Profile 77 - FINAL: "647" as flown by Major Forrest Fenn, 309th TFS, 31st TFW

Oh yeah...

Just look at it—do you think the aeronautical engineer's art could get much wickeder?!  When I think of my left hand on the throttle, pushing forward—I hear Hades' fire roaring like a blow torch until I've left the sound far behind...I like this airplane.

Sadly though, there's just not many around anymore.  Of the 2,294 built, only 80-some survive.  Fortunately for me, there's one nearby and I make a pilgrimage to it every once in a while.  But, it's not a fulfilling event as the thing is just a carcass of its fighting form; engineless, gunless and bolted to concrete pads.

I'm lucky to have at least one to look at though. It is, after all, a tool of war and ultimately expendable. Yeah, yeah, the idealist in us wants to believe that war is won by preserving life but in fact, it's won by invoking death. Or, as Patton is quoted as saying, "The point is not to die for your country but to make the other son-of-a-bitch die for his."

It's a quote to raise a cheer, that's for sure.  But the irony is, the 'other son-of-a-bitch' is cheering the same line!

Anyway, have a look at "647" above.  It's a dead son-of-a-bitch.

In fact, 647 is one of 198 F-100s lost to combat in Vietnam.  If you noticed the date, it's there because on December 20, 1968, 647 was buried in a violent ceremony in the country of Laos.  In other words, she was shot down.

Ok, hold that thought.

The more I "do this," the more I see War and Peace as more alike than not.  Yet, the main difference is that War is hyper-compressed timewise and amplified in volume while peace ambles on in between.  In other words, ten years of peace equals something like a month of war.  Both periods contain their horrors, injustices, moments of glory, hope...it's just that said moments are diluted in peace, but concentrated in war.

You may not agree with my musing but it helps me get my head around whatever can be learned by these crucial, game-changing moments in Life.  When I meet people who've survived War, I think, "Hmmm.  What can I learn?"

Ok, back to 647.

When I was going through Rich Hall's Vietnam photo book (see Profile 75), one of the photos that brought the most animated and positive response was of three grimy guys in front of an H-53 "Jolly Green Giant" helicopter.

Rich pointed to the guy in the middle, John Carlson and remarked, "Great, great man!"  Rich recalled a handful of anecdotes about Carlson that confirmed in his mind that John was a true leader of men.  Then, Rich tapped the guy on the right and said, "And that's Major Fenn.  Lucky, lucky man!"

The short of it is this—the photo was taken just after the "Jolly" dropped Forrest onto friendly soil.  See, Forrest was flying 647 when he was hit and forced to eject over northern Laos, smack dab in unfriendly territory.  Rich, John and two others were part of the team of Skyraiders that buzzed around Fenn, allowing the "Jolly" rescue helicopter to swoop in and snatch Fenn from certain torture and likely death.

Ok, hold that thought.  One more time.

In War and Peace, the one thing that everyone can relate to is the concept of "Luck."  To some people it's a capricious thing that "just happens."  To others, it's conjured by an alchemy of actions and thoughts... and to the rest, "Luck" is a tool to be harnessed and used.

Have another look at 647.  That's Forrest Fenn's old bird.  It died.  But Forrest did not.  He was rescued by people and systems that planned, prepared and thought-through the likelihood of just that horrible moment.   And Forrest didn't just get rescued, he... thrived.

Look, I'll save you the "google."  If you've watched the Today Show or any other news headline, Forrest is the guy that hid a MULTI. MILLION. DOLLAR.  FORTUNE. in New Mexico.  Really.  Click here if you don't believe me.

And he wants someone to find it.

In other words, Forrest went on to redeem the death he was spared by making a success of himself as— of all things—an art dealer.   And he wants to share it with someone who is...

Lucky?

Hmmm.

That Forrest was rescued was really out of his control - guys like Skyraider pilots Rich Hall, John Carlson, Jim Jamerson, the Jolly crew and the "PJ" (the the guy who pulled Forrest into the hovering helicopter) did the critical work.

But what of the moments in between being shot and rescued?  What happens to a person between the impact of horror and deliverance?  Is it Luck?  Is it Fate?  Is it...?

Forrest explained, "I went over my bail-out procedures every night before going to sleep.  I initially went into shock, but I knew how to correct it.  30 minutes later, I was 100%."

Funny thing.  Rich Hall said something interesting about Forrest's rescue.

"Forrest was ready for the Jolly."

Alright.  This story doesn't seem to be over.  There are elements at work that aren't formed yet, but don't be surprised if I write/draw more about the Rescue of Forrest Fenn.

In the meantime, I hope this story conjures up a spark of hope for you.  And whatever War you're in, there are people who are able to rescue, provided you're prepared and ready.

Though the thing that brought you to the moment is dead.

Photo courtesy Rich Hall.

PS - if you're interested in owning a print of Forrest's F-100, signed by the man himself, click here.

Profile 75 - FINAL: "Sweet Marlene" as flown by Rich Hall, 602nd FS

ORIGINALLY POSTED 14 APRIL, 2013.

Rich Hall ‘flew west’ 19 April, 2024

*******

And here she is— Sweet Marlene, circa 1968.

One of the peculiarities of doing Vietnam-era aircraft is the ordnance.  It's one thing to do the airplane itself.  But the stuff under the wings?  That's another project in and of itself.

See, a WW2 airplane might carry one or two of a handful of options.  But by the time the mid '60s rolled around, a veritable junk-drawer of lethality was available to fill the Skyraider's 15 hard-points.

So, when it came time to load-up Sweet Marlene, I didn't have a clue where to start.  Rich didn't either. I asked him what the typical loadout was and he replied with a question, "Typical?"

However, Skyraider Association historian Byron Hukee (also a former Skyraider pilot) laid out my answer when I asked him about the dark colored, cylindrical missile-pod under the wing of the only photograph that showed Rich's A-1E in whole.

Byron described the object as the LAU-3 Rocket Launcher.  It contained nineteen 2.75" rockets with warheads of high explosive, anti-tank, white phosphorus or flechettes.  The launcher unit was reusable and could be filled with any number of varieties.  Have a look at the closeup below (photo: Mike Maloney).

Anyway, Byron asked me how I wanted to do the rest of the loadout on Miss Marlene and I replied that I was thinking about doing it just like a picture I had of Sweet Marlene in-flight.  Byron had the same picture on screen while we were conferring over the phone.

"Oh."  Byron stated thoughtfully.  He was staring at the image on his computer screen. "You want to do it coming home then."

Ok.  Hold that thought.

Guys name stuff they like.  Or respect.  Or fear.  I have a buddy who names his cars, another who names his tools, another who has names for his wife (depending upon her mood)...at first glance, someone might think it's a way for us to "possess" something.  But I don't think that's quite true.  If all of my experiences are correct, the act of naming is actually to show that some how, that object possess us.

It's hard to explain, but if you've ever talked sweetly to your car in the hope of getting some measure of extra performance, you know what I mean.

Anyway, one of the great questions to ask a guy who had a named aircraft is, "What's the story behind the name?"  In this particular case, I asked Rich, "So. Was Sweet Marlene someone you knew?"

"Yes." He replied matter-of-factly and waited for the next question.

"Is she...still... around ??"  I asked leadingly, hoping to coax the full story.

"Yes."  Same perfunctory reply.   There was something to this "Marlene" thing but it wasn't going to come out easily.  My story-alert sense was starting to flash more quickly.

"And...so...whatever happened to her?"

Ok, I realize that poking questions into as-yet dark holes can be, well, surprising.   And, I know when to quit.  At least I'm working on that.  But I figure that if a guy is man enough to fly combat in the first place, agree to an interview and top the stack of combat photos with a big 8x10 of SWEET MARLENE, he could handle the questioning.

He waited a couple of seconds before leaning forward to command, "She's home." Then after a beat or two, he grinned and laughed.  I got the low down on all the kids and grand kids, too.  Whew.  Happy story.  No tragic heartbreak, no pain, no suffering.  Sweet Marlene remained.

But. My story-alert was still flashing.

"So.  Can I talk to her?"

Pause.

"Maybe."  And I could tell we were back to one-word replies.   But after some thought, Rich added, "That'll be up to her." It was clear that this line of questioning would end for the day.

Well, another day came and I was able to connect with Marlene via email.  These are her words:

"It was one of the worst years of my life...lots of worries about his safety.  Plus he missed a whole year of our little son's life.  Our 9 mo. old son and I stayed with my family during this year (1968) and they were extremely supportive. We were not part of any (established) squadron or anything as Rich left right out of pilot training.  We exchanged tapes every day.  And letters...I looked forward to the mail every day and if we didn't hear anything that day, I automatically worried more.  I believe we had only 2 phone calls during this time....

...and it goes without saying that this was tough on (Rich) especially when he didn't get any of the 'thanks' that he and the others were so deserving of."

And that's all she wrote.

Just this past week, I finally finished David Halberstam's book, "The Best and the Brightest."  It chronicles the people and decisions that lead to American involvement in Vietnam.  It's a brilliant peek into the minds and egos behind this culture-shifting moment in our history.  But the thing that struck me most was just how common, how ordinary, how logical and how human it all was.   Change the names, change the terrain, remove the dead and "Vietnam" now looks like a handful of situations I've experienced from clients to cub scouts.

So many intentions, good and bad, and in the end, people just wanted to quit and go home.

And so, my artwork is shown, as Byron pointed out, "coming home."

And here's the photo.  Miss Marlene, returning to base after a mission, empty, save for the single store.  And look closely at the LAU-3.  There are a few rockets left.

There's a weird poetry here.  The Skyraider, so capable, a pilot who, despite a frustration with the circumstances, fulfills his duty 200 times in a war that had long swallowed and digested its purpose...

...and named for a miserable beauty thousands of miles away.

I really want to learn everything I can about Vietnam.

Sweet Marlene deserves that.  And so do her boys.

There's more to come. 

Profile 75 - UPDATE: "Sweet Marlene" as flown by Rich Hall, 602nd FS

8,000lbs of power.   That's the burden this beast could carry.

It struck me while listening to Rich describe his service, that this man, a farmer, a dad, a husband, average guy, had the destructive power of a WW2 B-17 bomber under his thumb.   And I had no idea what that meant other than, "a lot."

Most of us, in fact more than 99.99% of us, can't comprehend what that kind of power really means.

But!  I'd say most of us CAN comprehend a football field.

So, to give you an idea of what this airplane could do, I've created a little graphic below.  It's a typical football field that happens to find itself on the wrong-side of four Skyraiders*; each one carrying eight 500lb general purpose bombs with a lethal blast radius of about 60 feet.



Now you've got an idea of what kind of power Rich and any other Skyraider pilot could wield.  And judging from my conversations with Rich, it was indeed, a burden.

Ok - hold that thought for a second.

A few weeks ago, I had the idea to get more people involved in my interviews by having little "contests" to get a free pilot-signed print.  Judging by responses, the idea was a good one.  In this case, the winner of the "Ask a Skyraider pilot" contest won with the question, "What types of missions were your most interesting?"

So, to Mark K**, here's your answer:  "Sandy."

In Vietnam, Skyraider mission callsigns were called "Firefly" or "Sandy" depending upon the type.  Firefly missions were close-air support; bombing, strafing, blowing stuff up.  Sandy missions were protecting downed pilots; keeping the enemy at bay until a rescue helicopter could come in and take the pilot home. Rich flew 200 missions in Vietnam.  Of those 200, 193 were Firefly missions.  In case you're not good with math, that means only seven were Sandy missions.

Why Sandy?  He explained, "Sandy" was by far and away the most interesting and rewarding mission I flew.  EVER.   When we got a guy out, it was as if every little idiotic rule ever set to print was only a bump in the road. The Rescuee's smile made it all worth while."

"So tell me.  What were they like?"

"Well, I'll tell you one."  Rich cleared his throat, leaned forward in the chair and brushed invisible dust from the table between us.  "Tom was Sandy 1, I can't remember Sandy 2 but I was Sandy 3.  Loren was Sandy 4 but he got hit and had to head for home."

"He got hit?"

(Sandy 4, flown by Loren Alfred)

"Yeah. (And that left the rest of us).  The downed pilot was somewhere away from a cliff area and there was a (Viet Cong) gunner down there.  (Tom) was doing his best (to find the gunner) but I knew where he was.  At the base of the cliff, there was this hole and he must have had a .50 cal in there.  So...you know what a Flechette Round is?"

"Yeah."

"So I rolled in on him.  You have to get really close (with a Flechette).  And he had me bracketed!  Everything is coming up at me (from this hole) lazily.  In glowing balls.  Those are tracers, so in between those balls are bullets too.  And I'm boring in..."

I could see it in my minds eye.  The A-1, her monstrous bulk and all that power hanging from her wings; an oil-belching green pterodactyl winging in on an angry mouse...

"Everything (he had) was coming up at me and you know something?"

"Yeah?"

"All those tracers coming up at me were inside my gunsight reticle!***  I fired, my flechette blew about 30 feet in front of him.  Obliterated that hole.   His last tracer round passed my 2 o'clock and to this day, I think it went through my propeller arc.  I have vivid, vivid memories of that day..."

Indeed, if you talk to Rich, by virtue of the stories he wants to share,  you'd think that Sandy missions were all he flew.  But they were just 5% of his total.  

"So tell me about one of the 193.  What were they like?"

Gawd, what a look I got and I will never forget it!  It wasn't mad.  It wasn't angry.  It wasn't sorrowful.  The quality that made Rich's expression so indelible was it's utter blank-ness.  The instant Rich processed my question, it was as if a switch suddenly flipped to a mental channel of white noise.  

[insert static sound: kkkshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh]

It had to be three seconds before he snapped too.   And then, he answered deliberately, "Unproductive."  He paused, got his mojo back and chagrinned, "I blew up evil trees."

Another pause and Rich went back to sharing anecdotes about the guys in his photo album, "And that's so-n-so.  He was a great guy!  Let me tell you about that picture.  It was a Tuesday..."

I'll be finishing Rich's Skyraider by the end of the month and if all goes to plan, the last post will be a surprise.  Probably as much for me as it is anyone else (if that makes sense)...

_______________________________________

*Yeah.  I know.  That's only a quarter of the A-1's payload.  It makes the airplane's power all the more awesome, don't you think?

**And yes, you won a print of my artwork, and it will be shipped right after our print signing which will be in a few weeks or so.

***The gunsight reticle is a circle that's displayed on the glass panel of a gunsight.  It's about 4" in diameter.  So, when you imagine Rich in his cockpit, crouched behind his gun sight, imagine seeing the return fire come up within that small space.  This moment truly was a mortal game of Chicken.

Profile 76: FINAL - "XR K" as flown by Steve Pisanos, 4th FG

Finished—the Spitfire Steve Pisanos flew after the Eagle Squadron transferred into the USAAF's 4th Fighter Group.  It's hard to believe that was over seventy years ago.

Read again.  Seventy years ago.

Of course, the world was different back then.  But when you talk to someone who was there, the decades between shuffle back and forth at lightning speed and suddenly, the distance in time seems insignificant.

Steve Pisanos is 93.  But you'd never know it.  At least, Steve will challenge preconceptions one might have of what a 93 year old is supposed to be like.

By any stretch, the man's life is amazing.  No, make that AMAZING.  Immigrant, fighter pilot, ace, fighter with the French resistance, test pilot... Steve Pisanos wrings 'life' out of time like I wring water out of a dishtowel!

Suffice it to state, when you ask Steve the question, "How did you accomplish so much?" you need to listen to the answer.   But his answer, at first, disappointed me.

"Determination," he said in his Greek-tinged accent.  "Determination, my friend."

Of course, I'd heard THAT before.  It was so pat, so hackneyed, it was white noise.  You can buy the word "determination" in any one of a hundred self-help books at Barnes and Noble.

"So what does that mean?  Tell me how it came about," I asked.

"I'll tell you how I came to America.  By freighter.  And I was on that ship working.  Shoveling coal into wheelbarrows (for the coal-fired engines).  And I knew nothing of English but I wanted to be a pilot.  And in Greece?  I was not going to be a pilot.  So I came to America."

Sensing there was more to the story, I asked him to flesh it out a bit more.

"Ok.  I found out we were going to Baltimore.  Baltimore?!  Where is that!?  I knew New York City, I knew Chicago was full of gangsters and everything west was Cowboys!  That's it!  So I wondered how I was going to get to New York City from Baltimore.  And you know what?"

"What?"

"I learned the English to say, "Ticket. To. New York."

"Okay..."

"See, I knew I had to take a train from Baltimore to New York.  So I learned the words:  Ticket. To. New York.  I must have practiced it a thousand times while shoveling coal.  Ticket. To. New York."

"That's all you knew?  Of English?"

"Yeah.  Basically.  That's it."

And I realized that he gave me a dynamic definition of what determination is.  If you want something, you need to be willing to shovel coal, land in the wrong town and learn a new language to take a train to where you wanted to go in the first place...in order to achieve it.

Determination, indeed.

Click here.


Though there's more to share here, it'll have to wait.  I don't want to keep Sweet Marlene waiting any longer. 

Profile 76: BEGINNING/UPDATE: "XR K" as flown by Steve Pisanos, 334th FS

HA!

Sometimes a blind squirrel gets a nut!

And that blind squirrel is ME.  Being frank, I thought my last WW2 bird was done.  Two weeks ago, someone asked me what "new WW2 airplanes I was working on?" and the answer came out like a cough of sorry dust, "None."

But.  Never taunt Fate.  Circumstances can turn in the damnedest ways...

Behold, Steve Pisanos' Spitfire Mk.Vb.  The one he flew with the famed "Eagle Squadron*" in WW2.  In case you don't know who the Eagle Squadrons were, they were a group of American pilots who enlisted in the RAF to fly against the Germans BEFORE the United States declared war.

In case you don't know who Steve Pisanos is, well, suffice it to state, he was a Greek who fought for the British against the Germans and later became an American.

Confused?  Don't be.  I'll explain it all later.  But for those of us who want a REAL American success story, bookmark this one.

Stay tuned...and this one will move REALLY fast!  My apologies to "Sweet Marlene" below but something tells me, Marlene can play Patience tuned like a finely tuned instrument...

*A sharp-eyed reader informed me there were three Eagle Squadrons flying with the Brits in the early days of WW2 and he is correct (of course, too as he's a PhD in history).  Thank you, Jerry!

Profile 75: BEGINNING: "Sweet Marlene" as flown by Rich Hall 602nd FS

It's begun!  The A-1E Skyraider flown by Rich Hall of the 602nd Fighter Squadron, circa 1969, Nakhon Phanom, Thailand.  Her name is Sweet Marlene.

Who's Marlene?  Ha. You're going to have to wait for that one.  But I will tell you about her pilot.  And her mission.

The sketch above is what I took with me today when I met Rich—every airplane I do starts out as a pencil sketch.  Armed with scant details that I'd gleaned from serial-number data, the Skyraider Association and some second-rate sleuthing, I was able to get my head around where we'd start. But, I was depending on Rich to fill in the details.

And he was eager to talk.

Sifting through his flight records and a tattered, crumbly photo album, Rich shared his Vietnam story one person at a time; his easy baritone voice seasoned with the sweet style of a small-town grandfather. "That'd be so-and-so..." he laughed while twisting the black and white photos to face me.  "And this is Col. XYZ and he..."  Or, "That's Major 123.  There's a funny story about him.  He once..."

They were great stories.  Happy, go-lucky stories that resembled summer camp or maybe the first year of college.  But after the first five, I got a little concerned that I'd ever get to Rich's own tales.  I can handle amusing anecdotes about someone else's antics as much as the next guy but after a while, I need to get to the point.

"So. Let's talk about what you did."

The chatter stopped. Rich looked at me with a quizzical expression and it occurred to me that this guy might have had no idea what I was here for.  In short, I had some explaining to do.

"I want to know what you did, why you were there and draw your airplane.  I don't have an axe to grind and I'm not looking to poke anyone.  But I do know that a lot of people are like me.  They just want to know what went on over there."

"Alll-right."  He leaned back in the chair and rested against the black leather armrest.  "There was a gag order on this for twenty five years.  $10,000 fine or 10 years in prison.  I left in 1974 so that's up."

"Ok.  That means you were up in Laos and Cambodia then."

"Yes."

I opened my journal, clicked the ball point pen and we got down to business.

8,000lbs of it.

[to be continued]

Profile 70: FINAL - B-52G of the 77th BS

Finished!  

There's a teeny bit to be done with the engines, but I'll handle that with a pencil on the final prints.

I'm pretty happy with how it turned out.  Her pilot, Dave Berkland, is really happy and that's all that matters.

There are times when I write or draw something and it's not my best.  Instead, it's the best I can do given the circumstances.  My own skill-level, availability of knowledge, lack of time...and sometimes a lousy subject (they happen) can really conspire to foul up what should have been a Magnum Opus.

Kind of like the Vietnam War.  It should have been another shining moment in American history but because of... you get the point.

In the course of this project, the fruit of the research was really a bumper crop.  I learned a lot about the Khmer Rouge, corresponded with a Cambodian woman who had lost family during Pol Pot's sh*t-headed tenure, read three gut-wrenching biographies on Cambodian KR survivors and even managed to talk one of my kids into watching The Killing Fields.  In short, this B-52G was an immersive experience!

And it was also a spiritual one, too.

In the biblical book of Genesis, Cain, after killing his brother, answered God's probing question about the whereabouts of Abel by snarking, "I don't know.  Am I my brother's keeper?"

I'll leave it at this.  In the brotherhood of Man, the United States is still the biggest, strongest Brother out there.  And this B-52G, in spite of being older than I am, remains a BIG stick in the American quiver of, for lack of a better word, "help" for others in need.  What is "help" and "harm" remain to be seen though - that's where we need to put the burden on our leaders, I guess.

I wish we, as a Nation, could go back in time and do certain things better or at least, differently.  But God help those that think that this country doesn't deserve our absolutely best effort, now.

Postscript - Lt. Berkland took the photo below, in his words, "Somewhere over the Pacific.  I was just doing my job, John.  Just doing my job."

POSTSCRIPT:  The opinions that this post has stirred up are more proof (to me) that Americans, especially my generation, can only benefit from further study on the Vietnam War and the South East Asia experience.   If there is any wrong to the times, we need to know it clearly and openly so we can avoid similar situations in the future.  If there is any right to the times, we need to know it for our nation's self respect and the honor of those who served. 

Profile 70: UPDATE - B-52G of the 77th BS

She's taking shape and about half way there.  My guess?  Two more posts.  In the meantime, things are going to get really boring.  Or terrifying, depending upon...

So.

The B-52 is one of the most storied aircraft ever built.  But most of its legend is shrouded in a peculiar cloak of factors.  It's age (nearly 60 years!), it's mission (these things demolish in a big way), it's service (all-things-Vietnam) get all wrapped up into a package that glows with controversy.

And that's how I got here in the first place.  I was getting ready to walk a Fourth of July parade to hand out balsa gliders in support of our local air show when one of the other volunteers said, "Hey John.  Meet my brother-in-law.  He flew B-52s."

"Really?  When?"

"Cambodia.  1973."

Boom! The B-52 story seemed to fly out of an opened Pandora's box—"illegal" bombing, the Domino Theory, Khmer Rouge atrocities and the familiar footage of bomb concussions thumping their way across the jungle...

I had to draw this guy's airplane and tell the story!

I won't go into detail on the actual decisions behind bombing Cambodia.  If you want to know that, you might want to start with an article found here, written by a Lt. Stephen M. Millett.   But I will go into detail on this particular airplane and what it was like to participate in the bombing of Cambodia.

This B-52G is the mount flown by Lt. Dave Berkland, 77th Bomb Squadron.  I've got a handful of tail-numbers to pick from out of the hundred fifty such B-52s based at Andersen AFB in Guam.  I'll have that sorted out by the next post. For this post, however, I want to focus on just why these beasts were so feared.  I can sum it up in one fact: 20,250lbs of bombs.

Ten tons of explosive.

If you want to get picky, 27 750lb bombs.  And, in a typical "3-ship" flight, thirty tons of explosive would be brought to bear on a concentrated target.

Here.  This is what it looked like.

Photo:  US Air Force.  Red "OMG GUY" and scale line added by me.

Yeah...I said the same thing that you probably just whispered under your breath.

Now, the picture above probably wasn't taken over Cambodia.  More like Vietnam.  But if there are pictures of a Cambodian bomb run, they have to be spectacular as Dave's missions were at night.  If you know of any such pictures, let me know; Dave would like to see one.  In all of his 20 combat missions, not once did he observe the results of such a strike.  After dropping the bombs, he was busy hefting the bomber onto a new course and away from the target.

"Utter boredom," he recalled.  "(Those missions) were utterly boring."

Boring?  Well, from his perspective, I can see it.  Each mission was about 13 hours, from wheels-up to the bark of tires on concrete runway that signaled a safe return. In between, the mission involved talking with the navigators about family, taking a nap, looking out the window, monitoring gauges and getting ready to make a turn here or there...boring.  Or so he tells me.

"I could walk around," Dave remembers. "But those navigators.  They had 6 hours at a time, staring at these monitors! And on my break (from co-pilot/pilot duty) I'd walk down and talk with them.  Just talk.  Family, life stuff.  Like I said, my combat missions were boring."

But have another look at the photo above.

Now, a B-52G over Cambodia would salvo its bombs in a sequence that could take as long as 1 second between bombs.  So, 27 bombs would take 27 seconds*.  Flying at an indicated speed of 325kts—about 375mph—the 27 bombs would boom their way along a path almost three miles long.

Think of it this way.  If you were standing in the parking lot of Minneapolis' Mall of America, and a B-52G unloaded her cargo three miles away at a one-per-second salvo, it'd look like this.

Ok, so it's really 2.81 miles.  All things considered, the 2 tenths of a mile are academic.

Anyway,  if you were at the Mall of America and heard/felt the first BOOM! three miles away, you'd have about 25 or so seconds to run like hell on a perpendicular course to escape the blast radius.  But that assumes you know the direction of the bomb-path.  And it assumes you've got a clear lane to run.  And it assumes you weren't standing under the first bomb.

Boring?  Sweet jeebus.  BOOM!      BOOM!          BOOM!         BOOM!        BOOM!...

Terrifying.  Positively terrifying.

Now, have a look at the picture below.  It was generated by a guy named Taylor Owen to indicate just how much of Cambodia was bombed during the period of 1965-1973.  If I read him right, every red dot is a target.  A paper he had published at Yale University can be found here.

Those are a lot of booms.

Ok.  Look.  I've watched the stats behind this blog for years and I can tell you that interest in "the Vietnam War" is growing and I've had to work to keep up.  As a child of the 70's, what I've learned from "the media" is that the United States was an evil monolith that deliberately hunted poor Asian peasants like an eagle hunts mice.

But the truth of the matter is this—I've met a few Vietnam-era soldiers, mostly pilots naturally, asked a few questions and was surprised at how little I really knew about this crucial time.  And what I did know was tainted by political bias.   To be frank, the more I learn, the more I wonder, not why we were there at all but why were weren't there in greater force.

And then I remember that somewhere under that three-mile long run of concussions were indeed, poor Asian peasants...

BOOM!

Looking back, American leaders made some stupid choices but I'll tell you this, the original questions were shockingly important.   Questions like, "If we believe that individuals should be free, how far do we go at promoting that?" and "If we've pledged support to an ally, how far do we go at keeping our word?" and probably the most important questions, "If we do something what will happen?  And what if we don't?"

BOOM!  BOOM!

Stay tuned.

*Note.  The time between individual bombs could be changed.  Dave didn't record or recall the particular timing; the one-per-second rule was just an educated guess.

Profile 70: UPDATE - B-52G of the 77th BS

Stop, start, stop, start...

Four and a half months later, I'm back at it; the B-52 I started last August is finally getting some attention.  Specifically, a B-52G from Andersen AFB in Guam, 1973.

Which B-52G?  Well, I've got a copy of the pilot's Individual Flight Record in front of me right now and I'm picking through eleven tail numbers... We'll sort them out later though as my mind is preoccupied two bigger issues.

Firstly, I've got to get my head around "the story."  The B-52G that gets finished here will be one that took part in the bombing of Cambodia during the Spring and early Summer of 1973.

"Cambodia?" you say, "Where the hell is that?!  And why should we care about a country that most American school kids couldn't find on a globe?"

Cambodia shares the Vietnam's western and southern border.  Click here if you want to know more. But in terms of "caring," I did a few clicks of my own to learn that about 15 million people live there now, so at least that many people care about Cambodia.

There should be more Cambodians though. Maybe two, three million more.  At least those are the numbers bantered about when the people who tally death-counts tally the souls lost to the Khmer Rouge.  And what's a Khmer Rouge?  More on that later, too.

We'll just leave Cambodia with this thought for now:  Cambodia is probably the most bombed country on earth.

Secondly, I've got to get my head around something far more trivial but much more relevant to this post; the actual COLORING of the B-52.   The B-52Gs based at Andersen AFB were painted in what is called the "SIOP" camouflage pattern.  It stands for "Strategic Integrated Operational Plan."  In a nutshell, is an an acronym for an over reaching military plan that contained everything from military strategy to what color the bombers got painted.

The apparently "easy" thing about having the Military specify specific paint codes is that getting the color 'right' becomes a simple matter.  Simply find the code, get a chip, match the color, done.  It doesn't work that way in practice, however.  Paint-batches change, atmospheric forces work differently in one geographic locale than another and the all-important photographic documentation depends on film, shutter speed, cloud covering, processing...

So, to get really accurate, authentic coloring, I've consulted the witchery of Adobe Photoshop to help me analyze the dozen or so photos from "back in the day."  See below.

The photo on left is basically the photo I got.  It's yellowed tremendously as photos from those days tend to do.  The photo on the right is an adjustment I made—an over-exposure—to try to figure out the weathering pattern.  The color bars atop represent what's SUPPOSED to be the SIOP camo colors of the B-52; the crew is standing in front of a section of airplane that's likely painted in FS 34179.

Doing aircraft markings "always" seems to be like this—a straightforward, stated, documented solution becomes, in practice, a tangle of variables, interpretations and facts that, in the end, really only exist in someone's head.

So.  Anyway.  Ready to go on a bombing mission?  It's going to be a long one...

Profile 74: "Francie" as flown by Lt. Harold Snow

To my regular readers:  I'm still here.

54 days ago, I took on a weighty project of writing and publishing the bio of Hank Snow.  It was a surprise, really - I never expected to do it, even though I've done a number of the man's combat aircraft.

Circumstances being what they've been, I've had to move quickly and focus on a lot of artwork, a lot of writing, a lot of research...and somewhere in there, I had Thanksgiving and now, Christmas.

Suffice it to state, Hank's book is coming along nicely, it should be done shortly and I've done a bunch of artwork for it too.  It'll be first published for Apple iPad, then Amazon Kindle and the Barnes & Noble Nook.  I might do a traditional printing but only for PR gifts as it seems the best way to tell Hank's story is through the digital platform.  This is all well and good provided the power doesn't go out.  (Joke).

I hope it's all worth everyone's time - gawd knows a whole lot of people have invested so much into this story and it's up to me to tell it right.

Anyway, have a look at Francie!

Would you believe this is the SECOND time I've done this aircraft?  The first was nearly ten years ago and looking back, it was highly inaccurate.  Even this one has a dubious note or two - namely the serial number - but all in all, this one is the best.

Now, have a look at the photo below.  It may look like a frame from a gun camera still but it's not.  The photo is actually from a Recon P-51 called an F-6 and it shows the results of an attack by a flight of 528th Mustangs (of which Hank was one).

What you're seeing is in all likelihood the aftermath of the destruction of a Japanese locomotive atop a bridge that spanned a series of rice paddies.   The importance of Japanese rail lines in China can't be overstated.  Considering the expanse of China itself, getting items from Point A to Point B was always a primary issue for any kind of movement.  So, it made sense that one of the sought-out targets was a train.

I asked Hank about this a few years ago and he explained to me that the Japanese held China from the center of a rail line to 25' out either side.  After that, it was wild country controlled by Communist rebels, National military and a bewildering number of feudal-type war lords that controlled chunks of turf.

The 528th's daily record for train "kills" was 18.   In talking with other squadron members, 9, 11 and 14 were also hit on other days.  Can you imagine the benefit of eliminating 40 or so vital supply lines to the enemy?!

We're talkin' that the Dragon Flys (the 528th's mascot) reduced hundreds, if not more, train cars of supplies and troops from the Japanese!  I can't prove it but the raw impact of the 528th on the Japanese Army's ability to make war had to be strong.

Anyway, there's so much more to come, I can't come close to even hinting.  So, bear with me, and gear up to learn about a fantastic military career.

Profile 73: "870" as flown by Hank Snow, 173rd Airborne

Behold the Cessna 0-1 "Bird Dog."  I've skipped the pencil-to-print progress shots because I've simply had no time.  This particular opportunity popped up on the radar and I had to move. 

It's a long story...

But, on looks alone, the O-1 is a sweet little airplane,  even with the military paint scheme. Paint it yellow and she'd look so pretty on a grass airstrip.  And then there's that aw-shucks nickname; it's easy to visualize a cute little puppy painted on the cowling as nose art. 

Don't be fooled.  This is a bad ass warbird. And "870" was flown by a bad ass warrior.  And today, he's nearing the age of 90. 

You know, I've written this blog post at least ten times.  And deleted same.  In one attempt, I describe the role of the Forward Air Controler (FAC) in Vietnam, another the changing mode of technology...and none have satisfied until I this morning when I sat down with my friend Rick (LEO, Navy) and he reminded me, "History is about people.  Not stuff."

Thank you Rick, for the wake-up call.   I'll restart.

I first met Hank ten years ago at a reunion of a WW2 fighter squadron.  These guys were the rough and tumble type that you'd imagine - back-slapping, loud hollers, scotch-fueled braggadocio - basically, the kind of buddies any man would you'd love to hang with.  And, I was at the bar with Earl Ashworth, Bill Creech, "Doc" Perrit.  Why me?!  I could do something they couldn't - I could fly a PENCIL.

I was so outclassed.  But, Creech was buying and no one had kicked me out of the conversation...

...and (I don't know how, but)  the stories wound up to a challenge, "Who's the greatest fighter pilot that ever lived?"

Bullshit came to bullshit, bravado topped bravado.   But a few moments later, the conversation quieted when Earl pointed over at Hank (talking to the girls, one happened to be my wife) and Earl - in his 80 year old fashion said, "Hank.  Hank's the greatest fighter pilot.  No doubt."

Bill and Doc looked over, paused a moment and in resignation or affirmation - I don't know -  raised their glasses.   

Bill?  Doc?  These guys alone were giants.  One had hacked his way out of a Burmese jungle, the other built his own airplane in his garage.  Yet, they tipped their drinks toward the big-chinned guy who looked like Bob Parr in the movie, "The Incredibles."

Right then, I wanted to know, "Who the hell is Hank Snow?!"

Tomorrow, I take-off to get what will likely be my last interview with the man.

I'll leave you with this; Hank flew P-51s in WW2, F-51s in Korea, F-86s in Korea, O-1 Bird Dogs in Vietnam, F-105s in Vietnam... 3 wars, 666 missions.  I'll write it again for effect - 3 wars, 666 missions. 

Look. I know there's some Bird Dog pilots who are waiting for a great story about Hank and the 0-1 but you're going to have to wait.  This story is just too huge for a blog post.

In the meantime, that's Hank on the right, Air Force Liaison Offer for the 173rd Airborne, Vietnam.

I hope to be done by Christmas.

Final Flight: George McGovern, 455th BG

Today, the world lost "One of the Good Ones."

George McGovern - U.S. politician, social servant and WW2 bomber pilot has died.

Undoubtedly, prominent people around the world will weigh in.  George had a giant life - war hero, statesman, international figure, candidate for "the world's most powerful office,"... and, according to my mom, was "a gawd-damned Democrat!"

That's how I learned he was a man of significance.  Mom didn't swear unless it was really important.

This is awkward because I feel compelled to write something but also realize that my experiences with George are insignificant in comparison...

So, I'll tell this story.

George and I were at a Ruby Tuesday having lunch.  I announced that "I'm buying," and he picked up the colorful drink menu, and flashed the wry smile of a gambler who realized he'd found a rube.  "You having anything?"  I reply, "No" because it's like, two in the afternoon.

The server arrived - young, sparkling with pins and buttons; knowing the appetizer of the day but having no clue who she's waiting on. George picked up the menu and pointed to this beautifully photographed blue concoction.  Only judging by the photo, it wasn't so much a drink as it was an event.
Chances are good you're familiar with the offering - thirty years ago, you'd get to keep the glass and the little umbrella.  And the drink's name ends with a ™ symbol.

"That." he says, pointing to the picture.  He lowered his head, peeked over the top of his glasses and asked/stated  "You're having something?"  He grins - and suddenly, it dawns on me that George McGovern is giving me...well, I hate to say this, but...he's giving me shit!  "Loosen up," he says and leans back into the vinyl booth.

I got the joke;  I then saw myself as I'd been, rigid, professional, uptight,  my notebook out, my pen at ready...George wasn't out for an interview.  He was out for lunch.

"I'll have a glass of wine."

"Good."  And then he picked up the lunch menu and pointed at the picture of what he wanted. "I'll have that." The server took her notes, glanced at me and I nodded, "Fine.  Me too."

So, I thought - Ok, if that's the way he wants it, I'll play ball.   I broke the conversational bread by announcing, "My mom is flipping in her grave right now that I'm having lunch with you."

It didn't phase him.  "Yes.  I've heard that one before.  But you want to know something?  Times change."  And, he removed his cell phone from his suit coat pocket.  Fumbling with the keypad, focusing his glasses, he squinted, scrunched his nose and finally presented the device to me.

There, illuminated in blue and white was a telephone number.  "That's Bob Dole's number.  Shall we call him?"

"WHAT?!"

The server presented our drinks - mine a foul smelling house wine and George's, a beautiful blueish sculpture that maked me realize I missed out.  "You're kidding me!"  I exclaim, gulping a mouthful of my awful red swill.  He sips his blue whatever™.

"Bob is one of my best friends.  Can you imagine that?"  He smiled. Warmly.  "He and I work with Food for Peace.  We agree that kids need a good meal."  He took another sip and raised his glass as if to toast.

It was at that moment, right then and there, I became a McGovernite.  Not necessarily in belief but out of sheer respect for a Warrior who - quoting William Wallace's dad in the movie, Braveheart could "use (his) mind first (before resorting to the sword)."

George McGovern and Bob Dole.  Buddies.  And because they could agree that something could be bigger and more important than both of them.

Damn.  Wouldn't such single-mindedness between differing minds be nice right now?

Lunch was long.  He recalled WW2 bombing missions, the 1972 presidential election, the unfortunate power of advertising agencies - it was so cool to be talking to someone that was so there at such pivotal times in American history.

Anyway, mom - wherever you are in the eternal ether,  George McGovern may have been a damned Democrat.  But "Gawd" damned?

No.  I think God blessed him just fine.

Blue skies, George...

Original post here.

Profile 72: FINISHED - LGM-25C Titan II missile

It's..."The Titan II."

Having just re-watched the bizarrely hilarious movie, "Raising Arizona," Tex Cobb's character of the Apocalyptic Motorcycle Rider came to mind.

If missiles were people, The Titan II would be him; the biggest, dirtiest, meanest rider of the Cold War.

Ok - think about the Titan II this way; it delivered a 9 megaton nuke that generated a fireball of approximately 3/4 of a mile WIDE.

And, if you need to get your head around that, go outside your front door, imagine 3 blocks east, west, north, south and know that the fireball would be a little bigger than that.  We're talking metal-melting heat alone. (The radiation and blast effects are mere icing on the cake, but they reach-out an additional 10 miles).

Make you nervous?

Forget about it. The Titan II's days are gone.  The 308th Strategic Missile Wing (SMW) at Little Rock AFB, Arkansas gave the Titan II its last salute on August 18, 1987.  But while it lasted, the Titan II reigned as Dark Lord.

Here are some interesting talking points about the Titan II:

• The Titan II's propellant - a cocktail of dinitrogen tetroxide and hydrazine - ignited by itself when mixed.  No need for a fuse, a spark or a match.   This process is called "hypergolic."

• Once the "keys were turned" and the launch sequence started, the Titan II took another 55-ish seconds to launch.

• From key-turn to impact, a Titan II completed its mission in just over 30 minutes.

• The 9-megaton warhead in the Titan II was the largest carried by an American ICBM.

• The Titan II was likely the most deadly ICBM never used - at least 55 people died in accidents centered around the missile's complicated fuel delivery system.  One accident on Sept. 20, 1980 resulted in the nuke warhead being blown clear out of the silo!

• The Titan II wasn't completely warlike.  It was also used to launch the Gemini spaceflights (with a different payload, of course).

The bullet points are interesting trivia, but focusing on them misses the point that these missiles were wholly inert without human Genesis and management.  And for me, the human-side of these missiles reigns as paramount.

This past week, I had coffee with a Missileer.*  I shared my observation that one word was mentioned/written/spoken more often than I'd noticed in service people of other eras and other branches of military service.  The word?  "Professionalism."

"We had it drilled into us," another wrote.  And another made it clear that the mass of responsibility was worn as part of the uniform.  And yet another Missileer has stated that he knows many now-obsolete national secrets but he will hold onto them out of sheer respect to the profession.

Though the nuances of sentiment may differ, they all seem to agree on that word, professionalism.

And it's a mysterious word, too.  In discussion, the things that exactly define what professionalism means become deeply personal and hard to qualify.  Unfortunately, I'm no help.   But I did manage to write this quote from a Crew Commander that I think helps sum-up how Missileers valued their work:

"I was surrounded by people that did not want to fail."  

Have a look at the graphic I did showing Titan II's guarding the Arkansas state capitol building.  Maybe you picked up on the macabre irony of how our government is founded on the principle of "checks and balances."

It was an accident - my original intent was simply to provide an entertaining way to show the size of the beast against a relatively common landmark - this one paying homage to the fact that Titan II's made their home in Arkansas.

But looking on it, I wonder if the Arkansas state government - heck, our federal system, too! - is run by people who "do not want to fail."

I wonder...

Of course, having one's finger on the key to nuclear armageddon does raise the stakes a bit beyond politics as usual.

Hmmm.  Maybe our politicians should spend some time as Missileers...?

Next up:  The Titan I.

*Missileers are also tending to be more reluctant than any other vets to go on-record.

NOTE:  It's finished, but not.  The Missileer that sponsored this one has graciously pointed out a number of errors and given me the blessing to take a few days off to get my head re-centered.  From this tiny illustration, you probably won't know the difference.  But this Titan II will hang on Missleer walls and I want to make sure it's as good as I can make it.

Profile 71: FINISHED - LGM-30F Minuteman II missile

The missile above is the LGM-30F, "Minuteman II" ICBM.

And it is...amazing. No. Not just amazing. It's OMG!

What?  Not getting the vibe? Hearing crickets chirp in the background?

I get it.  No one cares.

But have another look. Please?  Have another peek at the poor Minuteman II ICBM.  Imagine the big guy, setting in the cold silo, waiting in the black for his tragic, suicidal run to Russia...

Still don't care? I get that, too.  Hell, I'll be blunt - until recently, the only missiles I thought about at all where the $15 ones that my kids launched and subsequently lost.

But since I did this missile's younger brother, the sleeker, slightly-taller LGM-30G "Minuteman III," I've come to see the ICBM as an amazingly ironic device - able to keep peace via a deafening roar.

Here.  Recognize what we're dealing with...

     Fact:  The LGM-30F had a range of 7,000 miles.
               That's the distance between Los Angeles and Hong Kong.
   
    Fact:  The LGM-30F flew at 15,000 miles per hour.
              That's Los Angeles to New York in less than 15 minutes.
   
    Fact:  The LGM-30F hit supersonic speed BEFORE it cleared the silo!
               That's 0-750mph in about 80 feet.

     Fact:   At it's maximum, 450 LGM-30Fs were "on alert."
                And those are just Minuteman IIs.  There were others, too.

     And  - Fact:  The LGM-30F was accurate on an Olympic level.
                Check the map below.

Ok.  Have another look.   This time, unpack all the facts above and replace them with the one supreme piece of knowledge...

         Fact:  The LGM-30F was designed, built, maintained and operated
                   by people.  And not "ordinary" people.  These people don't
                   can't make mistakes.

Stick with me - I've got at least 5 more missiles to do.  We're going to learn more about the missiles themselves but most importantly, we're going to learn about "those people" in charge with the care and feeding of these ironic birds: The Missileers.

Next up - the GIGANTIC Titan II!

PROFILES 71-77: BEGINNING - The Missileer Project

To regular readers - I have a little explaining to do.

You've noticed that this isn't an "airplane." It's a missile. And not the kind that people launch at Cub Scout meetings - this is the kind that turns modern man back into a caveman. At least that's what some people think. No one knows actually because they've never been used.*

This is - in the common vernacular - "A nuke."

Gawd-forbid, right?

Anyway - formally, their names are Atlas, Titan, Minuteman, Peacekeeper, Trident...and I'm going to draw them as part of a "crowd-funded" project that I'm calling, "The Missileers - the Warriors that Didn't."

There will be at least 7, maybe 9 depending upon and I'll be posting their progress here; sharing stories of the Missileers, their Missiles and documenting this incredible aspect of human history.

Hopefully, I'll be done in 6-9 weeks. In the meantime, I hope this is as interesting to you as it is to me! And - if you want a Nuke to hang on your wall, click on the RocketHub logo at the top left of this blog and show your support. Who knows? The more people that put "The End of the World As We Know It" on the wall, more ridiculous the idea will become.

In the meantime, I'm half-way into the Minuteman II (above), finished with the Minuteman III (below) and eyeing the Titan II next.

3...2...1.... DUCK AND COVER!

*Yet.

Profile 70: BEGINNING - B-52G of the 77th BS (sort of)

It's begun, (gulp)...

If you've never seen one take off and fly, it's an awesome sight.

Gangly, huge and wickedly lined, the thing smokes its way across the sky;  a defiant, angry pterodactyl soaring for a fight.  Last week, such an experience happened to me and I caught myself holding my breath as if not to attract her awful attention.  I would have been tempted to look away had it not been so awesome. 

There is no doubt; the B-52 is a war bird of the darkest order.

And the one I'll be doing is one of a dark time, too - Cambodia, 1973.

This project will be delicate as it exposes the difficulty of learning history through sound-bites and movies alone. Controversy abounds, duty prevails and somehow, the most unimaginable evil of the 20th Century will still rise out of a land that felt the whole of the B-52's fury.

This is war.

(gulp)

Photo:  U.S. Air Force, Tech. Sgt. Robert J. Horstman

Profile 68: FINAL - F-4E Phantom as flown by the 334th TFS

Done!

I'm surprised, too as I never really wanted to jump into the Vietnam era on account of this particular airplane;  the F-4 was too complex, too big to really look good on paper and too ubiquitous - by avoiding the era, I'd avoid the problem!

But, I was certainly wrong.  Instead, the Fighting Eagle's Phantom is truly Sierra Hotel, even if I spent almost as much time figuring out the ECM pod as I did the rest of the airplane!

Anyway, 'you wanna' hear a war story?  It's a quick one...

(inhale)

A little boy comes home to his mom after a day of school.  Mom's waiting and notices - as moms do - that something's not quite right with her son.  Puffy eyes, a furrowed brow - all the signs of a kid who's had a terrible day.  So, she asks and the tears begin.

You can imagine the scene - mom drops to her knee, takes her kid into her arms and asks, "What's wrong, honey?"

"Dad's at war!"  The boy exclaims.  "In Vietnam!"

The mom consoles her son with a hug.  "Yes.  Yes he is.  But he'll be ok...."

"But he's dropping bombs on kids like me!  My teacher told me!"

***

Uh...yeah.

I really wrestled with this post as two things are weighing in the balance.  The first is the legacy of the 334th Tactical Fighter Squadron.  The second is the legacy of the era.

Let me explain.

The story above comes from the wife of Colonel Crawford Shockley.  He's the pilot mentioned in the artwork.  She's the mom who had to love the venom out of the school teacher's bite.  Not just for her boy, but for her husband as well.  It's a sad story; I've told it to a number of people over the past couple days including a High School teacher and the reaction has been a universal sneer of disgust at the teacher.

"How could she do that to a little kid!"

This moment became all-the-more important when I asked "Shock" if I could have a look at his Silver Star certificate.  He replied "yes" but also used the word, "reluctantly."

Over the years, I've picked up on the natural humility of highly noted warriors.  I "get" the idea that they're sensitive to misrepresentation, especially the embarrassment of misapplied heroics.  And, true to form, Shock let me know that his deed was not heroic but merely following through on what he believed to be the right course of action.*

However, I felt the need to poke a little more and got the most unexpected statement.  "Well, we weren't exactly welcomed home, you know."

Ah yes.  "Vietnam."  It's not just about the airplane but the era.

Welcome to 1972.

That was 40 years ago.

Thank gawd times have changed.

Right?

Think about this.  Regardless of our beliefs, I think all of humanity can agree that "Ignorance" has killed and harmed more people than any other force.  But Ignorance also has an antidote that is shockingly easy to apply - Knowledge.

I think back on those times and wonder how on earth such a prejudice could be applied to people who by obligation (draft or enlistment) answered a civic expectation?!

Of course you agree - hindsight is 20:20.  But do you care on betting that such a wave of silliness won't  taint the waters again?  Ha.

Would you mind having another look at my F-4?  Only this time, don't just stop at the glance.  And don't just settle on the unsettling demonstration photo.   Do your brain a favor and check out a few books on the start of the Vietnam situation.  I suggest this one (click here).

Knowledge is expensive - it requires time and energy but it's a fine bulwark against the forces of group-think and ignorant emotion.

Originally, I planned this post as an honorarium to Col. Shockley for being awarded the Silver Star.  The story is rich in personal risk, teamwork (salute to WSO "Poobah") and individual accountability - these are the virtues that create the wealth and security that (most of us) desire.

Instead, I dedicate it to Lilly Shockley - mother of boys, wife of a fighter pilot and unfortunately, the Front Line in a culture war.  Lilly, I am sooo sorry you had to bear that awful moment.

So, let's leave Lilly on a better note - the photo below is Shock's homecoming. It truly is good to be home, isn't it?

There's a silver lining to this story in that we live in a nation where dip-stick teachers can spout their swill ad lib.  Think about this - what if you - you - were so afraid of your government that you didn't dare breathe otherwise?

In that spirit, I look at the Fighting Eagles of the 334th and consider this F-4E Phantom to be among my proudest moments.

P.S.  - Crawford Shockley's Silver Star cert is below.  I hope you read it.  It's the military recognition of a Dad looking out for "his other boys."

P.S.S. - To that teacher of 1972 - wherever you are, I hope you went back to school.  To learn.


*Shock did get his WSO's (the guy in the back seat) blessing before committing to sticking around the hot zone for the downed airmen.  In every conversation I've had with Shock, he's mentioned Larry "Poobah" Henry and remains grateful for his trust and excellent skill.