The Whole Lotta Nada

Back In Texas

2011-08-03T12:33:00.000-05:00

"Sitting in the lobby of a big hotel..."

That's a Joe Ely song or close to it.

And, The Faust Hotel isn't exactly big at all.

But, The Faust in New Braunfels, TX has "Home" in between trips for nigh on two years now.

"The Architect", "Marge" and "Echo November" are about 15 minutes down I35 from here and the "Folks" are about 45 minutes around the loop.

Having family close by is nice. We cook out or hang out or go catch some live music at Gruene Hall or some other venue.

Still I hang out by myself more than anything else.

It occurs to me frequently that I've spent most of my adult life by myself. That might seem to indicate that I'm comfortable in my own skin. I'm not so sure about that but it is certain that's the way my life runs.

Round Three in Afghanistan is in the books so I'm home for a while. So far it's David 2 Afghanistan 1.

Round One in Bagram didn't go so well and I think it's been documented here.

Two and Three were in Kandahar and went somewhat better.

Round Two has been the best so far. I got to travel a little. Got to fly in the King Air. Got to FLY the King Air. I've got more "Hours" in the left seat in the skies of Afghanistan than any where else. Also of note, to me at least, is the fact that I'm the only member of my family to fly a King Air (Including real live licensed pilots.) and the only one to fly anything in a Hot Zone.

Big deal.

So, Round Four is scheduled for October. Will I go back? Yes Bob. I most likely will.

Why? Money is the obvious part. Doing something that MIGHT be making a difference is a part of it.

NOT WORKING IN A REPAIR STATION is a HUGE part of it. Potentially bigger than the dollar factor. OK, MAYBE bigger.

Life in a repair station sucks the life out of me.

"Out In The Boonies" is where it's at. OK, most of my field trips have not been in the Boonie Boonies but they have been out there. Half way around the world about 10 times now. Camp Humphries Korea to Mombassa Kenya to Lincoln Nebraska to Howard AFB Panama.

All of them for some job or another.

All of them without micro managers, time clocks, shop rates or time clocks.

All of them, you do what needs to be done whether that means one hour or 36 straight.

I've had about enough Afghanistan but I guess I'll go back for Round Four.

Thanks for the kick in the ass Bob.

Nada, REALLY Nada...

2011-06-07T11:05:00.000-05:00

I'm sitting on the tailgate of my work truck. The connection goes from "Very Low" inside my room to "Excellent" out here in the parking lot.

It's almost 8 pm and the temp must be down to 90. So it's not too bad out. Kinda hard to type in the dark though.

So, yes here we are halfway through the third trip to Afghanistan. Yee Haw.

Do I like it? Enjoy it? Hell no. It sucks bilge water. But the money is OK. Yes just "OK" far from great.

Whose brilliant idea was it to go to war with no fucking alcohol?!?! Can someone explain that one?

The government could have saved a lot of money. Folks might have been willing to come over here for less. (Not me. I'm practically a Peace Corp volunteer.)

Hell, they could have made a lot of money. Bunch of knuckle dragging contractors lopping around with more money that a lot of them know what to do with. Re-coop some of that investment Sam!

Misbehavior? No doubt. But this place is crawling with MP's that are auditioning to be small town cops somewhere. Keep them busy doing something other than running radar traps on the perimeter road!

Top legal speed on this dump is 40 KPH. Do the ciphering... 24 MPH!!! Most of the base is 20 KPH! I do understand a lot of the low speed streets. Some of the roads are bad and pedestrians are every where.

Pedestrians are STOOPIT!

This is a seriously multinational place. Some folks seem to be worse than others. Americans are about as bad as anyone else that steps out into the streets without looking.

I won't point any fingers at out neighbors to the north but geeeeeze! And get around that coffee shop? You better have a foot on the brake. (I do have to give them a break there. Tim Hortons coffee and donuts.... mmmmmmmmmmmmm!!!)

Gonna miss them when they go, well, I'll miss Tim Hortons and the cute Canadian girls with impossibly white teeth.

The Canadians also have a radio station simulcast here out of Ottawa, I think it is. Nicki Sixx does a late night show that I hear sometime during the day. Not too bad. They have the usual lead in spots when they play new songs. "New Music Alert" is one. To which I usually reply (yes, to the radio), "This is gonna suck."

Most times it does. I do like the new Theory of a Deadman. Cracks me up. And of course I just went blank on the name of it.

That station did introduce me to "The Headstones". What a cool band. I searched high and low and could only occasionally find signs that they did in fact exist. Record stores in Texas, Oklahoma, Mississippi. iTunes. Nada.

However soon after I got back in April I was sitting in my room and checked iTunes one more time.

There they were! A bonanza. What to choose? Where to start?

I opted for "Greatest Fits". I don't think there is a bad cut on the disc. Three Angels, Smile and Wave, Unsound, Tweeter and the Monkey Man, Cubically Contained.

Thanks eh!

So, as I started out, really nada. I think about this thing all the time. Never seem inspired or motivated. It's always something "I'll do it later." "What's my password again?" "I wonder if Blogger is still in Russian?" So tonight after a 'fabulous' day I decided, "Screw it. I'm writting something even if it's long winded and boring."

So, I did.

Wow! The damn thing is still here and still works.

2011-04-17T09:43:00.000-05:00

Amazing.

Well, no fancy build up this time.

It's Round Three in Afghanistan. Yup, I keep coming back to the trough that tried to take me out the first time.

The subsequent trips have been to much lower altitudes with much better attitudes.

Now that I got offa my ass and navigated through the Croation Google Blogger instructions maybe I'll get this thing rolling again.

Tonight is a seeing off party for a pilot friend. For a late twenties early thirties girl she's a rare bird. Only chick pilot I know currently. And, most likely the only one I've ever met that can toss around Corporate names, Government entities, NGO's and 'off the beaten path' countries with the Old Guys. Chad?! Who the hell goes to work in Chad?

Now,

2010-12-24T03:34:00.002-06:00

Now.

Now, I woke up this morning at the Faust Hotel
wearing some chicks tee shirt and smelling GOOD!

(Twiddle with guitar here)

Now, I aint been all the way 'round the world
but I been on 6 continents bout 8 times

Now, I don't care which one of those rocks your're standing on, waking up in the morning wearing some chicks Christiaan Audigier tee shirt and smelling like Red Door perfume is a cause for alarm!

(Launch major 12 bar with swampy sexy turn around here)

Random Sameness

2010-02-04T19:32:00.002-06:00

"... sitting in an
Oklahoma motel room
listening to
Ray Wylie Hubbard
Live At Cibolo Creek
and wond'ring
if Old Bill was there.

Bill he was my mentor
Taught me a thing or three
about these damned old planes

The night he died I was in Korea
I called home to Texas
Sobbing like a child

Still I ride by Cibolo Creek
Boarded up and closed
Remember a thing or three

In my mind I can see
Bill's motorcycle
perched under the
old live oak trees

I remember a thing or three

In my mind I can see
Bill's lanky frame
leaned against a timber frame
listening to future fame

I remember a thing or three

... sitting in an
Oklahoma motel room
listening to
Ray Wylie Hubbard
Live At Cibolo Creek
and wond'ring
if Old Bill was there."

When You Get The Urge

2009-11-21T23:41:00.002-06:00

When you get the urge to, "Do something!" to help United States Service Members, I have a suggestion.

Send your Care Package to:

Col. James R. Griffith
Chaplain U.S. Army
Cheif of Pastoral Services
Landstuhl Regional Medical Center
Wounded Warrior Medical Management Center
CMR 402
APO AE 09180

When you think of a Medevac (Medical Evacuation) you may think of Blackhawk helicopters swooping into a live fire zone or a F.O.B. (Forward Operating Base) and whisking away wounded wariors.

That happens all to often but the scene isn't always replete with the thunder and gore of a Hollywood movie.

Also, that may be just the first step.

A MEDEVAC could stem from an illness that the base hospital isn't equiped to diagnose or treat.

What happens then, when the wounds are too severe or the illness is out of the realm of local hands?

The next leg of that MEDEVAC may land at Ramstein Airbase and care continued at Landstuhl Regional Medical Center.

L.R.M.C. is a huge nine wing hospital with, I imagine, all of the services one could imagine.

One service you might not think about, I didn't, is the Chaplains Closet.

Think about it. You get MEDEVACed with nothing but the clothes and gear on your back. You land in Germany and get treated. Let's say that you are ambulatory. Maybe even out an patient.

Now what? You're stuck in the clothes that you left the field in. It's doubtful that you have shampoo, a toothbrush, socks, clean underwear, clothes, etc.

All you (and everyone within sniffing distance of you) want is a hot shower, clean clothes and a bed.

If you're lucky, HN2 Ramon will lead you to the Chaplains Closet, hand you a small duffell bag and get you set up.

I began to have respiratory trouble the day I arrived in theater. Immediately upon arrival, I hyperventilated. I figured, big deal, nerves, new place, big dose of the unknown, etc, etc, etc.

It happened several more times until I finally lost count after a couple of weeks.

Then I got what we called the Dirt Flu. I think I told you about it. The air is lousy with dust and burning trash and diesel fumes and Jet Fuel fumes and who knows what else.

I began to get shorter and shorter of breath. Another bout of funk settled into my head and lungs. Just laying down closed off my airflow. Even bending over to tie my shoes or fuel an auxilary tank knocked the wind out of me.

The sudden losses of O2 would bring about a state of panic that I'd struggle to keep in check long enough to get a whisp of air into my lungs.

The worst part is waking up in the pitch black of my little bunk space and gasping for air completely disoriented.

Several nights ago I was walking back from dinner, metering my breath with my steps, muttering about MAYBE going to the camp clinic, LATER.

When I came to the right turn that would take me to the pick-up point for my ride to work, I kept walking, straight to the clinic.

A young Doctor asked what was wrong and I gasped, "I can't breath." He took me seriously. Less than five minutes later he said, "Get in the truck, we're going to the hospital."

I say several nights ago because I'm not really sure when it was. It's all kind of blurry.

We went to the ER, Exams, IV, Meds, Xrays, CAT Scans, to a Ward, Vitals checked every four hours, more Meds, Night?, Day?, visitors?, questions, KC-135, flight to Ramstein, L.R.M.C....

Now, it's Sunday morning. I'm in a little hotel in Landstuhl. I have an appointment of sorts for Monday morning. The last Doctor I talked to said that he anticipates pronouncing me "Fit to Fly" but to where and how?

I expect that I'll be on some sort of flight Home Monday or Tuesday.

When I know, you'll know.

Just remember, "When you get the urge..."

Back on line!!!

2009-10-11T10:38:00.002-05:00

So, let's try a couple of lines...

Hello

"Hello Mutha
hello Fatha
here I am in
Doha, Qatar

How'd I get here
and where am I going?
Don't ask me 'cause
I not be knowing..."

No? Not so much?
How about...

"The Whole Lotta Nada
now coming to you from
a non-existant airbase
in an undisclosed country.
Land of the sand
Camel Spiders
and War Fighters..."

Or...

"Off the reservation"?

"Down Range"?

"I've lost my fucking mind!"?
We may be onto something THERE!!!

OK, ok, ok...

I do have to be a little nutZ.

I rolled out of Brightledge on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. Headed to San Antonio Int'l Airport. Dropped the Camaro at Avis Rental. Boarded a CRJ, in 1st Class. Didn't even realize a CRJ HAD a 1st Class.

Sometime after dark we landed Washington Dulles. It had been nearly 20 years since I'd been there so a quick and easy terminal change was welcome.

The Qatar Air gate was easy as well and the Virgin Airways lounge was close by. Why does free beer seem to taste better?

Then, things went to full blown, "WOW!!!"

As jaded as I am it takes a real punch for an airplane to impress me. Lemme tell ya what, the Boeing 777 Dreamliner did it.

In no time I was sipping champagne in a seat with more settings than I could imagine.

The whole thing was a little unreal.

I was strapped into a piece of soon to be airborne sculpture. All set for a Trans-Atlantic night. About to get the first stamp in a freshly renewed passport. And, it was a one way ticket.

Nothing unusual about that right?

The night went by in a cozy blur. One glass of champagne a hot meal a cold beer a movie and I was out.

The sun was shining on an unfamiliar land when I woke. Then, we flew into another sunset.

That did seem a little odd. We landed in Doha at six p.m. local and it was already dark. Seemed odd.

I cleared customs and immigration and stepped out into a muggy darkness. There, a fellow stood with a sign full of names. All of them were crossed off except mine. That felt a little like an episode of "The Amazing Race" and I was the last to arrive.

We loaded up in an appropriatley black Suburban and sped off. Eventually we came to a check point. Our first stop of many requied to gain entry to the post.

We arrived at a building that turned out to be home for the next day or so.

Quarters were 8 man rooms with bunk beds and the requisite itchy green wool blankets. Turns out they're not wool anymore but they perfectly replicated the itchiness!

And good god was it COLD in there. Apparently that helps keep germs and bugs at bay. It was so cold I got up at 2 a.m. and went outside to a picnic table.

Anyway, a day and a half trapped on a strange base culiminated in a 10 p.m. Show for a 2 a.m. Go. (We were to show up for our connecting flight 3 hours ahead of the scheduled departure time: Show/ Go.)

Turns out that schedules mean shit. I think it was 4 a.m. before we launched.

OH, and that glorious flight on the Dreamliner. Yeah, forget about it. The second leg of the trip I was strapped into a side facing web seat in the back of a C130 with 70 or so of my newest closest friends and three pallets full of gear.

Gratefully, I can sleep sitting up.

The sun came up while I slept. The airplane landed. The ramp lowered enough for a forklift to get the pallets out and the Crew Chief said, "Get Out!"

We did and the C130 left.

Where am I? I'm right where the Crew Chief left me.

Its a dirty dusty dry hell that alternates between hotter 'n hell and colder 'n shit. The wind blows so hard it makes Texas seem tame. It's full of work and rules and no booze. In fact, that's Rule Number One: No Beer. "You will be denied the one thing that could make this 'Paradise' palatable."

Those of you that are actually reading may have noticed that I didn't answer the question. Well, I'm not certain but I think there is a rule that says I can't tell you. Like I said, I'm not sure but I'm gonna err on the side of caution for now.

So, "First Former Mrs Simpson", there ya have it. Your first installment of, "What it's like there." here.

Wherever the hell it is. I swear I saw Scissor Tailed Fly Catchers today so, I'm a little suspicious...

So, While I'm At It...

2009-07-25T21:04:00.003-05:00

"Fun With Melodrama"

3:30 am, FLASHBANGBOOMBUMBADOOMOOMOMM

The J.S. Bach "Fugue in D Minor" alarm on the Blackberry was punctuated with simultaneous lightning and thunder. The storm was right over head.

"Great. I've got an airplane to deploy in four hours. Where are my boots? Damnit!", in the baggage weight reduction act of Ft Benning, GA I shipped my rain boots 'Forward'.

The TV weather guessed the storm cell was small and moving fairly quickly but there were more to follow.

4:30 am, G. Tony rolled up to the airplane in his rented Dodge pickup. His size; height and bulk, allowed him to rent a full size rather than a standard size vehicle. We refer to those guys as "Mutants".

"Good of you to join us G. You're late."

"Aw shut up. I brought doughnuts."

"Fork 'em over."

"Let's get you guys in out of this rain."

Inside the Line Shack the scent of fresh pastry elicited; "Hey! Dog-nuts!", "They're still warm!", "Where's the coffee?"

G. Tony, "Is she preflighted and signed off, are the records on board, the parts, the Form 'F' done, are we ready?"

"Aw shut up. Who do you think you're dealing with?"

"Ok, ok, I know. I want to do one last engine run. You just stand fire guard and get me started then get out of the rain."

The rain fell steadily and the lightning and thunder continued to drift to the East and South. The King Air was sillouetted by the stadium style lights on the edge of the ramp. The ill planned drainage of the ramp began to mainfest itself in the form of a two inch deep lake spreading out over the acres and acres of concrete.

Winding his Mutant frame through the racks in the cabin, G. Tony eventually made his way into the pilots seat. The dim cockpit floodlight came on.

The rotating beacons, navigation lights and logo lights came on.

In the darkness, the sillouette and veil of rain the aircraft lighting accented the beautiful lines of the King Air.

I smiled under the wide brim of my hat, wrapped in my black duster rain coat, despite my deck shoes being soaked in the rising water. A shadowy King Air showing her colors in the dark will always make me smile.

A quick hand sign from the cockpit.

I pointed at the right hand engine, stuck two fingers up into the rain and flicked them just as quickly.

TACK TACK TACK TWIRIRIRIR

The big Dash 60 turboprop rolled to life.

I listened to the motor turn and the prop spin and the change in the sounds as the starter brought it up in speed and oil pressure. The increase in oil pressure began to change the pitch of the props and sound they made. I slapped at the rain drops as the PT6A-60 hit 20% RPM. Just then G. Tony pushed the fuel levers out of "Cut Off" and the big beast sucked in the foul nectar and PHWUMPED to life.

As the engine came on power l awaited a favorite part of wet launches.

The water, inches deep and just inches below the tip of the propeller arc began to dance.

Another quick motion from inside and another quick reply and the #1 engine began to sound off.

The big engines turning. Oil pressure and temperature stable. G. Tony pushed the throttle levers forward, out of idle.

'There they are!', my grin widened as water spouts formed under the prop arcs. As the power increased the little vorticies danced violently.

I watched and listened as the engines were put through the various checks; Feather, Auto-Feather, Auto-Ignition...

'Reverse!' I could see G. Tony laughing as the pitch change redirected the rain towards me. "You Bastard!", I laughed back.

I heard the motors responding to Max Power, 'Uh, G. We're not supposed to go past 80%...much less 104%!"

Up they came. The nose of the airplane dropped suddenly like a nose guard in a goal line stand as the powerful engines pushed the piston of the nose gear down on the nitrogen and hydraulic fluid inside it.

Even inanimate objects responded to the King Air. Golf carts, service carts and trash cans began to 'flee' from (in) the prop and turbine blast

The throttle levers came back to idle. Oil temperature and pressure stabilized. The twin tornadoes beneath the props calmed.

WHAFfff. The fuel levers went into cut-off and the vorticies flattened. And, the airplane was ready to deploy.

More of the maintenance crew had arrived and were scarfing down warm doughnuts.

I have been called a great number of things in 47 years but what I heard that morning made me laugh out loud.

"Mike Scott!!!", it was big Doc Brock, "Look at you. Ya got yer hat and yer black duster! Where's yer brief case and flip flops?"

"Best I can do is soggy deck shoes Doc so quit it."

Those 'in the know' laughed at the reference to an old friend.

7:30 Go Time. The airplane was ready. Maintenance was ready.

As usual we were waiting on the 'Drivers'. "Bus Drivers", "Yoke Actuators", "Trained Monkeys" (after all they leave peanuts all over the cockpit, write on the windows with grease pencils, and, who was the first "American" to Pilot a space craft? "Ham". Look it up.)

Familiar rental cars appeared on the ramp.

Presumably sober pilots climbed out. They chatted nervously amongst themselves and with us.

They were "Deploying", "Going Forward", "See ya 'Over There'". And that's a long trip in a King Air.

The sun was tearing a crease in the clouds. The rain had let up and the lightning had passed.

Finally, all aboard and the airstair door closed.

The rotating beacons twitched to life and the PT6's came to life.

The vorticies reformed.

The taxi light illuminated.

I gave the signal and the King Air began to taxi forward.

I motioned her towards the runway.

And another bird of war departed, bound for turmoil.

The End

Another Random Collision

2009-07-25T20:48:00.003-05:00

So, if you can imagine, I went over to the bar for a bite to eat and a beer.

There was a fairly large party with tables pushed up together in the middle of the room.

I noticed that this one guy seemed to tower over the rest of the party. Turns out he was sitting on a bar stool.

After a bit the party began to break up. Some of them left and others bellied up to the bar.

Bar Stool Guy was talking.

Pretty quickly I figured out where he works. I asked and he confirmed.

He kept talking.

He didn't look familiar.

His voice wasn't particularly familiar but it was his cadence that triggered a mental defrag on my part.

Eventually I interrupted him again and asked, "So you're an A&P?"

"Why yes. Yes I am."

"Where'd you go to school?"

"Texas Aero Tech."

"Really. You remember Sharkey?"

You'd a thought he'd been hit by a bolt of lightning. He actually shuddered and his eyes kinda popped. (I'm sure I did too.)

At that instant we both stood, pointed at one another and called each other by name.

One millisecond earlier I couldn't have told you his name.

We not only went to the same school and graduated together but had been room mates for a while.

Hadn't seen each other in 21, TWENTY-ONE years.

"Hello Cousin!"

2009-07-25T20:22:00.003-05:00

Wednesday afternoon I went to the Security Shack with my Leadman. We dropped off three new names for site visits.

One of the names rang that faint bell.

Soon, another bell began to 'tink' in the dim distance.

Name and place but no harmony.

Thursday afternoon the phone rang. I answered, "This is David."

"Hey Dave!"

"Hey "Puddin'" what's up?"

"I've got three guys here in my office. They're headed your way tomorrow. Need anything? I'll have them hand carry it out to ya."

"Hmmm, no. We're good."

"Ya sure?"

"Sure! Hey, do you know this boy "Man Hands"?"

"No. He's standing right here though."

"Ask him if GR-15 means anything to him?"

"He says, "No.""

"Hmm. Did he work for BASI in Germany?"

"Yep."

In the background, "Who is that?"

"Ask him if he ever went to Germany to fix an airplane that his cousin broke?"

"Who the hell is that?" "Man Hands" was getting agitated.

"Ya want me to tell him who you are or do ya wanna let him sweat?"

"Puddin', I'll leave that up to you."

Puddin' put him on the phone.

"Who the f*&;k is this?!"

"Oh, I ain't done with ya yet big boy. Back home, do you have a great big ol' coffee table picture book fulla Harleys?"

"Yeah...", the dim bell had begun to toll.

"I know you do. I gave it to you for Christmas!"

"David!!!"

It had been Christmas 1994(?).

A crew of four had been sent to fix an airplane. One of the guys daughter fell gravely ill back home. He left and another sheetmetal tech was sent in from Germany.

As if my running into "Man Hands" after all these years wasn't enough...

One night in Korea the crew was all at the club and "Man Hands" met the pilot that wrecked the plane in the first place. They are distant cousins.

This story was twisted from the very beginning!

Near Misses

2009-05-10T12:39:00.004-05:00

In the same vein as "& Degrees of Separation", we have near misses.

In the last couple of weeks I've had a couple of conversations that led to connections previously missed.

"Eagle Pass" was wearing a Texas A&M ball cap and said that his kids were bugging him to attend A&M. I asked where he was from, he replied, "Eagle Pass but I live in San Antonio."

"Really, where'bouts?"

"A little town North of San Antonio. On I35 between San Antonio and Austin."

"Selma?"

"Yeah. Know it?"

"Sure. Where in Selma?"

"1604 and I35."

"Just South of the horse track?"

"Yeah."

"Behind Ruben's?"

"That's it!"

"Ya know the big house on top of that hill?"

"Orange?"

"Yup. That's my Brother's house!"

I met "Sling-Blade". (Not his call sign just a tag I've hung on him.) The course of getting acquainted usually leads to the question, "So, where all have you been in your career?"

That led to an unmentionable repair station in San Antonio, TX...

"No kiddin'? When?"

"'99."

"What line? DC-9's, 73's and 75's."

"No shit?! Me too."

"Yeah, I was there when that kid got killed in the T/R (Thrust Reverser)."

"I knew him. In passing."

"I was on the same crew."

"So was I, for a while."

Later in the week I met Lewis/Clarke...

"We were sitting in the club at NAS2 (Sigonella, Sicily) when we heard gun fire. A LOT of it!"

"OH, YEAH! Little car?"

"Yeah, blue!"

"Station wagon!"

"With bullet holes about this F*%&ng Big!"

"YEAH!"

"Lot's of 'em!!!"

These moments make me wonder: How many connections have I missed? How many more will follow? Where will they lead? Where might they have led?

"Where are we going and why am I in this hand basket?"

How many degrees?

2009-05-02T03:49:00.002-05:00

They say there are seven degrees of separation between all of us.
(Something like that.)

Not in this business!

A couple of weeks ago I met a pilot in Mississippi. I'll call him Goldwater. I ran into him the other night in Texas.

Goldwater introduced me to another pilot friend of his that had come to town to visit Goldwater and a mutual friend of theirs.
(With me so far?)

So, as is customary, the three of us were drinking beer, doing shots and telling lies.

Visiting friend says, "blah blah yadda yadda Mombasa..."

"Mombasa? When were you in Mombasa?"

"1992."

"Hmm, really."

"Why? Were you there? When?"

"Yeah, '92. 'Provide Comfort'."

"What were you doing?"

"Maintenance on Priority Air Transport."

"No shit. Then you know pilots D and B."

"Hell, yes. I was sitting right seat when D blew the engine of off the R/H wing!"

"Sonofabitch! That was you?"

"That was me!"

"Bill's here in town. He's the guy we were telling you about. I've got his number."

Next thing I know he hands me the phone. I hear B, "Hello?"

Now, I haven't talked to B in 17 years. What the hell am I gonna say? He doesn't know that he's being featured on a bar room version of this is your life. He has no idea who is on the other end of the phone...

"B, just which Tom Clancy novel were you reading when D blew up the engine?"

"DAVID!!!!!!!!! Where the hell are you?"

I had lunch today with one of three people on the planet that were 'There' that day.

"There we were. 18,000 feet over the plains of Africa..."

Choose Your Unit Of Measure

2009-04-19T13:21:00.006-05:00

318 Cubic Inches, 750 CC's, 24 Ft?

They all add up to fun.

"Maggie, somewhere in Texas enroute

to San Antonio."

"Maggie, The Dodge and

The Mobile Command Post"

The Dodge and I have been around the

block. Five or six years and one hundred

thousand miles worth.

Last Spring I bought the little trailer.

24' of self sufficiency. It was a cozy spot.

Sure, after a while it felt a touch tight.

Cramped even. But, it was paid for. All

mine.

When The Architect got his new Harley

Maggie became a Legacy.

Last 4th of July weekend I left the OKAY

City with a one way plane ticket.

(Man, the whole idea of a one way ticket

out of there felt great!)

When I threw my leg over her and hit the

button it was "Love At First Feel".

Rolling out of the driveway, of course,

"Back In Black" pounded in my head.

It HAD been toooooooo long and I was

damn glad to be back in the saddle.

I hadn't owned a 'bike in nearly 20 years.

The Architect was, understandably,

nervous. He DID put me through my

paces.

As we rode, he instructed, advised and

critiqued.

As he did, I thought about some of the

crazy shit I had done on a 'bike in

the past.

That Saturday we rode up to Gruene Hall.

I knew I had graduated when he bought

the first round.

Three days later, 480 miles. Cruisin'

and grinning. (Despite the destination.

The OKAY City.)

I made that round trip a couple of more

times and racked up a few thousand

miles all in all.

Now, 2009 has been one long road trip.

The Mobile Command Post wears a "For

Sale" sign.

My beloved Dodge is sold and gone.

Maggie is waiting for me to come a

ridin' until it's time for The Preacher

or The Master SGT to saddle up for a

turn.

Soon life will be all about catching

flights, hotels n motels, rental cars and

working from site to site.

YEAH!

Now THAT'S livin'!!!

One Great Weekend

2009-04-19T12:55:00.003-05:00

I can't get enough of these.

Cat Stevens plays over and over in my head.

"How long are you here for? Where are you going?

When will you be back?"

Simply hard questions.

As is any question you don't have an answer for.

HEY!!!

I didn't start off to be wistful!

I surprised my Eldest yesterday and got a Whole Lotta

smiles and hugs.

That's why ya can't slap this grin offa my face!

(OK, I realize that's not much of a grin in the photo.

As was pointed out to me by The First Former Mrs!)

Shuffle

2009-03-01T14:14:00.002-06:00

Itunes shuffle. I've wanted to jump into this game for a while now. So, here we go, the first Ten Songs on shuffle...

Peeping and Hiding
Lyme and Cybelle

Krazyworld
La Ley

Fieldworker
Crosby and Nash
Live

Babylon Sister
Steely Dan

Musta Notta Gotta Lotta
Joe Ely

Jack
Tom Petty

The End of the End
Paul McCartney

I'll Be Here In The Morning
Townes Van Zandt

Wish You Were Here
Pink Floyd

Gimme Shelter
The Rolling Stones

Not a bad listen!

30 Days on the Road

2009-03-01T13:04:00.003-06:00

OKC- Greenville, TX- Lawton, OK- Ft Worth, TX- Greenville, TX- OKC

Finally made it back to our hangar after a fairly harrowing ride. Triple digit speeds along I35 heading North.

When you're faced with riding with a horny, homesick young wrench (that also misses his Mommy) you buy the ticket and take the ride.

I figure he got laid, got fed and got his laundry done yesterday. He'll be ready to hit the road again in a week or so.

Me, I'm ready now. With a little luck I'll be headed back out of this frigid wasteland by Tuesday. (As we careened North we watched the thermometer in the rear view drop steadily.)

Most of this trip was good.

It can be (very) frustrating working in different shops with different ways of doing things. Sometimes better ways, sometimes not. You just have to roll with it.

As much as it chokes me to say this, it's all in your attitude. Attitude was Grandads biggest pet peeve.

"I did what you told me Grandad."

"Yeah, but I didn't like your attitude when you did it."

Some people lack the Attitude Control the Road demands. They make it harder on themselves, creating little self fulfilling prophecies. They make it difficult on the rest of the crew in a variety of ways.

BUT, we got it done. Only one trip to the emergency room, one drunken scuffle in the parking lot and one crew mate hauling ass for home in the middle of the night.

And, we did manage to have a little fun along the way.

The Lee Street Bar and Grill in Greenville was cool. We made it over there for a few Wednesday night jams. The first night I saw this young guy tuning up in the hall way. I do mean young. He finally hit the stage with the house band and proceeded to blow me away. Composed, calm and cool. Right at home on stage. RIFFING Stevie Ray Vaughn. Playing and singing. He's been taking lessons and playing for four years...

He's TWELVE YEARS OLD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

His mother confided that the Kid thinks we drove down from OKC every Wednesday to hear him play. We played along.

One night I tipped the band and walked my tab. Oops. Went back the next day. Bartender says, "What can I get ya?"

"Uh, my tab."

He looked at me for a second, "Burger, fries and Miller Lite?"

"Uh, yes. There were Miller Lites involved."

They were cool about it. I was embarrassed and they knew it.

We tried to take in some blues. It was billed as a blues bar. $7.00 cover. "Who's playing?"

"A DJ."

"Never mind."

We did go back another time. We had to fill out membership cards. I listed my address as 1600 Pennsylvania Ave and signed it Dr Hunter S. Thompson.

I got served.

We hit the Hangar Bar and Grill. It was billed as a grill. No food served.

Another cover charge paid for a decent Country Pop band. When they played that Cross Canadian Ragweed song, 'Boys From Oklahoma'...

I'd shout "BOOMER!!!"

Everyone would turn to look just in time to see/ hear Sally reply, "SOONER!!!"

We went back the last night. The turn out was so small that the band didn't even play. We played pool and played, "Let's get Sally drunk and watch him try to walk!" Cuervo and Patron flowed.

In Ft Worth I finally had chances to hit the Stockyards. In all of the years I lived in Dallas I never made it to Ft Worth.

Very cool.

Billy Bob's IS huge. That's the way it's billed, ''The Worlds Largest Honky Tonk''. 'The White Elephant' also cool. It's the bar used in the Walker Texas Ranger TV show. 'The Stockyard Saloon', 'The Star Cafe'; "For the best steak in Dallas go to Ft Worth".

The Road. Work hard, play hard. An 8 hour day was a short one. 10's were the norm and 12's not uncommon. Two guys even pulled a 20 hour shift. There were a few nights when we had to work nights, that stank.

Now, I'll drop off my laundry and be ready to roll come Tuesday. This looks like a solo trip which will be very nice. When you go with a crew, EVERYTHING is a committee decision. That gets old.

I'm just glad to be back in my element for a while.

Hey President Obama

2009-01-29T17:49:00.002-06:00

Ya know what. I agree with you on one point.

It is not only "shameful" it's disgusting that the leaders of failed businesses come hat in hand for a bail out, from me.

Their business models are failures. Their managers inept. Their forward thinking went no farther than today.

Those same leaders and managers setting their own raises and bonuses and handwoven golden parachutes!

"Shameful" a much milder term than I would use. I wouldn't be shocked to hear that you called, "Bullshit!" just as I do.

Ya know, it kinda reminds me of the crew you just signed on to lead.

When was the last vote of the public to give a raise to the House or Senate? Been a while?

How long ago was there a session with 100% attendance and voting? Been a while?

Those people are Public Servants not Demi-Gods. Someone should remind them of that. Like, maybe their Leader. O' that would be you.

Realistically I know that you do not hold the power to implement my suggestions but you can get the ball rolling. Or, at least help.

Cut salaries.

Eliminate self regulated raises.

Require attendance. Or at least hold them accountable for their absences. (Junkets to Shangri La or Fact finding in the Alps don't count.)

Put them on a random drug and alcohol testing program.

Implement a 5 year ban on Servants becoming Lobbyists and vice versa.

Eliminate all one on one financial interaction between Servants and Lobbyists. Lunch? Dutch. Etc.

I could (and will) go on. The "Let's Bail Out Failed Businesses and Print More Money Package"? What are you thinking?!

I did not vote for you but you are my President. I do wish the best for you and yours (which now includes me and mine.) Start from the top down and let's get this thing back on track.

Western Inn Part Two

2009-01-01T14:23:00.004-06:00

It's rude, crude and unedited. Still a lot of work to do but here it is...

What follows is a fictional account.

Any resemblance to places or people; living or dead is their own damn fault.

Rated R for Adult Language and Situations.

The Western Inn
7666 NW Route 66
Bethune, OK

... The office at the Western Inn was crowded with vending machines and stacks of new phone books. A thin plexiglass window sepreated the office from the waiting area with a door bell labled "Ring For 'Sevice'".

William George pressed the button and quickly released it as the tinny bell sounded from within the dwelling beyond the business areas.

A frail woman emerged from the tiny home beyond the office. "$45.00 a night."

With ten days until the first payday, a thin wallet and a bank balance in the red William George asked for a weekly rate.

"$185.00, plus tax."

He ponied up for a weeks rent figuring that he wouldn't freeze to death, at least not in the next seven days.

"Room 12 the last unit on the right."

Room 12. The last unit on the right. At least there would only be one neighbor at a time if at all. The lights were dim 40 watt bulbs. TV, bolted to the dresser. The toilet worked and there was hot water. (The bath tub could use all of the hot water it could get.) And the combination heat and air conditioner seemed to work.

'Home...", well, home for seven days at least. William George unloaded the Dodge, including the blanket and pillow that 'Mother' had sent along, "In case you have to sleep in the truck."

With every light on and the heat turned up to maximum William George climbed back into the Dodge.

Groceries. Enough coffee and bologna to last a week.

He laughed to himself, "I got some groceries, some peanut butter, to last a couple of days..."

In the tiny 'historic' motel room he ate a sandwich, washed it down with a beer and fell asleep with the TV on.

The next morning, one day closer to payday, William George clocked in at 05:30 and joined James for coffee.

Day two would be more of the same, scrapping sealer from the rivets and seams. In a different situation it would have been a bit humiliating, twenty years in the business and stuck scraping crap like a fresh A&P School Graduate.

Not here. Not so in the one place in the world where his reputation was still intact. 'Look at that! These other guys are standing around and Wills' over there scrapping like a machine.' 'That's Will.'

One day welded to the next.

William, perched under or on top of one wing after another found a hobby- Who's next? Contractors that established themselves were invited to 'Go Direct' and become permanent employees.

The others dropped like flies.

After Mitch Runyan went 'direct' he confided in William George, "Man, we tell all of the new contractors, 'watch out for James and Will. They'll fire you in a hot flash!'"

"Me? I can't fire anyone!"

"Bullshit. You fired that kid from Canada."

"The hell I did. I TRIED to but Keenan wouldn't let me."

"Whatever. When he, with all seven months of his experience, was standing next to you scraping and whining and saying that if he didn't get better job assignments he was going to quit, we all knew he was G-O-N-E."

"I didn't do it."

Laughing, the retired Navy Chief walked away.

William George's days consisted of work and nights consisted of TV and beers in Room 12.

Neighbors came and went faster than contractors.

Some of each were one and the same, "Where are you staying man?"

"Around the corner. At the Western."

"How is it?"

"Cheap enough."

"Cool. Maybe we can hang out."

"No. I aint your newest bestest friend. I'm here to work. I have no social life 'cause I don't want one. I leave this town to those that want it. I don't want it and I don't want to hang out."

"MAN, Will is a dick!"

"I told you, stay away from him. He'll fire you. Really though, he ain't a dick. He'll help you out and give you solid advice but he's real funny about who he lets close. Just don't piss him off. "

The Oklahoma winter melded into Oklahoma springtime.

William George figured there had to be an old adage about the weirdness that comes with blossoms and tornadoes because weirdness was hot on their heels.

As Mother Nature struggled, at times violently with her personalities, Spring fought for dominance.

Snow then rain then tornadoes then ice then blooms, blossoms and colors.

And, neighbors.

An older mechanic, came out from behind the desk and took his tool box out on the road. His gray hair and beard had immediately garnered him the nickname, “Kenny Rodgers”.

He was new to contracting. His attitude was fair and his experience deep but he was out of practice after years removed from the business of the hangar floor.

“Kenny Rodgers” took a room across the parking lot from William George and kept to himself.

One Friday afternoon a clatter outside drew William’s attention. A U-Haul truck was backed up to Room 11, next door.

Odd.

Saturday after work William returned ‘home’. As he entered the parking lot he saw an older woman, pencil thin and gray blonde. She was wearing a flowery house coat and large fuzzy slippers. At and around her feet swirled an over weight Chihuahua.

‘Don’t make eye contact for chrissakes.’

It didn’t matter. Before William had switched the engine to ‘Off’ there she was at the drivers window.

‘Great.’

“Hi! My name’s Sarah Jane.”, she thrust out her impossibly delicate hand.

William flashed his most insincere smile and briefly took the outstretched appendage, “William.”

The fat dog commenced her ‘talk to me talk to ME dance’, bouncing off of his shins. He looked down and groaned out loud.

“Oh, it’s OK. That’s my ‘Lola‘.” She lay heavily on the first syllable, Low-la.

“Hello Lola. Now go away.”

Door key at the ready, he retrieved the case of beer and groceries from the bed of the truck. Turning the key in the latch he heard the woman begin to speak as her Lola pressed her nose against the door jam.

A foot placed between the door jam and the dogs nose bought him exactly one foot of clearance as the dog pressed insistently. He raised his free hand, “I just got home from work. Nice to meet you Sarah Jane.”

He scooted the dog back (resisting the urge to punt the mutt), stepped inside and shut the door on the scene.

William put the groceries away and cracked the lid on a cold bottle of beer.

The weather was pleasant enough but there were storms building to the North and sliding slowly South. Unusual for springtime in Oklahoma. Traditionally spring storms built in the southwest and raced to the northwest.

Disappointed, he put grilling out on that first pleasant afternoon out of his plans and settled for a bologna sandwich, “Damn it.” He hoped Sunday’s weather would be “as advertised’ and the storms would hold off.

“Maybe she’ll be gone by then…”, it hit him, “The U-Haul… she’s never gonna leave!”

A loud exhaust diverted his attention. Not a finely tuned rumble but the boisterous cry of a neglected engine with a broken exhaust manifold.

Voices.

He snuck a peek from behind the curtain.

Sarah Jane and Lola were greeting another neighbor. ‘Great.’, she’ll have someone else to befriend.

He noticed that “Kenny Rodgers” pick-up was not in its space, “I don’t blame you. I’d rather be somewhere else too!”

Just after dark, a key or a coin tapped softly at the door. It was a key, he was sure. And, he was certain it was Sarah Jane and Lola.

He cracked the door, “Yes?”

“Could I buy a beer from you?” and held out a quarter. It was a coin after all. Her key must have been in the pocket of that freakishly loud flowery house coat.

He pushed the door to and went to the fridge.

When he turned his back she pushed the door open letting herself and her Lola in. Lola bounded straight up onto the bed.

Turning back with two beers, “Get that dog offa my bed!”

“It’s OK she knows you.”

“No she doesn’t. Get her offa my bed.”

Sarah Jane retrieved her Lola but instead of taking the beer and her quarter that William refused and leaving…

She sat on the tiny couch. Perched right on top of the stack of books and magazines adjacent to William’s spot at the laptop computer that perched on the ice chest cum coffee table.

William groaned out loud and tried to perform deep tissue massage on his own forehead.

“Drink your beer silly.”

‘’She’s old and bored and lonely and loveless and friendless and virtually homeless William. You can’t relate to that William? You can’t understand that?’’

William sighed out loud, “Get up a minute.” He gathered the books and magazines and carefully restacked them on an unused corner of the bed.

He twisted the top from a bottle of ‘Flying Dog Amber Ale’ and plopped down beside her on the tiny couch.

She proceeded to tell her story- She’d been ‘somebody’ in the social circles of the OKAY City, her mother was wealthy but wouldn’t share, it was for her own good, she needed to make it on her own but she had recently been evicted from yet another apartment, she worked at a diner right down the street, she was she was on a list to get a townhouse right down the street around the corner across the street from the Mexican Grocery, “Can I have another beer?”

Storms.

The war continued prevailing or failing, depending on who did the telling. The presidential campaign continued to fail, the candidates were pale examples of the same old guard, even with their change of race or their change of gender they were the same old same old. They touted change but they were still the same old same old. Any candidate that represented a real change was discounted or ignored by the press.

And the beat went on.

William George broke Lola from jumping on the bed. One quick punt put an end to that.

Sarah Jane drank beer and talked about her glory days.

William George watched the news or read a book or a magazine.

“Hillary Clinton is gonna save the world!”

“Huh?!”

“She has a plan!”

“Huh?! A plan?”

“Yeah! Hillary has a plan to save the world!”

“Huh?! What is it? What is ‘Billary’s’ plan to save the world?”

“Just watch TV.”

“Huh?! Hillary’s plan is to watch TV?”

“NO! Watch TeeVee!”

“NO! YOU TELL ME WHAT HILLARY’S PLAN IS!”
“Just watch Teevee!”

“No, you tell me. What is Hillary’s plan.”

“Watch Teevee!”

“Get the fuck outta here. You’re pissing me off.”

Then, Sarah Jane met a new fellow. She fell in love. She talked about how much money she would save if she moved in with the fellow. She went on and on about how wonderful it would be, saving money by moving in with the fellow.

It was all about money.

Mostly, her money. The dimes and dollars in her tip jar at the diner.

He proposed. She bought a ring. On credit. From a rent to own store.

Three days after she and her beaux met at the diner she tapped excitedly at Williams door.
“Look! Look at my ring! HE Proposed to me! We’re moving in! I’m going to save soooo much money!

“I think you missed the point.”

“No! No! You missed the point. I’m gonna save soooo much money.”

“OK, I missed the point.”

“Come over to my room. I want you to meet him!”
…

Hunter Thompson said, “When the going gets weird the weird go pro…” or something like that…
In the three months William had been holed up in the Western Inn, 1.1 miles from the hangar where he spent most of his time the weather had moved from winter to spring.

Warmth was overtaking cold. Leaves and grass were turning green.

Work had become a seven day a week roll. A rhythm.

In the world, wars continued. Progress was made or lost, depending on who did the telling. The never ending presidential campaign continued.

And there had been some odd occurrences at the Western Inn.

Odd knocks at odd hours of the night.

‘’Tap, tap, tap… at the door.

An older woman with a plastic shopping bag rapped at the door at two a.m.

“What?!”

“How much is a room here? My friend is in the office trying to get us a room.”

“I don’t know!”

“You wanna buy some hair clippers?”, she opened the bag.

“Do I look like I want to buy hair clippers? At two in the morning? Get the hell outta here!”’’

‘’Bang, bang, bang… at the door.

“What the hell do you want?!”

A young black man in hoodie, baggies and all the rest of the accouterment, “Take me to Taco Bell, it’s right down the street.”

“Get the fuck outta here!”’’

‘’Knock, knock, knock… at the door.

“What the… “Kenny Rodgers”? What’s up?”, William glanced over the old mans shoulder, “Where’s your truck?”

“Can you give me a ride to work?”

“Where’s your truck?”

“Can you give me a ride?”

“Yeah, sure, where’s your truck?”

“I spent the weekend in jail. Can you give me a ride or not?”

“Yeah, sure… I’ll get you to work. Sure…”

And…

Though there is a certain social convention that states: When you meet someone you extend your right hand and smile warmly. You shake their hand firmly but not too firmly and certainly not limply…

There are certain realities that state emphatically: Some people are not to be trusted, no matter how polished their smile or their hand shake.

As was the case one Sunday afternoon.

William was grilling a steak. The tail gate of the Dodge was down and providing a perfect table in front of Room 12.

Mr. Busted Exhaust Manifold emerged from Room 9.

‘Dumbass, you made eye contact! Why did you…?’

“Hi! I’m Reid Green, in Room 9.”, he stuck out his hand. His hand shake was firm but not too firm and not limp.

William shook his hand, firmly but not to firm and pressed his index finger into the soft tissue at junction of ‘Room 9’s’ wrist bones while looking the man in the eyes.

“I’m a welder. We’re building a new prison.”

William nodded.

“I make good money but it’s a long drive to work and back.”

William nodded and turned the steak on the grill.

“What do you do? What was your name again?”

“William, I work on airplanes.”

“At Will Rogers?”

“No.”, William pointed towards the smaller airport 1.1 miles to the north.
William went inside to check the potato in the microwave.

“Hey, what kind of guitar is that?”

“Stratocaster.”, William closed the door.

“What do they pay you to work on ‘planes?”

“Not enough.”

“I make $12.00 an hour to weld up the new prison. It’s a long drive from here.”

“Good for you.”

“What do you make?”

“Enough.”

“I almost didn’t get the job at the prison. I just got out. I’m a convicted felon.”

“Good for you.”

“How much do you make and hour?”

“My dinner is ready. Good luck with the job.” William double checked the locked truck and carried the steak inside Room 12.

The steak went down. The sun went down. The beer went down. Sated, William went down…
Somewhere in the night…

“GET ON THE GROUND! GET ON THE GROUND! GET ON THE GROUND OR I’LL BLOW YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF!!! GET ON THE GROUND!!!!!”

William bolted up in bed, looking for the ground…

“GET ON THE FUCKING GROUND!”

Red and blue lights bled around the tightly drawn curtains.

'Looks like Mr. Prison Builder is going back to be a regular old prison resident.'

...

ANGUS...BOOM, BOOM, ANGUS...

2008-12-17T18:37:00.001-06:00

Yeah, it was just like that!!!!!!!!!!

(Just, we were all 20 years older than last time!)

Foreword: 12/06/2008 15:16 Hrs

2008-12-06T15:17:00.002-06:00

To tell the "Thanksgiving Road Trip Story" it's really necessary to roll the clock back and tell the "Once More Back To The OKAY CITY Story".

There's a huge gap between now and the last installment from "The Western Inn".

The problem is and the reason I haven't already written the second part of the weirdness that was the Western Inn is that as soon as it was over it faded quickly into the fog of the rear view.

Now I'm going to back flip into the fog and try to pick up enough of the pieces to tell a compelling tale. (By 'compelling' I just hope it DOESN'T compel you to remove me from your reading list!!!

Prelude- 12/06/2008 15:14 Hrs

2008-12-06T15:12:00.003-06:00

Some of you are waiting for "The Story".

A couple of things to keep in mind.

A) Not all stories have pristine endings. The script sometimes fails and the credits roll over a very alternate ending.

B) Not all stories are easy to tell. Ref: A) above.

Merry Christmas to Me

2008-12-01T20:41:00.002-06:00

Say What?

2008-10-26T14:29:00.002-05:00

Ohh, the "OK" legal system.

Seems that it has taken them from August 'til now to decide NOT to press criminal charges against a local apartment complex and the local electric company.

Why would they consider charges?

An idiot tried to steal copper wires. Hot, copper wires. He got himself kicked out of the Gene Pool.

Ahh, our Juris-Estupides...

How about a counter suit? The apartment complex and the utility company VS the family for indiscriminate breeding? Vandalism? ETC?!

Vanity Plates

2008-10-26T14:23:00.002-05:00

The Best Vanity Plate- Car- License Plate Frame- Combo, so far...

Friday morning I pulled up behind a new Mustang GT.

The plate read:

"HIOCIFR"

The frame read:

"I know, I know, License and Registration"

Test

2008-10-15T18:15:00.002-05:00

Seem to be having trouble uploading photos.

"... It makes me wonder...

2008-10-09T20:03:00.002-05:00

what they'll say about me
just some fool rambler
dyin' to be free..."

Joe Ely, Grandfather Blues

Everytime I listen to that song,
I think about Mamma Wanda.

She was the middle daughter of three. Raised by a C-R-U-S-T-Y German carpenter.

You know, from when carpenters were carpenters.

When guys that couldn't speak English could actually miter a SQUARE corner?

When a carpenter built fine furniture without a single nail?

Without a new yankee toy shop?

MY Great Grandaddy would cold-cock that Norm guy.

If for no other reason, I'd tell Ol' Norm that the Old Man's name was Kaiser. Then, I'd sit back and wait for the cold-cockin' to commence.

See, the Old Man's name was Reiser. Old hands would tell the new guys that his name was Kaiser. (Keep in mind this was during the WWI era.)

Then, they'd stand back and wait for the Cold-Cockin' to commence.
(Note to self: Maybe that's where I get some of my twisted sense of humor?)

Reiser brewed his own beer.

He raised three daughters.

He built houses and courthouses in southwest Oklahoma.

That was just after the Land Rush.

Some of them are still standing. Enduring Urban Renewal and tornados, for nearly one hundred years.

Mamma Wanda was the middle daughter. She used to spend her days on the job site with the Old Man.

She was a little girl then. Surrounded by crusty carpenters.

The way I figure it, they all thought of her as their little girl. Hell, if ya made it on Reiser's Crew you had to be an Ace. And, you'd probably already been hit once. I doubt any of them wanted a real old fashioned Dutch Ass Whippin'.

I'm thinking now about how much that old man shaped the woman I met.

I know for sure I don't want (another) ass whippin' from her.

Let me tell you what.

Scariest words I ever heard, my Grandfather was sitting in the living room when I came in, "Your Grandmother is driving around town. She's looking for you. Seems you weren't where you were s'possed to be."

To this day, I can hear his thoughts, "Damn Glad I Aint You!"

"Uh-Oh! Busted."

She was 50-something years old by then...

She lifted my ass offa the floor.

I can't imagine and don't wanna know what the Old Man coulda done to my jaw!

I'm thinking now about how much of the Old Man was instilled in my Father.

My Father died when I was 11 goin' on 12.

When I was 10 or so, he told me, "Boy, I'd better not catch you starting any shit but if the shit gets started, you'd better finish it."

I'll have to follow up on that one some other time because it's out of context.

There are times when I come out of an airplane, grinning, 'Check that out. Ha, I found it, I troubleshot it, I fixed it."

Two of the biggest, "Whoa... That's... Unexpected.", moments of my entire life...

My Son was a tiny baby lying there on the couch, all dammed in with blankets and pillows...

I stared into his eyes...

He seemed to gaze back into mine...

I had to step back for a moment...

I never broke the eye contact but...

For a moment there David Russell was looking at David Ryan and seeing David Edward...

Can you grasp it?

I'm looking at my infant son and in his eyes I see my long dead Father...

A year or so later at Mamma Wanda's house...

"...It was as if I was looking into Daddy's eyes..."

All casual, non-plused, "David Russell, eveytime I look at you, I see my Daddy. Are you brewing beer yet?"

Ya see...

2008-09-28T16:17:00.002-05:00

See what can happen when ya introduce an unsuspecting Trojan to an eager Beaver? You sometimes get more than you expect!

http://rivals.yahoo.com/ncaa/football/polls?week=5

BOOMER SOONER!!!

$700,000,000,000

2008-09-23T18:33:00.002-05:00

I'm sitting here in my little space with my aged yet paid for vehicles out front eating leftover pizza... I've been trying to find a word or two to describe how I feel about a Seven Hundred BILLION Dollar Bail Out.

I found one, PISSED.

I'm pissed off!

ONE of the things that really bugs me is the Used Car Sales Third Party Close,"This is a GREAT deal BUT you have to take the deal RIGHT THIS SECOND or the deal is off the table and it will cost you a lot more money later!"

I smell a scam.

Believe me, I've been on both sides of more than a few of those.

So, next thing...

We're gonna call Mr Fuck Up in and LOAN him billions of OUR dollars.

SURE! Great Idea! "Here ya go Mr Fuck Up! You've run your business into the ground. No big deal. Here's $700,000,000,000.00. Go try again!"

YES! I know there are more than one Mr F's.

AND! I know this whole thing started a long time ago.

See, it started with the Slicks and Hicks WE elected or allowed to be elected with our complacency.

Then, those Slicks and Hicks met up with some real Slicky Boys. The ones with the real money.

So, ya know, to put a broader gray area between bribery and honesty, the Slicky Boys hired Lobbyists. The TRUE Slicky Boys.

Alright, I'm outta control here. The whole damn thing is out of control.

I see the CHECK. It's damn hard to miss the 700,000,000,000 Lb Gorilla.

Where's the BALANCE?

Where are the repercussion's for Mr F?

What happens when the same policies produce the same results?

You can't run the world on credit.

I would have failed high school accounting if it weren't for Mary Armstrong letting me copy her homework and her test answers. Still, even I know that multiple accounts and minimum debt service payments = Bad Joo Joo.

And, it's not just John Q. Citizen living that way. It's the whole damn government.

The whole thing is a house of cards. One, just one of the people with a direct line to the underpinnings could pull it out from under us.

I was home when the Repo Man came a callin'. That's not anything anyone wants to experience.

Anybody got a copy of "Mandarin Made Easy"? I think I'd like to get a head start.

Saturday At Work

2008-09-20T18:27:00.002-05:00

I was at work this morning when my phone rang at 10:08 AM CDT.

I answered, "Shake My Foundation!"

The Architect began chattering excitedly in Spanish, "Yo tengo! Tengo dos!!!"

"Hell YEAH!!!"

'What?', You ask?

What? What am I gonna doooooooo?

"I'm gonna ride on. Ride on..."

Hell yeah the Architect n Me. AT&T Center. 12 December.

AC/FREAKIN'DC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh, yeah...

Shameless head-banging. Shouting,
"ANGUS!!!" stomp stomp "ANGUS!!!" stomp stomp "ANGUS!!!"

Christopher Buckley

2008-09-17T17:21:00.008-05:00

Occasionally I watch this book review show on C-SPAN.

Authors come on, talk about their newest books and take questions.

I watched an interview with Christopher Buckley this weekend.

He used a metaphor about nitrous, "It's like XYZ on nitrous oxide..."

I don't recall what XYZ was.

Sometimes that's all it takes to put brain in gear. Good, Bad or Indifferent I scribble these things down in the black book or, now the brown book. Mostly that's where they stay...

"You can't write of nitrous oxide. You can't even speak to nitrous unless you have experienced life on nitrous.

Life is full of fits and fitful starts. You can't asses them or appreciate them or understand them... and you most certainly cannot score them... until you've launched upon them for yourself.

Most starts are uneventful, ubiquitous, even boring.

Some shameful.

Some frightful.

Some, howling beasts of erotic erectus-perfectum. Pistons screaming in joyous celebration. Four horn symphonies in cacophonous harmony. They leave long, short lived marks on the highway and long lived sign posts on the roads we travel.

You must notice, I do not speak to nitrous. After four and one half decades, I've yet to crack the valve on the big blue bottle.

After all of these years and fits and starts... I still grope and grasp about in a monochromatic fog... seeking out the valve."

More On "Choppas"

2008-09-17T17:21:00.006-05:00

Sometimes you hear something and you know what you heard. Or, you think you do.

Sometimes you wonder what the hell it was you just heard.

Sometimes you ask yourself, "Was that a back-fire or gun fire?" Or, "Was that fireworks or automatic gun-fire?"

This Tuesday afternoon I was outside the East end of our East hangar.

"BLATTATATATATTA"

'Hmmm, Was that...?', I wondered. Briefly.

"BLAT..BLAT....BLAT..BLAT...BLAT"

'Uh, yeah it was, IS gunfire...'

The sequence repeated. Then, repeated again.

'That's not just gun fire. That's a friggin' GUN FIGHT!'

I could hear sirens. I still tried to rationalize the audio. Fireworks and coincidence.

How did I know that my initial instinct was right?

When the news choppas arrived.

Police shootout with a routine traffic stop.

Well, it started out that way.

Bulletin Board

2008-09-17T17:21:00.002-05:00

At the facility where I work I'm known as a, "Repeat Offender".

I am among a number of guys that keep showing up, keep coming back when other jobs finish up or don't work out.

They are happy to have us here but they are understandably skittish. They never know when we might smell greener grass somewhere.

I have been in and out of here since 2001 or '02.

The first few times I was an independent contractor. Here a few days at a time working on King Airs. (This place began as an Aero-Commander shop.)

When I arrived three years ago I staked out a parking place. (It's still mine! LOL!) Lot's of guys have habitual parking spots. We can be territorial too.

I'd only been here a few days. At lunch time one day, I backed into a little white Chevy. I stopped, got out and looked. No visible damage.

Heading back inside I asked around for the owner.

That's when I met Joe, "Uh, you Joe?"

"Yeah.?"

"David.", I reached out to shake his hand, "I uh, guess I just backed into your car."

"What?"

No damage. No foul. No hard feelings. I'm still driving the same truck and he's still driving the same little white Chevy car. We've been 'Work Friends' ever since. He does have a new parking spot.

I haven't seen him around much lately. When I do see him he's not in work clothes.

There has been hushed talk about Joe.

Yesterday, I noticed a black and white picture posted on the bulletin board by the time clock.

It looked like some sort of Andy Warhol copy. Six images. Three across the top and three on bottom. From a distance they all looked the same.

Up close...

It was a series of X-Rays of my friend Joe's head.

That funny looking gray smudge in the middle?

A Goddamn big tumor in my friends brain.

Joe had written on the paper, "This is why I'm not here with you guys. Hope to be back soon!"

Me too Joe. Me too.

Vultures and Coyotes

2008-09-09T18:51:00.002-05:00

Helicopters and TV Entertainment posing as "News".

Now, before I go off screaming about the blood sniffing "News" helicopters...

Some of my best friends have been helicopter pilots. (They say that statement is a sure sign of prejudice. That's another post.)

'Green 1' is a good example. I always thought the DAO Call-Signs were lame. Just be glad you weren't a DAO wife... 'Green Whiskey'. The Major is a great guy and a rotor wing pilot.

Bob and Hal. I've never met them. OK, I haven't yet met them. They both fly helicopters. Both fly for a living.

Hal flies for PHI. (Keep me straight here guys. I don't know my cyclic from my collective!) It seems that Hal's job is flying other folks to and from off shore oil rigs to do their jobs.

Bob flies for a guy that needs to be highly mobile and has the where withal to buy a helicopter and hire a pilot to get him where he needs to be to run his business.

It wouldn't surprise me a bit for Hal to write about a search and rescue mission or having come to the aid of a vessel in distress.

I wasn't surprised to read about Bob 'dropping in' to check on a burning house in Alabama.

Nor was I surprised to see two helicopters hovering high and East of Wiley Post Int'l yesterday.

There are several helicopters operating out of here but these two were in what I refer to as, "Strange Attitudes."

Basically, they were at odd altitudes in odd locations and hovering.

Three emergency vehicles rolling out to the taxiway confirmed my suspicions- They were Vultures.

I scanned around for other traffic. There were planes landing and planes "Holding Short".

Then a small single engine airplane landed and rolled midway down the runway and stopped. The fire trucks rolled out to him and...

That was it. No crash. No fire. No fatalities. No Blood...

Guess what, No vultures. Whoosh! They peeled off. Probably looking for a car wreck.

Imagine a scenario from oh, 30 years ago.

"Joe John Pilot" is out and about in his single engine airplane with retractable landing gear.

"Mrs John" knows he's flying. He does it all the time.

Joe John gets home.

"Hi Honey! How was your flight?"

"Oh, it was OK. When I got back to Wiley Post light the bulb in my nose gear down and locked annunciator was burned out. I had to declare an emergency. Flew past the control tower and they said all three were down. I knew they went down and was purtty sure I heard 'em all lock but I flew by. Landed. Just a burnt out bulb. What's for dinner?"

Versus Today-

"BREAKING NEWS!!! AN AIRPLANE IS ABOUT TO CRASH AND WE HAVE OUR CHOPPER ALL OVER IT!!!"
"Ralph! do you read me? Has the plane crashed? How high are the flames? We think there could be 10 to 12 people aboard this 'turbineprop' Piper Cub. Ralph, Are any of them famous? Are they dead yet? Ralph do you read me?!?!?!?!?"

"Mrs John! It's Mary! Turn on the Channel. Joe John is on TV and he's about to die!!!"

These people chap my ass.

A response to a comment

2008-07-31T18:57:00.002-05:00

Rodolfo sent me this-

'Hey David check out this quote from this mech forum:

"I have 27 years experience, in all facets of aviation, and if I leave my current job, all I have to look forward to is about 17 bucks an hour at a new job. So 27 years of experience, plus 30K in tools, is worth 17 bucks an hour. "

It makes me sick to think about it.I know why I got into aviation. It wasn't the money. It's in my blood and I know it. But these statistics aren't very encouraging to someone starting out. If my goal was to be single for the rest of my life I wouldn't care. But I'm at that age where I could actually see myself as a husband and father. If an opportunity comes along that is outside aviation I'm almost tempted to go for it.'

Rodolfo,

I am NOT out to discourage you. Especially if you're in it for love rather than money.

Aviation is more volatile that 100LL. I think it's getting worse.

I've seen shops close without notice. Complete with padlocks from the FAA and IRS. (I ran into a guy years later that told me he had to get a lawyer to get his tools out of the hangar.)

I've been with companies that lost contracts. Once, I just pulled one patch off of my shirt and Velcros another on. The other time it took an international relocation. I had to move my family home from Sicily.

Right here at Wiley Post Int'l I got laid off one July. I went down to the other end of the same hangar and got a job lined up for the very Monday after my current job ended. Same money etc. Same everything.

Two months later, on a Monday, my new boss called me in, "David, you see that Baron out there?"
It was hard to miss. It was the only paying customer in the place at the time.
"Yeah, I see it."
"When you're done with it, I don't have any work coming in for two months. I'm gonna have to lay you off."

Big deal, I thought. Just went through the same thing two months ago...

On the way to work the next day the news on the radio wasn't good. It was horrible.

I got to the shop just in time to see the second plane driving into the World Trade Center.

G.A. went to shit. Quick.

The reason I say that it's getting 'worse' is because of buy outs and sell offs.

Just this week-

I heard of a company in Alabama that was bought out. (Not sure when this happened. It was recent given the age of the storyteller.)

A meeting was called. NO ONE from the outgoing management was present. The new owner said, "In case you don't know, I am the new owner. All of you with badge numbers above number 500, you are terminated as of now."

Yesterday, I met a man that I'd known by name and reputation for 20 years. He'd been with the same company for 23 years.

That part of that company had been bought out, "All of your are fired."

Now, my (presumably) young friend, I've said all of that to say-

Weave yourself a net of friends. It's your safety net. (Be prepared to catch friends as the fall too.)

Continue your education now while it's just a bitch to do so. Don't wait until its nearly or seemingly impossible. Weave more friends.

Build your skills. Various skills, but be sure you're confident in a couple of them regardless of the airframe involved.

You have no idea how it pains me to quote my Grandad on this one but, "It's your attitude." When the other guys are grumbling, keep your mouth shut. Don't fall into the 'this place sucks' void. It will suck you down.

I could go on. TRUST ME! I've been thinking about this post since 0530 this morning!

Rodolfo, just be prepared to bail and have a landing zone in sight. It might not happen but...
When it does...

Either way, do you really want to be dragging your knuckles around a hangar deck 27 years from now?

That doesn't mean you have to get out of aviation. You just have to get ahead of those of us that have done it for decades. It should be easy for you! We're old, beat up, bruised, crippled, blind, slow, and, at any given moment, bleeding profusely!!!

"Come on in!!! The water's fine."

The "Winds of Life"

2008-07-31T18:01:00.002-05:00

The winds of life are blowing in new directions this week.

I've been in touch with my daughter just about every other day. Catching up and learning.

Here's a quote that made a cranky old man grin and giggle, "... I can't stand that Rap crap."!!!

She sent me a list (alphabetically but) the first band on the list- AC/DC!!! That Southern Belle didn't fall far from the Ol' Pine Tree eh!? Yeah, my baby rocks.

She doesn't like Algebra. I really wish that gene hadn't been passed on.

Today, I got my little raise. I guess you already read that.

I was still a little aggravated as I drove home.

I stopped at a convenience store in the old neighborhood. Mostly, because it was the easiest place on my way to get out of and back into traffic again. It's right across the street from both; a little house I rented years ago and the car lot where I purchased the Dodge. That intersection is the site of one of the darkest scariest days of my entire life.

Hell, it was a very black period of my life.

It's not the first time I've stopped there on this 'Tour of the OKAY City'. Partly, like I said it's a convenient convenience store. Largely, I stop there to face demons with my shoulders squared.

As I got back back into the truck I saw an older man walking across the street. He had on a sporty hat, a loose fitting shirt with a tropical print, slacks, and brightly polished shoes...

I got out of the truck and locked eyes on him. My mind was trying to verify what I already knew in my heart.

Eyes locked, I walked directly at him.

As he stepped up to the sidewalk he looked up and saw me.

He recognized me immediately.

We shouted each other's name. It was one of those moments when your right hand reaches out to shake hands and both hands reach out for an embrace.

I hugged that old man as tightly as he hugged me.

The fuckin' tears tried to tear down the damn dam again.

That old mad is a true true friend.

Whenever I hear the song "Curtis Lowe", Old John is the old man I see.

My eyes are still damp but I'm laughing.

You shoulda seen the neighborhood folk looking at the old black man and the not yet so old white boy hugging and wiping tears away!!!

[Epilogue: I'm not going to go into the details here today but John had my back at a time when I sure as hell needed back up. "That's what friends do." Right? No. Not always. That day John and a friend of his DID. They did so at great risk to themselves. That, is why my eyes are damp.]

Thank You Very *&#%#$ Much

2008-07-31T17:41:00.002-05:00

Thank you Mr Leech. I can't possibly express my deep appreciation for the $.55 per hour "raise".

I can't convey my joy.

I am overwhelmed by the opportunity to contribute even MORE of my hard work to you.

I'm delighted to be a larger contributor to your plan for the redistribution of wealth in America.

I'm tickled that you now have additional funding with which to finance your next raise.

Gee Mr Leech, sure wish I got to vote on my raises. Shucks that must be really neato.

'Cause I'd sure vote for a raise that would net me a FRIGGING increase in my take home pay!

OH! You've got that figgered out dontchya Mr Leech.

Well, I'll damn sure vote against you.

Your opponent will be another parasite. I'll vote against him too, at the first opportunity.

The Mighty Damn Is Leaking

2008-07-27T20:03:00.002-05:00

but I think it's gonna hold.

It's got to.

Part of me wants to bottle this up, selfishly and for reasons that are beyond wrong.

Rest of me wants to climb to the roof

Fire my pistols into the air

And,

As,

Stinging acid tears leak past the mightiest emotional dam ever constructed

DEMAND that the world hear me

My Eldest Child Loves me

She told me so...

Wow

2008-07-09T18:35:00.002-05:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AAfwiOxaRbk&feature=related

The Architect is a big John Prine fan. I couldn't really name a John Prine song.

I just ran across this on Hal's blog, http://www.haljohnson.blogspot.com/

07/07/88

2008-07-07T20:01:00.003-05:00

All day long I've written the date 07/07/88.

OOPS.

Why?

My Airframe and Powerplant licenses are Twenty Years old today.

The Matchstick obscures my number.

The address is 20 years old.

And my signature... You should see it now! LOL!

Illegible to say the least!!!

Did you pay attention in THIS class?

2008-06-23T19:21:00.008-05:00

Dumpster Diving 101...

NO! That's not me. Dumpster Diving is why we keep young guys around.

My young friend was looking for new parts that he thought might have been thrown away.

He didn't find them.

I did.

ON TOP OF HIS TOOL BOX!!!

Too much fun.

You want it when?! Part II

2008-06-23T18:32:00.002-05:00

There are actually two Frankensteins (Cobbled together). Or, Peters ("Robbing Peter to pay Paul") airplanes in the hangar.

It's neck and neck as we come down to the wire.

One will get ahead but have fuel leaks.

The other jumps into the lead but has no ITT indications. Basically, ITT is engine temperature and it dictates operations like simply starting the engines. If you can't tell how hot the engine is running you can't or shouldn't be running the engine. The PT-6 starts and runs quite a bit hotter than our water cooled auto's.

Lots of nit noid parts are or were MIA.

One guy asked me Saturday, "David, did you find the parts that I'm missing?"

"They're not MISSING! I know EXACTLY where they are! They're in Indonesia."

There has been some cannibalism going on BETWEEN the two planes also.

I fixed the wing ice lights on mine this weekend.

Today I asked one of the guys closing up panels about the L/H O/B cowl.

It was MISSING an ice light!!!

It was working again before I left. ;-)

I need some parts and placards for the airstair door.

I'm going in early tomorrow because I know exactly where to find some!!!

Weird recollection/ connection for the day...

2008-06-23T18:04:00.003-05:00

Something you acquire while working in a hangar full of planes and people is the ability to ID people by their shoes.

Much of the time you can only see someone from the knees down as you scan the deck.

It's always seemed amusing to me. Is that weird enough?

Of course not!

Ya have to add the recollection.

Mama Wanda has told me a few stories over the years that made me quake. Sometimes a little. Other times a lot.

Once she told me that her Father, my Great Grandfather had been a early member of The Klan. (Apparently there were some redeeming qualities to the group, early on.)

He denied, to her, being involved.

But...

She polished his good shoes every week. When the Klan would march, she recognized the shoes.

60 years later and I still ID folks by their shoes!

She told me that Grandad Walter quit the Klan when they, 'started doing bad things...'. She didn't elaborate except to say that when he quit there were repercussions...

One night someone came to his bedroom window and called his name. When Walter went to the (open) window the caller threw acid in his face.

I should do a series on Mama Wanda. She had a few tales! More important, I tell some of these tales around my little Brothers and hear, "I never heard THAT one before!"

A few good titles would be:

"Mama Wanda Meets Jessie James"

"Mama Wanda Meets the Rattlesnake"

"Mama Wanda 'Fixes' the Fine Cabinetry"

"Mama Wanda Sweetens the Homebrew"

"Mama Wanda and the Burglar"

"Mama Wanda Slaps the Base Commander"

"Mama Wanda and 'My Father's Eyes'"

"Mama Wanda and Great Great Grandad"

"Mama Wanda Becomes a Women" (She's 80 something and that one might still get me spanked. WHY she told ME about it is still beyond me!)

My Boy

2008-06-18T20:03:00.004-05:00

A recent post by Hal Johnson http://haljohnson.blogspot.com/2008/06/big-dork-dad-in-waterpark.html had me rolling in the floor and reliving my own amusement part nightmare at the same time.

What follows is an email to my three younger brothers after a (mostly) successful trip to the park with my son several years ago.

""...Lesson Number ONE, Ein, Uno!!!

When your six year old says, "Daddy, I don't want to ride the 'Mind Bender', I'm scared."

It does not matter that he said the same thing about the parachute, the mine train, and every other ride.

Nor does it matter that you stood in line for an hour with unruly ill mannered people and kids.

Much less that you are next in line to ride in the front seat of the first car.

TAKE THE WALK OF SHAME!!!!!!!!!

Lesson Two-

When taking your six year old for a 'temporary' tattoo ask the girl,

"How temporary is temporary?"

PRIOR TO GETTING THE TATT!!!!!!!!!

Just thought ya might benefit from my mistakes.

The big boy 'coaster was a big oopso'!!!

As we got to that last clickety-clack before the pause before it all breaks loose...

We had sobbing, screams and croc tears...

(He did pass the height req. by a coupla inches.)

All day long he'd said the same thing, "I'm scared of that one Daddy."

Even Disney rides!

All but the train of 'big rig trucks'. He really wanted to 'drive' those.

Hope he's not scarred..."""

"The Western Inn"

2008-06-09T20:17:00.004-05:00

Lightly edited and added to. It pretty much gets through day one.

I'm still trying to figure out what to incorporate from work and how.

There were a few uh, interesting moments at The Western. Not too many but too many to cram into one nights worth of tale.

What follows is a fictional account. Any resemblance to places or people; living or dead is their own damn fault.

Rated R for Adult Language and Situations.

The Western Inn
7666 NW Route 66
Bethune, OK

William George arrived in Okay City, OK with his truck and his toolbox.

William George made his living as an itinerant aircraft mechanic. Rolling from town to town wherever the work lead him.

Once again the road lead to Okay City.

The license plates say, “Oklahoma is OK!” That summed it up for William George. Oklahoma IS ok. It’s not bad and it’s not great. It’s just ok.

That Sunday afternoon in February after he made his way off of I35 and headed West on I40, he picked the first motel that looked reasonably safe and convenient.

His tool box, lashed to the bed or the pick-up was foremost in his mind. To lose it to theft would be an overwhelming loss. Not just the expense of replacing it but the work lost without it. Without it, he couldn’t work to replace it.

The last place he stopped for gas in Texas was just south of Dallas. It had been breezy but still shirt sleeve weather.

Okay City was another world. The wind was hard out of the north and bitter.

William George hustled into the motel office and scored a room for the night.

He backed into a space in front of his room and hustled inside.

Once inside he immediately cranked up the heat and threw open curtain, to keep an eye on the tool box.

With the bed pillows stacked and a cold beer on the night stand he made a few phone calls and fell asleep with the TV on.

At six am. He lurched out of bed and looked out the window. “Still there.” the tool box was still closed and lashed in place.

The recruiter had told him to report at seven-thirty a.m. Having worked in the same facility previously he remembered the start time as seven.

With plenty of time but no coffee pot in the room William George hurried to get ready and get a few cups from the lobby before he had to leave.

He pulled on a light jacket and stepped out the door.

“Shit!!!” 20 degrees a stiff wind and the truck windows frosted solid.

Once again he hustled to the lobby.

No coffee ready.

He checked out and hustled to the truck.

“Shit!!!” The inside of the cab was a deep freeze.

William George put the key in the ignition and turned it.

‘rauhh rauhh rauh rau’

The cold had sucked the life out of the battery.

He hustled once again to the lobby to call a taxi for a jump start.

“Yellow Cab.”

“I need a jump at the Overnight Motel.”

“Twenty dollars, up front, whether it starts or not.”

“I figured that. About how long?”

“30 to 45 minutes.”

“Great. I’ll be waiting.”

At least there was coffee brewing now. He took a Styrofoam cup and pulled the half full pot from the burner. Still brewing, the stream of hot coffee made a huge sizzling puddle on the burner, the counter and the floor.

He made a half hearted effort at cleaning up the mess and hustled back to the truck, ‘Maybe if I try one more time…’

‘rau, rau.’

“Damn it!”

Funds were tight and a twenty dollar “whether it starts or not” jump start was not in the budget.

A couple came down the stairs and began to get in the car in the next stall.

“Excuse me! Good morning. Do ya’ll have any jumper cables?”

“No, I’m sorry.”, the woman replied from over the roof.

“But, we’ve got a jumper box at home.”, the man added before getting into the passenger side.

“I could go get it…”

“She’s got to take me to work first…”

“But, I can be back in about twenty minutes.”

“Great. I’d really appreciate that. I just got to town and today is my first day of work.”

“Oh man, I’ll be back. We only live a few blocks from here.”

“I’ll be here. Thanks!”

William George hustled back to the lobby for another cup of coffee.

He stood there, peering out the plate glass window at the sunrise and the building traffic, “This does not bode well for my last trip to Okay City.”

For William George, EVERY trip to Okay City was to have been the last.

He’d grown up 90 miles from the spot where he stood.

1981 had been his first attempt to escape.

Again in 1982.

Finally, he thought, he’d made his break and gone to Dallas. Once there he’d started a new life and career.

That career took him first to Selma, Alabama. From Dallas County Texas to Dallas County Alabama overnight.

Eight years later that career brought him back to Okay City for a year.

At the first opportunity he was gone again for nearly four years.

He had returned to lick wounds and get back on track in 2000 and got stranded in the Okay City for several years.

Atlanta provided a year or so respite until he got angry and quit a job where he was caught up in “Political Crossfire” and budget crunching.

He’d returned for another year and it was back to Texas. San Antonio, Texas.

San Antonio was the place where he’d long ago decided that if he had to live in the United States of America it would be in San Antonio in the By- God- Republic of Texas.

19 months later he was back again, in Okay City.

Every time it carried a lump of defeat.

‘I can’t do any better.’

‘I can’t make it anywhere else.’

“I’ll have to go back to the Okay City. Goddamn it!”

Not yet late for work but the inevitable approached with the sun.

‘Wait a minute?’, They live right around the corner but are staying in a motel? How or why does that work?

William George returned to the freezing pick-up. He didn’t want to miss the rescue. Whoever it turned out to be. He just hoped that the cab and the lady with the jumper box didn’t arrive at the same time.

As it turned out the lady that just lived around the corner form the motel returned before the taxi showed. You can almost always count on those pirates to take longer than they estimate.

She rolled the back window down and said, “There ya go!”

William George snatched the box and connected it to the already exposed battery.

“Come on baby doll…”

He turned the ignition switch and the engine responded with the usual growl.

“Any wonder why I love you. I’ll get you a new battery.”

He quickly disconnected the box, slammed the hood, coiled the cords around the box and returned it to the reopening window, “Thank you so very much!”

Immediately back in the cab, he jammed the truck down into second gear, hauled ass out of the parking lot and immediately hit the first traffic light red.

“Damn”, he immediately felt guilty, “I should have at least offered her some money.

After having to stop at each and every traffic signal between the motel and the hangar he arrived 15 minutes late.

“Perfect.”

He punched in and asked the first guy he saw, “Where do I find Don the contractor coordinator?”

“That’s me. You George.”

“Yup.”

“Lemme introduce ya to Keenan, he’s the Floor Supervisor.”

“Uh, I know Keenan. I’ve been here before.”

“Great, yeah, he’s right in here. I’ll introduce ya.”

“Sure.”

William George knew Keenan very well.

When Don said, “Keenan, this is…”

Keenan looked up from his desk and said, “Get your tool box and get to fucking work.”

Don thought, ‘That’s just Keenan.’

William George just grinned and went to find the fork lift.

“What the fuck are YOU doing?”, it was Stavros.

“Looking for the fork lift.”

“Oh goddamn you’re not here to work are ya?”

“Yup.”

“Pull the Dodge around. I’ll unload it for ya.”

With the Snap-On treasure chest on the old familiar floor William George scanned the deck for work to do.

Don the contractor coordinator approached, “We’re wrapping this one up for storage.”, and walked away.

‘Bullshit’, thought William George, ‘There’s gotta be something better to do.’ It was then he spotted James, the sheet metal lead man on the next airplane over.

“Hey! I heard you were coming back. How was San Antonio?”

“Had it’s ups and downs.”

“Mostly downs?”

“A couple of deep downs.“

“Glad you’re back.”

“What have ya got going? Need any help?”

“Spar repairs. I need some sealer scrapped.”

“Beats putting plastic on windows. Which fuel cells.”

Eight A.M. and he was back at work.

Most of the old cast of characters were still around. William George enjoyed the welcome he received. He really liked it a lot. It began to bring him up from one of the ‘deep downs’ of San Antonio.

It didn’t set well with some of his fellow contract employees.

Contractors are expendable. They can be fired in less time than it takes a NASCAR Cup driver car to shift gears.

A couple of the guys felt themselves drop a notch in the standings without even a race being run. Penalized, so to speak.

It really didn’t help that the F.N.G. just buddied up with a NASCAR Official.

James has no qualms about firing contractors and has the full support of management. He earned it. James made his bones as a contractor and is a sheet metal artist.

William George set about scrapping sealer from the seams of various fuel cells. It was a really crummy job but all the crummy jobs have to be dooe before the plane gets out the door.

One thing about scrapping sealer from fuels cells is you have to look inside with a flashlight and mirror and identify your target.

You can’t see a thing once you shove your arm in the hole but you can see what’s going on around you.

William George began to notice; these two guys cliquing up over there, that guy on the computer more than anything or anyone else, that guy wandering around with a parts requisition in his hand, that guy walking from place to place talking to whomever was around.

‘Sucks to be you guys.’

At Two P.M. James was packing up for the day.

“James, what time do you come in?”

“Five-thirty. You can come in early if you want to.”

“See ya in the morning.”

Four P.M. finally ticked around.

William George headed back out to the Dodge, “Crap, I don’t have a place to go ‘home’ to.”
He headed towards Route 66. A piece of what was left of the Mother Road anyway.

Having been in the Okay City too many times before he knew that the farther East he went the more expensive it would be to find a room.

He turned West not knowing what might remain of his memories.

Less than a mile down the road Mother provided.

An ancient tourist court with a yellow banner flipping and flopping in the incessant Oklahoma wind, “Free Cable and Wireless Internet”

“The Western Inn”

?Uh-Oh?

2008-06-08T15:40:00.003-05:00

My phone rang yesterday morning.

It wasn't one of those O'Dark-Thirty calls but I was at work...

"I know you're probably at work but your Brother had a heart attack last night... he's in room 918..."

Seconds later the phone rang again, "Did you..."

"Yes..."

"Where are you?

"At work. You?

"At work.

"Hospital?

"Rolling.

100% blockage of the main vein. JUST the main vein.

Guess What?

"That Shit Hurts Like A Mother Fucker."

I don't know that first hand but when I see one of my younger brothers strapped to a hospital bed. Plumbed up, wired up and monitored up...

When he says it's so. It is so.

There ain't a wimp amongst us. If there's a runt, it's me.

I'm the oldest and the smallest.

He's going to be OK.

They say it was a "Mild" one.

Another screwed up thing is that he's been watching his diet and exercising.

And!!! He'd had blood work done and his cholesteral checked in the last few weeks...

"It's all OK. You're healthy."

So much for regular check-ups.

All those bastards care about is their mortgage, alimony and Ferrari payments.

Blogger pains

2008-06-03T19:46:00.002-05:00

Blogger is being a pain in the butt!!!

The format etc et al on the "Miracles" post... I keep trying to 'fix' it and Blogger keeps doing it their way.

argh...

It's F-R-eakin' hot and WINDY. The Alaskans didn't seem to care for it but I love it.

OK, I DON'T love it but I do much prefer it.

My new A/C unit is great. I leave it on low fan and low cool when I leave in the morning. When I get home it's bearable but I have to crank it up to high to make it through the real heat of the day. During the night I turn it down and eventually off.

Today when I got home it was 93 degrees and felt like 97.

Ref. Previous post... if it Feels Like F-R-eakin' 97 Degrees it IS 97 Degrees!!!

The Frankenstein airplanes (from the "You Want It When" post) are making headway.

All four engines are on and mostly connected. 183 has her props.

OH! Didya know that a 1900 has THREE props?!

Well, of course not but 183 did get one prop installed twice! LOL!

One of the Directs ram rodded the R/H prop install this morning. Good Job!

Then he set about getting the L/H up.

Well, when he uncovered the L/H prop he noticed a plastic plug in the pilot shaft, "Oh, s--t. I hope I pulled the plug out of the other prop... I don't remember. I don't remember seeing it. Crap!"

"Dumbass.", said gentle and caring me.

They pulled the R/H back off and sho-nuff...

No plug in the way.

You can tell by my generous and sympathetic reply that I completely understood the Boys' plight.

He's smarter than he looks.

In my opinion any wrench that doesn't sweat over his every move should not be there.

That is not a very concise or clear thought but...

A certain amount of self doubt is healthy.

To this day not a launch goes by that I don't fret.

I often think back to being all alone with that King Air in Teguc as chief cook and bottle washer.
Mechanic, Book Keeper, Parts Guy, GSE Guy, Inspector... For three years.

I flew on her EVERY chance I got.

I fretted over EVERY launch.

Frequently I woke up in the middle of the night asking myself if I did this or that. (Still do.)

More than once I went back to the hangar to quadruple check.

You can take it to an extreme. Ref. Me last year.

My head was SO So so far out of the business.

I didn't just terrify myself. I terrified my co-workers.

I don't blame them.

This is a totally different environment.

Here I stay engaged. I get handed things and I handle them.

Here I have people coming to me, "David, how do I do this?".

"David, I need these but can't find them. There aren't any in stock."

"David, I've never seen a 1900 before. I'm a sheetmetal guy. How do we hang this engine?"

"Dave, there's a King Air coming in and..."

"Dave' there's a Cessna 152 coming in..." "A WHAT?! Yo no se nada de ninguna 152!!!" "Whatever Dave. Fix it." (I did fix it. I LUCKED OUT! LOL!)

BTW, Rodolfo, if you're out there I lucked out by putting my hand on every electrical connection I could in the starter circuit. When you go to inspect or trouble shoot something, TOUCH IT! Wiggle it, Twist it. Shake it. Etc. You'll be surprised how many things you find/ solve because something is loose.

Do you know why it's different here?

I can TRUST these guys and they TRUST me.

I've been in and out of this hangar since '01 or so. I've known some a couple of these guys for 20 years and a lot of them for 6 or 7 years.

They know me well enough to know that the last thing I would ever do is LIE or COVER something up or OMIT it from my explanation.

If I don't know something I'm gonna make it clear.

If I F-up I'm gonna shout it out.

I do love my job too. Once again.

Now, if I can figure out to move it 480 miles south...

I'm working on it!!! (Really, it's not unprecedented.)

This thing sorta spun out didn't it? All I was gonna do was whine and bitch because Blogger wouldn't cooperate.

Classic Nada I guess!

The sun is going down and I've notched the A/C down a click or two. Maybe it's safe to take out the trash now.

Miracles

2008-06-02T19:39:00.011-05:00

We don't ACTUALLY perform miracles.

It just looks like it.

Here's a 1900C Model. Nice little one owner.

ONLY 51,000 hours and 44,000 cycles!!!

Some Good Guys operate her out of Alaska and take good care of her.

To be honest we just painted her and did an avionics mod.

These pics are from the 2 pixel tool box cam. I hope to get some better shots tomorrow.

This is not one of the planes from the "You Want It When" post. They will NOT be so pretty. 'As is means as is'. Well, in our world it means, "All of the airworthiness items are fixed so... you'll probably get home OK. Buena Suerte!"

Oh, Rodolfo I guess I finally answered your question. No, not King Airs. 1900s are their over grown cousins.

He sat there at idle with the props in feather until he got ready to taxi. At first, I wondered why. Then it all came back... These guys operate on unimproved fields. Keeping the props in feather and the ice vanes deployed helps reduce F.O.D. DUH!!! I miss being out in the field as opposed to repair stations. OP's is where it's at!!!

I've got more photos from Delivery Day but I'm having trouble uploading them. I'll get them up soon but there isn't anything spectacular about them.

That Boy Better Be Buying...

2008-05-25T16:09:00.002-05:00

that Security Guard and Official for saving him!!!

Danika was on her way down the lane to kick his ass!!!

You want it WHEN??!!??!!??!!!!

2008-05-24T17:35:00.008-05:00

They want to fly next Friday.

Not in this life.

What'll it be?

2008-05-05T17:37:00.002-05:00

Residents of Edmond, OK want cell phone service.
Residents of Edmond, OK don't want a new cell phone tower.
"Not in my backyard!"

U.S. Residents want electricity.
They don't want nuclear power plants.
They don't want to build wind power fields.

U.S. Residents want gas prices to go down.
U.S. Residents want to be less dependant on foreign oil.
They don't want to drill for oil in areas rich with oil.
They don't want to build new refinery's.
"Not in my back yard!"

"Not off of the Florida coast! You'll ruin my view! {Oil}
"Not off of Martha's Vinyard! You'll ruin my (drunken murderous, Kennedy) view!" {Windmills}
"Not in South Texas! You'll interrupt migratory bird routes!" {Windmills}
"Not in ANWAR! You'll disrupt caribou migration!" {Oil}

Well then, I ask, "What do you people want?"

"WE WANT THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT TO DO SOMETHING!!!"

OOHhhhh, Okay. Move to Cuba! Ya get that free health care AND Castro and Chavez will be drilling off of the Florida coast. IF they aren't already! Rah! Rah! Go! Go! CITGO!!!

I'm not sure how you'll import that 4X4 Lincoln Navigator though.

One more question, how often do ya go muddin' in that 4X4?

A recent question from the comment section

2008-04-28T18:15:00.003-05:00

Asked 'what would you do different?'.

Well my young friend, first of all, I would have pursued that law degree instead.

But we won't go into that.

Let me ask you a question Rodolfo, 'Three to Five years.' Are ya sick of hearing that yet?

It's pretty much true. It will take you from three to five years to get a good foothold in this business.

What does that have to do with what I would do differently?

I'd spend that time to get a degree. Even though I never planned to turn wrenches forever I should have gone ahead and gotten a Bachelors of Aviation Maintenance Management. Do you see the keyword there?

Also, I'd pursue my IA. I've NEVER needed one in the situations I've been in but I'd get it anyway.

Why? A better (and more current) understanding and knowledge of the FARs.

Would you like to guess how many times I've had to do deep research in the FARs or even the 43:13 for that matter?

Damn few. Nearly ZERO.

So, again, why then? Wait 'til ya have to go toe to toe with a boneheaded inspector over some stoopitshit. It'll happen.

What else... Degree, IA...

I'd be a 'Tron! A Sparky. An Avionics Geek.

They don't do a lot of heavy lifting. They don't get greasy. Ya rarely see one of 'em bleeding. And, you almost never see one sweat!

(I ran that by another one of my Avionics Buddies today. He just chuckled and shook his head. I'd already been aggravating him. I needed a special pair of crimpers. He was a little busy so I threatened to use, "My car stereo crimpers". "Oh geeze David. Why would you use 3$ crimpers on a 5$ splice?!)

{{{Speaking of crimpers. KEEP YOUR DIGITS OUT OF 'EM!!! Once you close them past that first 'click' then you have to close them COMPLETELY before you can get them open again. That wasn't something they taught me in A&P school. I thank Joe Hitt for keeping me out of that bind.}}}

As things get more complex and more electric and more sophisticated (and they will) a solid capability with wiring diagrams and avionics/ electrical troubleshooting will be more in demand.

Sheetmetal/ Composites are another art form. Also, in demand. I envy the guys that can do that and do it well.

What else? I might even be more of a hangar rat. I've never understood the guys that get finished working on airplanes all day and the head over to another airport to hang out. BUT, NEVER underestimate that power of friends and contacts in this business!!!

Ol' Bill told me years ago, "Never treat an airplane as if you'll never see it again."

I'd add people to that theory.

A week or so ago I ran into an old friend. I mean a way back friend. We got our licenses within months of each other. He turned me on to an overseas job as a King Air Tech Rep. I applied and there is no word (or sign of any word coming) yet but you see the point. I can count on my hands the number of times I've even seen that fellow since 1990.

This part is easy for Me to say but, a Repair Station is great place to start BUT you'd better elbow, kick and scratch your way to the front. Get to where you are learning to troubleshoot and fix flight squawks.

EASY for me to say, don't get stuck in a back shop or the pits of a heavy.

This post is degenerating. It is really easy for me to preach from the couch. I've made my mistakes and I'd need both hands and have to take of my shoes just to add up the big mistakes. I'd just hate to see anybody else make the same ones.

Do keep us posted on your progress. How about a background story or a place to start from? Guam was it? Native? Navy? Or Military Brat? (I'm a quasi Army Brat.) Oh, and your friend... King Air pilot? The folks that are out there doing that sort of stuff are the ones to cultivate.

Draft. Uncut and Unedited. Part 1

2008-04-26T19:44:00.004-05:00

What follows is a fictional account. Any resemblance to places or people; living or dead is their own damn fault.

Rated R for Adult Language and Situations.

The Western Inn
7666 NW Route 66
Bethune, OK

William George arrived in Okay City, OK with his truck and his toolbox.

William George made his living as an itinerant aircraft mechanic. Rolling from town to town wherever the work lead him.

Once again the road lead to Okay City.

The license plates say, “Oklahoma is OK!”

That summed it up for William George. Oklahoma IS ok. It’s not bad and it’s not great. It’s just ok.

That Sunday afternoon in February when he escaped I35 he picked the first motel that looked reasonably safe and convenient.

His tool box, lashed to the bed of the pick-up was foremost in his mind. To lose it to theft would be an overwhelming loss. Not just the expense of replacing it but the work lost without it.

Without it, he couldn’t work to replace it.

The last place he stopped for gas was just south of Dallas. It had been breezy but still shirt sleeve weather.

Okay City was another world. The wind was hard out of the north and bitter.

William George hustled into the motel office and scored a room for the night.

He backed into a space in front of his room and hustled inside.

Once inside he immediately cranked up the heat and threw open curtain, to keep an eye on the tool box.

With the bed pillows stacked and a cold beer on the night stand he made a few phone calls and fell asleep with the TV on.

At six am. He lurched out of bed and looked out the window. “Still there.” the tool box was still closed and lashed in place.

The recruiter had told him to report at seven-thirty a.m. Having worked in the same facility previously he remembered the start time was seven.

With plenty of time but no coffee pot in the room William George threw out the half full beer and hurried to get ready and get a few cups from the lobby before he had to leave.

He pulled on a light jacket and stepped out the door.

“Shit!!!”

20 degrees a stiff wind and the truck windows frosted solid.

Once again he hustled to the lobby.

No coffee ready.

He checked out and hustled to the truck.

“Shit!!!”

The inside of the cab was a deep freeze.

William George put the key in the ignition and turned it.

‘rauhh rauhh rauh rau’

The cold had sucked the life out of the battery.

He hustled once again to the lobby to call a taxi for a jump start.

“Yellow Cab.”

“I need a jump at the Overnight Motel.”

“Twenty dollars, up front, whether it starts or not.”

“I figured that. About how long?”

“30 to 45 minutes.”

“Great. I’ll be here.”

At least there was coffee brewing now. He took a Styrofoam cup and pulled the half full pot from the burner. Still brewing, the stream of hot coffee made a huge sizzling puddle on the burner, the counter and the floor.

He made a half hearted effort at cleaning up the mess and hustled back to the truck, ‘Maybe if I try one more time…’

‘rau, rau.’

“Damn it!”

Funds were tight and a twenty dollar “whether it starts or not” jump start was not in the budget.

A couple came down the stairs and began to get into the car in the next stall.

“Excuse me! Good morning. Do ya’ll have any jumper cables?”

“No, I’m sorry.”, the woman replied from over the roof.

“But, we’ve got a jumper box at home.”, the man added before getting into the passenger side.

“I could go get it…”

“She’s got to take me to work first…”

“But, I can be back in about twenty minutes.”

“Great. I’d really appreciate that. I just got to town and today is my first day of work.”

“Oh man, I’ll be back. We only live a few blocks from here.”

“I’ll be here. Thanks!”

William George hustled back to the lobby for another cup of coffee.

He stood there, peering out the plate glass window at the sunrise and the building traffic, “This does not bode well for my last trip to Okay City.”

For William George, EVERY trip to Okay City was to have been the last.

He’d grown up 90 miles from the spot where he stood.

1981 had been his first attempt to escape. Again in 1982.

Finally, he thought, he’d made his break and gone to Dallas. Once there he’d started a new life and career.

That career took him first to Selma, Alabama.

Dallas County Texas to Dallas County Alabama overnight.

Eleven years later that career brought him back for a year. At the first opportunity he was gone again for nearly four years.

He had returned to lick wounds and get back on track in 2000 and got stranded in the Okay City for several years.

Atlanta provided a year or so respite until he got angry and quit a job where he was caught up in “Political Crossfire” and budget crunching.

Another year and it was back to Texas. San Antonio, Texas.

San Antonio was the place where he’d long ago decided that if he had to live in the United States of America it would be in San Antonio in the By- God- Republic of Texas.

Back again to Okay City.

Every time it carried a lump of defeat.

‘I can’t do any better.’

‘I can’t make it anywhere else.’

“I’ll have to go back to the Okay City. Goddamn it!”

Rodolfo asked...

2008-04-24T18:59:00.002-05:00

what tools I carried with me on the road.

By the time I found myself living on the road I had a couple of things to consider:
What was important and what wasn't.
Weight restrictions. Both the airline limits and my own.

My world shrunk to one checked bag, one carry on bag and a 19 inch Craftsman toolbox.

I had a tremendous advantage though. All of the sites I went to, with the exception of Kenya, were established field sites with at least one mechanic stationed there. That meant I had access to his tools and the company tools there.

I had my roll away laid out with the tools I used most often in the top drawer. The other drawers had say, the rest of my sockets and ratchets etc in one, wrenches in another, and so on.

Since I had already set it up that way I had a head start.

That would have included-
Mirror
Flashlight
Magnet
Ratchet Screwdriver with lots of apexes.
Dikes, 6"
Needle Nose Pliers, 6"
Safety Wire Pliers (The smaller of the two I had.)
12 Point 1/4" Drive Sockets (You can always use a 12 point on a 6 point fastener but not vice versa)
1/4" Drive Ratchet
Ignition Wrenches
Crescent Wrench, 6"
3/8" X 7/16" Ratchet Wrench
1/2" X 9/16" Ratchet Wrench

Honestly, I don't remember exactly what all was in the top drawer at that time.

I laid it all out on a bench next to my little tool box. Then, I took heavy duty 1/2" thick foam and "Shadowed" all of those things in. (Shadowing is where you cut out the shape of the tool from the foam. When you or anyone else look into your box it is obvious if anything is missing. It SUCKS to set it up but it is really nice once it's done.)

Once I had the top drawer stuff done I looked at the space I had and, "Hm, well, I use this a lot too. Oh, I don't use this often but it has saved my butt a time or two. And I'd hate to be with out this."

I think that box weighed 65 LBs.

As to brands, I do like Snap-On. I hate to use their slogan but there is a difference. I prefer them when it comes to tools with moving parts or something I'm going to have to put a ton of torque into.

Craftsman, Cornwell, MATCO, MAC or Snap-On... Get your price list. Hit the pawn shops.

One suggestion, unless you're just loaded, is buy less expensive stuff if you need it to start out and build up from there.

That does two things for you. First, it gets you on the job. Second, once you've upgraded you have a tool to cut down or grind or modify for a particular task. You will be 'making' tools all through your career.

Another good rule of thumb that actually came up today at work, "If you need to borrow it twice you need to buy it once."

I hope this helps. It might be a little vague for you and too specific for everybody else.

One Travel Tip. It seems obvious to me and others. I'm sure it's on plenty of travel websites.

Pack a change of clothes and your shaving kit in the carry on.

When we got transferred to Sicily I tried to tell my wife that. She gave me that, "I know what I'm doing look."

She packed her way and I packed mine.

My luggage got to there with me and hers didn't.

Did I say, "I told you so?"

Are you nuts?!

"I Hold My Ticket... Revision 1

2008-04-20T16:46:00.007-05:00

...in my hand.
I hold my ticket in my hand.
I'm headed for the Promised Land."

"Tonight I Think I'm Gonna Go Downtown"

"I'm lookin' for a Marks-A-Lot to polish my boots..."

I'll be a Son-of-a-Gun if Joe Ely didn't open with "1000 Miles From Home"!!!

I wandered down to the Blue Door last night and caught the late Joe Ely show.

The Blue Door is a VERY small venue. Maybe 120 people max capacity.

So the late show was maybe 70 people...

Joe and one acoustic guitar.

And he played. He played damn near all of my favorites-
"All Just To Get To You"
"The Road Goes On For Ever"
...

I lost track. I was so engrossed listening and watching his hands on the frets.

I sat against the wall on the end of a row that happened to be near a window.

I glanced out and what did I see?

A Full Moon....

"I glanced out the window
at the Joe Ely show

A full moon rising
Elegant and slow.

My eyes
My eyes swoll up
Yes
They did well up

I looked away
and studied the man there
up on the stage

wet eyes watching
every fret and change

I listened as he played
as he talked and
told jokes on Van Zandt
and stories of his life

Couldn't look away
I studied the man there
up on the stage

wet eyes watching
every fret and change..."

OK, Kinda Sophomoric but what do ya expect when I draft a work within a work. The Nada isn't work to me it's a form of expression.

There was a big moon coming up.

Whenever Two Or More Are Gathered

2008-04-19T19:36:00.004-05:00

By that I mean, "Whenever two or more guys are gathered."

Ya put two of us together and any thing can happen.

Depends on the chemistry.

Take a hangar deck.

Throw thirty or so guys on five or six airplanes.

You'll see and hear all sorts of things.

If you work your way in and around various groups you'll see and hear even more.

I can only speak FROM the Trades. I can't speak FOR the Tradesmen.

Well, I guess I can speak OF them.

We are a rough, crude, mean, fun loving, ornery, harsh, caring, insensitive, obnoxious, eclectic bunch.

Notice any incongruities there?

There are certain Codes.

"If ya can't hang then ya shouldn't have came." English: You need a thicker skin.

"It's never too late for truck driving school." English: What made you think you could do this job?

"If I ain't screwing with your head it means that I don't like you so stay away." English: Do you really need a translation?

"If I'm Ignoring you see above and stay the blank/blank long way away!"

We are hardest on ourselves first and the folks we care about second and the others we leave be.
One guy is out with 'Shingles'. On the side of his head no less. We are all worried about him. We will all give him hell when he gets back. "We luv ya Brother! We missed ya. BS! Where is your XM radio?"

One of the young guys just bought a Snap-On roll away tool chest. A BIG Snap-On tool box. The damn thing cost more than my truck. He did get a great deal on it. Paid less than I paid for my truck for it. (I have bought cars for less tho.)

There was some 'oohhin' and aahhin' over his purchase.

But!

The majority response went something like this-

"Boy!!! Did you get PERMISSION to buy that box?!", Me.

"Hey Bert! I see ya bought the do it yourself divorce kit!", Sheetmetal Leadman.

"Yer a dead man.", Any Mouse.

There is always verbal abuse. If we likes ya.

It can get physical.

(Not often because honestly it can be dangerous and none of us really want to hurt each other. Scarred for life is one thing but drawing blood is something entirely different.)

In this crowd no matter how old you get passing gas is always a gas.

You're in Korea in the summertime. You and your Knuckle Draggin' buddies have been out all night drinking OB Sky and Soju eating kimche and yakimando...

Next morning you're "feeling so spry" that you wedge yourself in a King Air between the pedestal and the side wall to pull brake master cylinders.

You hear one of your 'buddies' trying to sneak up into the plane.

"Don't You BLANK/BLANK do it!!!"

All you hear is a giggle and the click of the airstair door closing you in.

Or...

While in Korea in the wintertime, Christmas actually and one of your Buddies Wife is coming to visit.

So, ya set up a welcome. Breaking into his hotel room. Sling condoms and rice every, EVERY where. Disassemble the bed and stand it up in the bath tub and hide the hardware. Turn off the heat and open the window. Throw a few decks of playing cards and chips and empty beer cans around for good measure. Giggle like school boys and get out.

(He deserved it. She got even! Among other things, she got the maid to let her into my room where she soaked all of my underwear and stuffed it into the freezer! I forget what she did to the other guys.)

Or...

You're wedged in there inspecting under and behind the instrument panel with your head between the rudder pedals.

You hear someone call your name.

"Don't you BLANK/BLANK do it!"

You hear a giggle and he grabs the rudder and swings it side to side slapping your ears with the rudder pedals.

Or...

You're walking under the wing and don't hear a thing but pulleys and cables as the aileron makes a quick sweep up and down catching the bill of your cap and sending it flying.
(I did NOT do that one!)

Or...

(Those Shiny Boys in the front seats of the airplane aren't much better!!! The good ones anyway.)

I was in a T-39 headed back to Sicily from England. "Hey, (pilot) John what mountain range is that?" John was sitting in the right seat of the cockpit. He leaned forward in a very exaggerated way to look out the left window of the cockpit and says, "I don't know. I can't see the mountains for his nose!"

Or...

A Test Pilot a Mechanic and a Quality Assurance Inspector go up on a post maintenance test flight. The Q.A. Inspector falls asleep.

Test Pilot says to the Mech, "Hold my coffee and watch this!" He proceeds to nose the plane over. HARD nose down attitude AND deploys the oxygen masks in the cabin (where the Inspector is sleeping).

The Inspector wakes up to the plane in a nose dive and panics trying to get an O2 mask on. Pilot and Mech are up front laughing like school boys. They probably passed gas too.

Today I received an email saying a new comment had been added to a post from December.

Hello Rodolfo. If you happen to stop by for this post...

Prepare to have a nickname. Prepare to be handed a hard time. Prepare to keep studying and learning. (You don't want to be a Knuckle Dragger any longer than you have to.) Prepare to scrape sealer and do lubes and anything else nobody else wants to do.

There is no such thing as a 'gallon of prop wash' or ' a hundred feet of flight line' or 'a pad-eye wrench'.

There are grasshoppers, coon dicks and crows feet.

Above All Remember-

"Measure it with a tape. Mark it with chalk. Cut it with a torch. Beat it to fit and paint it to match!"

All kidding aside. I do wish you the best of luck in you life as an A&P.

And the beat goes on...

2008-04-19T19:04:00.003-05:00

Today's acquisitions-

"B.B. King Live" A DVD recorded live at his club in Memphis. Go get it!
Taped over several nights B.B. and The B.B. King Blues Band are beyond description.
Lots of repartee' from The King.

"Traffic, The Definitive Collection" CD
There are a lot of songs by Traffic that I really like and have liked for a long time-
"You Can All Join In"
"John Barleycorn"
"Rock 'N' Roll Stew"
"Dear Mr. Fantasy"
"The Low Spark Of High Heeled Boys"
"Feelin' Alright?"

Have you ever really listened to the lyrics of say, "Feelin' Alright?" or "Low Spark"?

Next up is another DVD. "In in depth look at the making of 'The Dark Side Of The Moon'."
I haven't watched it yet.

Also, you can never, well, I can NEVER have too much Joe Ely. "The Best Of Joe Ely" 20 songs most all of which I have on other discs. Thing is, he does a lot of different versions.
"Dallas" is on this disc but my fave version is live and kicks off with "Let's jump on a DC-9 and head down to Dallas..."

I know there are at least three other new CD's around here since my last confession. Oh well.

For now I'm switching back and forth and 'round and 'round from Joe to B.B. to Traffic and it's early yet!!!

All over again

2008-04-07T20:54:00.002-05:00

I had a weird little recollection today.

It can't be called Deja Vu because I mostly remember it.

Mostly.

Today I noticed a neat little clothes pin magnet deal on one of the guys tool boxes. A memo clip I guess.

Now, you have to know that the oddest little thing can remind me of the oddest little thing.

It seems that at some point in my childhood I used a clothes pin in some sort of Boobie Trap.

But, the Boobie Trap that came to mind had nothing to do with a clothes pin (or a magnet for that matter). It wouldn't have worked.

It wasn't that complicated a device.

I remembered rigging an old wind up alarm clock, the kind with the little arch on top and two bells and a hammer. (I can't recall the name of the part of a bell that does the dinging.)

My Grandad, the Sargent Major had an old industrial strength lunch box.

Grandmother fixed him a lunch every morning.

I discovered that the alarm clock had a pretty large tolerance. Meaning, if the hour of the day was within, oh half an hour of the time it was set to go off... well my scheme would work.

See, if the pin was pushed in but the alarm was set for 5 a.m. and you pulled the pin at 5:15 the alarm would go off.

CCCLLLANNNNGACLLANNNGGJANGLEYOURNERVESIFYOURE NOT EXPECTINGIT!!!

So here's my Grandmother trying to raise four grandsons. She was in her mid fifties. Back then, whoa! Back in those days Fifty Something WAS Ancient. She gets up in the morning to fix lunch for the SGT Major, like she did every morning.

She notices the box is a little heavy.

She opens it and...

CCCLLLANNNNGACLLANNNGGJANGLEYOURNERVESIFYOURE NOT EXPECTINGIT!!!

Who was I kidding? She'd seen it all before. Already raised three boys.

I got might have gotten a grin out of her for my effort.

Still haven't figure out where the clothes pin fits in but it might explain why I couldn't get away with ANYTHING for the next six years!!!

It's not every day...

2008-03-29T19:07:00.007-05:00

that a legend drops by.

The Beechcraft Starship was revolutionary in it's day and in some ways still is today.

The photos are of one of the 50 production models ever built. One of less than 20 still in existance. One of fewer than ten still flying.

They are all composite construction. (Including the wing which still isn't done today.) The "Glass Cockpit" was scary voodoo in the late '80s but is pretty standard today.(Glass cockpits are like TV screens instead of dial instruments.)

In typical Raytheon fashion, it was mismanaged. The first airplanes were launched at a time when aircraft sales were down all over. Couple that with the radical design and sales were flat. Add to that it was expensive. Numbers vary but say $5 million a copy. Add to that, the damn thing scared the FAA. They had never certificated an all composite airplane and handed down edicts that added 2500 pounds to the thing.

To pour some salt on it Raytheon Aircraft (Parent Company) said, "Hey buy one of these and we will give you free maintenance. For life!" Then, tasked Raytheon Aircraft Services (Child Company) with performing the maintenance.

So what did the Child Company do? Ran up legendary invoices maintaining them. "Hey, it's a complex airplane and difficult to work on." Parent Company bought the story and watched the project go farther into the red.

That earned the Starship a reputation as a "Maintenance Hog" which it supposedly isn't.

That didn't help sales either. In '95 Raytheon pulled the plug and halted production. They took control of as many copies as they could and began to scrap them out. Chopped them up and burned them!!!!!!!!!!

When I spied this one on the ramp this afternoon I began to spit kittens and ran for the camera. Of course, the batteries were dead. Never fear.

GOOD LORD! HE'S GOT AN AXE!

2008-03-29T18:41:00.003-05:00

Watch Out Folks! He's armed and dangerous!

At this point the only danger is to your ears!

I've always wanted to learn to play guitar. I've had a few friends and family encourage me to but I never did.

I believe the conversation with The Architect went something like this...

"David, do you know what your problem is?"

"No. (but I s'pose yer gonna tell me."

"Your problem is, you never picked up a guitar."

When I had the chance to pick up a Stratocaster for less than a third of what it would cost me new I attacked it.

Picked up a little Fender Frontman amp at a pawn shop. I've got a stack of books with chords and music lessons. I'm working on my callouses.

OH! Yes, that of course is a Snap-On 11/16's deep socket/ slide.

Ya wanna hear something REALLY scary?

I've got a mic and I know how to plug it in!!!

My name is David and...

2008-03-29T18:08:00.002-05:00

I'm a CD-holic.

Whew. That felt good.

It is nearly impossible for me to walk past a CD rack without picking up something.

This week-

"Ultimate Guitar Rock". Not exactly my ultimate 17 guitar songs but it did have a couple of songs I probably wouldn't have otherwise. Rockaway Beach by the Ramones and Sweet Jane by the Velvet Underground.

"Time Takes Time" Ringo Starr is my ultimate Beatle. Weight Of The World, Don't Go Where The Road Don't Go, In A Heartbeat. I love the reference to It Don't Come Easy in Don't Go Where The Road Don't Go. It Don't Come Easy is my ultimate Ringo song.

"Let Me Up (I've had Enough)". Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers. Jammin' Me, Runaway Train, The Damage You've Done, How Many More Days... It's not Damn The Torpedos but it is a good album.

"Diamond Girl". Seals and Crofts. Classic stuff like Diamond Girl, We May Never Pass This Way (Again), Standing On A Mountain Top. This one rolls back the clock!

"The Best Of Isaac Hayes The Polydor Years". What? A skinny white boy can't have a little soul?

Thirty-Three Days

2008-03-29T17:21:00.002-05:00

It's been a looooong time since I pulled 33 days in a row at work.

No complaints here. Good times good checks.

Some of those days were only 4 hours. Some were 11 hours.

Standing on my head. Coulda done the whole thing standing on my head.

Attitude and atmosphere make a world of difference.

I've worked in a lot of different facilities over the last twenty years.

A LOT of 'em.

From shady little outfits to major corporations.

From Cessna 150's to Boeing 757's.

From Nebraska to Panama to Kenya to Korea.

Every one of them different.

Almost all of them I was able to walk in and take off running.

I count three where obstacles met me at the door.

Three out of.... well dozens.

That's not too bad but when ya get into one of those three your world can become a dump.

I could go into a long comparison of the last few facilities I've worked in but I'm not going to do that now.

I will say that the last place was a bust from the beginning. One of my infamous, "It sounded like a great idea at the time.' moments.

Now, as a contractor, a gypsy, a transient it's a whole lotta better.

I walked into this facility. I sought out my point of contact. Ya wanna know what he said to me? First words out of his mouth?! "Get your F*&^%G tool box and get to work."

Ya wanna know what I said?

Not a word.

I unloaded my Snap-On treasure chest and went to F*&^%G work.

I've been busy since.

Up until today I've had 3 days off. Tomorrow will make 4 and with any luck I'll start another run.

IFound It!!!

2008-03-27T18:48:00.002-05:00

What "It" was isn't really important.

This "It" is something irreplaceable and incredibly precious to me.

So, just insert your own "It".

It was at the tag end of lunch today when I realized that I didn't know where "It" was and couldn't recall the last time I'd seen "It".

Lunch time at work, in a hangar full of my knuckle-dragging hairy legged brethren is no time to show emotion. Now that I think about it there is never a good time to show emotion in that crowd! Hell, we have a kid out there we call 'Sally'. It's so bad that when 'Sally' calls the Boss on the phone he says, "Hey, Boss. This is 'Sally'..."

Just a short note of relief. That's all this is.

This stretch is (hopefully) coming to a close. Thirty-three days in a row is enough already! With any luck I'll be on the street by 1430 hrs tomorrow and have a whole two days off.

I've got several bits and parts to post about. The usual stuff; life, love, music and life on the hangar deck!

That was fun!

2008-03-12T20:56:00.000-05:00

This afternoon I was in the supply office trying to follow up on one of those, "This part number is no good. We've never bought any of those before."

You want to send me directly to that big plastic diplomatic smile?

Just tell me you can't requisition a part because you've never req'd one before.

Especially when it's a common part.

Guess how many times that happened today?

Three.

Post lights. Is there an airplane on the planet with absolutely no post lights? Probably, maybe?

No #8 brass button head screws in the instrumet panel?

I don't want much. How about, "Hm, we've never needed these before and the vendors don't seem to have any but I will find them for you and have them here as soon as I can."

Sorry, tangent there....

Fun.

Fork Lift.

I was trying to get two post lights headed this way when the Lead Mech came in and asid, "Go find the fork lift and meet my outside by airplane XZY."

"Uh, fork lift?"

"Yeah."

"OK."

We moved some engine crates and other stuff around. Later, I did tell him that the last time I operated a fork lift was 1981.

He did his own math. 27 years. Impossible. I'm only 29!!! ;-)

Just goes to show ya might not be able to teach and old dog new tricks but us old dogs remember more than ya might think.

Day Sixteen

2008-03-11T18:48:00.000-05:00

And it's still leaking.

The consensus is that the sealer used (the sealer required by the repair engineers at the factory) was too hard and brittle.

Nobody should ever be allowed to engineer until they have spent three years working on the floor of whatever their engineering.

I don't know for certain the sealer was the problem but I do know it was impossible to scrape and pick out of the crevices.

The decision was made to remove part of the leading edge and start over.

This afternoon I witnessed an all too common event. I'm going to use a highly technical term here so forgive me. I saw a "Monkey F*****g A Football".

There must have been eight guys working along the first four feet of the wing. On top, underneath and in front. Drilling out rivets and peeling the leading edge off.

We'll see. Rather, I hope we don't see. I hope we don't see fuel coming out of the dern thing.

Coincidentally, today was my 16Th consecutive day on the clock. Been a while since I pulled a marathon. I kind of like it. This one will probably run 20 days, minimum.

Actually got to work on a good ol' King Air today. Not my favorite task, balancing and hanging a rudder.

{Technical writers should fall in the same category with engineers. Worky first writey later.
The King Air maintenance manual tells you to pull the one bold securing the rudder hinge to the airframe instead of the four bolts that secure the hinge to the rudder.
I remember back when I was just a kid asking, "Why don't we just pull these two bolts instead of the eight others?"
The guy I was working with said, "OK, you can do that but how are you going to get the bolt out and IF you got it out how ya gonna get it back in AND then how are you gonna get a torque wrench in there afterwards?"
"Oh."
There is not enough room for the bolt to clear the hinge but that's what (this version) the manual says to do.}

I managed to escape the Leaker and have spent most of my time on another airplane in the throes of delivery.

Inspecting an airplane sucks. Repairs can be fun. Reassembling is OK. Delivery is where the action is!

Troubleshooting can be one of the most frustrating things. When you wrestle that rascal to the ground you feel good.

We had a couple of goodies:

"Why isn't the left loadmeter metering?"
'Cause the meter was wired backwards.'

"Hey, why is that fire 'Extinguisher Discharged' light on? It wasn't on earlier."
'Uh, I'm not sure. I think the connector on the circuit card wasn't seated completely. The light went out while I was checking and resetting connections.'

"My ears are popping. Why are we pressurizing on the ground?"
'A new pressure switch had been installed. It was bad from supply.'

"WHOA! Why don't I have any nose wheel steering?!"
'The steering disconnect actuator had failed in the disconnect position. So, in a case like that you use differential throttle and brakes to steer.'

That's a few of them but probably more than you wanted to know. She test flew today. Returned in one piece and I didn't hear any "Aw, sh*ts." so I headed out. 0530 is plenty soon enough for me to know what needs to be done.

That's a Whole Lotta Nada about aircraft maintenance. No doubt more than ya cared to hear but, "I yam what I yam!"

"Aahh Negative Ghost Rider...

2008-03-01T18:34:00.004-06:00

The pattern is full."

"Mav. Mav? Mav!... What's the number for that truck driving school. I have a feeling I'm gonna need it."

DID You see the Boeing 777 buzz the tower? It's supposed to be on UTube. Hell, I don't even know how to spell it much less find what I want and add a link here. But, I'm gonna try!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kfmfd5zwkXk

12 Days

2008-03-01T15:27:00.002-06:00

Who had 12 days?

Twelve working days?

Twelve? You're a Winner!

It took twelve days to score a "Prop Strike".

I came out from under the center section of the wing and the prop met me halfway to the nose of the airplane.

We'll call it Minor. Didn't knock my hat off or draw blood. (I don't think.) It was just enough to make me say, "Well, at least the first one is behind me.

The top of my head just as well be sore. Everything from there to my toes is.

Remember the fuel leak?

Yeah. Still leaking.

Remember I said it was just a matter of time before it happened to me?

Yesterday afternoon as I was plotting my weekend plans I was approached about working over time today.

As soon as I agreed he said, "Great. I'll probably need you 'down there'."

'Down There' being the terminal fuel leak.

Damn thing will not seal up. Either wing.

I have my theory/ opinion but I'm just a lowly contractor. I'll just keep my mouth shut and go in tomorrow for some more over time pay.

Time to get cleaned up and salvage a bit of Saturday. If the shampoo stings, I guess I'll know I have a new 'leak'.

How do ya tell when someone is having a BAD day?

2008-02-26T17:54:00.002-06:00

When you roll into the parking lot at 5:30 in the morning and Second Shift guys are still there.

I knew what had screwed up their evening.

Fuel leaks. One of the most insidious problems an aircraft can have.

Leaks can be damn hard to find and hard to stop.

These are what we call "Wet Wings". The cavities are sealed with gallons of two part sealer instead of having a liner.

Any repairs in the wet areas beg for leaks. Even putting it together wet, meaning you put sealer on the skins and frames and rivets and everything else as you assemble them doesn't guarantee a thing.

This old airplane had both leading edges replaced and that's a lot of area to reseal.

Night shift handed off to Day shift and they handed it back again this evening. Still leaking.

As I was leaving I heard my name called, "HEY! David, come fix these leaks!" I reverted to Spanish and backed out the door at a run!

I'm probably boring you.

Thing is, all day long I watched this thing from one plane over thinking, "Glad that ain't me!" But, I know, my day (or night) is coming. It's just a matter of time.

Fine Lines

2008-02-26T17:26:00.002-06:00

Early one morning last week a 'near incident' highlighted the fine line between humour and horror.

Texas Highway 181 is a divided four lane and every month the traffic gets heavier. It gets heavier but hasn't reached the point where the extra weight slows it down.

I monitor my speed and run the 65 mph night time limit or the 70 mph daytime limit as appropriate. I get passed by more cars than I pass myself.

It's fertile ground for Numerous police jurisdictions.

About 6 a.m. that morning traffic was bunched up pretty tight and running at usual speeds. At the gas station I noticed a Mustang backing toward the highway with no lights on. Just backing across the parking lot.

At this point I'm wondering aloud, "What is this idiot doing?"

All of this happened fairly quickly.

The Mustang stopped on the highway shoulder.

It was then I saw a man jump from his pick-up and run towards the car.

Immediately followed by a woman running from inside the store.

The Mustang was a runaway.

At that point, it was funny. (That's a personal phobia of mine, the Dodge slipping out of gear and overcoming the parking brake to roll into something.)

Had it rolled another three feet... it could have easily collected a dozen vehicles.

Thankfully, the runaway Pony didn't cross that fine line.

Almost Heaven?

2008-02-23T11:37:00.002-06:00

Classic Rock on the radio.

MEK gently wafting through my central nervous system on it's way to my liver.

A 7X rivet gun thundering in my ears.

My knuckles battered and bruised.

Heaven?

Naw. It's just 0530 in the hangar!

"back in black
been too long
I'm glad to be back!"

We all have lousy things befall us from time to time. Sometimes they come one at a time. It's said that bad things come in threes. Sometimes they come in waves.

When the waves are pounding you it's very difficult to believe the storm will pass. It will. Sooner or later.

Just keep kicking and keep your nose above water as much as you can.

2007 brought a helluva storm to the Nada.

I quit kicking for a while there. I quit caring.

What changed?

I have no idea. There was no epiphany, no rescue boat, no bolt from the blue.

The just storm passed.

I was still scared to death. I was scared right up until I shoved my hand (arm) into that fuel tank and thing started to go RIGHT. Right away things started to come together. Literally and metaphorically.

"I can do this. I can actually do this!"

Damn Skippy I can. I AM an Airframe and Powerplant Mechanic.

I am an A&P first and foremost. Before I can be anything else I must be an A&P.

Now, Ive been in those fuel tanks for a week now. Enough already!

In the break room one of the guys asked me what I'd been doing all day.

I replied, "Trying to put a puzzle together."

"Sump tanks?!"

"Yup."

"The guy that designed that s**t ought to be stuffed into one!"

I concur. He should go in head first!

I can hear you now, "Aw hell. He's only back a week and he's already bitching!"

Yeah. Ain't it a lot like heaven?

Water Boarding

2008-02-22T18:45:00.002-06:00

'Water' they doing to keep me safe?

I don't care as long as it works.

'They' are not loading people into box cars and sending them to gas chambers. 'They' are not lining people against the wall and executing them. 'They' aren't using N.B.C. (Nuclear Biological Chemical) warfare.

If I'm a suspected bad guy and get water boarded, I'll be pissed. BUT I'll be intact to raise hell about it.

If I am a bad guy and get water boarded, I'll be glad for all of the media attention about the tactic. My training covered it and I was prepared.

Either way, I'll be happy that 'They' didn't use methods that really damaged or hurt me!

Like, oh... decapitation comes to mind.

I'd really loose my mind over that!

Once, I managed to shove a slice of linoleum tile under my big toe nail. It went from the tip to the quick.

I bet that sucked worse than being water boarded.

Once, I got kicked in the crotch so hard that I woke up with a grapefruit in my pocket, so to speak.

I bet that sucked worse than being water boarded.

I bet that the people lamenting the practice of water boarding have never been kicked in the balls. Double or Nothing says that if they got kicked they would be screaming for a lawyer.

Water boarding is a scare tactic.

WOW!

2008-02-07T15:06:00.000-06:00

Hal, You were right. I did not realize that I had not posted since Christmas.

Check this out!!!

2008-02-07T15:01:00.000-06:00

http://ciboloplanning.squarespace.com/

That's MY little Brother.

"Silence Is Golden"

2008-02-07T14:21:00.000-06:00

But, blank pages stink.

So much for a summer on the Redneck Riviera. My 'lack' of 'recent' heavy jet experience sank that notion. It's not the end of the world. It's just the end of a really good daydream!

I just 'pulled the trigger' on the consolation prize. We'll see if that hits the mark.

To catch you up, at least a little bit, I've been working in an electronics factory for a month or so. It's interesting. I'm learning a lot. If I'm there much larger I'll take a class to interpret xrays. That's pretty cool. It wont be worth much but would make an interesting resume' entry. I've probably absorbed enough gamma to be sterile!

The factory will be a long entry all it's own as soon as I have time to write it.

For now though it's time to get back in the saddle. It has been "Time" for a long time and it's not like I haven't been trying.

And, of course, we have politics.

One reason I was looking forward to the coast was buying a sail boat. 'Cause if Bil-Lary-Omama get elected this country is going in the toilet. McCrazy doesn't give me a wit of hope either.

2008 is a year of change. Sometimes changing is like two stepping. Sure you take a step backwards but you know that the next two steps are forward and that equals progress.

It has been a little slow to get going but '08 will be very different.

For now I'll concentrate on getting my wires uncrossed and start publishing more. (I hate blank pages as much as you do.)

True Tales From The Fabled Road

2007-12-26T19:49:00.000-06:00

"...There we were 18,000 feet above the plains of Africa..."

When you are on the road for a living you take your assignments as they come.

They point and you grunt. You go where you are told.

There will be times when an assignment will change while you are en route.

I left the States, I have no idea from where, bound for Bahrain.

It was football season and the Cowboys were on a roll. I cleaned up that year!!!

Somewhere over the Atlantic the plan changed. I landed in Bahrain to find that I was actually en route to Nairobi Kenya.

This was during the operation known as 'Provide Comfort'.

I did spend some time in Bahrain. Including Thanksgiving. That Thanksgiving turned out to be the very last for a very dear Friend and Mentor of mine.

William G. Schniederhan and I spent Thanksgiving in Bahrain at a Mexican Restaurant with a British C&W Band and Thai Waiters and a Filipino Chef. Weirdness prevailed. But we were Pro's.

On to Kenya...

Barely made it through Saudi Arabia intact.

Landed in Nairobi at Jambo Kenyata Int'l.

On to the oval shaped high-rise known as the Hilton Hotel to meet another Mechanic and two Pilots.

On to Henry Wilson Airport to meet the King Air.

We secured hangar space to do the engine swap.

(Note: A King Air engine change is a three day deal for two guys. No big deal. Usually.)

The King Air was due for dual engine changes and a prop change. All of the parts were in Mombasa.

Not everything was due at once but we had to wait for days and days for the first replacement engine to be delivered from Mombasa.

Every day became the same.

Wake up. Get up. Breakfast in the hotel. Taxi to the big airport. Slug through Customs to see if our engine was there yet...

Back to the hotel.

The crew that had been cobbled together got to be pretty tight. We were hanging out all day every day after all.

We ate, we drank, we shopped, we explored the city, we dealt with logistics like laundry and currency exchange.

We were invited to the 'Florida Room' a, uh an, uh let's just say it's a bar and let it ride.

We went to "The Carnivore". Still my favorite restaurant in the world.

We went to the big airport and slugged through Customs day after day.

FINALLY!!!! The engine arrived.

We set to it.

We did have a couple of 'Monkey with a Football' moments. (For those unfamiliar with the 'Monkey with a Football' phrase, imagine a primate attempting to procreate with a pigskin. That's as much as I'm gonna say about that.)

Most notably while hanging the prop. Too many very kind and helpful people.

Oh, and there was the trip back from the run-up pad. We sorta got stuck in the mud.

OK, REALLY stuck.

Stuck so bad that we had to hike back to the hangar. (A PT-6 makes a helluva weedeater by the way!)

We got her out of the mud the next morning with a Craftsman lawn tractor and 18 grown men.

What a sight that was!!!

At last, engine swapped and rigged and cowled up. We returned to the hotel and told the pilots that we were ready for test flight.

I piped up, "I'm sitting Right Seat!"

I was so accustomed to fair weather pilots and strict regulations that I just thought I was being funny. A Mechanic sitting in the Co-Pilot's seat, on a test flight? No way!!! Hahaha...

It was a running joke through the night and into the next morning.

We sidled out to to airplane.

The would be (shoulda been) Co-Pilots said, "Mad Max is sittin' Right Seat."

The Pilot said, ... Well, I'm not going to repeat it but he indicated his indifference.

Sum-bitch!!! I hoped into the right seat, lashed myself in and grabbed a checklist.

Things got weirder from there.

The PIC (Pilot in Command) began to fire things up. I was reading off the checklist but he was steps ahead or behind or to the side of me...

The P.I.C. and the other Mechanic had worked together for quite some time. Instead of doing a preflight run-up he asked the other Mechanic questions, "What was N1? Torque? N2? ITT?"

AS HE IS TAXIING TO THE NUMBERS?!?!?!?!? (The beginning point of the runway for take off.)

Now, I trust a King Air with my soul. It's Pilots that scare me, sometimes...

This, was one of those times.

That was the longest take-off roll of my life.

Not because I was scared but because he took a looooonnnnggggg time to rotate.

The other Mech and the 'shoulda been Co-Pilot' settled into the seats in back. In fact, I'll never forget, the Co-Pilot was reading a Tom Clancy novel with his feet up in the other seat.

I'm reading off the checklist and PIC is having a Burger King Moment, doing things his way.

Everything was going well.

There we were, 18,000 feet over the plains of Kenya...

(I forgot to add that the engine we swapped was the right hand engine. So, I'm sitting right seat and looking out the window looking at the engine being tested.)

When we shut it down (Yes, in test flights. We shut 'em down.) the prop spun down and stopped as solidly as a rock. Feathered. Steady. No Windmilling.

We call that, 'Sweet". (That's what it is supposed to do.)

After an uneventful restart we continued our checks.

Next thing I know, P.I.C. wants to do an Air Start?

'What?' It was the first last and only time I've been on a test flight or any other flight where an Air Start was attempted.

He shut the engine down.

OK. No biggie. So far.

All of the R/H engine gauges went to zero. ITT, N1, OIL PRESSURE!!! Zero. (Oil pressure controls the prop.)

Except the propeller tachometer. It still indicated 1500 RPM.

Huh?

Sure enough. The prop that obediently feathered a few minutes earlier was a hummin'!

As I stared out the window thinking, 'What the hell?!?!' I heard...

"Why isn't it starting? Why isn't it starting?"

I looked at the controls. Everything was set except the Ignition Switch, OFF, "Ya can't start a fire without a spark."

"Why isn't it starting?"

Same thing. He had the ignition OFF.

Third time...

The fuel had been engaged all that time. There was plenty of air...

He hit the switch.

Imagine a fist full of Roman Candles going off all at once.

Real live great balls of fire belched from the exhaust stacks blowing holes in the stacks.

"David, why don't you..."

I was already un-assing the Right Seat and headed aft.

The Co-Pilot peeked over his novel.

I pointed at him and said, "You're up!" and jerked my thumb back over my shoulder towards the cockpit.

It was pretty funny really.

P.I.C. no doubt had a pant load of Uh-Oh. He kept asking Co-Pilot, "Should we try to start it?"

Co-Pilot, "Uhm I don't think we're gonna restart this one."

We landed back at Wilson airport but taxiing a twin engine aircraft with only one engine running is a little tricky and Pilot wasn't quite up to it. The other Mech bailed out with the hand tow bar and navigated us off of the active runway and onto the taxi way. By then we had drawn a crowd and got a tow back to the hangar. (Everyone on any airfield will notice a prop that isn't turning.)

When we put a mirror in what was left of the exhaust stacks we saw the turbine wheel had been burned down to a nub. Hub rather. All of the blades were burnt to the roots.

So, call up the other engine and wait.

Hotel, customs, etc.

We didn't have to wait so long that time.

We did the next test flight en route to Mombasa. I sat in back with a Stephen King novel. It was uneventful despite the solid red radar screen.

The weather radar swept storms in all quadrants. It was cool to watch the radar display and identify individual cells as we descended through them.

Mombasa. High on my list of 'Gotta Go Back To One More Time'.

Well, there ya have it. My favorite Tale From the Road. Like all the rest you really had to be there. They all seem to be anti-climatic but ya gotta survive the experience in order to tell the tale!

Random Synapse's

2007-12-26T17:52:00.000-06:00

You know the type. The ones that seem to come from nowhere.

This didn't really qualify for the "True Tales" series. It comes from A&P School.

Everyone had a nickname. It was un-taught basic training.

Whether you know it or not EVERYONE on every hangar deck everywhere has a nickname. If you don't know what your nickname is, you probably don't want to know.

I WILL NOT list all of mine.

My favorites were; my call sign, "Comanche" because I picked it. (Safer that way!), "Mad Max", for my deft right hand/ third world driving skills and "Largee".

My best friends in A&P school were; Dodge, Attitude, Fast Talkin' Slow Walkin', Walta, Sharkey, Blastweld, Doxi-Dan, Bubba, Docta Ro, etc.

I was just thinking about a time when Attitude, Dodge and I were all in the cab of a small four speed pick-up.

(Does a nickname like Attitude really need to be explained? Dodge became Dodge due to the enormous 4 door, 4 wheel drive, 440 cubic inch Dodge pick-up he drove.)

In the little truck I sat left seat, operated the 'yoke' and the pedals, and cleared traffic from the Port side. Attitude sat 'bitch' (which didn't help his attitude) and manned the gear shift (which didn't help his attitude). Dodge sat left seat, cleared traffic on the Starboard side and poked fun at Attitude for sitting 'bitch'. (Hey, if you don't have a thick hide you don't belong on a hangar deck or in the cab of a truck with two A&P's!)

We successfully navigated around Dallas and had a great time.

I have no idea what made me think about it but it got me to thinking about friends I have not seen for years.

Almost all of those guys were married when we started school.

School was 7 and 1/2 hours a night, five nights a week for 14 months.

Attitude was one of the upstanding family men. Clean cut, pressed shirt, corporate job, etc.

I of course was among the few as yet undomesticated (and still not house-broke) single guys and lived with similar animals.

Occasionally Attitude would ask, "Where's the party?" That meant that the Wife and Kids were out of town. Yeehaw!!!

[Holy Smokes, I just remembered Attitude, Sharkey and I and the After-Hours Club! I've got the giggles...]

Attitude was the first victim of A.I.D.S I ever knew.

For those that don't know, AIDS is an affliction that attacks air crew of all sorts, 'AVIATION INDUCED DIVORCE SYNDROME'. There is an inversion syndrome, S.I.C.K., 'Spouse Induced Career Killer'.

If you are air crew and have avoided this (these) Syndrome you still know plenty of people that have fallen prey to it (them).

It began in A&P school. The long hours getting through school took a toll. Attitude wasn't the only one to fall. I can think of FOUR guys in the list above that were divorced during or shortly after A&P School.

Dodge and his family came to Alabama and participated in my first wedding. His Wife even stood in as the 'Bride' at the rehearsal. There were some that felt she and I put too much enthusiasm into the rehearsal kiss. Mostly Dodge and my Fiance'. It was just a peck.

The last time I saw Dodge was here in San Antonio several years ago. It turned into a tale not worthy of retelling. Suffice to say it was the last time 4 of us (from School) were in the same room. Dodge, Sharkey, Me and Jose Cuervo.

Never mind.

The last time I saw Attitude was in the airport in San Francisco.

I was on my way to Korea for the first time and had a layover.

Attitude was a no show.

Several weeks later he called the Homestead. He'd been in a motorcycle wreck. 'Holy Crap?!'

Wait a minute...???... Attitude? Motorcycle?

We reset the visit for my return trip.

I had not seen Attitude since school, four or five years I guess.

In the airport, I was headed down a long, steep flight of stairs (or escalator?), looked up and saw an individual in the requisite airline mechanic uniform.

But, his hair was down below his shoulders and... is that... an ear ring?!?!?!

Attitude?

The individual was behind glass and too far away speak or even shout to so...

I shot him the bird.

He fired back and grinned.

We met up in a bar near my gate, I bought a round and we began to tell our tales.

I finished my beer and ordered another, "Attitude, you ready for another?"

"No, I don't need another DUI?"

Attitude?! DUI?! My, how the worm had turned.

Just to throw this in, I don't condone or encourage drunk driving (nor do I get coffee in the drive thru on amateur night).

One stray thought lead to a lot of other stray thoughts that loosely became a post. With any luck, I'm just warming up!!! [Apologies to B.B., I actually warmed up with an email to P'cola this afternoon. But, hey, since they lack a newspaper there maybe they need some entertainment.]

Haiku

2007-12-24T22:08:00.000-06:00

"Bless you!"

Todays' Tri-ku...

'To one whacky family
came a "New" recruit
Just to say I'm glad it's you'
***
'Bright lights beacons in the night
Hearth hearts full and warm
From nowhere back safe at home'
***
'Two to dynamic duo
Tremendous trio
Keep the fourth from the frio'
***

They may not make sense to you but I hope they get the points of the Christmas cards across.

Always Will

2007-12-24T21:58:00.000-06:00

For the rest of my life, every time I see the full moon, be it bright and clear or shrouded in fog or draped in clouds I will wonder...

"... donde esta
me amor
en la noche como oy
y si ella lo vi
lo mismo cielo
que yo..."

Always have. Always will.

All I want for Christmas.

2007-12-24T15:16:00.000-06:00

Is honesty.

H.E.B.?!?!?!!!

2007-12-24T15:10:00.000-06:00

"You want to go to the grocery store on Chrsitmas Eve?!?!"

"Yes."

"Are you nuts!?!?"

'no answer'...

"OK, I'm ready."

Rainy Night In Texas...

2007-11-17T15:12:00.000-06:00

Hanging out at Brightledge with Bob Dylan The Street Fightin' Dog this weekend.

I've had an urge to hear Buffet's "Son of a Son of a Sailor" for days now. Whilst rifling thru The Architects CD's, I found it.

So I'm doing my Big Brotherly part and pissin' off the neighbors with Buffet cranked up!

HEY! Once a Big Brother, always a Big Brother.

I thought I'd take advantage of the great Internet connection and post a bunch of photos.

But, a couple of months ago I "Helped" myself out by creating back up files in the D drive to free up gigs on the C drive. One could just as well spell that Helped with an "F". It didn't save the original file names. They read something like, "Back-Up File One, JPEG One" etc. 45 back up files worth. Ya gotta keep in mind that how itchy my shutter finger can be. Remember the Johnny Winter show? 505 photos in one night.

Oh well, that's a project for another time. Lots and lots of time and patience.

I've taken one or two decent one since. Since I had a request for photos I'll throw 'em in.

This guy had apparently been stuck for a couple of days! Pop thought he was dead. Nope. I reached down and ol' Hopper reached out but couldn't pull himself out. I pulled out the Dodge key and "Unthreaded" him.

Echo November, studying The Craft at Rolling Oaks Sports Bar. It looks like he is critiquing the opening act in this photo. He IS vocal with his opinions! "I like that song." "I don't like that song." "I WANT MUSIC!"

I cannot recall the name of this band. They opened for Ruben V. They were Good!!! And the got the Echo November seal of approval.

That'll do it for this morning post with no story. I may do some more photos later while the connection is good.

Your Mantra...

2007-11-15T19:10:00.000-06:00

for the weekend, should you decide to accept it...
C-17, C-17, C-17!

The Great Fish Hunt continues. I gotta a lunker on the line but it's only ten pound test so it's all up to me.

I can do it.

Hell, I caught two white bass on the same lure at the same time. That's no fish tale. There were even witnesses. Of course, T-Mack began to deny it immediately. Well, it WAS his boat so I guess he can log things the way he wants.

Speaking of fish. I have had the harshest craving lately. I'd choke a duck for a meal at Lago Yojoa.

Where ya select a fish from the stringer, they gut it and deep fry it whole, from lips to tip.

It sounds a little off-putting but when in otro partes, comer como otro gente.

The fried fish and pickled onions and a case of Salva Vida... Cielo!!!!!!!!!!

On a related rumbling tummy note, I heard a guy describe a restaurant yesterday. The Carnivore. I think he said this one was was in South Africa. The one I went to was in Nairobi Kenya.

The Carnivore = Man Food. The kind of thing you'd eat if your wife wasn't watching. NOT A VEGETABLE ON THE MENU!!! Just meat and bread. Nearly every critter on the Continent is on the menu. Plates come by the kilo!

Wildebeest and cold Tuskers... Cielo!!!!!!!!!!

The TV Tabloid News is hyping some mystery bird sited around here.

They claim it's 6 feet tall!

I wonder if it's best smoked, grilled or fried!?!?!?!?!

It is time...

2007-11-07T18:41:00.000-06:00

It is time, I think, for Free Form blogging.

So often, most often, I scrutinize, revise and think about any possible (or imaginary) repercussions that may or my not arise were I to publish my unvarnised opinions or true feelings.

I feel, now, now and very often that such self censorship not only restrains me but retains me in worlds I no longer care to inhabit.

Am I making sense to you so far? No? Good. Because that kind of behavior really makes no sense to me either.

I am acknowledging a schitzo branch of my nature. There are moments that I closely guard my... everything. Other moments when I fillet myself without regard.

Somewhere between the timid and the obscene is my equilibrium.

It has been an interesting summer and as it slides preciticously into winter there are no signs of change. At least, no clear signs... "There's a sign post up ahead..." but I can't read the damn thing.

One definition of insanity is trying the same thing the same way and expecting a different outcome.

"...these wasted words prove to warn that he who is not busy being born is busy dying...."

This has been a summer filled with music, experiments and a little bit of adventure. Just, not enough!

Would I like to go back to the Alcantara Gorge? Hell yeah! Would I care to go commando and try again to conquer it? UHh... no. Or, try scuba diving again without certified training? Not again. I can almost feel that propellor churning over my head still. Or, wander Nairobi at three a.m.? No.

None of those things would ever be the same if tried again. The harder you try to recreate things the bigger the disappointment to follow.

I need more.

Joe Ely is on the CD player at the moment. Damn! What a fresh night in old Gruene that was! I felt viable. I felt that there were adventures to be had. And, I had one or two.

Two 'er three of 'em will go undisclosed but... Here's the tale-

T'was the Twentieth of October at Gruene Hall. Joe Ely was the headliner. It was a Boys Day Out for me 'n Pop and the Architect. We hit a sports bar in New Braunfels to watch the OU game and have a few beers before heading to Gruene, TX which is right next door.

We sat out back of the old dance hall and played horse shoes with a group of school teachers outta Dallas. They were on a Girls Weekend. Four married women roaming out of town in an RV... "Whhooooop Whhooop Whoop! Pull Up! Danger Will Robinson!!!..."

One adventure David Russell Simpson will NOT pursue is another mans wife. Those that knowingly do so are lower than Judas, the kinds of people that would poison their own spouse for monetary gain and other advantages.

And, any woman that will cheat with you will sooner or later cheat on you. (Boomer!)

So, back at Gruene Hall... They hauled all of the tables and chairs out and the place sold out and filled up.

The Ded Ringers opened up the show.

We were very un-stragically located.

I couldn't see a thing. I did have to make a 'head call'. As 'the head' is behind the stage I headed off in that direction. Before I could take care of business, so to speak, I got tapped out and made several new friends, with better standing room. Gruene Hall is just friendly that way.

Two bodies deep from the stage!

Joe Ely put on a helluva show!

We danced around. We sang aloud. I half expected to get hit in the head with a guitar, "Will you keep it down!? I'm trying to work here!"

I had a B&W photo of Joe Ely. It was out in Pop's truck. I brought it to get it autographed. As it all shook out, I had a Sharpie pen and my hat. I got my autograph. (I wish I'd washed the hat first but it is now sweat stained and autographed. I can't decide whether to wear it or enshrine it...)

Joe Ely has been a musical hero and a fixture in my world for a long time. It was huge to me to look him in the eye, shake his hand and tell 'im I enjoyed his book. (Bonfire of Roadmaps)

It was the best show and the best night in so so so long.

Well, the show must go on and the show must close.

Close it did.

I looked around the old dance hall. The smoke had cleared and the only ones left were me and the Sherrif and he was ready to go home.

I walked out front.

Only car in the parking lot said, "SHERRIF" in big letters down the side.

HMMmmmmmmmmm..............

'Well, I could walk up this way...'

Or.

'I could walk up that way....'

Or.

'HellifIknow! I DO know that I'd better get my skinny ass off of the street and soon!'

Gruene is 60 miles away from home. And, provided I could make it to the interstate without raising the suspicion of local law men... I really didn't want to be hitching at three a.m.

I headed into a parking lot, toward the river. Figured I could settle in 'til sun up.

As it happened, that parking lot was adjacent to a B&B, with a nice patio.

And, nice patio furniture. I hunkered into a white wicker chair with a nice thick cushion.

I no sooner caught my breath when a young spike deer skid around the corner! We stared at each other for a moment. To be honest, I'm not sure who was more startled. I was content that he didn't have a badge.

He loped off and I settled back, for a while...

'Til I heard a skittering through the early leaves...

'Uh-oh!' A skunk was making his rounds. He sniffed around the patio in a totally random pattern, he lingered under my cozy chair. I'd of rather gone to jail than get sprayed by a skunk.

He skittered. I froze, held my breath.

He moved on and soon after, so did I.

I hoofed it off down the road to hot coffee and a faulty pay phone. The night clerk let me use his cell phone to call the Cavalry, I got the Cavalry Voice Mail.

I headed South. The Cavalry intercepted and I get to write about it now.

Still, I need more...

Insert: "Hat In Hand Photo...

2007-11-05T17:57:00.000-06:00

HERE"

Those that "Know" well, you know what it means.

Am I discouraged? Nope. Just a blip on the learning curve. Every author/ writer I've read about has a stack of rejection letters. So, now, I have my first one and that's out of the way.

In addition, I did a good job. Was it a novice effort? Was it weak? Maybe yes and maybe no.

On both counts. I don't think so. I feel good about it. There was positive feedback from those that already read the piece. Including people I trust to tell me if it was weak. (Trust me. The Board is comprised of educated, literate and published people that would critique me to the milimeter. That's why I trust them.)

I'll paste it below. It wont make a lot of sense since it's out of context but I'll give you an update.

Floresville, TX is in the midst of an upheaval. The local government is being bludgeoned. There are recall elections of City Council members on the table. The (Former) City Manager was trying to fire the Chief of Police. The Mayor was trying to fire the City Manager. (Which he did.)
A third City Council Member is in the sights of the People. (From what I've seen, she will take a hit very soon.)

Now, the Former City Manager has filed suit against the City in Federal Court. That should be a fine home town welcome to the new (Interim) City Attorney. OH, by the way, the City Manager got the resignation of the City Attorney one morning and that evening an Interim City Attorney was installed.

Can it get any juicier?!?!?!

What does it all have to do with me?

I answered an ad in a newspaper to be a reporter. I carried my resume` in, filled out the application and took a writing test. Then, I auditioned. My audition was to cover the City Council meeting.

I had 24 hours to research and prep for the meeting. Who were the players? What are the topics? Where can I find an agenda? What do these people look like? How will I tell them apart? What am I doing here? I did have a moment of, "Please Mister Custer, I don't want to go!" But that was brief. Did I mention that I had never been to a City Council meeting?

Another reason that I'm undetered... The Six O'Clock TV Tabloid Shows. Tonight they teased us with updates about Floresville. I did learn that the former City Manager had filed suit. No surprise. That's his M.O. BUT, they said that the Police Chief had been fired as well as the City Manager. If those idiots can write 'news' then so can I.

"Last night the Floresville City Council voted unanimously to terminate City
Manager Juan Cedillo’s contract.
The decision came after three Executive Sessions and numerous complaints
and allegations from citizens.
Resident David Wall vehemently expressed his displeasure with the City
Manager. He explained that numerous attempts to communicate with Cedillo by
phone and in person had been ignored. He asked for the immediate resignation
of Cedillo, Sanchez and Ortiz.
Juan Cedillo was not present for the vote.
In related business; Police Chief Daniel Martinez along with Attorney David
Leonard addressed the council regarding Cedillo’s request for Martinez’ ouster.
During Mr. Leonard’s opening statement he asked, “Why are we here?” He went
on to cite the Chief’s lengthy tenure and lack of any disciplinary action against
him. In reference to the City Managers allegations of violating the Procurement
Act, he pointed out that the Governor has raised the spending limit from $25,000
to $50,000. The Act had been amended the month prior to Chief Martinez’
$27,000 expenditure for new radios.
Chief Martinez first thanked all of his supporters. He presented a packet of
information to Mayor Tejeda and the Council offering to take any questions.
Mayor Tejeda stated the City Manager had never said anything negative about
the Police Chief and he had no answer to the question, “Why are we here.”
Martinez informed the Mayor and Council the City Manager had made requests
for information regarding the Department’s Forfeiture Account on their behalf.
Neither the Mayor nor the Council corroborated this.
Support for Chief Martinez was evident in many uniformed police officers and a
large vocal crowd in attendance.
Jessie Evans, former Floresville Police Officer spoke out in favor of the Chief,
“Some on this Council don’t have your interest at heart. This man does.”
None of the five Council Members provided an answer and Johnnie Gomez
stated his support for the Chief.
The recall petitions for Council members Rudy Sanchez and Gloriana Ortiz were
validated by the City Secretary. The validated results consisted of 882 valid
signatures for Rudy Sanchez and 885 for Gloriana Ortiz. Sanchez and Ortiz now
have five days to request a public hearing on their recall.
Helen Tieken spoke out against Council Members Sanchez and Ortiz. She called
on them to, “Do the right thing regardless of the recall.”
A number of other items were discussed and acted upon during the extended
session.
Linda Valdez made a public appeal in support of troops serving in Iraq and
Afghanistan.
Blue Star Families seek participation in their effort to send Care Packages to
troops serving abroad.
The council voted to proclaim the month of October; “Czech Heritage Month’ and
“Caring For Pets Month”.
A request for the closure of C Street between 3rd and 4th Street in support of
Boys and Girls Club Halloween activities was approved.
David McMillan briefed the council on the FELPS 2008 budget.
The council denied a request that a 1979 Mobile Home be located on Buttercup
Lane noting that Mobile Homes older than 15 years old may not be installed.
Ordinance #251, proposed Wilson County Fresh Water Supply District #1 was
approved.
Earl McKenzie presented the final plat for Northcrest Hills Subdivision for
approval. Questions about a number of Garden Homes in the plat were resolved
as currently there is no ordinance to disallow them. Concerns about nine lots that
will initially not be developed due to possible flooding were allayed. The creek in
question has been rerouted by the City since the publication of the FEMA map in
1977. The Plat was approved.
The Council approved the new home plat of Issac Castillo and Kimberly
Moczygemba.
A representative from IESI explained the twice weekly trash collection rates
proposed or container customers, an option available to those that request it. He
offered the possibility of assistance for those people who find maneuvering the
newly approved trash containers. The council passed the amendment to
Ordinance #250.
The entire meeting took place before a packed chamber. Several Citizens took
the opportunity to stand before the assembly and express their disgust with the
current state of City Government. More than one of them, in no uncertain terms.
They made it clear that they were not backing down and had only begun to
rectify the problems as they perceived them. The tremendous crowd that began
to arrive hours prior to the meeting lingered after the final gavel sounded at 11:15
P.M." David R. Simpson for the Whole Lotta Nada

That was my effort as submitted to the publisher.

My objective was to cover the whole meeting and not focus solely on the hot buttons. I also avoided inflammatory statements that were made. "Not my y-o-b man." Just the facts and give everyone I can a voice. (I did feel bad for the folks that just wanted a simple platt aproval. They nearly got lost in the mele'.)

There was a lot of ink in the paper that I auditoned for. Good articles. Several seperate ones devoted to the various hot buttons. But none, that I saw, hit every point of the agenda. My real source of pride here is dedicated to the people that weren't there for the hot buttons. The ones that had already been through all of the hoops and just needed final approval. They had to endure the 4 and 1/2 hours and 3 closed door sessions just to await their due moment in the process.

"In other news"
... At least "News" as far as the Nada goes...
I think it's time to hit the road again!

My Snap-On roll away is in the living room. (Hey, I'm Bach'ing it and decor is in the eye of the decorator!) It's talking to me. Kinda like the plant in "Little Shop Of Horrors", 'FEED ME!!!"

I love San Antonio and I came here for very solid reasons. Some of those reasons have erroded away and San Antonio will still be here when I get back.

I've got resumes and app's out from here to "The Hump" to "Kirkuk" and back. I'm starting to get some feedback.

REO Speedwagon is just a little weak for me to quote these days...
Meatloaf... "I'm gonna hit the highway like a battering ram... I'm damned if I never get out and Baby I'm damned if I do... with every other beat I've left in my heart I'd rather be damned with you..."
Still not quite it... I think I'll have to go with Zevon, 'Mr Bad Example'... "I'm greedy and I'm angry and I don't care who I cross...''

Too harsh? 2007 has been a year of harsh lessons so it should come as no surprise.

I've got a Lotta more to post. Especially the Joe Ely show at Gruene Hall. OHHhhhhh... What a night.... Big fun was had by most. Most of all ME!!! A truly 'Road Worthy Tale' from my own back yard...

"There I was. All alone in Gruene Hall. Well, alone 'cepting for the Sherrif who was quite anxious for me to leave so as he could go home. I stepped out into Gruene Road. Not a car in sight, 'cepting for the Sherrif's cruiser and I really didn't want to take that road. I'm pretty sure I didn't walk to Gruene Hall. What's a Boy to do? 60 miles from home at two in the morning? Well lemme tell ya what he does. He falls back on training and instinct. 'If ya can't run with the Rover Dogs, stay in the hangar!!!'"

"All ya can do...

2007-10-28T19:38:00.000-05:00

...is all you can do."

It's out there. Hard copies and attachments and a brief follow up note.

Now we wait.

Ordinarily, it would would be killing me. Patience comes and goes with me.

Before I go long here, to those that don't understand, keep checking back.

We should know something soon...

On down the East Coast

2007-10-18T19:52:00.000-05:00

Ft Knox was a bit of a let down. Not a horrible assignment, just not what I imagined. (For the record, I didn't have a single horrible assignment while I was on the road.)

The gold Repository was, well, smaller than I expected. My bet is that there's nothing in it.

I did run into a friend on site. We had been roommates in sunny Selma, AL a few years earlier. I've run into him off and on and here and there since then.

That stop was the last time, to date, that I've seen another friend from Selma, JD. He was pretty much the first friend I made in Cell Block 915.

On down to Orlando. Now, that was a great stop!

My wife and daughter came down to stay for the duration.

All three of my "Little" brothers were born in Orlando and I had a lot of memories.

Thanks to Bill U. we were comp'ed into Disneyworld for a day. (Do Not ride that damn 'Small World' ride first, if at all. That song will kill ya!)

Bill U. took a day or two off to go see his cousin get blasted into space aboard the space shuttle!

Work was interesting. Two or three things come to mind...

One morning I was out in the hangar and kept hearing a tinkling noise, like a dog collar. I finally dislodged myself from the plane far enough to look across the hangar. The noise was coming from shackles!

It seems that the place was a stop on the Con Air Express. They were marching con's off of a DC9 and in to the bathroom. (I wonder if they saw Dallas that night?)

We went to Canaveral to see the museum.

We got to work another morning to find that one of the guys had decided to "Sweep Up" the hangar. He even talked a pilot into helping out! They pulled a U21 out of the hangar and fired that muther up!!! Can you say 'counter productive'? Using a King Air to sweep the hangar, while it must have sounded like a good idea, at the time... I can only hope neither of them said, "Here, hold my beer and watch this!"

In second place among the Orlando Adventures goes to...

The lead man of the site and I were out front. OK we were out there smoking. As we talked I saw all of these HIGH dollar rides pulling up to the gate and being admitted to the ramp.

When we went back inside, the previously vacant FBO was full. It was full of really big guys. We were separated pretty quickly in the crowd and I found myself in a 'Steady Bearing Decreasing Range Situation' with the biggest guy of the bunch. I accelerated. Just as I thought I was clear...

This hand came out of the sky and landed on my shoulder. I turned and looked eye to belt buckle with this dude, then craned my neck to look up to see his face.

"Say, Bro, they got a soda machine around here?"

"Sure. Follow me."

I got a cup of coffee and he went for a soda.

When I got back to the hangar deck, the lead man and Bill U. were laughing their heads off.

"What's so funny? What did I miss?"

"Do you know who that was?"

"It was the biggest sum-bitch I've ever seen in my life but, no..."

"Shaq."

Rookie year. Orlando Magic.

The single coolest thing about the trip...

Remember, my brothers were born in Orlando during the Apollo days. We'd watch the launches on the Today Show. When it was 'time', Daddy would gather us up and we'd head to the back yard to actually watch the rockets go up.

Remember Bill U's cousin?

The morning of the launch we woke up late! You can imagine my first word of the day. I hit the remote on the hotel TV, "Launch delayed." Sweet words!

I held my baby daughter as we watched the Today Show. When it was time, we walked out on the balcony and watched the shuttle launch.

That, boys n girls, ranks among the Top Moments of My Life! My daughter may never remember it but I will never forget it.

True Tales From The Fabled Road, Part Three

2007-10-08T20:40:00.000-05:00

Wilmington, DE to Andrews Air Force Base Maryland.

Actually, there was a whole East Coast Tour sort of thing. Since all of the dates and sequences are out of synch these days, I’m going to combine some of the stops from Wilmington to Orlando and back.

Andrews is a pretty impressive sight with several ‘sites’.

During the two trips to Andrews-

I had to wait in Guard Shack at the main gate. Be photo’d and finger printed. (Funny/Scary thing… Second trip they didn’t photo me. The temporary ID had the photo from the first trip.)
While waiting for my escort I read an article posted on the desk. In short it said, ‘if you feel this is an unnecessary inconvenience… we have arrested X# of fleeing felons as they tried to gain admission to AAFB‘.
Saw a helluva air show,
Went aboard the 707 that served as John F. Kennedy’s Air Force One,
Went to the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum and several other monuments,
Played a lot of darts,
Was deterred from further trips downtown by a shot-gun toting maniac,
Went to Thanksgiving Dinner at a new friends home (60 Miles South of the airport!), Went to a Birthday Dinner for Michael Myers (60 Miles North of the airport! Those guys had the worst commutes ever.)
Was blessed out by an Area Supervisor for asking a question during an All Hands meeting. (After which, All Hands agreed, if the Asshole had answered my question it would have answered the 10 questions that followed.)
Met a great group of guys.

Next stop, MCAS Cherry Point, NC

Not so impressive.

I did take a nice drive down the coast. Gorgeous country.

I ran across an abandoned trailer from an 18 wheeler with the logo of an electical supply house from my old home town in Oklahoma. I remember the Mclain boys from camping trips at Ft Cobb Lake when we were kids.

I looked for Ben Scruggs in New Bern but had no luck.

MCAS Cherry Point and NAS ‘Tinker’ were two anomalies. Each bizarre in their own right.

Cherry Point was a wing walking nightmare. Especially when you worked alone and had to pull an airplane in or out of the hangar.

When you move, BEFORE you move an airplane, you go to Maint. Control and request Wing Walkers and check out whistles. Then, you wait for them to show up.

AFTER hours, same procedure except when there weren’t enough hands on deck you had to wait for Maint. Control to call them to duty!!! Yeah, that’s gonna work. After hours, call around and find four sober Marines to come in to work!

One Friday evening, late recovery, 15 minutes waiting for Wing Walkers, One airplane safely pushed into the hangar and a LTC, Marine, Pissed Off One Each….

“Did you just tow that aircraft within ten feet of any object or aircraft?!?!”

“Yup.”

He stomped off to tell on me.

I stowed the tow tractor and went home. I never heard another word about it.

That was the ‘Lowlight’ of the first trip.

The second trip was more unnerving.

The site was being divided in two. The former T39 Lead man was to be the new C12 Lead and the biggest idiot from the T39 site was promoted to T39 Lead. YIKES!!!

Oh, yeah Johnny Not-So-Smart was now the H.M.F.I.C. Without simply saying Johnny didn’t know his anus from Uranus let me give a quick anecdote or two…

The Compass Rose.

A Compass Rose is basically a calibrated piece of concrete. The Cardinal Points of the compass are marked off. To use it, you maneuver the airplane to align it with the marks on the concrete.

Johnny Not-So-Smart was all over the map. The Tower called, repeatedly to warn him about encroaching on an active runway!

His response to my concerns? “Oh, they do that all the time.”

“HUH?!”

The next lowlight happened during engine trim runs after an engine change.

Johnny Not-So-Smart switched the cross feed to the new engine and, left it there. When he turned to taxi out of the run-up area the plane suddenly listed, hard!

One wing tip was 6 feet in the air and the opposite was 6” off of the ground.

“M2, get me outta here!!!”

“All Aboard! Next stop, Ft Knox, KY!”

Security? Surely, you jest!!!

2007-10-08T17:21:00.000-05:00

Off course, again. I’m deviating from the “True Tales From The Fabled Road” series.

As is want to happen, another Blogger, Bob B. at FH1100 Pilot posted and it diverted my thought process.

After reading about the ‘Incident in Podunk Pensacola’ I decided to skip ahead…

Tinker Air Force Base, Oklahoma City, OK.

Officially, I was posted there “Permanently”. In this case permanently equaled one year.

I was assigned to work with, uh, the Boys on the South End of Tinker. The ones with the big ships anchor at the entrance to their area. (They were a little touchy about their anchor after someone, NOT ME, painted it pink!)

I arrived before the airplane. The plan, I found was to house the airplane in a lean-to, to set up an office in one hangar and set up shop space in another hangar. We were to beg for space inside either hangar when maintenance was necessary.

Both hangars were full of High Priority aircraft. Heavy jets, “roped off” by Red Lines painted on the floor. (Remember the Red Lines. They will become very important later.)

Obviously, the plan was unsat! Unsatisfactory. Having me and my work partner, our tools and shop, the airplane and maintenance space scattered about haphazardly wasn’t going to work.

One of my Pilots had scoped out an unused hangar in (literally) the middle of the airfield. It was a “Hush House” formerly housing fighter jets for engine runs. That had to be a sight to see/ hear!

The hangar was HEAVILY reinforced. There were small electric doors that opened along each side, a larger door in back that opened on a long tube to duct and diffuse exhaust and noise. The office space had a large window that looked out into the hangar. There was a large control panel in the office to control all of the louvers and doors. It was the only hangar I’ve ever seen where I could open the hangar doors without leaving my comfy chair!!!

Problem was. (You knew there had to be problems.) It was smack dab in the middle of the airfield.

The Boys on the South End of Tinker issued us a cargo van (add the cargo van to the red lines.) and a hand held radio. We could not drive our personal vehicles to the hangar.

We could have parked the van at Base Op’s on the North End but after the Painting Pink of the Large Ships Anchor, the Boys on the South End were leery. Parking At Op’s would have saved a lot of trouble.

As it worked out we parked on the South End. We drove to the entrance to the secured area (more Red Lines outside the hangars), cleared security, drove to the edge of the ramp (the outer perimeter of the Red Lines) and called Ground Control on the handheld and drove to the hangar as per their instructions.

To leave…
Call Security from our office.
Get in the van and radio Ground for permission to proceed.
Drive to the Red Line (IN A CARGO VAN).
Radio Ground and declare ourselves clear.
Wait for Security to clear us into the secure area.
Drive around the hangar and clear security outbound of the secure area (IN A CARGO VAN).

Feeling a pain in the ass here?

Soon, patterns emerged.

Security would pull up, drivers window to drivers window, glance at badges and wave us through (IN A CARGO VAN).

Or…
Security would wave us in from afar. (IN A CARGO VAN!)

Or…
We would get to the Red Line and Security would be a No-Show. We’d radio Ground for an assist and would be told something like, “They say they are on their way.”

Often we could see the Security truck on the ramp. Usually, under a shady lean-to. We got calloused and began breaching the Red Line. As we drove past the lean-to we would see the guard napping!!! Not just once or occasionally but often!

So…
My time at that Permanent Duty Station was coming to a close. Most of you know that I ten days between the phone call dispatching me to Honduras and arriving in Honduras.

One Sunday night I recovered the airplane and followed the steps to head home.

At the Red Line… Security was a No Show. Ground couldn’t help. After a year of this, I thought nothing of crossing the Red Line.

I drove across the ramp, around the hangar and to the manned checkpoint to get through the fence. I pulled up, the gate opened and a little S.P., USAF, Female, One Each Armed approached the drivers window.

“Did you just cross the Red Line?”

“Yup.”

“Wait here.” With that she went back into the guard shack. The gate closed and she returned with reinforcements.

Now, with a face full of automatic weapons, I decided to cooperate.

“Sir! Shut off the engine, put it in park and slowly exit the vehicle with your hands up!!!”

It wasn’t the weapons that made me nervous. It was the NERVOUS pimply face kids wielding them that made me nervous.

I wondered, briefly, if the weapons were actually loaded but decide that I didn’t really want to know.

By now the lights and sirens were approaching.

Soon after, I had a large, loud mouthed illiterate A.P., USAF, NCO, Asshole, One Each Armed getting in my face.

I didn’t like that.

[A quick aside here. As a rule, I ‘Sir’ Enlisted Folks and ‘First Name’ officers. I ‘Sir’ Warrant Officers but that’s because you’re not supposed to. But, that’s just me…]

This BackwardsAssedIlitterate, I ‘Last Named’ as snidely as possible.

A shouting match ensued.

He wanted to lecture me about Red Lines.

I informed him that I had been traversing that Red Line unchallenged for an entire year IN A CARGO VAN THAT NOT ONE A.P. ONE EACH EVER LOOKED INSIDE BECAUSE THEY WERE SLEEPING IN THE SECURITY TRUCK UNDER THE SHADY LEAN-TO!!!!!!!

“NOT MY PEOPLE!”

I’ll give the Cracker this much, he stood up for his people. I can only hope he ripped them later.

I lost the match. It’s fair to say that I was out manned and out gunned. Oh, and hand cuffed for the first and so far only time in my life.

I had to call the Officer of the Day to come get me. I very nearly would rather gone on to jail than ask that particular idiot for help… When he arrived he out ranked slash smooth talked SGT Cracker and got me sprung.

True Tales From The Fabled Road

2007-10-03T13:17:00.000-05:00

Part Two

The departure from Athens was much less exciting.
Of course, by then I was an old hand at this.
Yeah, sure.
I can’t even convince myself of that all these years later.

The first leg, Athens to Frankfurt, I met a woman from Athens.
During our chat she told me about attempts to build a subway line
in Athens to relieve the traffic congestion.
Trouble was, every shovel full of dirt revealed more artifacts and
that caused delay after delay.
It seems the project was more of and archeological dig than a
Public Works project.

The arrival in Frankfurt lacked the drama and trauma of the first visit.
We entered through a jet way instead of deplaning on the ramp.
There were plenty of machine gun toting police inside but no gauntlet.
No time for a side trip to Dr Mueller’s. (If you have to ask, don’t.)

Frankfurt to New York.
I sat next to a silent guy. He didn’t say a word until we were nearly home. The Flight Attendant came around and he ordered, “Two Viskey’s.”
Then he asked for two more and put them on my tray table. (?)
We began to try to talk. He spoke very little English and as it happens I speak no Russian.
He was on his way to NYC. He had a subway map and that was it.
No one was to be waiting for him at the airport. He had some destination.
He showed me on the map where it was and how he would get there.
He showed me pictures of his wife and kids ‘back home’.
Another Soul in pursuit of the American Dream.
I often wonder what ever became of him.

Back in CONUS (Continental United States) it was dark, raining and cold.
Bags in hand I made my way to the rental car counter.
The rental counter was always like roulette. You just never knew what you’d land on.
This time I drew a Subaru Outback Station Wagon, Forrest Green. Yee Haw.

‘Where’s the light switch? Where’s the windshield wiper control? What’s that noise? Oh, rear windshield wiper. How did I turn that on? Where am I? Where am I going?’

I just started driving, glancing at a map without a real point of reference for my location or destination. I recall being ‘pretty sure’ of my direction.

The rain diminished and increased as the miles clicked by. Trouble was, I didn’t know how to adjust the wipers! Each attempt to match the tempo of the wipers to the rainfall resulted in some other system being activated. I finally gave up and just adjusted speed to visibility. That worked until the rain stopped. I had no idea how I had activated the rear wiper in the first place and less idea how to make it stop.

I made it to the Wilmington area but without a local map or a hotel reservation. I tried several times to call the guy on station. Answering machines picked up at the hangar and at his home. I was beginning to see a pattern here.

I pulled into a motel and secured a room. The girl at the front desk gave me directions to the room. I was already two steps ahead. I had a room AND directions to get there.

Back in the Subaru, I rounded the corner of the building and what did I see?

Yup, the airport. The RIGHT airport. Turned out, I could see the hangar from my room.

Wilmington was OK.

The guy on station was interesting, an active member of the “Society for Creative Anachronism”. Seems to me he was also studying. He was already on his way off of the hangar deck before he racked up the scars to show for his time there.

There was a neat bar down from the motel. Decked out in a WWII motif. Sand bags and artifacts/ memorabilia everywhere.

One night we went to the local Holiday Inn for karaoke. And, NO, I did not. I can still proudly say that I have never participated in karaoke (in any English speaking country).
There was one guy that was a real ‘stand-out’. Bad rug and all, belting out “Old Time Rock and Roll”.

Next stop, Andrews AFB Maryland, Thanks Giving, JFK’s Air Force One and Michael Myers. Until then, “… gimme that old time rock and roll, yeah!”

True Stories From The Fabled Road

2007-10-02T19:18:00.000-05:00

Part One.

After a year at NAS Dallas I applied for and was tapped out as a "Rover".

'Red Rover, Red Rover, Come on over...'

'Over' to where? That varied by the moment. Sometimes, I would learn, plans would change while I was en route and the people at my destination would know before I got there that plans had changed.

It all started simply enough. My then soon to be new boss M2 told me repeatedly, "David, I'll keep ya in the States until you get used to living out of a suitcase. Then, if I need ya, I'll send ya overseas."

Fair Enough. I was anxious to go OCONUS (Outside Continental U.S.) but was ready to pay the dues.

One week before I was to leave Dallas M2 called, "David, I hate to do this but would you mind going to Athens Greece for a week?"

"You know me Boss, team player and all..."

Away I went.

I had never been outside the borders of the USA. Mexican border towns don't count.

The first leg was DFW to Frankfurt Germany.

We landed and deplaned to a phalanx of Police and Soldiers complete with an APC aiming a machine gun towards air stair.

"Welcome OCONUS David."

A layover in a big strange airport with moon mat flooring. (Moon mat is the stuff you see in the galley area of heavy jets.)

On to Athens. I followed the herd into the airport. No hang-ups in Immigration or Customs and nobody I knew waiting on the other side.

I learned right then and there what the phrase, "It's all Greek to me!" means.

I lingered in the terminal, looking for anyone looking for someone. Nobody in sight.

Somewhere I changed Dollars for Drachma and found a pay phone. I didn't know if the damn thing was ringing or busy! I tried the hangar and home numbers for the guy on station without any answer.

I began to get a little antsy. I didn't have a hotel name or rental car reservation and my point of contact was pointless.

'What are ya gonna do now smart guy?'

"David?", my point of contact...

On to the Hotel Brazil. A small place in Glyfada. It was an apartment hotel without any features like a restaurant or bar.

They did have a fridge in the lobby where we drank Amstel and got acquainted. I can't recall the guy on stations name but I met R2 that night and he was staying in the Brazil as well.

My rental car was waiting out front the next morning. I followed R2 through the tangled streets of Athens to the hangar. Every stop light was like the start of a hare scramble. Motorcycles of every ilk worked their way to the front, then launched when the light changed as if the next stop light was the finish line.

We had a lot of work. The unwritten job description for Rovers reads, in part, "Ye shall do the dirty work that the guys on station don't want to do." So, I found myself sitting in the dirt floor of the hangar flow checking fuel nozzles.

I wont get too detailed about a mundane task such as flow checking fuel nozzles. Suffice to say, it causes a 'fuel fog'. Atomized jet fuel hangs in the air and you stink like diesel for a few showers to come.

As I sat in that stinking fog of volatile fumes, up walks a Greek Airman, smoking a cigarette, "How are you doing?"

'Welcome OCONUS.'

At night, I explored the area around the hotel on foot. I found a great bar. More Amstel with Expats from a number of English speaking countries. We threw a lot of darts, drank lots of beer and Tequila.

The funny thing was, I was wearing cowboy boots, Levis without tags, unmarked tee shirts and speaking English (it was all I knew at the time) yet when asked where I was from, the asker was always surprised to hear, "Texas.".

I heard, "I thought you were British." "I thought you were French." "I thought you were German." "I thought you were Russian." (Russian? French?!!!) Oh, well.

That Saturday I set off solo to see Poseidon's Temple. That's a mini post all it's own. Driving along that coast highway. The mountains. The sea. Then, to round the bend and see the ruins in the distance... all these years later, it still makes me take a breath. Just to think of all of the sailors that have approached, seen it in the distance and said, "I'm almost home.".

The next day, R2, Mrs R2 and I went to the Acropolis. (They really need an elevator!)

The one week stretched into two and we tried to keep it rolling but M2 was anxious to get me back across the pond.

Bummer.

Late Summer in Greece back to early Fall in Wilmington, Delaware.

Such is the life of a Rover Dog.

I may have posted this before. It's now the first in a series of road tales that I plan to continue for a while.

A Post With No Title...

2007-10-02T18:20:00.000-05:00

This is the part where Bloggers often apologize for the (self) perceived sin on "Not Posting".

There will be none of that here, not today.

Saturday morning, I drafted yet another post that got dumped into the Draft Bin.

I woke up that morning with big doings in my head. We had a Family Day planned. Beers and OU Football, etc.

After "The Incident In Colorado"... Well, my mood went to hell.

It wasn't just my mood either. There was a mob chanting, "Get a rope! Lynch Stoops! Hang Him!"

They were eventually subdued with more liquor and German Chocolate Cake.

The bright spot was Echo November running around shouting, "Boomer Sooner!" and "Make Steaks". He reminds us all that there is always 'next week'.

So, here I am. Into 'next week'. Pimping myself out, looking for work as a writer and or photographer. I've got the resume and cover letters out there. Anxiously awaiting the first rejection letter. I have a frame all ready for it and a bulletin board ready for the ones that are sure to follow.

Negative? Pessimistic? Nay, nay, nay! Not so. Realistic.

If the first shot comes back with an acceptance, it will, no doubt, have a line that reads, "David! Congratulations! You've been accepted. Now, if you can recruit five more people who can recruit five more people each who can recruit..."

You get the idea.

I don't say that with simple cynicism. Oh, no.

I've been down that road or one like it.

In a world now far away, a friend I'd known most of my short life invited me to a 'business meeting'. He admonished me to, 'dress nice'.

I did. We went.

We went to a home on the East side of town where a couple greeted us cordially and offered Hors d'oeurev's. This wasn't the sort of 'Business Meeting' I'd imagined but there was free food.

Anybody guessed it yet? They were 'Soap Salesmen' of the legendary 'Soap Sales Pyramid'.

Thanks Again Rick!!!

Years later, I wound up in a B2B cold calling scam for a while. For this post, the definition of 'B2B' is, Bonehead2BrighterPeopleWithRealJobs.

And, later still, what I call, "The Rainbow Road To Ruin".

No, no, no not the colorful, celestial phenom in the sky.

The vacuum cleaner!

Really neat machine. I wouldn't mind having one. But, have you ever met anyone that bought one? Me either. That pretty much sums up my vacuum cleaner sales experience.

I did learn a lot from those experiences. Mostly, if it looks like a duck... well, duck it.

"Journaloidism"

2007-09-17T18:00:00.000-05:00

There was (gasp) a shooting in San Antonio last night.

I apologize to those that are suffering.

They are not the reason I'm making note of the 10:PM Tabloid Report.

It's not even the Plasticine Actors that play on the 10:PM Tabloid Report.

It's the girrafix department... This time.

Here is my representation of a background graphic displayed on a (DELAYED BY FOOTBALL!!!) news report from last night...

"FATHER
GUNNED DOWNED"

I don't make this stuff up.

Weirdness...

2007-09-10T22:16:00.001-05:00

There are a few 'feel good' posts from today's' Nada but here is one that is just plain weird. It has to do with dreams and the odd nature of them.

Please don't analyze this one.

And, if you do analyze it, don't tell me!!!

From the "Be Careful What You Wish For Dept."

Sleep.

You heard me lament, OK, whine about not being able to sleep.

It stinks!

We take it for granted that at some point every night we will rest our heads. Literally and figuratively.

When it stops coming you begin to miss it pretty quickly.

It doesn't take long to notice the effects either.

Obviously I must have slept some along the way. Otherwise I'd be dead or institutionalized by now. I've avoided both.

Sleep does come in fits and starts. More like restless naps. They punctuate the hours of cursing in the darkness, cursing the night.

Lately the game has changed.

I knew I was getting at least some minimum amount of sleep. I became certain of it when "They" began.

"They" being the vivid technicolor dreams.

Sure, we've all had the dreams that we hated to awake from. The uplifting and exhilarating kind that leaves you wanting more.

I don't seem to get that channel.

Sometimes it's just an image.

Once, the entire screen was filled with writhing snakes.

Another time it was puppies.

The cute little dogs were just as disconcerting as the reptiles. Just from a different emotional place.

Some have been elaborate nocturnal productions from some serious masters of the macabre.

You know those guys. The ones that can push every or any of your buttons at will and delight in doing so.

The most recent shake up of my psyche came and went a little like this...

I was in a dumpy little motel room.

It was for certain a motel as opposed to hotel. Replete with the Dodge parked right out in front of my room.

Where? Why? Who the hell knows.

I found myself being invaded, for lack of a better term.

The leader of the wave of weirdness was someone I hold as a close and dear friend. Only, their demeanor was unlike anything I'd ever seen of them.

Mean spirited, spiteful, hateful. Laying waste to my emotions, much to the delight of the toothless crackers that made up the balance of the invading force.

When I say 'toothless crackers', think of the worst of white trash stereotypes. These guys were the rejects from "Deliverance" casting!

Filthy of mind, body and temperament.

One of them was seriously deformed.

Another was horribly injured, burned all over.

'They' cared for the burned guy on my motel bed as if he was the King of the World.

My friend's demeanor and the behavior of the crackers all fueled my agitation... Which, of course was fuel for the fire so to speak.

You see how this was shaping up.

The more upset I got the more the crackers cackled the more my friend provoked me. The vicious circle.

I know better, in the light of day than so let on when someone bugs me. (21 years on hangar decks, if you don't learn that lesson quickly you will be miserable!)

I was flipping out.

I couldn't understand who these people were or why my friend was so willing to please them and use me to do so.

Then I noticed they had 'redecorated' my place. (By now it was where I lived and not simply a way station.)

They hung sheets on the walls like tapestry's.

Soon, I realized why.

They were covering up things, or the places rather, where they had carted my stuff out of the place.

I walked through a (previously nonexistent) door and into the room of a black couple. They weren't any happier to see me than I was to see the crackers.

I went through a few more rooms in the same manner until I reached the lobby/ office.

I either didn't or couldn't ask for the help I needed. Or maybe was brushed off. I don't recall.

I looked out the window and the cackling crackers had destroyed my Dodge!

I headed out.

I passed a woman that was looking at pictures on a bulletin board.

She seemed nice and the pictures were the most brightly colored and cheery things in the dream.

I tried to stop and inquire about them but by then I had reached the double glass doors at the exit to the lobby.

There were four thugs there, shoulder to tattooed shoulder.

At first I thought they weren't going to let me out.

Then it was clear, they were not going to let me stay in the haven of the lobby.

I didn't want to stay in!

I wanted out to salvage my Dodge and whatever I could get from the room and get the hell out of there.

I thought I was just a few doors down from my room...

Only...

The vehicle I had seen was no longer my truck. It was something else.

I wasn't 'a few doors down'.

I was in a bizarre landscape.

I could see the rooms much farther down than I expected and they were fading fast.

A hand.

Someone had sidled up to my right and placed a hand on my left shoulder.

There was no pain or tight grip but there was no place to escape to either. (Believe me, I was looking for a way out.)

This person began to speak.

I didn't hear or understand much of it at all.

I was walked up a dirt burm, farther into the rubble.

The farther up the more form it seemed to take. It was like one of those late (late) night heavy metal techno bars you see on in the movies.

Populated by the freaks that only come out after midnight.

Tattooed with phrases about Hell, in positive terms.

I thought this individual was female but the voice turned very husky. (This cannot be good.)

I turned to look.

She was (is) in fact a she.

Someone I knew long ago and didn't like then or now.

She said something like, "I'm dating a porn star now."
(If you knew her that would come as no surprise.)

Then she turned to one of the pits full of people. (There were shallow pits everywhere and people were seated around the edges drinking something and in, I guess, party mode.)

This pit was full of the same types that met me at the door. Tattooed with pro hell and anti social phrases and marks.

It took two more weird turns before I mercifully awoke.

They looked like the rest but were speaking in very effeminate manners and if that wasn't strange enough, they were speaking knowledgeably about changing cam shafts in small block Chevys!

I awoke with a flinch. Blurry eyed in the darkness, "WTF, Over?!"

I got up and put on the coffee, making certain I wouldn't go back there. At least not that night.

Sometimes...

2007-09-10T21:58:00.000-05:00

A boy just needs more hands!

"San Antonio Ground...

2007-09-10T21:25:00.001-05:00

King Air, Echo November with you..."

The Nada is proud to present...

2007-09-10T14:56:00.000-05:00

"Brightledge" and "Archimedia"

http://myarchimedia.com/

Both the home (pictured) and the architecture practice are products of one of my 'Little' Brothers.

In this case, Andy.

Andy has built a practice over many years, paying dues from Cameron College to The University of Oklahoma and all over South Texas.

His portfolio has even more facets than the home he and "T" built.

From the church house to the jail house to schools to medical clinics.

His efforts have been published in architecture and trade magazines as well as local newspapers.

From my unique position, I have watched since he was eight years old constantly thinking, reading, studying and exploring.

Always alert to better, more sustainable practices.

Andy looks not only towards future methods and technology but to history in the pursuit of what works best in a given application AND in a changing world.

He is an astute business man, a helluva artist and an all round great guy.

I'm adding a link here to the ARCHIMEDIA website.

Have a look!

I WAS at a pretty mellow place...

2007-08-31T20:16:00.000-05:00

Until, Norton tried to commandeer my computer.

I'll right myself but I must say that engineers, mechanical or software or whatever breed they be, are the lowest self-absorbed-monosyllabic- single cell scum on this planet!!!

(L.I.S. is granted an exemption.)

Just start a system scan whenever. No concerns about the work I've been doing for about three months and totally disregard the system setting wherein it is written, "Norton will perform a full system scan at 0300 on Wednesday night." (Which, by the way, it never seems to DO!)

Oh-no. Let's wait until David is writing, then we'll put a stop to that!

OK, ok, okay...

Headphones?

Check.

Volume?

30, Check.

Artist? (Please say it's not Zevon.)

Nope, worse, Tom Petty...

Alright now... Tom Petty with a J.J. Cale tune.

I feel my balance coming back.

15 days with 5 to go...

What the hell was I gonna say here?

I haven't posted a lot. I have written a lot. Frankly, I loose track of what I have posted and what-not.

So if I repeat myself, it's probably a sign of things to come!

I have a mouthful of a writing project. Kinda explains why I got a little hostile when Norton tried to save me from myself. I had two word projects open at the time and was feeding each one with the other.

I was frantic. Worried that I might loose all of the work I've done.

Even when I realized it was all backed up and on other computers, no less.

It still spooled me up.

Still having trouble getting back on track here.

I'm tempted to just post one of the things I was afraid I'd loose a little while ago. It's a fictional stream of spit balls. Thoughts about a character really.

Oddly, or maybe not so surprisingly, I'm apprehensive about posting it when all the while it's supposed to a part of something I not only want to post but to publish.

Gut check time huh?

OK. Just remember. It's only David shooting spitballs at the board to see what kinda pattern I can make...

Mr Man

Who is he and why is he?

What do we have so far...

He has been living alone.

He is lonely.

He plays the "Loner" but he dislikes being alone.

His "Loner" persona is very practiced, he is accomplished in the arts of bachelorhood.

He is disgruntled at work.

He is lonesome at home.

He talks to himself, "I'm the only one that ever listened to me anyway."

He talks to his *pet*.

He dreams of a land not so far away that he visited long ago.

He misses his two children.

His intermittant attempts to reconnect with them are met, more and more frequently with contempt and disdain from the children and acidic animosity from their mother.

He misses the the woman he loves.

Not the mother of his children.

The one woman he trusted.

The one person he trusted completely.

He loves her in the present tense even though she left him long before she deserted him.

Every breath draws back the cold, hollow slap of an empty, silent apartment.

Celibate for years, again.

Long ago, long before he tried one last time to love and trust, he shunned sex as conquest and developed a disgust of those that practice it.

Long ago, intimacy became a matter of trust and devotion.

Now, every genuine human contact is a soulful reminder of what life could be.

What it should be.

What it has never been.

And at nearly 45 years old he has resigned himself to...

What it will never be.

Love has been distilled to a fantasy.

Sex is just a reason to shower twice in the same day.

He is cordial and always polite.

Chivalrous even.

Holding doors and offering aid to the healthy as well as the less than capable.

He is not, however, gregarious.

He never has been.

That skill wasn't offered in the list of high school electives.

Neither was emotional stability and growth 101.

Raised in a sufficient yet less than savory family and home, he developed coping devices at an all too early age.

While effecient, those devices were not adequate to carry him through life.

He is cognizant of the deficencies.

He lacks the tools to repair, modify or improve upon them.

He is not weak.

Certainly not spineless.

When pushed...

He grows more quiet.

It SHOULD be a clear sign.

An astute individual would take immediate note.

And, begin to acknowledge the signs.

The clear and lethal demeanor of a man that has been pushed as far as he is willing to go.

Some do.

Some don't.

A few wish they had.

The aches and strains of coping grow more acute every day.

The disappointment, the pain gets worse and the soul's shell grows harder.
(...the hurt gets worse and the heart gets harder...)

More detached.

More distrustful of others.

"Others" equal betrayal.

He sets about Mans most independant endeavor.

Sailing solo.

A man alone on the sea.

A man growing old upon the sea.

Trusting only himself.

Risking only himself.

Reaping only for himself.

He sets out with a dark, thumbnail moon above.

He forsakes an idyllic departure beneath a full moon.

The full moon no longer represents the things that he once believed.

It shines down harshly on the things he now knows are lies.

No longer is it the old friend he once stood eye to eye with in Nairobi.

No longer is it the anticipated thing of love and sharing that rose over Atlanta every 28 days.

No longer is it the shared symbol of love rising over icy sidewalks.

Now...

A semi-celestial reminder.

Now...

A symbol of disappointments.

*******

Now before ya get all weird and worried think about all you've ever heard about writing. (OK, skip all that gramar stuff for the moment.)

"Write every day."

"Write what ya know."(t0 that I add, "Write what you feel. If you don't feel it why the hell would anyone else want to waste their time reading it?")

Etc and Et Al and all of that stuff.

What do I know?

Well, for one thing, I know a lot more than I get credit for sometimes.

I do know a lot of real characters!

I do know a lot of places.

I have figured out a way to begin to merge all of that into one 'place'.

It's a sort of fictional place.

Populated with fictional folk.

Laced with facts.

Woven together.

I'm still learning the weaving part but I keep gathering wool. I'm trying like hell to make something out of it.

I'm probably gonna get smacked in the head with a keg for this but what the hell. I laid it out there and it might just get whacked...

I'm trying to build literary architecture.

Building it on a solid place where parts of it are real and existing and have verifiable history but most of the stuff in the story are 'pigment' of my imagination.

OF COURSE... All places, characters, and events are ficticious and not based on any individual or place or event and any resemblence is a pigment of your imagination.

I've been doing a lot of reading about writers. The ones that have influenced me or at least made me think.

A lot of research into history, geography, politics and even bathyometry. (Say that three times fast.)

A lot of recollecting as well. Basically, just a lot collecting.

Collecting my thoughts.

Every now and then they collide and I go back into the file and let them roll off of my fingers, doing my best to let my mind stay out of the way.

I said today, "... I WANT to rush it but I'm not GOING to rush it..."

I do feel an urgency.

That urgency seems to bring frequently deliver a burst of notes.

Notes and details and dialogue and motivations and sight and sounds and, and... all of it.

Emotions.

That's what it brings. The emotions of at least three if not four of the characters are taking shape. Coming to light. Playing a part. Their parts.

I've been here at the keyboard for the better part of 12:39:07 seconds working on this today alone.

It's gaining weight.

I'm going to have to print what I have tomorrow because it's getting to be a pain to scroll back and find stuff I want to refer back to.

It isn't that I have all that much written but I'm trying to build the first 15 or 16 chapters from all of the notes I've made.

Going back through those notes looking for and discarding things.

Going back through those notes trying to gather up things about individuals that didn't come out all at once.

I saw on the news yesterday, a couple with 16 kids and one on the way. I feel like I'm trying to name and describe and have viable history for all 17 of them, At Once!!!

But it's a damn cool feeling to have. (Whoa, characters! Not 17 kids! That's nuckin'futs!!! Six kids. Six is a nice round even number.)

Thus the title of the file above "Mr Man".

That's got to sound pretty weak. I haven't settled on a proper name although I'm digging into the poor bastards head.

Same goes for "Miss".

And for the "Kid".

As well as for most of the others at this point.

Only character has a fairly well defined name. The 'pattern' is set for his name. Only his first name is pretty well decided. "Howell".

More significant to me is their emotions and motivations. I can let them name themselves, eventually.

Why the hell am I telling you all of this?

I just deleted a bunch of 'maybes' here.

They weren't the right reasons.

The root is, I'm creating and creating is pointless without sharing.

So, in that spirit and with that spirit, I'm not going to proofread this for the 24th time or even run 'spell check'.

If it's a gut check then let it be a true one.

Afterall, the only thing more important than sharing is the truth.

Look closely. Only two vehicles parked in front.

This Internet Thing...

2007-08-21T18:06:00.000-05:00

This Blog Thing...

This, connection to people we've never met. (This long rambling post..)

I have loved ones, friends and family in various States (as in Geography) and states (as in Conditions). One sweeping example of both states is Oklahoma. 24 of 77 counties are in a bind due to heavy rains from tropical storm/ depression "Erin". I'm making and waiting on calls.

Hurricane "Dean" just made his way across the Caribbean. Hopefully he wont double back or do anything else crazy. Mexico and Belize already have their hands full and islands in the Eastern Caribbean got hit pretty hard, regardless of the category of the storm at the time.

Thing is, most of the blogs I read are centered around Central America and the Caribbean. When I see the storms lumbering up and across the Atlantic I am concerned about potential damage to the coasts of the U.S. of course. Hell, look at little ol' Erin. Still causing problems. We, in the U.S. have infrastructure and capital that better equips us to recover.

Lest I go off on a tangent here... [It's hours later, I had to log off earlier and now the TV 10:00 Tabloids are on. Those people piss me off. In no particular order... One of the TV yappers used the "Storm of the Century" term to describe Hurricane Dean. I hadn't heard that one lately... The Texas Governor had mobilized everything he could find and either staged it here in San Antonio or sent assets South in anticipation of a bad hit. Overkill? Only if we don't get hit! I heard a blurb today about how much money had been spent and how it would be "reimbursed". "HUH?" Tonight I hear that the Federal Government will reimburse the expenses. Damn It. Show me where in the Constitution it is written, 'the Federal Government is responsible for bailing me out of any and everything.'?! Put that aside for a minute. The Governor did set wheels (lots of them) in motion well in advance of the storm. The storm changed course as they do sometimes. SO, now, he is being criticized for spending money and desensitizing volunteers!!! Damned if ya do...]

Yes, I'm a little emotional.

For days now, I've been tracking storms and mapping blogs that I read and the people behind them. Many, most of these people don't have the luxury of debating who will or should help them dig out of the aftermath.

Worse, and I think most of the people that I am referring to will agree, the people around them, the people that live in these countries or on those islands, the ones that were born there rather than 'choosing' to be there, they are much less able to recover.

I watch the pretty little computer models. Most all representing storm tracks projected in smooth lines arcing to the North. No erratic gyrations.

I remember a storm that romped like an angry bull. Bucking all projections. I remember the night it started raining...

I remember all of the things that were gone when the sun came up.

I remember the frantic radio calls.

Gone. So many people...

I remember El Centro, a full week after the storm, standing on the bank, watching the river rush. It was all the way up to the bottom of the bridge, usually, it was but a trickling stream some sixty feet below the bridge. I remember looking back over my shoulder and seeing the high water mark on the buildings, some 20' over my head. I remember all of the little 'Homes' that had been along the banks of that trickling stream...

Gone.

I remember the D9 Cats.

Jen posted today. http://livingdominica.blogspot.com/ . I watched young Dean head West. Trujillo and Guanaja and La Ceiba were skimmed. Bob http://fh1100-pilot.blogspot.com/ has moved from Guanaja but Sharon has not http://www.featherridge.blogspot.com/ . Hal lives in Washington but flys helicopters in the Gulf of Mexico. I wondered what the storm 'meant' for him http://www.haljohnson.blogspot.com/ . Late last night I checked the storm and sent out a "have ya heard from" email. La Gringa sent me a note. I was glad to hear from her. http://www.lagringasblogicito.blogspot.com/ .

These are but a few of the folks that I read about. I didn't think I read that many blogs but as I think about them while the evil blobs trek West, I guess I read more than I realized.

Check them out. You might be surprised. Whether you have or ever cared to live live overseas, it's good to learn about it.

And, just 'cause you're not hearing about it doesn't mean I'm not thinking about you.

More Music

2007-08-14T19:44:00.000-05:00

Back to the formative days.

Back to the 'Squad Room'. No not a military reference, per quod.

The room in question was a converted garage.

The conversion of the garage was a result of, "What the F*&K are we gonna do?! We raised three boys. I retired. Now, we've got Four More To Raise!"

Logistics were something the Ol' SGT Major understood very well.

He played his part to the "T".

Amongst his losses and sacrifices, the garage was a small thing. It became a barracks for four boys.

We adapted.

Sorta.

All things considered though... It could have been worse and WE could be worse men...

Oops. This was supposed to be a music post.

A week or so ago the Architect reminded me of the lyrics to "Duncan" the Paul Simon song. Today I picked up the "Essential Paul Simon" and "Cat Stevens' Greatest Hits".

That's how I found myself back in the old Squad Room.

THAT'S why I love music so much.

I might be stealing this line and I don't mean to but, music has a way of turning my outsides to see where my insides have been.

Even though some of the tunes on these discs are a little, blue, sorta, they take me to a time when all was not well but there was still time.

Time to fix everything.

Time to fulfill dreams.

Time for it to all work out, in the end.

The time when I fell in love. When I fell in love I was listening to some of these very same songs.

I still believe in dreams and love and the future.

Good thing too because when I stop believing it will be time for some of ya'll to start checking tide tables.

In music, or the appreciation of music, there is music that we discover, music we grow into, and music that 'discovered us'. Songs that found us at the right time and place. At the moment, Mr. Simon is reminding me of all of this and oh so many other things. I appreciate that.

"... had a heart like a bone... there's a mean individual stranded in a limousine... left that neighborhood just like a rattlesnake sheds his skin.. Lord, Lord... gonna divvy up the reward but the mean individual vanished in the black of night'!!!

(A sorta not really related aside here, "Coach, I got's my Dave Clarks in my hand. I think I'm ready to get back in the game." We'll soon see. I'll squawk 123.72 to let ya know.)

Ahhh Texas Music...

2007-08-12T14:33:00.000-05:00

Random Shots From Your Roving Annoyer Of Local Bands!!!

Ah, tranquil Cibolo Creek...

2007-08-06T13:28:00.000-05:00

I stopped along I35 this morning to get a few photos of Cibolo Creek before it (eventually) gets developed out of existance. Actually, I stopped to get some contrast or perspective photos for this post. The photos of the high water are from July this year. The picture at the bottom of the page is from today.