Good Morning to All,
25 years ago the following was sent out as The List 1 and 2. I do have a List 7094 That I am working on and will send later after I get back from an early appointment
Note that Al Krause was there from the beginning
To All,
I got the skinny on the list from Bud Taylor
The entire mailing list was broken down into three groups: Bud's List of Great Friends, etc. This first list was basically all the military bro's. A second list was Most Special People; it consisted of personal non-Navy friends and relatives and often did not want all the military stuff with jokes and politics, etc. A third group was the Right Stuff folks whom only wanted to be bothered with really good stuff; like forward a good pic or article a few times a year. I thought what I forwarded you had it all broken down; but, no worries. I would suggest that if you're going to address the entire epic group, then send a brief note outlining what 'The List' is all about and offer people to be deleted if they are not interested or have the time or interest in the multitude of E-mails.
Anyway, just thought I would pass on this information. Hope all is well with you and your family and have a nice Valentine's with them tonight.
Later, Budman.
When I got the list I put it in Alphabetical order and organized to fit in my email. So if you would like to be added, deleted, get one once in a while, or what ever just let me know and I will try to comply. i have updated it with the latest requests as of yesterday.
Regards,
Skip
A little bit of everything
Skip
Pentagon study finds China preparing for war with U.S.
By Bill Gertz
THE WASHINGTON TIMES
Strategic writings by China's military and party leaders show that China is making plans for war, according to a new Pentagon study.
Some 600 translations of internal Chinese writings by 200 authors reveal China's strategy to defeat a superior foe, using both military and nonmilitary means, such as propaganda, deception and covert action.
They also reveal the extreme distrust of the United States by China's military and party leaders. Chinese generals state that the United States intentionally bombed the Chinese Embassy in Belgrade, Yugoslavia, last May as part of a long-term strategy to prompt an arms race that will cause China's collapse.
The Chinese statements from the mid-1990s through last year discuss issues normally couched in secrecy inside China.
They appear in the book "China Debates the Future Security Environment,"
published last month for the Pentagon's Office of Net Assessment, the unit in charge of long-range planning. The translations were edited by Michael Pillsbury, a defense policy planner in the Reagan administration who is fluent in Chinese.
The official Chinese views from Communist Party and military officials contradict other claims by the Beijing government that China poses no threat
to the United States or other nations.
Chinese strategists plan to use a combination of Marxist-Leninist doctrine and ancient Chinese tactics against the United States, which is compared in Chinese military writings as a "hegemon" on a par with Nazi Germany.
Gen. Li Jijun, described as one of China's most distinguished military authors, states that the United States engineered the collapse of the Soviet
Union and the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait as a "strategic misdirection" or deception.
Other Chinese authors state the United States is working covertly to "dismember" western China, namely Tibet and Xinjiang.
The report is a public document, but the Pentagon is limiting its distribution, presumably because of its stark disclosures of Chinese military thinking.
According to the book, the late Chinese leader Deng Xiaoping set the current military strategy for dealing with the world's only superpower in the slogan "bide our time and build up our capabilities."
A key debate among Chinese military and party writers is how rapidly the United States will decline, a view based on the Marxist ideas on the collapse of capitalism.
The book quotes Gen. Xiong Guankai, the Chinese deputy chief of staff for intelligence, who finished three days of Pentagon meetings last week, as
one of China's hard-line theorists.
"Any efforts for seeking hegemony and world domination can only result in accumulating contradictions and fermenting war," Gen. Xiong was quoted as
saying in a speech at Harvard University.
Chinese plans also discuss means of taking out U.S. aircraft-carrier battle groups. Chinese writer Ying Nan says the groups have numerous vulnerabilities.
The United States sent two such groups to waters near Taiwan in 1996 in response to Chinese military exercises aimed at the island.
Mr. Ying stated that weaker Chinese forces could defeat the huge carriers because the groups are hard to conceal from radar, are less effective in bad weather and are hampered by shallow water or when operating
close to the coast.
Carriers also are vulnerable to repeated attacks with precision weapons fired from unmanned aircraft and to electronic warfare from small ships, offshore islands and aerial balloons that can "create confusion in the electromagnetic environment," he stated.
Carrier battle groups also can be defeated by advanced submarines and by attacks on their support ships because the carriers' anti-submarine capabilities are "relatively poor," Mr. Ying states.
Mr. Ying also cited the carriers' elevators, catapult launchers and arrester wires as "extremely vulnerable" to precision strikes that would make the ships useless.
Chinese military strategists also draw upon the 1991 Persian Gulf war.
Chinese tactics â?" pre-emptive attacks before allied forces had massed, covert attacks inside Saudi Arabia and operations to split the U.S.-led coalition â?"
could have won for Iraq, they wrote.
China now seeks to avoid head-on confrontation until around 2030, when the Chinese expect U.S. power to decline significantly.
However, a war between China and the United States could erupt over Taiwan, according to the Chinese authors. Strategist Gao Hen wrote a U.S.
defense of Taiwan would cause a major war of "global and historic implications."
China also plans electronic attacks on computer networks.
"We can make the enemy's command centers not work by changing their data system," wrote Maj. Gen. Pan Junfeng. "We can cause the enemy's headquarters
to make incorrect judgments by sending disinformation."
Subject: Interview with Yugslav Pilot
The following is re-written from an article from the Yugoslav Army Supreme
Command Headquarters- Information Service, April 1999
Interview with Major Nikolic, a member of the Knights squadron of
Yugoslav's air defense forces, operating MiG-29's
"When the first NATO air strike started, the attackers were confronted by
the heroic "Knights" squadron." One of them was Major Nebojsa Nikolic.
When the radar screens of the YA Air Defense started blinking indicating
the arrival of an airborne armada on March 24th, the first squadron that
was sent up to counter the attack were the men of the King Lazar's Knights
squadron. For their conduct in the battle all of them have received the
Medal for Courage and have been promoted to a higher rank. As soon as I
took off"- says Maj. Nebojsa Nikolic-" I noticed the glow of explosions on
my left and on my right in the direction of Pancevo and Ruma.
(Translation- I noticed we were getting our asses kicked, and our Command
&
Control was so goobered up they'd bombed the piss out of us before we
"defenders" even got airborne). My MiG was climbing rapidly and soon I
could see the same scene in the direction of Novi Sad (Translation-
...asses kicked over there too.). Flying above me were about two dozen
state-of-the-art enemy planes. Cutting across the Panonian plain with
their destination Belgrade they were unloading their deadly cargo.
Astonished by my presence and my determination to cut them off, they
quickly turned against me like a pack. (Translation- They knew I was
coming before I even rotated, and as soon as I lifted off, it was a mad
race to see who could shoot me down first.)
I had only just taken off and those are the most difficult conditions for
a
dogfight. "To be an effective means of defense a combat aircraft must
reach
adequate speed and altitude." Say all manuals (Translation, Our grammar
sucks).
After the take off I headed towards northern Vojvodina and evaded the
first
enemy missile. I switched my on-board radar and armed my arsenal. Just
as
I did it I had to maneuver to avoid another enemy air-to-air missile.
(Translation- Immediately, there were lots of missiles being shot at me)
Then came a third one straight from a pack of 24 enemy planes. I wonder
whether any well-paid and insured western pilot would take his chances
with
two of our planes let alone two dozen. Although they are denying their
losses, it's a known fact that the Yugoslav skies have become a graveyard
for the western planes and pilots. This is mostly due to the fact that we
fight with our heart and with the determination to are defend our country,
and they are doing it for money and a with life insurance.
(Translation-
I
sure wish my government and commanders gave a shit about me like theirs
do)
When I selected one as my target on the radar and positioned my jet
accordingly, I launched what we call a "small" missile. I did not manage
to verify the hit, because my MiG-29 was hit in that moment.
(Translation-
I saw something and got so excited I pulled the trigger. As soon as that
happened , I blew up.) The fighter turned into a torch. The flames
enveloped the cockpit. Because of the smoke and flames I could not see
either the instruments or anything outside. (Translation- The fire
suppression system on the FULCRUM sucks as does, as previously noted, our
grammar.) At that point I was at an altitude of 3000 meters over the town
of Titel and I was heading north towards Zrenjanin. My trusted MiG, the
plane I've flying for more than ten years, was heading down. When I
reached the altitude of about 2000 meters I decide to catapult myself out
of the burning jet. As I was gliding down with my parachute, enemy planes
kept circling around me trying to locate me in the dark and riddle me with
bullets. They kept firing blindly, (Translation- I descended through the
middle of a one-sided dogfight during which the rest of my squadron were
also being shot down, though since only the Americans wore Night Vision
Goggles, I couldn't tell what was happening at the time) fortunately
missing me and for this I am very eager to meet with them again. Only
Goerings Luftwaffe pilots in World War II acted like that. In that
respect
the airman attacking our country are no different from the Nazis. (maybe
we
forgot who was doing the ethnic cleansing)
I landed in the middle of a field some 400 meters away from my burning
MiG.
The flames were illuminating the entire area so I quickly moved away to
escape the persistent NATO pilots from locating me and killing me. (...
and
it was raining aluminim from many other "Knights" airplanes) In the
darkness of the night I found refuge in an irrigation trench. Having
spent
several hours hiding and trying to reach the town of Senta, I decided to
turn back towards the wreck where I was found by our rescue teams and
taken
back to the airport.
The pilots from my squadron (those still alive) were overwhelmed with joy
when they saw I was alive and well. After a short debriefing I was
transferred to the Military Medical Academy for a check-up. It was almost
three in the morning when I finally called my wife Olga (oh baby, oh
baby).
It was dawning when she and my daughter Sonja came to visit me.
A few days later the younger daughter, 11- years - old Tanja finally had a
chance to embrace her daddy. Major Nikolic was discharged from the
hospital and sent home. He contacted his "Knights" immediately and
offered
to join the squadron. "Rest a bit, we have sufficient crews to take on
the
NATO campaign"- he was told. (Translation- stay at home, we don't have
any
planes left. And even if we did, you've already lost one of them for us
in
a span of 5 minutes, thank-you-very-much.)
Since Major Nikolic came home from the hospital, the telephone is
constantly ringing. Friends keep calling to hear how he feels. Just the
other day, when he went to buy some groceries and the daily papers, a lady
in her late seventies recognized him and asked if she could hug him.
Her
motherly kiss was a special medal for this brave member of the "Knights"
squadron."
Admiral Says Rib Injury May Have Caused Blue Angels Crash The Associated Press They must have been playing DEAD BUG?
PENSACOLA, Fla. (AP) - A pilot's rib injury may have led to the crash that killed him and another member of the Navy's Blue Angels precision flying team last year in Georgia, according to a report issued Thursday.
The report said Lt. Cmdr. Kieron O'Connor's minor rib injury might have given him trouble tensing his abdominal muscles to avoid blacking out during maneuvers that exert extreme gravitational forces on pilots.
The report rejected another investigator's conclusion that O'Connor might have tried to avoid hitting a bird with the F/A-18 Hornet.
The rib injury theory is "the most likely scenario supported by the known facts," wrote Rear Adm. Michael Bucci. The Blue Angels are based at Pensacola Naval Air Station.
O'Connor, 35, and crewmate Lt. Kevin Colling, 32, were killed on Oct. 28 while practicing for air shows with the five other Blue Angels jets at Moody Air Force Base. There was no evidence of a mechanical problem.
The report said that six days before the crash, O'Connor had accidentally fallen on his side against Colling's knee during a "squadron game requiring everyone to drop to the ground from their chairs."
Lt. Cmdr. Pat McMahon, the team's flight surgeon, wrote that O'Connor had difficulty tensing his abdominal muscles in practice flights and experienced tunnel vision because of the gravitational forces.
Some aviators use special suits that automatically inflate around the pilot's legs to keep blood in the brain. The Blue Angels do not use them
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------------------------------------------------------------------Why I like
Marines:
Excerpts from a speech by RADM J. Stark, USN ...the first reason I like Marines. They set high standards-for themselves and those around them-and will accept nothing less. I like the way Marines march. I like the way Marines do their basic training whether it's Quantico, Parris Island, or San Diego. I like the idea [that] Marines "cultivate an ethos conducive of producing hard people in a soft age." I like the fact that Marines stay in shape.
I like the fact that the Marines only have one boss - the Commandant. And I like the directness of the Commandant.
I like the fact that Marines are stubborn. I like the way Marines obey orders. I like the way the Marines make the most of the press. I like the wholehearted professionalism of the Marines.
.. it occurred to me that the services could be characterized by different breeds of dogs...The Air Force reminded me of a French Poodle.
The poodle always looks perfect ... sometimes seems a bit pampered ...
always travels first class. But don't ever forget that the poodle was bred as a hunting dog and in a fight it's very dangerous.
The Army is kind of like a St. Bernard. It's big and heavy and sometimes seems a bit clumsy. But it's very powerful and has lots of stamina. So you want it for the long haul.
The Navy, God bless us, is a Golden Retriever. They're good natured and great around the house. The kids love 'em. Sometimes their hair is a bit long. They go wandering off for long periods of time, and they love water.
Marines I see as two breeds, Rottweilers or Dobermans, because Marines come in two varieties, big and mean, or skinny and mean.They're aggressive on the attack and tenacious on defense. They've got really short hair and they always go for the throat. That sounds like a Marine to me! So what I really like about Marines is that 'first to fight' isn't just a motto, it's a way of life. From the day they were formed at Tun Tavern 224 years ago, Marines have distinguished themselves on battlefields around the world. From the fighting tops of the Bonhomme Richard, to the sands of the Barbary Coast, from the swamps of New Orleans to the halls of Montezuma, from Belleau Wood, to the Argonne Forest, to Guadacanal, and Iwo Jima, and Okinawa and Inchon, and Chosen Reservoir and Hue City and Quang Tri and Dong Ha, and Beirut, and Grenada, and Panama, and Somalia and Bosnia and a thousand unnamed battlefields in godforsaken corners of the globe. Marines have distinguished themselves by their bravery, and stubbornness and aggressive spirit, and sacrifice, and love of country, and loyalty to one another. They've done it for you and me, and this Country we all love so dearly.
And they asked for nothing more than the honor of being a United States Marine. And that's why I like Marines!
---
Naval Aviators, NFOs and God
A fat, ape-looking, ground-pounding, black- shoe Navy Admiral died and went to Heaven. At the pearly gates, he was met by St. Peter. He told St. Peter up front, "If there are Naval Aviators or NFO's in Heaven, I don't want to come in because I hate Naval Aviators, and NFO's are even worse!."
St. Peter said, "Don't worry about it, I can assure you that no Naval Aviator has ever made it to Heaven. They have far too much fun while they're alive".
So the Admiral entered into Heaven and began looking at all the wonderful sights. All of a sudden he spotted something that he just couldn't believe.
There before his fat, pudgy eyes was a 5'11", 175 lb. muscle-bound specimen of manhood wearing a flight suit, brown boots and a Rolex. Not only that, this guy had a Manchu mustache, Ray Ban sunglasses, a big fat cigar in his mouth, a six-shooter in one hand, a bottle of Jack Daniels in the other, bright-colored patches on his chest, and ten beautiful women hanging all over him!
The Admiral called St. Peter over and said, "I thought you said there weren't any Naval Aviators in Heaven -- there's one right over there."
St. Peter looked at where the Admiral was pointing and said, "Oh no, that's God, He's not really a Navy Pilot, He just likes to pretend He is."
Naval Aviators, NFOs and God
A fat, ape-looking, ground-pounding, black- shoe Navy Admiral died and went to Heaven. At the pearly gates, he was met by St. Peter. He told St. Peter up front, "If there are Naval Aviators or NFO's in Heaven, I don't want to come in because I hate Naval Aviators, and NFO's are even worse!."
St. Peter said, "Don't worry about it, I can assure you that no Naval Aviator has ever made it to Heaven. They have far too much fun while they're alive".
So the Admiral entered into Heaven and began looking at all the wonderful sights. All of a sudden he spotted something that he just couldn't believe.
There before his fat, pudgy eyes was a 5'11", 175 lb. muscle-bound specimen of manhood wearing a flight suit, brown boots and a Rolex. Not only that, this guy had a Manchu mustache, Ray Ban sunglasses, a big fat cigar in his mouth, a six-shooter in one hand, a bottle of Jack Daniels in the other, bright-colored patches on his chest, and ten beautiful women hanging all over him!
The Admiral called St. Peter over and said, "I thought you said there weren't any Naval Aviators in Heaven -- there's one right over there."
St. Peter looked at where the Admiral was pointing and said, "Oh no, that's God, He's not really a Navy Pilot, He just likes to pretend He is."
Al Gore and the Clintons are flying on Air Force One. Bill looks at Al, chuckles, and says, "You know, I could throw a $100.00 bill out the window right now and make one person very happy."
Al shrugs his stiff shoulders and says, "Well, I could throw ten
$10.00 bills out the window and make 10 people very happy."
Hillary tosses her perfectly hair-sprayed hair and says, "I could throw one hundred $1.00 bills out the window and make one hundred people happy."
Chelsea rolls her eyes, looks at all of them, and says," I could throw all three of you out the window and make 250 million people happy.
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An elementary school teacher asked her class to tell a story that had a moral to it. A little boy raised his hand and told a story about a farmer who took his eggs to market. The farmer put all of the eggs in one crate and unfortunately when his truck hit a large bump in the road, the crate fell off the back of the truck and all of the eggs were broken. The moral to the
story: Don't put all of your eggs in one basket.
A little girl then raised her hand and told a story about another farmer who made his financial projections based on the number of chickens that he thought he was going to have. Unfortunately, not all of the eggs hatched so he didn't have as many chickens as he thought. All of his projections went awry. Moral to the story: Don't count your chickens before the eggs are hatched.
Next a little boy raised his hand and told a story about his Uncle Ted, who was a fighter pilot during the Vietnam War. While flying behind enemy lines, Ted's plane was shot down. Before ejecting from the cockpit, Ted was able to grab a machine gun, a machete and a six pack of beer. While descending to earth in his parachute, Ted drank the six pack. After hitting the ground, Ted found himself surrounded by 100 North Vietnamese soldiers. He killed the first 70 with the machine gun before he ran out of bullets. He then hacked the next 20 to death with the machete before the blade broke. He killed the last 10 with his bare hands.
Somewhat horrified, the teacher asked the student what could possibly be the moral to this story, to which the little boy replied, "Don't fuck with Uncle Ted when he's drunk."
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"CNO sweepstake down to 3 - Fargo, Clark, Ellis."
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--------------
Humor from Al Krause
Submitted by Frank Hester:
An insurance salesman was trying to persuade a housewife that she should take out life insurance. "Suppose your husband were to die," he said, "what would you get?"
The housewife thought for a while, and then said, "Oh, a parrot, I think.
Then the house wouldn't seem so quiet.
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-------------------
Submitted by Bekah Kormash:
There was a boy who worked in the produce section of the market. A man came in and asked to buy half a head of lettuce. The boy told him that they only sold whole heads of lettuce, but the man replied that he did not need a whole head, but only a half head. The boy said he would go ask his manager about the matter.
The boy walked into the back room and said, "there is some jerk out there who wants to buy only a half a head of lettuce." As he was finishing saying this he turned around to find the man standing right behind him, so he added, "and this gentleman wants to buy the other half".
The manager okayed the deal and the man went on his way. Later the manager called on the boy and said, "you almost got yourself in a lot of trouble earlier, but I must say I was impressed with the way you got yourself out of it. You think on your feet and we like that around here.
Were are you from son?"
The boy replied, "Minnesota sir".
Oh really? "Why did you leave Minnesota" asked the manager.
The boy replied, "They're all just prostitutes and hockey players up there."
"My wife is from Minnesota!"
The boy replied, "Really! What team did she play for?"
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the Stooges at
once. The worst thing that can happen to them is an Airline
Pilot or Line Mechanic walking through their front door. This
creates an odd 'fight or flight' state within their brains that
makes them act like they are listening to common sense being
yelled at them. That's when Security comes in to haul the
offender off.
Then the Pilots and Mechanics go on what's called a 'Strike'.
A strike is when all the pilots and mechanics have a picnic
and get paid not to work. This is what they've been trying to
accomplish their whole lives. A strike is when the piles of
money only move one way... usually into a bank in The Bahamas.
There's so much more to tell you about why flying is so great,
but I just got paged to go fly. I like to fly because then I
get to eat nuts and drink Pepsi and tell my First Officer what
he's doing wrong and how we used to do it in the Old Days when
we had Captains with scars from bar fights in Rangoon.
Also, I like to fly because in some hotels they have HBO.
Sometimes I like to see if I can fly a four day trip with only
one shirt and two dollars to tip with. Being a Captain is a
challenge sometimes... Well, Bobby, I know I didn't get to your
question about what Flight Attendants do, but that can wait
until you start dating and understand the pain that surrounds
the ritual. Love stinks, Billy, don't ever touch the stuff.
Hell, if I were to do it all over again I would've worked for
the Muppets, like my Mom wanted me to.
Regards,
Cap'n Billy Bob
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---------------------------
job."
* "Marital status: often. Children: various."
* "Reason for leaving last job: They insisted that all employees get to work by 8:45 am every morning. I couldn't work under those conditions."
* "The company made me a scapegoat, just like my three previous employers."
* "Finished eighth in my class of ten."
* "References: none. I've left a path of destruction behind me."
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Submitted by Jerry McClellan:
Age is a Funny Thing.
Do you realize that the only time in our lives when we like to get old is when we're kids?
If you're less than ten years old, you're so excited about aging that you think in fractions. "How old are you?" "I'm four and a half." You're never
36 and a half? you're four and a half going on 5. That's the key.
You get into your teens; now they can't hold you back. You jump to the next number. "How old are you?" "I'm gonna be 16." You could be 12, but you're gonna be 16. Eventually.
Then the great day of your life; you become 21. Even the words sound like a ceremony. You BECOME 21...Yes!!!!!!!
Then you turn 30. What happened there? Makes you sound like bad milk.
He TURNED; we had to throw him out. What's wrong? What changed? You Become 21; you Turn 30.
Then you're PUSHING 40... stay over there.
You REACH 50. You BECOME 21; you TURN 30; you're PUSHING 40; you REACH 50; and, then you MAKE IT to 60. "I didn't think I'd make it." You BECOME 21; you TURN 30; you're PUSHING 40; you REACH 50; you MAKE IT to 60.
By then you're built up so much speed, you HIT 70. After that, it's a day by day thing. After that, you HIT Wednesday...You get into your 80's; you HIT lunch. You HIT 4:30. My grandmother won't even buy green bananas.
"Well, it's an investment, you know, and maybe a bad one." And it doesn't end there.
Into the 90's, you start going backwards. "I was JUST 92." Then a strange thing happens; if you make it over 100, you become a little kid again. "I'm
100 and a half."
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Submitted by Dave Burdine:
The Company Commander and the 1st Sgt were in the field. As they hit the rack for the night the First Sgt said, "Sir, look up into the sky and tell me what you see?"
The Commander said, "I see a million stars."
"And what does that tell you, sir?" asked the First Sgt.
The Commander replied, "Well, astronomically, it tells me that there are a million or more galaxies and potentially millions of planets.
Theologically. It tells me that God is great and that we are small and insignificant. Meteorologically, it tells me that we'll have a beautiful day tomorrow."
"What does it tell you, First Sgt.?" the CO asked "Well, Sir, it tells me that somebody stole our tent."
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----------------------------------------------------------------From Ralph Davis
Question: When was the first Valentine's Day?
(answer below)
The Answer:
The lover's holiday has its beginnings in the 4th century B.C. in Rome.
The Romans held an annual lottery wherein young men would draw a young woman's name from a box. The couple would be assigned to each other the entire year for entertainment and pleasure. (Now, I can see where this could be real
dangerous!) This celebration, traditionally held on February 15, also included banquets, dancing and foot races run in the nude.
Around A.D. 496, early church fathers sought an end to the pagan practice, but knew better than to upset the citizens by removing the lottery completely. Instead, they had teenagers pull the names of saints from the box. The teen was supposed to spend the year emulating that saint's life as much as possible, which was probably not as much fun as naked marathons.
(Right! It's no wonder they fed Christians to the lions!) St. Valentine was chosen as the patron saint of the new event, and young Roman men resorted to courting females by sending handwritten notes delivered on February 14.
Dear Mark,
To answer your question about airplanes, flying and careers
in aviation, I've sent you the following:
Having been an Airline Captain for a practically profitable
company, I know all about this stuff. BUT, I have no idea
how the physics work... I thought it was a "smoke and mirrors"
magic, navigation by faith, land with luck, and fueled by fate!
Let's see if I can explain this so you'll understand. I've
been drinking most of the night, but I think you'll get the
point.
Lift is an invisible force sent out by the stars all arguing
over which plane goes where. Thrust is from all the noise
rushing out of those pipe things and pushing all the quiet
air out of the way. Drag is when there's enough quiet air
getting mad at the noise to gang up on the plane and slow
it down.
A stall is when the wing hurts the good air in front and the
molecules go on strike, refusing to cooperate with the stars.
A spin is when the stars and air come to a partial agreement
over who's supposed to do what, so they each take half of
the same wing.
The airplane turns because the pilot twists the wheel which
is really a divining rod and changes the forces from the
heavens. The controls all move because it makes the pilots
feel like they're doing something. They tried to build
airplanes that didn't have moveable controls, but they
didn't sell well.
The engine is a whole 'nother mystery. It makes noise
because there's good and bad air trapped in these cans.
They don't like each other for philosophical reasons. When
little doors are opened inside there with the throttle, a
battle ensues and they shove and tug on whoever's at hand.
Sometimes they hang onto the pole (called a prop pole, I
think) that's hooked to the prop and so it spins in the fray.
The prop is there solely to let the pilot know something is
happening... remember it's the noise that makes the plane go
forth.
Gas? Another marketing scam by the oil companies. It actually
does nothing at all except evaporate away through the skin of
the plane... like how a frog pees.
The radio will only get you in trouble... don't use it,
don't know how it works.
Weather, at least, is something we understand. It is all
leftovers from the comet that killed the dinosaurs. It's
all the same weather clouds spinning round the world over
and over. When it finally slows down, it will all bunch up
in one place and rain for a thousand years... probably
somewhere in southern Washington.
Air Traffic Control is simple. A bunch of computer guys
decided that they needed something to do with all the
left-over vacuum tubes from the TVs built in the '50s. They
built these cool machines that make little lights blink all
day and night. They also used these for all the "Lost In
Space" sets. Just for fun, they talk on the radio (don't ask
me how) and see how many people they can delay in one day.
The record is 440,000, I think, set by a guy in Muncie,
Indiana who was depressed 'cause he ran over a cat owned by
a girl he was trying to impress by peeling-out. Now he had
no girl and the impossible task of finding a new transmission
for a 1961 Rambler Ambassador. Walking to work, he lost a
contact lens from his left eye. This from sneezing. Turns
out he was allergic to cats. This had him in such a state,
he developed a stutter that crippled the ATC system through
the Chicago Corridor.
The FAA/CAA is a secret clan no intelligence has been able to
penetrate. They no longer recruit, they just BREED. With
impenetrable fortresses they call FSDOs scattered across the
country, they do not find it necessary to communicate with
each other and rule their individual regions through fear and
intimidation. They exist purely for the pleasure of torturing
pilot candidates. They are funded by aliens.
Then there are Airlines. They are run by millionaires who want
a tax dodge. They sit in air-conditioned offices as far away
from the noise factories... I mean AIRPORTS... as possible.
They like to watch money move from one pile to another. They
also like to watch 'Three Stooges' episodes and act out the
various parts themselves sometimes playing all the Stooges at
once. The worst thing that can happen to them is an Airline
Pilot or Line Mechanic walking through their front door. This
creates an odd 'fight or flight' state within their brains that
makes them act like they are listening to common sense being
yelled at them. That's when Security comes in to haul the
offender off.
Then the Pilots and Mechanics go on what's called a 'Strike'.
A strike is when all the pilots and mechanics have a picnic
and get paid not to work. This is what they've been trying to
accomplish their whole lives. A strike is when the piles of
money only move one way... usually into a bank in The Bahamas.
There's so much more to tell you about why flying is so great,
but I just got paged to go fly. I like to fly because then I
get to eat nuts and drink Pepsi and tell my First Officer what
he's doing wrong and how we used to do it in the Old Days when
we had Captains with scars from bar fights in Rangoon.
Also, I like to fly because in some hotels they have HBO.
Sometimes I like to see if I can fly a four day trip with only
one shirt and two dollars to tip with. Being a Captain is a
challenge sometimes... Well, Bobby, I know I didn't get to your
question about what Flight Attendants do, but that can wait
until you start dating and understand the pain that surrounds
the ritual. Love stinks, Billy, don't ever touch the stuff.
Hell, if I were to do it all over again I would've worked for
the Muppets, like my Mom wanted me to.
Regards,
Cap'n Billy Bob
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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From Frank Roberts
Subject: FW: not just another war story....
What follows is a copy of a talk given by Brig Gen Mark Welsh at the AF Academy. It talks to the people, the spirit, and the heart of people in war, and their families... A good story to read and think about...
========
Headline: Combat is intensely personal and war is a horrible thing
Subtitle: AF general remembers sights, sounds of Persian Gulf experiences Editor's note: This is a condensed version of a speech BG Mark Welsh gave to cadets at the AF Academy on Aug 26. It is reprinted with permission from the USAF.
Not long ago I was asked to give a presentation on personal lessons learned from my experiences in combat during Operation Desert Storm. I spent about an hour and half just thinking and thinking: What great lessons have I learned that I want to pass on to future generations?
When I finished, I realized that none of the items on my list were lessons learned. Every one of them was about a person, an event, or just a feeling I had. Every kind of combat is different. Aerial combat happens at about
1,000 mph. It's hot fire, cold steel, instant death, and big destruction.
Ground combat's not that way. Those of you who've heard infantry soldiers talk about it know ground combat is endless time, soaking fear, big noises, and darkness. Either way, your first combat is an intensely personal experience.
One week before Desert Storm air campaign started, we were flying missions to northern Saudi Arabia to practice dropping simulated bombs at night on targets in the desert, so those of us who didn't routinely fly night missions would be ready if the war started. One night after we'd destroyed our target, we hit a poststrike tanker and headed back to our base almost
400 miles away. We climbed up to about 42,000 feet, put the autopilot on, and I leaned back in the seat and stared at nature. It was a gorgeous night.
Out on the horizon, I saw something I'd never seen before: a beautiful big white halo that went all the way around the moon. I'll never forget that halo. I also won't forget that when I landed that night, my assistant operations officer met me at the bottom of the ladder and said, "Boss, we lost an airplane." The pilot was a young captain named Mike who had joined us in the desert only two weeks earlier, because he had stayed back in Utah to get married. He was on his second night ride. We think that somehow Mike got a light on the ground confused with his flight lead's rotating beacon.
He hit the ground going more than 600 mph, nose low, inverted, and in full afterburner. He died relaxed. I don't think "dying relaxed" was good news to his wife or to his mom and dad.
I'll never forget those calls, and I'll never forget Mike. And I'll never forget sitting at the memorial service two days later, looking at this airplane with Mike's name on the canopy rail, the helmet with his name on the visor cover, his spare G-suit under the wing, and his crew chief saluting the jet while bagpipes played Amazing Grace in the background. I won't forget staring at that airplane thinking, "How many more of these are we going to have when the war starts?"
The night before the war started, we gathered our squadron together at about
5 PM and gave them their first briefing. Then I told them all to go back to their rooms and write a letter to their family. In that letter, I wanted them to shed all of the emotional baggage they would otherwise take with them into combat. I told them they didn't fly until I got that letter. If you haven't had the pleasure of sitting and thinking about your family the night before you may die; if you haven't tried to tell your children that you're sorry you won't be there to see their next ballet recital or watch them play little league baseball, or high school football, or graduate from college, or meet their future spouse or get to know your grandkids, you should try doing it on a piece of paper at midnight, from 9,000 miles away.
If you haven't told your parents, brothers, and sisters what they mean to you or told your wife how the sun rises and sets in her eyes, you haven't lived. I won't forget writing that letter.
The next morning we got up at about 1:30 because we had a 2:15 briefing. As we drove down the road parallel to the runway, two things happened. The first was that Col Tom Rackley's 421st Fighter Squadron lit its afterburners as part of the first launch of the Persian Gulf War. At 20-second intervals as we traveled down that road, planes lifted off, accelerating to about 400 mph and disappearing at the end of the runway. I suddenly realized that this was the first time I'd ever seen airplanes take off with no lights on. We were "blacked out" for combat and it was pretty sobering. When we were halfway down this road, one of the guys in the car pointed to the right, where the base's tent city was. On the right side of the road were thousands of people. All those who weren't working that night had come out of their tents when they heard the afterburners. They were in uniforms, jeans, cutoffs; they were wearing underwear, pajamas -- everything. But not one of them was talking. The other thing that I noticed immediately that each person was somehow in contact with the next. They were holding hands or arms, or they had an arm around a neighbor's shoulders or back, or they were just leaning on each other. These people didn't know each other. But they were all warriors, and they were all part of the cause. I will never forget their faces in our headlights.
Later that morning, we went to the life support trailer where my squadron's flying gear was kept. Anybody who's been in any kind of a flying squadron knows life support is a pretty raucous place. You're giving people grief, you're arguing about who's better at whatever, something's always going on, and it's fun. That morning there wasn't a sound. I dressed listening to nothing but the whisper of zippers as people pulled on flight gear. As each of my guys left, I wondered if he'd be coming back that afternoon. I'll never forget watching their backs disappear into the darkness.
The first day of Desert Storm, I got to my jet and standing right in front of the nose was Father John, our squadron chaplain. He said, "Hey, I thought you might like a blessing before you go." I immediately hated myself, because I consider myself fairly comfortable in my religion, and I'd never thought of that. So I knelt down on the cement and Father John gave me a blessing. As I was getting ready to climb up the ladder, I noticed all these guys running toward me out of the darkness. My other pilots had seen this and were coming over to get Father John to bless them too. So he did. And when everybody came back safe from the first sortie, we decided: "That's it, Father John has to bless everybody." From then on, it didn't matter if you were Jewish or Baptist, or Islamic; Father John gave the blessing for the squadron. Later on, talking to Col Rackley, the commander of the 421st Fighter Squadron, I found out that Father John did the same for his guys. I don't know how he did it, but he did. Every single time I landed from a combat sortie, I'd shake hands with my hero and crew chief, Tech Sqt Manny Villa. Then I'd climb down the ladder to Father John, who would bless me and welcome me home.
When I came back from Desert Storm, I ended up returning to Hill AFB in Utah a few days after my squadron. When I pulled into the parking spot, folks were waiting for me, including Father John, my wife, Betty, and a couple of kids. I'd written Betty and told her about Father John and his blessings.
When my airplane stopped and the canopy came up, Manny Villa climbed the ladder and shook my hand. When I climbed down to the bottom of the ladder, Betty told Father John, "You first." Father John walked over and blessed me and welcomed me home. A year and a half later, Father John dropped dead of a massive heart attack. By the week after he died, 16 of the 28 pilots who flew in my squadron during Desert Storm had contacted Father John's family.
They called from Korea, Europe, Australia, and all over the US to bless him and ask God to welcome him home. I'll never forget Father John.
Early in the war, we attacked a complex of ammunition storage bunkers in northwestern Iraq. There's a guy I want to tell you about who had something to do with the number of holes in these bunkers.
Ed left for the desert with his wife, Jill, pregnant with their first child.
Obviously, he couldn't go home for the birth. Late one night, my exec woke me and told me I had a phone call in the command post. It was my wife, and she said, "Mark, I'm at the hospital with Jill. She's in labor and is having problems. Is there any way we can get Ed on the phone with her?" So we went and rousted Ed and brought him down to the command center. As Ed held the phone with one hand and talked to his wife, I sat in a chair in front of him and held his other hand. I could see the happiness in his eyes every time she spoke to him. And I could see the worry and pain in his eyes every time another contraction started and he heard her gasp. I felt him squeeze my hand every time he heard her scream. And I saw him smile when he heard his son, Nate, cry for the first time, 9,000 miles away. I'll never forget that smile. Twelve hours after Ed hung up that phone, he was part of a strike package that hit those ammunition storage bunkers. It was the best battle damage assessment we had in our squadron during the war. Ed went from a caring, concerned, loving father to an intense, indomitable warrior in just
12 hours. I'll never forget watching the transformation.
I want to tell you about two things I heard that I'll never forget. The first one was during one of our missions in the Baghdad area. An F-16 from another unit was hit by a surface-to-air missile. Over the radio, we listened to the pilot and his flight lead talk as he tried to make it to the border so rescue forces could get to him. He'd come on every now and them and talk about how the oil pressure was dropping and vibrations were increasing. Then his flight lead would encourage him to stick with it. This went on for about 15 minutes. Finally, the pilot said, "Oil pressure just went to zero." And then, "My engine quit." Finally he said, "That's all I got. I'm outta here." The silence was deafening. I'll never forget those 15 minutes.
The other unforgettable thing I heard came after the ground war started. An
F-16 was shot down in the middle of the retreating Republican Guard. A call went out asking if there was any aircraft with ordnance and fuel who could go to him. A lot of people responded but the first one I really paid attention to was an Army Chinook helicopter pilot, who came on the radio and said, "Look, I got this much gas, here's my location. I can be there in this many minutes. Give me his coordinates. I can pick him up."
Now everybody knew where the Republican Guard was, and everybody knew the downed pilot was right in the middle of them. And you need to remember that a Chinook is about the size of a double-decker London bus with props, and it doesn't have guns. We kid around a lot about interservice rivalries, but I guarantee that I would follow that Army helicopter pilot into combat. I'll never forget her voice.
One of the last things I want to mention is the Highway of Death. This road leads north out of Basra and was the main retreat route for the Republican Guard until they were cut off. What's significant is that I killed people here. Me. Combat is an intensely personal thing. I'm sure I'd killed people before during the war, but this time I saw them. I saw the vehicles moving before the bombs hit. I saw soldiers firing up at me, then running as I dropped my bombs to make sure they wouldn't get away.
War is a horrible, horrible, horrible thing. There is nothing good about it.
But it is sometimes necessary. So somebody better be good at it. I am. You better be. I won't forget the Highway of Death.
On my trip home from the Gulf, I flew with the 421st Squadron on the way to the East Coast of the US. The first US air traffic control site we talked to was Boston Center. Col Rackley said something along the lines of. "Boston Center, Widow Flight, 24 F-16s coming home." The air traffic controller responded, "Welcome home, Widow." And then at regular intervals for the next five or six minutes, every airliner on that frequency checked in and said something. "Welcome back." "Good job." "Great to have you home." "God bless you, Widow." About 10 minutes after that, I got my first glimpse of the US coastline. It was the coast of Massachusetts. I sat in my cockpit and sang America the Beautiful to myself.
Take a look at this flag, folks. Those white stripes represent the integrity you cherish here at the Air Force Academy and that you better carry with you into our Air Force. Those stars are the courage of all the people who have gone before you. They belong to you now. And that red is for Mike and millions more like him who died serving this great country.
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