military career where I was in a public service position. I would give tours of the bases I was stationed at and have to be able to answer any and all questions thrown at me. So I learned about the places I visited and objects which would be seen along the tour route.
But these days, I don't give tours of anything. I only occasionally do something new which peaks my interest, such as card modeling. I thought it would be fun to create my own card models. So I did. I selected objects from one of my favorite cartoons, The Flintstones. If you go to the website here, and scroll down about halfway, you'll come across my stone age designs. They are available free for downloading and printing. Then with some scissors, Xacto knife, white glue and a little time, you can create your own stone age world. There are other designs from other people, all free for the downloading, but if you go there, don't forget to locate the designs from Ashrunner and look at them. If you do, let me know what you think of them.
But I still have a lot of knowledge in my brain I use. When I can, I pass on that information to others. Recently a friend of mine commented about our relationship being so one sided. When I asked for clarification and was told that I have taught this person so much about a lot of things, while I have gotten very little in return. Well, I don't pass on my knowledge with the expectation that I get something in return. Knowing that I have added to someone else's level of knowledge is a good enough feeling for me. When I was writing news stories, knowing at least one person read any particular of mine, was enough for me to continue. It's the same with sharing my vast database of knowledge.
I love learning something new and I retain that information because you never know when that information will come in handy. But you need to know that the information you are passing on is the correct information. I have made mistakes with my information in past. But I try to limit those errors in fact as much as possible. But there was one time I was wrong and that one time was the impetus for me to learn as much as I can about as much as I can. That incident happened when I was in the fifth grade.
More on that later, but first a some background is needed. When I was four or five years old, I was staying at my aunt's house in Alvin, Illinois. While I was there, a thunderstorm developed. Not long after that, we heard of a tornado warning on the radio. My aunt's family, being accustomed to this sort of thing, gathered up all the children, and led everyone down into the basement. We had tuned in the local radio station we waited for the "All clear." When it came, we went upstairs and checked things out. Things were okay on my aunt's farm, but on the late news that evening, was a story about the damage done to a farm not far from aunt's place.
A photo of the damage was shown and I looked at that black and white picture on the round
cathode ray tube of my aunt's television set with fascination. I also listened as the announcer said, "This is what the tornado did to the home of (I can't remember the name so I'll just say:)
John Smith of Alvin." On the screen was a picture of a tree which had been broken and tossed against the house. That picture was burned in my mind forever, along with what the announcer said.
The next day, my father came out to pick me up and he went out to see the damage himself. He took his camera with him and took a photo of the house damage which I had seen the night before. This is that image.
Flash forward to the fifth grade for me. It was science class time and we were learning about storms. At one point in the class, the teacher asked, "Does anyone know what a tornado is?" Excited that a question was asked which I actually knew the the answer to, I raised my hand. The teacher raised his head, pointed to me and called my name. I stood, fully prepared to give my answer. Now, remember, I was young at the time the above incident happened and it did make a lasting impression on me. I can still see the image on the television screen to this day taken from a slightly different angle than the photo.
I cleared my throat and proudly blurted out my answer. "A tornado is a walking tree which goes around destroying houses."
I slowly sat back in my seat even as the laughter from the rest of the class got louder and louder. I couldn't believe I was wrong and when the smiling, head shaking teacher finally calmed the classroom down, he pointed out the error of my description.
I vowed at that point in time, I would never again volunteer to answer any question in school. I also vowed that I would learn as much as I could about everything.
If that makes me a smart ass, so be it. 8v)
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