I did once...well sort of, along time ago and the memory of that journey, short as it was, has rushed back to me. Thoughts of that day have never really left me but watching reruns of an old television show have stirred up a lot of nostalgic feelings.
My folks and I had been out a Sunday afternoon drive (yes, those did really exist back then) when we approached an old and apparently abandoned airport. My dad and I were crazy about airplanes. Persuading my mom, we entered through the gate and back into time.
Old single-story military barracks and assorted other low building were nearby, some with large white signs with black lettering bearing such titles as OPERATIONS and HOSPITAL attached to their fronts. I remember feeling odd or peculiar at seeing these stark, silent remnants of distant history. It was quiet and, except for the breeze, very still. The three of us were the only ones present.
We kept driving and came upon a few old army vehicles neatly parked in a row. All were wearing the standard livery of olive drab. Among them was an ambulance with the large crosses painted in bright red against a white background plus a staff car and I think a couple of canvas-covered supply trucks. Getting out of the Rambler station wagon, we walked around the vehicles for a while, then returned to the car and continued our modest adventure.
Portions of some of the low barracks were in use at the time by a few small local businesses. Signs for a Drapery Shop and I think for an Upholstery Shop were nailed to the drab wooden exteriors at the rear of the buildings. There may have been others.
As we left the airport, the discussion centered on the idea that, as odd as it seemed, the buildings and antique vehicles had been left behind at the close of WWII. We had missed the obvious clue that the military signs and vehicle markings were anything but WWII vintage! The paint was as fresh as any that would have been found on a new car or truck or house.
It wasn't until a short time later when the new fall TV season premiered for 1964 and local television listings described ABC's new WWII-era program that we realized we had been on the location set for "12 O'Clock High", nestled quietly at Chino Airport in San Bernardino County.
The airport, formerly the Cal Aero Field and home to a private flying school, had been contracted as a primary and basic training base for the Army Air Force during WWII, retaining many of its original buildings following the war. The airport now served as the 918th Bomb Group's fictional home, Archbury. Chino Airport had been chosen for its vintage WWII look and remoteness. In 1964, the unspoiled, surrounding countryside was a real plus because it bore an uncanny resemblance to the pastoral landscape of war-torn England, tall eucalyptus trees and all.
While the mystery concerning a secluded and supposedly abandoned airport with its specter-like remains had been solved with the appearance of new TV show, that feeling of stepping back in time, even for just a few minutes, has always been a part of me.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Why is The Make-A-Wish 200 Club So Small?
The Make-A-Wish Foundation got its start in 1980. Many celebrities have contributed their time and money to this organization's worthwhile efforts in helping children with life-threatening medical conditions. However, I suspect that for far too many, maybe their interest is more for their own benefit (meaning ego) than the children involved. They get a gold star because they have their name on a list but do little to pursue any real involvement. He or she gets a "done good" but exerts little or no effort. That can't be said for six...count 'em, six... very noteworthy celebrities.
Hulk Hogan, Jeff Gordon, Dale Earnhardt, Jr. and John Cena were the first of the celebrity world to reach the 200 Club, making possible a tremendous dream for these children. Mr Cena has since surpassed the 400 mark while Justin Bieber became a member of that elite club on August 15, 2013 when he achieved granting his 200th Wish. Mr. Bieber is also the first recording artist to join that heady club... and he didn't begin until 2009! Michael Jordan joined this distinguished group in November of 2013. That a grand total of six celebrity members, to date, who have granted at least 200 wishes to children clinging to life..
I'm sure these men (notice no women at this writing) are very busy attending to their careers and everyday lives but they obviously have found the necessary time for these children in their desperate struggles for life. It is not only sad but it is pathetic that so many other "famous" people can't do the same.
With so many "famous" individuals in movies, television, sports and so on who have traveled the road to stardom of one sort or another since 1980, why only 6 and not 600 or 6000? The answer is patently simple. Literally hundreds (if not thousands) of "famous" people are just too busy being "famous", too busy being wrapped up in their own petty little lives and worlds to think much about someone else far less fortunate.
Sometime in the late 1940s or early 1950s, cowboy star William "Hopalong Cassidy" Boyd (for those who remember 'Hoppy'), was dining with a friend. Several children wanted to meet their hero but in so doing, Mr. Boyd became irritated and annoyed. Noticing this, his dining companion leaned over and reminded Mr. Boyd that it was those kids who, virtually overnight, had made him a millionaire. From that moment on 'Hoppy' never lost sight of that fact and embraced his diminutive but exuberant audience without fail.
At the height of his career, Paul Newman, too, was also dining with friends with the usual attention being paid to him by loyal fans. One of Mr. Newman's friends asked if having his meals interrupted annoyed him. While admitting it did at times, he also said it was those very same people who had made him the success that he was. That was paramount.
Too many "famous" people forget that it is often the children who are responsible for their attaining fame and fortune. Without that diminutive and often exuberant audience, they would be nothing, just another face in the crowd.
Mr. Cena is looking forward to claiming the 500 mark and I'm sure he'll achieve it because he wants to. And I'll bet he gets there before a great many other celebrities or "famous" people even reach one.
Hulk Hogan, Jeff Gordon, Dale Earnhardt, Jr. and John Cena were the first of the celebrity world to reach the 200 Club, making possible a tremendous dream for these children. Mr Cena has since surpassed the 400 mark while Justin Bieber became a member of that elite club on August 15, 2013 when he achieved granting his 200th Wish. Mr. Bieber is also the first recording artist to join that heady club... and he didn't begin until 2009! Michael Jordan joined this distinguished group in November of 2013. That a grand total of six celebrity members, to date, who have granted at least 200 wishes to children clinging to life..
I'm sure these men (notice no women at this writing) are very busy attending to their careers and everyday lives but they obviously have found the necessary time for these children in their desperate struggles for life. It is not only sad but it is pathetic that so many other "famous" people can't do the same.
With so many "famous" individuals in movies, television, sports and so on who have traveled the road to stardom of one sort or another since 1980, why only 6 and not 600 or 6000? The answer is patently simple. Literally hundreds (if not thousands) of "famous" people are just too busy being "famous", too busy being wrapped up in their own petty little lives and worlds to think much about someone else far less fortunate.
Sometime in the late 1940s or early 1950s, cowboy star William "Hopalong Cassidy" Boyd (for those who remember 'Hoppy'), was dining with a friend. Several children wanted to meet their hero but in so doing, Mr. Boyd became irritated and annoyed. Noticing this, his dining companion leaned over and reminded Mr. Boyd that it was those kids who, virtually overnight, had made him a millionaire. From that moment on 'Hoppy' never lost sight of that fact and embraced his diminutive but exuberant audience without fail.
At the height of his career, Paul Newman, too, was also dining with friends with the usual attention being paid to him by loyal fans. One of Mr. Newman's friends asked if having his meals interrupted annoyed him. While admitting it did at times, he also said it was those very same people who had made him the success that he was. That was paramount.
Too many "famous" people forget that it is often the children who are responsible for their attaining fame and fortune. Without that diminutive and often exuberant audience, they would be nothing, just another face in the crowd.
Mr. Cena is looking forward to claiming the 500 mark and I'm sure he'll achieve it because he wants to. And I'll bet he gets there before a great many other celebrities or "famous" people even reach one.
Thursday, February 6, 2014
Is It Patriotism or Parsimony?
Is It Patriotism or Parsimony?
Over the years "patriots" have displayed the American flag year 'round, hot or cold, rain or shine, wind and dust, snow and ice, the end result being a national ensign that looks like it was on the bloody battlefield of Gettysburg, had gone up San Juan Hill or was at Pearl Harbor that fateful day.
I've seen American flags displayed in yards and on homes so faded that from a distance you couldn't make out what flag it was, American or otherwise. Others have been so ratty and dirty, often hanging by one grommet, it's amazing they were still waving in the breeze.
Seen virtually everywhere-schools, hospitals, shopping centers, gas stations, parks , fire trucks...sweat bands...the list is endless-perhaps we take our national ensign for granted so much that it has become as ubiquitous as graffiti on railroad freight cars. Or worse yet, we've rendered it little more than colorful, "patriotic" window dressing.
The American flag has gone through numerous star and stripe configurations throughout its history, some derived from the British Jack. At least since August 16, 1777, at the Battle of Bennington, the stars, stripes and blue canton began to make their appearance in one form or another. Those flown above Fort McHenry during the War of 1812 and Fort Sumpter at the beginning of the Civil War were mammoth, with dimensions of 30 by 40 feet! Designs and sizes evolved into what we display today. Therefore, if by chance Americans have become so shallow as to develop a 'boredom' for Old Glory, historical variations do exist. Yours truly purchased a Bennington Flag in 1976 in honor of our Bicentennial.
Sadly, a contributing factor to the disgraceful appearance of so many flags may well be that we live in a nation where respect and manners are rapidly disappearing, if not already gone. A politically-correct facade shields our society, cloaking our indifference, rudeness, vulgarity, sloppiness. Even in Seneca's day, the Roman philosopher took note by observing, "What once were vices are now the manners of the day."
Far too many Americans today believe that merely flying the Stars and Stripes, regardless of condition, represents "patriotism". Friends, neighbors and family are easily impressed by that overt expression of "love for one's country". It's quite the contrary though. The visible symbol of this nation, on public view and in poor and embarrassing condition, fully illustrates the owner's true heart and soul in the matter. That person characterizes himself not only as unthinking but also tightfisted, stingy...a parsimonious hypocrite.
It takes only 1-2 years for a flag to show wear and tear when it has been outside every day of the year. But aside from these flag wavers exhibiting a miserly or cavalier attitude, more importantly, they are also displaying a repugnant level of respect...not just for the emblem of the United States but for the men and women who have served that national beacon...for those men and women who have DIED for that national beacon.
So, if any "patriots" reading this blog say they can't afford maybe $10 bucks or so to replace their tattered Old Glory, maybe it's time to pass on a few packs of coffin nails, a cheap case of brewskies for the weekend or a handful of Powerball tickets. Our men and women in uniform deserve at least that much...don't they?
Over the years "patriots" have displayed the American flag year 'round, hot or cold, rain or shine, wind and dust, snow and ice, the end result being a national ensign that looks like it was on the bloody battlefield of Gettysburg, had gone up San Juan Hill or was at Pearl Harbor that fateful day.
I've seen American flags displayed in yards and on homes so faded that from a distance you couldn't make out what flag it was, American or otherwise. Others have been so ratty and dirty, often hanging by one grommet, it's amazing they were still waving in the breeze.
Seen virtually everywhere-schools, hospitals, shopping centers, gas stations, parks , fire trucks...sweat bands...the list is endless-perhaps we take our national ensign for granted so much that it has become as ubiquitous as graffiti on railroad freight cars. Or worse yet, we've rendered it little more than colorful, "patriotic" window dressing.
The American flag has gone through numerous star and stripe configurations throughout its history, some derived from the British Jack. At least since August 16, 1777, at the Battle of Bennington, the stars, stripes and blue canton began to make their appearance in one form or another. Those flown above Fort McHenry during the War of 1812 and Fort Sumpter at the beginning of the Civil War were mammoth, with dimensions of 30 by 40 feet! Designs and sizes evolved into what we display today. Therefore, if by chance Americans have become so shallow as to develop a 'boredom' for Old Glory, historical variations do exist. Yours truly purchased a Bennington Flag in 1976 in honor of our Bicentennial.
Sadly, a contributing factor to the disgraceful appearance of so many flags may well be that we live in a nation where respect and manners are rapidly disappearing, if not already gone. A politically-correct facade shields our society, cloaking our indifference, rudeness, vulgarity, sloppiness. Even in Seneca's day, the Roman philosopher took note by observing, "What once were vices are now the manners of the day."
Far too many Americans today believe that merely flying the Stars and Stripes, regardless of condition, represents "patriotism". Friends, neighbors and family are easily impressed by that overt expression of "love for one's country". It's quite the contrary though. The visible symbol of this nation, on public view and in poor and embarrassing condition, fully illustrates the owner's true heart and soul in the matter. That person characterizes himself not only as unthinking but also tightfisted, stingy...a parsimonious hypocrite.
It takes only 1-2 years for a flag to show wear and tear when it has been outside every day of the year. But aside from these flag wavers exhibiting a miserly or cavalier attitude, more importantly, they are also displaying a repugnant level of respect...not just for the emblem of the United States but for the men and women who have served that national beacon...for those men and women who have DIED for that national beacon.
So, if any "patriots" reading this blog say they can't afford maybe $10 bucks or so to replace their tattered Old Glory, maybe it's time to pass on a few packs of coffin nails, a cheap case of brewskies for the weekend or a handful of Powerball tickets. Our men and women in uniform deserve at least that much...don't they?
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Who Gets Nuclear Weapons and Who Doesn't?
Ever since the US and the Soviet Union began the arms race, starting in the late 1940s, it was a race to the top (or bottom, depending on the view) in amassing enough lethal weaponry to eliminate virtually every living thing on earth. It was the "good guys" versus the "bad guys". In time, the UK and France, being "friendlies", got their own and China, not a "friendly", began developing and storing world-ending munitions. But there was no one to tell those parties they weren't allowed such destructive power. A Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT) was implemented in 1970, a kind of word-of-honor but not a law. Eventually, dirt-poor nations like India, and Pakistan ("friendlies) began nuclear testing. Pakistan's argument for such an arsenal was that India was engaged in developing them. Though there was some condemnation of India's and Pakistan's decision, it was not critical enough to stop them with Pakistan becoming a nuclear player. And remember, they are "friendlies".
But now Iran and, to a lesser degree, North Korea, have entered into the fray. A hypocritical global community parades its indignation, throws up its hands in fear and anger and demands...demands!, that these two nations cease and desist in their attempts to achieve nuclear weapons. They are, after all, part of the "bad guy" league and to have the temerity to want WMDs is unthinkable. Economic sanctions have been heaped on Tehran and Pyongyang. But a self-righteous world, and the US in particular, neglects one very important point...Iran and North Korea, not part of the NPT, are sovereign nations and answer to nobody in wanting what they believe benefits them the most. The international outcry is based on the view that these nations can't be trusted to possess WMD. Whether they are trustworthy or not is irrelevant. They have as much right as the next guy to endanger every man, woman and child on this planet. Israel is reputed to have many nuclear devices, and in its paranoia, last year threatened unilateral action (nuclear?) if Tehran did not 'cease and desist'. Now who can't be trusted? Israel's cavalier and "damn the rest of the world" mentality is far more dangerous than Iran's moronic threats and potential development of nuclear weapons.
All concerned, including Israel, must be warned by the three world powers in no uncertain terms that ANY use of nuclear weapons will result in swift and devastating retribution. It must be made clear to that nation that if it takes a nuclear shot, it had better make it a good one because it won't get another.
Virtually every member of the United Nations through the decades shoulders some responsibility for the predicament mankind faces with regards to nuclear devastation. Picking and choosing who can now have them won't resolve the dilemma. We had better get used to it.
But now Iran and, to a lesser degree, North Korea, have entered into the fray. A hypocritical global community parades its indignation, throws up its hands in fear and anger and demands...demands!, that these two nations cease and desist in their attempts to achieve nuclear weapons. They are, after all, part of the "bad guy" league and to have the temerity to want WMDs is unthinkable. Economic sanctions have been heaped on Tehran and Pyongyang. But a self-righteous world, and the US in particular, neglects one very important point...Iran and North Korea, not part of the NPT, are sovereign nations and answer to nobody in wanting what they believe benefits them the most. The international outcry is based on the view that these nations can't be trusted to possess WMD. Whether they are trustworthy or not is irrelevant. They have as much right as the next guy to endanger every man, woman and child on this planet. Israel is reputed to have many nuclear devices, and in its paranoia, last year threatened unilateral action (nuclear?) if Tehran did not 'cease and desist'. Now who can't be trusted? Israel's cavalier and "damn the rest of the world" mentality is far more dangerous than Iran's moronic threats and potential development of nuclear weapons.
All concerned, including Israel, must be warned by the three world powers in no uncertain terms that ANY use of nuclear weapons will result in swift and devastating retribution. It must be made clear to that nation that if it takes a nuclear shot, it had better make it a good one because it won't get another.
Virtually every member of the United Nations through the decades shoulders some responsibility for the predicament mankind faces with regards to nuclear devastation. Picking and choosing who can now have them won't resolve the dilemma. We had better get used to it.
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
What Makes a Humble Hero?
We first met in 1983 at the pharmacy. With his rank on the prescription, the address showed we lived only a few streets apart. Noting that, we struck up a brief conversation with him saying he had served on submarines in WWII. That explained the unusual name on the ranch fence in front of his home.
Not long after, he invited my wife and me to his home where we were treated to freshly sliced tomatoes, just picked from his garden, seasoned with salt and pepper. We washed them down with whiskey and water. It was a wonderful meal!
With a faint smile, he said he was in Arizona because he had always wanted to retire there. His naval career had begun in 1923. A man had driven down a dusty road in an rickety old Model T, stopped where the young Texan was toiling in a field, and told him he was going to Annapolis.
His yard, running along a dusty road, could be likened to Paradise with no stretch of the imagination. Several truckloads of rich topsoil had provided everything needed for fruit trees, a country club-like lawn plus colorful and lush gardens, expertly maintained by a service. A Lincoln was parked in the drive. The double wide mobile home he shared with his wife of 53 years was modest but comfortable. On a den wall was a panoramic photo of the sub pens at Pearl Harbor with him standing casually with CINCPAC (Commander-in-Chief Pacific Fleet) himself, Fleet Admiral Chester W. Nimitz. A satellite dish, the current novelty, stood in a corner of the park-like yard; the man of the house enjoyed television programs in languages he didn't even understand. He was indeed a man of simple pleasures.
Everyday the American flag ruffled in the Arizona breeze from a flagpole that stood at the entrance to the area's own Garden of Eden. Dutifully, the flag was brought in every evening.
With thinning hair and sporting a stylish grey mustache, he was of slight stature, the norm for a submariner of WWII. Since retiring in 1967, he'd kept fit but his feet hurt. He was affable, with the presence of a banker or successful businessman but he dressed in grey jeans, sports shirts and Velcro sneakers. He spoke, not with a drawl but with the soft, pleasant accent of a Southern gentleman.
As to his feet, they'd been looked at for years but to no avail. My wife recommended the purchase of an expensive pair of sneakers. The suggestion was heeded and the problem resolved. Not being too proud to accept advice, Adidas had a new customer.
Forty years of service had given our neighbor, a man from dirt-poor, humble beginnings, a unique set of values. He reasoned it was wrong that the military's civilian employees didn't have free access to the PX or commissary. He felt he didn't deserve the special parking spaces set aside for officers of his rank. The MPs had mildly 'reprimanded' him, saying that if he used a regular space, he would in fact be taking up two spaces since only a privileged few could use the reserved ones. Reluctantly, he conceded. At the pharmacy, he was always courteous with a "Thank you, sir". He called me, a civilian, "Sir"! His show of respect was that of an officer and a gentleman.
Vice Admiral Glynn R. Donaho, USN (Ret.), died May 26, 1986. If you'd met the master of Dolphin's Cove on the street, you'd have never guessed he was a hero. Not until after his death did we learn of his exploits: four Navy Crosses (our nation's second highest decoration) on five war patrols, one of which was earned when he and his crew attacked a heavily protected battleship. The admiral had also earned two Silver Stars and two Bronze Stars.
The admiral was private, honest and humble. His illustrious career had begun while toiling beside a dry, dusty road...it had concluded with him living comfortably beside a dry, dusty road.
Admiral Donaho had requested cremation, his ashes dispersed over the Pacific Ocean off the fantail of a United States nuclear submarine. His ashes joined the remains and spirit of those lost when 52 submarines failed to return from their war patrols during WWII. Veterans of the Silent Service say submariners are never lost at sea but are forever entombed...they are on "Eternal Patrol".
Not long after, he invited my wife and me to his home where we were treated to freshly sliced tomatoes, just picked from his garden, seasoned with salt and pepper. We washed them down with whiskey and water. It was a wonderful meal!
With a faint smile, he said he was in Arizona because he had always wanted to retire there. His naval career had begun in 1923. A man had driven down a dusty road in an rickety old Model T, stopped where the young Texan was toiling in a field, and told him he was going to Annapolis.
His yard, running along a dusty road, could be likened to Paradise with no stretch of the imagination. Several truckloads of rich topsoil had provided everything needed for fruit trees, a country club-like lawn plus colorful and lush gardens, expertly maintained by a service. A Lincoln was parked in the drive. The double wide mobile home he shared with his wife of 53 years was modest but comfortable. On a den wall was a panoramic photo of the sub pens at Pearl Harbor with him standing casually with CINCPAC (Commander-in-Chief Pacific Fleet) himself, Fleet Admiral Chester W. Nimitz. A satellite dish, the current novelty, stood in a corner of the park-like yard; the man of the house enjoyed television programs in languages he didn't even understand. He was indeed a man of simple pleasures.
Everyday the American flag ruffled in the Arizona breeze from a flagpole that stood at the entrance to the area's own Garden of Eden. Dutifully, the flag was brought in every evening.
With thinning hair and sporting a stylish grey mustache, he was of slight stature, the norm for a submariner of WWII. Since retiring in 1967, he'd kept fit but his feet hurt. He was affable, with the presence of a banker or successful businessman but he dressed in grey jeans, sports shirts and Velcro sneakers. He spoke, not with a drawl but with the soft, pleasant accent of a Southern gentleman.
As to his feet, they'd been looked at for years but to no avail. My wife recommended the purchase of an expensive pair of sneakers. The suggestion was heeded and the problem resolved. Not being too proud to accept advice, Adidas had a new customer.
Forty years of service had given our neighbor, a man from dirt-poor, humble beginnings, a unique set of values. He reasoned it was wrong that the military's civilian employees didn't have free access to the PX or commissary. He felt he didn't deserve the special parking spaces set aside for officers of his rank. The MPs had mildly 'reprimanded' him, saying that if he used a regular space, he would in fact be taking up two spaces since only a privileged few could use the reserved ones. Reluctantly, he conceded. At the pharmacy, he was always courteous with a "Thank you, sir". He called me, a civilian, "Sir"! His show of respect was that of an officer and a gentleman.
Vice Admiral Glynn R. Donaho, USN (Ret.), died May 26, 1986. If you'd met the master of Dolphin's Cove on the street, you'd have never guessed he was a hero. Not until after his death did we learn of his exploits: four Navy Crosses (our nation's second highest decoration) on five war patrols, one of which was earned when he and his crew attacked a heavily protected battleship. The admiral had also earned two Silver Stars and two Bronze Stars.
The admiral was private, honest and humble. His illustrious career had begun while toiling beside a dry, dusty road...it had concluded with him living comfortably beside a dry, dusty road.
Admiral Donaho had requested cremation, his ashes dispersed over the Pacific Ocean off the fantail of a United States nuclear submarine. His ashes joined the remains and spirit of those lost when 52 submarines failed to return from their war patrols during WWII. Veterans of the Silent Service say submariners are never lost at sea but are forever entombed...they are on "Eternal Patrol".
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