tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77227166439910157372024-03-05T00:52:46.376-05:00The Klyde Morris ProjectAviation gone amokUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger269125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7722716643991015737.post-51876822390675574992024-02-04T22:07:00.000-05:002024-02-04T22:07:40.094-05:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p style="background: white; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheYs3kJm83jT-fOs8x8f_WAa3rXBEqt_aYHfJe0xc3oRvTpgWUuN2ubKM0SmFl7Ucgpy2Q6hCn5sS1LEx4wzG-NQslMYdV4Rxd0Eads1TB_ijx4TC0Az1IoUeaMkSXDnXBX5_C8hCftclofBNMeWklA8HjszDoapCRidLFf-LKra0KoPk7SVV9Zlglios/s566/20240204_0005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="528" data-original-width="566" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheYs3kJm83jT-fOs8x8f_WAa3rXBEqt_aYHfJe0xc3oRvTpgWUuN2ubKM0SmFl7Ucgpy2Q6hCn5sS1LEx4wzG-NQslMYdV4Rxd0Eads1TB_ijx4TC0Az1IoUeaMkSXDnXBX5_C8hCftclofBNMeWklA8HjszDoapCRidLFf-LKra0KoPk7SVV9Zlglios/w200-h187/20240204_0005.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><p></p><p style="background: white; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">People have often asked how I got into cartooning? And what were
my first cartoons like. Well- here’s the answer. My very first cartoon strip.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was early 1975 and while at my workbench in the electronics lab
at COC, I felt the urge to do some cartooning. I wanted to do cartoons with
sick violence, death and laughable characters. Of course, if an 11<sup>th</sup>
grader got caught doing such involving lots for people getting mowed down, even
in 1975 I’d have found myself in protracted counseling. I pictured myself in
old Dan Jacoby’s office looking at ink blots until I graduated. The answer was “ants”
you can kill as many as you want and no one cares! Since I’d been featuring
ants aboard my model rockets crashing to their doom- it was logical that his
ants and their ant world that exists among, but un-noticed by the humans, would
be the setting. Inspired by the old television series, “Voyage to the Bottom of
the Sea”, I began work on “Forage to the Bottom of the Sea” which featured not
only the ants, but my boyhood best friends Jim Brink and Ken Wolff.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; text-align: left;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sketched within remarkably small frames and done
totally in pencil, the strips were crude and contained both off-color language
and sometimes humor that only the three of us could understand. The story was
that of a miniature submarine and its crew of ants that sailed from the creek
that ran behind my house in the farm-town of Freeland, Michigan to another
creek that ran near my old neighborhood on the east side of Saginaw, Michigan.
Interestingly, if you followed a map, in the 1970s it was indeed possible to connect the two
locations by way of water, so long as you can sail in depths of less than three
inches. Once back in my old neighborhood, the submarine ants engaged in a
fictional havoc imposed on Jim and Ken. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="background: white; text-align: left;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I knew nothing about cartooning and was doing the
strips off-the-cuff as a pass-time to get my brain off of electronics (which by the way, I
passed with an “A” in the 11<sup>th</sup> grader and qualified for “Advanced
Electronics” in my senior year plus a job in that area after graduation- I was
not a fan of electronics, but felt it may one day help me in aviation. The
electronics training saved my ass in the cockpit more then once.) My ant
characters were crudely illustrated and my penmanship and grammar were awful.
Most of the jokes were inside stuff that only Jim and Ken could snicker at. I
did, however, leave a few “easter eggs” as they call them today, for the guys.
For example, the fish on the tree refers to Jim’s passion for fishing. Also "Brink" is the name of the ant who invades Jim Brink's home and then Jim feeds him to his fish- so he fed himself to the fish. Additionally, the serial number on the side of the “Flying Snub” 738278 was my
serial number when I was in the Civil Air Patrol. Those give a clue as to how “inside”
the humor was.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnw0A9swpjSAlRdUZ_5leHX4SkVU6Pnrqp2mqQZdavQxEFdZYMtwomSMQMbCz-V4yYl7ecijYrW_SZjG6o59lcMCVmiuLu6jFB6AGywodXANzVaw4_ULhCGZ6mpK4ivk9LCNxHdZNc2HMBxx1GPo_1pi6nyKLZ4CGsv1dq0I_T8Y4knf6t-mH0X_Y-kXc/s1162/20240204_0006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="1162" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnw0A9swpjSAlRdUZ_5leHX4SkVU6Pnrqp2mqQZdavQxEFdZYMtwomSMQMbCz-V4yYl7ecijYrW_SZjG6o59lcMCVmiuLu6jFB6AGywodXANzVaw4_ULhCGZ6mpK4ivk9LCNxHdZNc2HMBxx1GPo_1pi6nyKLZ4CGsv1dq0I_T8Y4knf6t-mH0X_Y-kXc/s320/20240204_0006.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqn-mWnFqpY6KPZZamHNG2ppFvqxGbcOMbA3mznNOcxKcBGqI9GjEJ9AveC1mMobJY1wCQvvA4kS8DLndVRN0W2pjvqSsCj1K9Dpk90SgHXlZKlMYfDSX7DVCAaVYZjygbUZ9MKk8bb7-Q7z-R3UfAmVVPbTFBVKFXAq2D8BX6PTvXvpH6H2jWEoH4YsA/s1615/20240204_0007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="526" data-original-width="1615" height="104" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqn-mWnFqpY6KPZZamHNG2ppFvqxGbcOMbA3mznNOcxKcBGqI9GjEJ9AveC1mMobJY1wCQvvA4kS8DLndVRN0W2pjvqSsCj1K9Dpk90SgHXlZKlMYfDSX7DVCAaVYZjygbUZ9MKk8bb7-Q7z-R3UfAmVVPbTFBVKFXAq2D8BX6PTvXvpH6H2jWEoH4YsA/s320/20240204_0007.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /> <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p style="background: white; text-align: left;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yet cartooning was a great pastime. While most
folks sat and watched TV to pass the time- I sat and drew mindless cartoons.
The work quickly evolved and bettered. When I got to college a friend in the
dorm insisted that my cartoons go into the Avion student newspaper… and things
went nuts. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="background: white; text-align: left;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That, however, is another story.</span></span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU6g7mw4Zxe5FyM3waXwDOsOumJXGdWjD1CUVnZmsEIzbbIVjavx-vhoitxt9tb2oC5vXhotwKXyoTbPdtppJEfxEeONZRlXrFiI-cBa74gRpw0tPfPstoyJ3gjWarWLzJGLVx7wE65hwQ3VCWyfQDQOe8MBSlmMXKzP3rm0AdmQ4s0E42fmAgSlugIug/s1533/001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="964" data-original-width="1533" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU6g7mw4Zxe5FyM3waXwDOsOumJXGdWjD1CUVnZmsEIzbbIVjavx-vhoitxt9tb2oC5vXhotwKXyoTbPdtppJEfxEeONZRlXrFiI-cBa74gRpw0tPfPstoyJ3gjWarWLzJGLVx7wE65hwQ3VCWyfQDQOe8MBSlmMXKzP3rm0AdmQ4s0E42fmAgSlugIug/s320/001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieFFqE9s6KekXGKW3lNZVbgpoyFAOGf6EuHL5sfPv6GtcqSgsu0HMiMdDBfPdq6y1PLyUDpoCukRZU3jRGIcURN9ZF2NuKrM3RIzsgxEYkz6QQmvCHBnTUmoHyoQL-zvkdXv6IH6Ra767u8wSlCkbn9x3GAjYs0srfYcLL-PLgxZUooQ3QCwAR3Oo0fac/s1264/002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1120" data-original-width="1264" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieFFqE9s6KekXGKW3lNZVbgpoyFAOGf6EuHL5sfPv6GtcqSgsu0HMiMdDBfPdq6y1PLyUDpoCukRZU3jRGIcURN9ZF2NuKrM3RIzsgxEYkz6QQmvCHBnTUmoHyoQL-zvkdXv6IH6Ra767u8wSlCkbn9x3GAjYs0srfYcLL-PLgxZUooQ3QCwAR3Oo0fac/s320/002.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-WA2TBv15hBOAKxYdYx0v6DapBgsTRhW6hBzT6MtvavAebheGyoEwQUKd6fR_1t623QEyaSRSE6ulqpUhharoXD2u_0VI1PldE3z9sco18noTpV6ngRw5HDO-XwIUI1oJWANAhVNA4Vz6Ls7cp_qaUDkrDW_GpipGNdYkAyu2ZGr6CKzTyLZ3FTdPZhs/s1276/003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1226" data-original-width="1276" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-WA2TBv15hBOAKxYdYx0v6DapBgsTRhW6hBzT6MtvavAebheGyoEwQUKd6fR_1t623QEyaSRSE6ulqpUhharoXD2u_0VI1PldE3z9sco18noTpV6ngRw5HDO-XwIUI1oJWANAhVNA4Vz6Ls7cp_qaUDkrDW_GpipGNdYkAyu2ZGr6CKzTyLZ3FTdPZhs/s320/003.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH222AznW4to1XQfeg-UugpJ8uoDSBsCg3iBxTthzyK2tywq5WN8QsKPw73HNWl3KcymyUcb1fmDVorQvow-hcy4Du0H-u1_Ip-xrxsd9DWXxmHpry9tVGOFX1ZH2G78YP_GMILn59hKj_WVxBaMZiriSL9V6y2jEYMIeBZQPCFZfqL3GaDu6AXdkwJek/s1373/004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1373" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH222AznW4to1XQfeg-UugpJ8uoDSBsCg3iBxTthzyK2tywq5WN8QsKPw73HNWl3KcymyUcb1fmDVorQvow-hcy4Du0H-u1_Ip-xrxsd9DWXxmHpry9tVGOFX1ZH2G78YP_GMILn59hKj_WVxBaMZiriSL9V6y2jEYMIeBZQPCFZfqL3GaDu6AXdkwJek/s320/004.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgP-dViFc_1lYSaJTFmF_B1auNzK-K4O-diavbW-xkXXjmVBk57sIanFJU99Pyl9LkQo0cvxBxlM9mHecXibFmPLjEzx_EyTx-UhswGQh3abAwDLTjUnXnpjp92UPZFLgR6Fy8iQJpyPqVignDLyvwIyrTjh-HYs7oXaDarb-epjNadqF_k_N9RnEImI0/s1328/005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1091" data-original-width="1328" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgP-dViFc_1lYSaJTFmF_B1auNzK-K4O-diavbW-xkXXjmVBk57sIanFJU99Pyl9LkQo0cvxBxlM9mHecXibFmPLjEzx_EyTx-UhswGQh3abAwDLTjUnXnpjp92UPZFLgR6Fy8iQJpyPqVignDLyvwIyrTjh-HYs7oXaDarb-epjNadqF_k_N9RnEImI0/s320/005.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik9N-aD2CkZDjdHRNLaRyPFypHv85eOAwbI7O0Fa_itnB1ymqBlLmyXT0idPIxYBTyFE9zUXkWLMyjOHRZQETG-IuivQXr6-SXHkIXqk49676UCMH7aMYDyE8c88FxnAF5uPcgtTlEhA_xyBAk4BM-i_F9VVvJDZbSmQ2myT3MApWk8nPo2YjDSrrx7Ko/s1168/006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1151" data-original-width="1168" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik9N-aD2CkZDjdHRNLaRyPFypHv85eOAwbI7O0Fa_itnB1ymqBlLmyXT0idPIxYBTyFE9zUXkWLMyjOHRZQETG-IuivQXr6-SXHkIXqk49676UCMH7aMYDyE8c88FxnAF5uPcgtTlEhA_xyBAk4BM-i_F9VVvJDZbSmQ2myT3MApWk8nPo2YjDSrrx7Ko/s320/006.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwWEru56FLY3SE2JrSnH3vFOBpqHMGDJdAxeQi379Agraa94QFnjRyakcenlyKZfSRIw_nhrujLpNIlJgP_DhcfGT1PED878ebIiCUa_okqxoxSgHapJMB7Zbenax_-MtUTWY6uC27m4drllf3eaU9-UDPe_bjKUB4yWOcc-iAfF5OmOz8YyRIOB0zAj0/s1436/007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="970" data-original-width="1436" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwWEru56FLY3SE2JrSnH3vFOBpqHMGDJdAxeQi379Agraa94QFnjRyakcenlyKZfSRIw_nhrujLpNIlJgP_DhcfGT1PED878ebIiCUa_okqxoxSgHapJMB7Zbenax_-MtUTWY6uC27m4drllf3eaU9-UDPe_bjKUB4yWOcc-iAfF5OmOz8YyRIOB0zAj0/s320/007.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguv5EgSQ4rds6xB30zAoxLJnj8ewX4ptRuQxwrbeZKO5FeYq1skFLjo8j5xPeQ8BfB0yi1n2V_cwb09AEjYZsD80m6IbpC_w3pwhl3v85dVfuVdv_AWPRX5OKyMbm4zYStv66CIQ1Jx2rLnLWFPkCDYqmwX_dgY7V_Wbf8bop15il91G4rBP5UeK9n2ao/s1446/008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1140" data-original-width="1446" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguv5EgSQ4rds6xB30zAoxLJnj8ewX4ptRuQxwrbeZKO5FeYq1skFLjo8j5xPeQ8BfB0yi1n2V_cwb09AEjYZsD80m6IbpC_w3pwhl3v85dVfuVdv_AWPRX5OKyMbm4zYStv66CIQ1Jx2rLnLWFPkCDYqmwX_dgY7V_Wbf8bop15il91G4rBP5UeK9n2ao/s320/008.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzYVJkRHEEbGGAAudxW0d-B6XP4J1vh7ex59O1o6i9SmxMdZC8sfCRqjcg0-KurWSj2w1WRmZl1TqWV2_EqEN85WUq04PliTwHMJ4P5PGILVmN09KdKu1TDKtf9jMrFoy2Rw8cES31bPkueck7kbCltai4Pub-gYcqEH6jtUFPkRsqSzveSP3gowr8RGY/s1434/009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1172" data-original-width="1434" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzYVJkRHEEbGGAAudxW0d-B6XP4J1vh7ex59O1o6i9SmxMdZC8sfCRqjcg0-KurWSj2w1WRmZl1TqWV2_EqEN85WUq04PliTwHMJ4P5PGILVmN09KdKu1TDKtf9jMrFoy2Rw8cES31bPkueck7kbCltai4Pub-gYcqEH6jtUFPkRsqSzveSP3gowr8RGY/s320/009.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMgz_Pikiq1zHRDChiSU0uT_HxbQIa8xg3Z6TFTpNF0lJbZvirEQkhuNAhIJyLmQrLzewFW5nVMQyvZTQ5ed3nMqbVKoOrCfoYPC9MnLLsTMJDqcELs8De_IFcY4G0HERqt1r7OIEQb5OHbs8fBm9mgwLrWfq2S4toNv5okKXSEZULih5eNyWi3dbb0xc/s1344/010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1010" data-original-width="1344" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMgz_Pikiq1zHRDChiSU0uT_HxbQIa8xg3Z6TFTpNF0lJbZvirEQkhuNAhIJyLmQrLzewFW5nVMQyvZTQ5ed3nMqbVKoOrCfoYPC9MnLLsTMJDqcELs8De_IFcY4G0HERqt1r7OIEQb5OHbs8fBm9mgwLrWfq2S4toNv5okKXSEZULih5eNyWi3dbb0xc/s320/010.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTzI5ssY5d7TzfFC2lc3F63ed-DOBhKjyUqT3qnpPVmWlIf6T2z5gNTTLp0opfWRpGonLMrwCq3CT09SQu57gEGqwpyymi974VmP8EmpYcEpN60MnTSjG5nt6Hy7VwDse3NageAz9peTvKLz-967uspOYcpODha9AWBjRZ8lLQhC334ABbwwgFOZ-vArE/s1321/011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1176" data-original-width="1321" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTzI5ssY5d7TzfFC2lc3F63ed-DOBhKjyUqT3qnpPVmWlIf6T2z5gNTTLp0opfWRpGonLMrwCq3CT09SQu57gEGqwpyymi974VmP8EmpYcEpN60MnTSjG5nt6Hy7VwDse3NageAz9peTvKLz-967uspOYcpODha9AWBjRZ8lLQhC334ABbwwgFOZ-vArE/s320/011.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1SLvRo5s3ejC5n8PJv8bc8q1NeAbDRKMLvyj5jLyn7RHz-Gfd8JShVobQFnI0lSaRBRcP_8A-OUF6RTTnK9kku2BT0D1OarLGuBU87wv4BcrHkRp47-SuKb6fa73_tQou-gXljHKS2sz9i021l5d0y6xlTrLGSPX38kqdYEP9lbjMojOi12V2LIDqvJ0/s1448/012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1300" data-original-width="1448" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1SLvRo5s3ejC5n8PJv8bc8q1NeAbDRKMLvyj5jLyn7RHz-Gfd8JShVobQFnI0lSaRBRcP_8A-OUF6RTTnK9kku2BT0D1OarLGuBU87wv4BcrHkRp47-SuKb6fa73_tQou-gXljHKS2sz9i021l5d0y6xlTrLGSPX38kqdYEP9lbjMojOi12V2LIDqvJ0/s320/012.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga5Mss1H8RM9a76sRCYHBuTFSwEXtQprdBtTvnTRF7k96evthtV-Bi21t-mN4nG_WVFxtM8aNHtnlKQQPhRbAJOr6o8YrXvGF7hgLmtCTc18zP7iji2bZo839ShL-1_fw7CFX-Q_iVoVRm3LWKSbY-YoDlNem-2bFe-moYEDlQpM3jWEalF9FVzWgrP7E/s1366/014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="998" data-original-width="1366" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga5Mss1H8RM9a76sRCYHBuTFSwEXtQprdBtTvnTRF7k96evthtV-Bi21t-mN4nG_WVFxtM8aNHtnlKQQPhRbAJOr6o8YrXvGF7hgLmtCTc18zP7iji2bZo839ShL-1_fw7CFX-Q_iVoVRm3LWKSbY-YoDlNem-2bFe-moYEDlQpM3jWEalF9FVzWgrP7E/s320/014.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjG5wZUkHPIh14RUfUC28j9fN91Y8VeseNWwsR5cg4t9Z7qc9-6FpikjCSkvDs3CfVqfZ5O3p-eurbhuu-Bz5voSV4lRMeH_eYSMHLvOMTBgyMSNkq6N0zriCkUk7KhI59iZFRzdmLXGrJrkeiykD8Aq1dSdlb8Bnq-4LObSCZTUHlpIgZVOHeRRMrmgg/s1338/015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1112" data-original-width="1338" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjG5wZUkHPIh14RUfUC28j9fN91Y8VeseNWwsR5cg4t9Z7qc9-6FpikjCSkvDs3CfVqfZ5O3p-eurbhuu-Bz5voSV4lRMeH_eYSMHLvOMTBgyMSNkq6N0zriCkUk7KhI59iZFRzdmLXGrJrkeiykD8Aq1dSdlb8Bnq-4LObSCZTUHlpIgZVOHeRRMrmgg/s320/015.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5WeJPb-G2oVos4nEEdl1PCJibzsKw6u2Y3Z_lPLl6jQgp_ChTTDDhyi2-xJF0D7MyvFjaw_F__FaXx40SKgFVx0pj97y38yoEIAhCjoGkQPwqRcmuncOKT8W1G2_UTJisi9VmxAJnqLWkGd9-IKinYDTKaQ5utVmDv8m9yLVlV7qGTTYxc9ISYc5Iqvw/s1416/016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1228" data-original-width="1416" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5WeJPb-G2oVos4nEEdl1PCJibzsKw6u2Y3Z_lPLl6jQgp_ChTTDDhyi2-xJF0D7MyvFjaw_F__FaXx40SKgFVx0pj97y38yoEIAhCjoGkQPwqRcmuncOKT8W1G2_UTJisi9VmxAJnqLWkGd9-IKinYDTKaQ5utVmDv8m9yLVlV7qGTTYxc9ISYc5Iqvw/s320/016.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7722716643991015737.post-54471355654163221342023-09-14T10:48:00.000-04:002023-09-14T10:48:24.154-04:00A HALF CENTURY AGO TODAY- SEPT.14TH, 1973<p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ8EYWHECAbvV_38SLLL7pvO14x1Np2bRVmUJj3gSnAJEEBSR2hWnLhQITHl-sTvIU2hK-zmN8Ky9Xo_CfGnDvlw0LcBHmboZ0COI7r9z3juA2xOoNcdzGs2WEf5SwAPpGyXW-bpm4RUJMM6qOoq0YCc2TOc8xWkOOcmYVsPyyXT3W86GfrNjn3yvyDgg/s1024/1024x1024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="481" data-original-width="1024" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ8EYWHECAbvV_38SLLL7pvO14x1Np2bRVmUJj3gSnAJEEBSR2hWnLhQITHl-sTvIU2hK-zmN8Ky9Xo_CfGnDvlw0LcBHmboZ0COI7r9z3juA2xOoNcdzGs2WEf5SwAPpGyXW-bpm4RUJMM6qOoq0YCc2TOc8xWkOOcmYVsPyyXT3W86GfrNjn3yvyDgg/s320/1024x1024.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">I’ve
published a version of this earlier, but today- September 14<sup>th</sup>, 2023
is a special day. At my age it’s not possible to remember what I was doing two
weeks ago today, but a half century ago today… well, those events are burned
into my soul. It was a Friday and it was a sharp turn for the better in my life.
Thus, I republish this as a celebration version of the moment when I moved to a
very nice place called Freeland, Michigan. It was a warm and friendly place
filled with good people and to this day, although I live far away, I still
consider it “home.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">As the
summer of 1973 drew to an end my parents were at the rough end of a long
decision process. Their oldest son, me, had just spent, or perhaps “wasted” is
a better term, the past three school years at an east side Saginaw, Michigan
Jr. High School called Webber. A century later that crap hole is nothing more
than a vacant lot and I, for one, could not be more pleased about that. At
Webber, nearly EVERY day presented a fight or a shake-down or some other
pointless commotion in the classroom. Very little learning went on other than
street savvy. By summer of 1973 I was scheduled to enter Saginaw High school where
things were actually worse than at that hell hole called Webber. Mom and Dad
were sure that their smart assed son would get knifed in a week at SHS. They
had just one real choice- move.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">While our
house on Freeland’s Dawn Drive was still being finished, the school year
started. About a week and a half into the school year my folks finally arranged
for me to live at my aunt and uncle’s Freeland home on Church Street so I could
start Freeland High School. Mom and dad had tripled… I repeat… TRIPLED their
monthly house payment to move the family from Saginaw, Michigan’s Sheridan Park
to our new home in Freeland. But until our house on Dawn Drive was finished in
late October, I’d be commuting between Saginaw and Freeland every week.
Frankly, it was worth it to escape the Saginaw public school system.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">My first day
at FHS began early on a Friday morning. In the pre-dawn, mom drove me from the
east side of Saginaw out to the farm town of Freeland. Due to overcrowding classes
for the high school were on half-day sessions beginning at 7am and finishing at
noon. Thus, by the time we arrived at the school things were well underway. We
stepped into the office where the ladies in the office staff were expecting us.
After some standard enrollment paperwork and their constructing of a schedule
for me, the new kid, I was quickly becoming a FHS student. The one problem was
that the Saginaw public school system was so far in the dumper that as a 10<sup>th</sup>
grader at FHS I would need to take a few 9<sup>th</sup> grade classes just to
catch up.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">Soon mom and
I found ourselves in Principal Tom Vitito’s office as she finished my
enrollment paperwork. About the only kink in the process came when mom informed
Mr. Vitito that I’d be absent every Tuesday until further notice because I was
under subpoena as a witness in a murder trial. His eyes got big with this “My
God what kind of kid have I just enrolled?” look. Even after Mom assured him
that I was a witness for the prosecution, he still looked a bit worried. I
recall that he asked me what happened and I told him that I was not allowed to
talk about it until after the trial… that didn’t really help.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">By the time
that the paperwork was done I’d missed first hour class and had to go on to my
second hour class- Michigan History. One of the ladies from the office led me
to the classroom, introduced me to the teacher, Mr. Judd Terwilliger, and I was
told to take a seat. Feeling like I had “New Kid” tattooed all over me I was
given my text book. Yet, what I was really concerned about was not the class,
but the up-coming change of classes. You see, at Webber, every new kid who came
into the school anytime after the first week got jumped and beaten up sometime
on their first day- usually in the hallway between classes- it was sort of an
indoctrination. Thus, I figured that the bell to end that class could very well
be my introduction to hallway pain. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">The bell
rang.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">My next
class was Drafting with Mr. Dan Craig and I had to walk nearly the length of
the school to get there. Yep, there I was walkin’ along with my antennas up
expecting to have to drop my books and fight at any moment. The worst part
would be that me, the five-foot seven-inch 135-pound scrawny new kid was gonna
lose any hallway fight. Surly, sometime today I was due for a pummeling that
would make a street hockey fight seem like a love fest.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">Yet, nothing
happened! <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">In fact, as
I walked toward drafting class, there were three pretty girls standing by the
office and one of them actually smiled at me! I forgot all about getting beaten
up- I was completely enchanted. What kind of a place was this? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">I had
“break” next in the “cafitorium” as I pronounced it, perhaps that was where I’d
get jumped. Nope… just kids, vending machines and more good lookin’ girls. It
had to be some sort of a ploy… they’d get me at dismissal and beat the snot out
of me outside of the school… right? Yet, there had not been a single fight all
day, and no one hustled me for my lunch money (which was in my shoe, just out
of habit) and kids actually carried books around. Plus- no cops… the whole day
went by and the police didn’t show up at the school for anything. Then at
dismissal, everyone simply went home. No one was hanging around in large groups
looking to nail the stragglers… everyone just… left.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">I walked to
my aunt and uncle’s home to wait until my mom could come back out to Freeland
and pick me up and take me back to Sheridan Park for the weekend. There were
two nice bikes in the garage and my uncle had told me that I could use either
one whenever I wanted. Since I had about five hours to kill, I decided to take
one and ride out to the airport. It was a fine day as summer was still hanging
on and Tri City Airport was just a short bike ride away. I parked on Freeland Road
just off the end of Runway 5, sat in the grass watching the aircraft and
thinking about that girl in the hallway who’d smiled at me. Freeland High
School was polar opposite of what I had expected. Instead of getting chided and
beaten up by thugs, I’d been enchanted by an amazing blond!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">The next day
I was back in my Sheridan Park neighborhood telling all of my friends about my
new school. No fights, I didn’t get jumped, no commotion in the classrooms, no
hustles for cash, plus the place was filled with good looking girls! My pals
were amazed, but convinced that I’d get jumped the next week.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">That never
happened.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">Freeland
High School was a safe clean place where learning actually could and did take
place, but it took several weeks for me to get used to it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I was lucky
to escape SHS and to end up in FHS and to graduate with the class of 76.
However, I got the funny feeling that Mr. Vitito always kept an eye in my
direction, perhaps expecting another murder trial.</span><o:p style="font-size: 18pt;"></o:p></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7722716643991015737.post-26823740498495620802023-06-22T15:10:00.001-04:002023-06-22T15:10:19.725-04:00ANTLAB<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i>Today, June 22, 2023 marks 50 years since the splashdown of the
Skylab 2 crew. As a 15-year-old space geek, and model rocket nut, I was totally revved up to do
something Skylab-like… and the answer was…</i></b><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZcHrbAA7_BAf2TxxnlJ8B3xlmnFXYdcPTGzdEKRuHRGVvyo6dM1CPRPTTbqf3v95GAgd4iDbieRHOhoe_gb3nDR7X2G9b7HaiVPS_2DmxPhzlIOvIC8oeyqI9AiZEhYvDE4k2vO6ifzVSPuQBexWomv6p-imsw7EPzw6qPfFWaVhsc-gyBRhiaa9xefI/s270/Antlab.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="270" data-original-width="262" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZcHrbAA7_BAf2TxxnlJ8B3xlmnFXYdcPTGzdEKRuHRGVvyo6dM1CPRPTTbqf3v95GAgd4iDbieRHOhoe_gb3nDR7X2G9b7HaiVPS_2DmxPhzlIOvIC8oeyqI9AiZEhYvDE4k2vO6ifzVSPuQBexWomv6p-imsw7EPzw6qPfFWaVhsc-gyBRhiaa9xefI/w194-h200/Antlab.jpg" width="194" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><br /><i><br /></i></b></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">ANTLAB 1<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Spaceflight is as much about inspiration as it is about
exploration and thus following the Skylab 2 mission, I was inspired to make my
own flying “workshop.” Taking one of my 1/200 scale AMT model Apollo Service
Modules and cracking it open I began to install balsa “habitation” equipment in
it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">My plan was to catch three little red ants from our patio,
stick them inside the thing and see how they would survive. I called the
project “Antlab 1.” Sure, I had to drill a small window into it so the critters
could look out and perhaps even get some air. Using a single edged razor blade,
I attempted to cut a small hatch in the side. A single slip of the hand and I
sliced two fingers! The blood would have panicked my mom so I used my Civil Air
Patrol first aid training and applied direct pressure with my paint rag until
the bleeding stopped. Lucky the paint on the rag disguised the blood and Mom
never knew how much I had hemorrhaged. Later in the day when mom finally saw
the wound, she decided that I should get an Xacto knife set as a belated
birthday gift; it was a little safer than the razor blade.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Once I had Antlab 1 fully configured I had to, of course,
ground test it. Using the un-mutilated fingers that I had left I caught three
ants and stuck their helpless little butts into the workshop. Waiting 24 hours
I opened it up and they crawled out; success! Now it was time for Antlab 1 to
be tested in flight.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Any rocket geek from the 1970s can tell you that the Apollo
SM from the AMT 1/200 model kit fit quite well into an Estes BT-20 flying model
rocket body tube. I just happened to have an Estes X-Ray rocket whose payload
section had separated and drifted away to God knows where. That X-Ray’s BT-20
booster tube would be adapted to boost Antlab 1. It did, however need to be
repainted black and white like a Saturn V first.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB_kywm3xp0E2OhNDiPqbAOD7_ETjuYLZMShWBoNIIPcXYxj0vnvZ4vWyuHKspb34ljB-64pO_wTUNXhmCSI8mzBFu3-aN4U53BQ2QLa-9LHMqc3rWHOnCmZk5F-K_zMl5-MFN7xIlGH9rNZTkG4RYQRnv3IUBqomRTzXDOyM-LbE7sJHAhda9xr-dFbY/s1003/sl2_007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="530" data-original-width="1003" height="106" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB_kywm3xp0E2OhNDiPqbAOD7_ETjuYLZMShWBoNIIPcXYxj0vnvZ4vWyuHKspb34ljB-64pO_wTUNXhmCSI8mzBFu3-aN4U53BQ2QLa-9LHMqc3rWHOnCmZk5F-K_zMl5-MFN7xIlGH9rNZTkG4RYQRnv3IUBqomRTzXDOyM-LbE7sJHAhda9xr-dFbY/w200-h106/sl2_007.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">My scheme was to make a huge parachute out of a drycleaning
plastic bag that would be attached to the lab. The booster would be jettisoned
because, A: there was no room in the tube for a second parachute and B: I never
liked the X-Ray kit anyhow. The clear parachute would be so big that the Antlab
would practically hover in the sky and give the ants a lot of time to… crawl
around… in the sky. Frankly, if I had thought of it at the time I could have
applied to the United States FDA and gotten a huge federal grant for the project— it was that
strange.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">On a calm summer morning in mid-July of 1973, Antlab 1
lifted off from 3324 Lexington Drive. The cut-down fins of the booster allowed
for a higher than expected flight and after a seven second coast the lab and
its chute ejected as planned. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Blossoming open, the lightweight parachute did exactly what
I wanted and Antlab 1 seemed to simply hang in the sky. Ever so slowly it
descended with its crew of three ants aboard. The mission would have been
perfection if it had not been for the power lines behind our house. The
following October, when we moved from that house, Antlab 1 was still hanging
there on the upper-most wire. The mission lasted a lot longer than I had
expected. I</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">t was a good thing that I gave the ants a window to look through.</span><o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7722716643991015737.post-77948668474222551532023-04-25T10:56:00.003-04:002023-04-25T10:56:59.982-04:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Xwlk_rWIfTupjc9qMADdEFfUOxNy2weC17vF-Aw6BrMRWYbdSKqIn3tZhViATM9BBrhr8sXCbSzLFdtSmDyicv3vMi4N7Ip-rVZ-H4iNY-iowa5BaTpvAKtbQL_Akz1OaFzIKyNUwSbacBAB3WPYEpFmASH-4s12-ZWkQWGs9S_kDH9foIz9cuIJ/s4096/343434331_975300070179911_7112451979931891209_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2734" data-original-width="4096" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Xwlk_rWIfTupjc9qMADdEFfUOxNy2weC17vF-Aw6BrMRWYbdSKqIn3tZhViATM9BBrhr8sXCbSzLFdtSmDyicv3vMi4N7Ip-rVZ-H4iNY-iowa5BaTpvAKtbQL_Akz1OaFzIKyNUwSbacBAB3WPYEpFmASH-4s12-ZWkQWGs9S_kDH9foIz9cuIJ/s320/343434331_975300070179911_7112451979931891209_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">MAJOR ANNOUNCMENT:<br />I have just contracted to be aboard the luxury cruise vessel Le Bellot on their October 2 through 9 adventure. I'll be giving lectures and side-tables all about the Great Lakes. This is going to be FUN! For details visit <a class="x1fey0fg xmper1u x1edh9d7" href="https://www.gohagantravel.com/programs/cruising-the-great-lakes-2/">https://www.gohagantravel.com/programs/cruising-the-great-lakes-2/</a></div><br /> <p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7722716643991015737.post-38180273768293009992023-03-01T20:41:00.002-05:002023-03-01T23:25:03.867-05:00GO GET THE KID; THE BRUD MURDERS<p> Normally this blog is for fun and entertaining material. However, 50 years ago tonight, March 1, 1973, I became a key witness in a murder case. Part of trying to mute that demon a bit more is to write the story. Here it is... like it or not.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Copyright 2004 and 2023
Wes Oleszewski<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">All rights reserved-
this text is not for reproduction or publication in any form. Your viewing of
the text does not waive the above reservation.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="line-height: 115%;">NOTE: </span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">This is a completely true story. The name for Mr. “Brud” has been changed for
the purpose of this publication. The word “brud” is Polish and basically means
“filth.” Anyone wishing to find the individual’s real name can reference
mid-Michigan news items for the first days of March, 1973.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGpnuVXY2k8liVwXZrN-ymnfR8Fk1lFPpCVmFjQqJ522Fij0PSctJicnLZjyIrqA6SzJI4YifJezy44e8qifG3UaNOEkh0GZql1odEDZRZH_eQwNWBI1HX6kchas-oKvkHOJ9WWF1pKuEr3TUDjNtN11gQNWPZxDlVvLn_qE9eLN0zDPyhEEGAsDXK/s1595/0subpoena73.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="860" data-original-width="1595" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGpnuVXY2k8liVwXZrN-ymnfR8Fk1lFPpCVmFjQqJ522Fij0PSctJicnLZjyIrqA6SzJI4YifJezy44e8qifG3UaNOEkh0GZql1odEDZRZH_eQwNWBI1HX6kchas-oKvkHOJ9WWF1pKuEr3TUDjNtN11gQNWPZxDlVvLn_qE9eLN0zDPyhEEGAsDXK/w400-h216/0subpoena73.jpg" width="400" /></a></b></div><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Go Get the Kid; The “Brud
Murder”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">It was the first evening of March of
1973 and I was 15 years old and outdoors doing what most guys my age in
mid-Michigan would be doing… having a snowball fight with my buddies. There
were four of us, Jimmy Brink, Ken Wolff, Bill Hoffman and myself, all of whom
had grown up together in the tiny suburb of Saginaw known as Sheridan Park. We
had been out since the end of the school day gathering snow and flinging it at…
well… everything. For a while we had peppered passing cars, but then, fearing
that we may get into “trouble,” we switched to plastering one another.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">For a short time, we had been in the
side yard of the Brud house, which was across the street from my house. Jim’s
dad, who was a detective sergeant on the Saginaw Police Department, had warned
us to stay away from Brud who was a convicted felon and child molester. Thus,
we soon moved up the block and continued horsing around. It was about then that
I saw a man coming out of the Brud house. He had an odd walk, like a gorilla
Bill quipped. So, we threw snowballs at him. He was about 200 feet away when we
first saw him and 260 feet away as he passed directly under the streetlight in
front of my house, so we never came close to hitting the guy. Yet, he never
looked up, he just kept walking until he passed out of sight up the street and
behind the houses.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Eventually we decided it was time to
call it a night and we all headed home. I was supposed to be watching my
younger brother Craig, who was nine and my sister Jeanine, who was 13, but they
were easily old enough to survive without me in the house. My mom and dad were
working at the Saginaw Civic Center where a Saginaw Gears hockey game was
taking place in the arena. Mom worked in the concession stands and dad was the
Zamboni driver for the hockey games. This was dad’s part-time gig; career-wise he
was a railroad engineer for the C&O. I came in through the front door and
my sister and brother were relaxing and watching TV; everything was quiet and
normal- for the moment. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">About 45 minutes after I came home
there was a sharp knock at the front door. I went to answer the door and there
stood a uniformed Saginaw Police officer!<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“OH CRAP!” I thought, “Someone
reported us for throwin’ snowballs at cars!”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Are your parents’ home?” the officer
asked stoically.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“No,” I replied meekly, “they’re
workin’ down at the Civic Center.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“How old are you?” He asked as he
looked past me toward my brother and sister.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“15.” I replied with a bit of a dry
swallow.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Have you seen anything unusual
tonight?” the officer furthered his questioning.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“No.” I replied with a bit of
curiosity. If the cop was here to take me away for throwin’ snowballs at cars,
he was sure being indirect about it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Okay,” he ordered, “lock your doors
and don’t let anyone in until your parents get back.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Okay.” I agreed.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">With that the police officer turned
and simply left. Over his shoulder I saw red and blue lights flashing
EVERYWHERE!<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Dutifully closing and locking the
doors, I ran to my bedroom, which was at the front of the house, and peeked out
through the window. Police cars and fire department vehicles were everywhere
with their lights going and officers and detectives were going in and out of
the Brud house. What really got my attention was all of the detectives! I had
never seen so many, and more were arriving every second.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">For a moment I pondered the
lightshow… then my creative AD/HD brain began to take over. What if someone
died in there? Or… what if someone was murdered! Suddenly, it went through me
like ice water… that guy we saw leaving that house! I ran to the phone and dialed
Jimmy’s number. He answered the phone, and I asked if he saw all of those cops?<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Yeah,” he said with a gasp, “two of
‘em are sittin’ here now talkin’ with my dad.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Jim!” I urged, “do you remember that
guy we saw leaving the Brud house?”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Oh yeah,” he exclaimed in a whisper.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Jim put the phone down to his side
and I could hear him in the background calling out to his dad.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Dad! Wes is on the phone, and he
just reminded me, there was this guy we saw leaving the Brud house tonight…”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">In about three seconds Mr. Brink
snapped up the phone.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Don’t go anywhere,” he ordered.
“don’t talk to anyone, I’m sending two officers over,” and he hung up!<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">I stood there in silence holding the
phone in my hand. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Holy Shit!<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Mr. Brink, who I’d grown up with and
was like an uncle to me, only talked like that when things were really- really
bad! It seemed like only seconds passed, yet it must have been four or five
minutes and there was another sharp knock at the door. I dashed to the front
door and opening it I saw two detectives.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Are you Wes?” the one in front
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Yeah.” I replied, still a little
stunned.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Do you mind if we come in?”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Heck no,” I replied in my best
Midwestern breeding, “come on in!”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">We took seats at our family dinner
table and the detectives began to interview me. I described the man that I had
witnessed leaving the Brud home that night. To this day I can still describe
him from head to toe. He was a white man about six foot tall, no facial hair
and a fairly short haircut (by 1973 standards) a little longer than my
regulation Civil Air Patrol haircut. He had on a navy-blue bomber jacket with a
blue fur collar. It was un-zipped and under the jacket he had on a red
“lumberjack” shirt. Under that he had on a white T-shirt with a blue collar. He
was wearing dark brown corduroy pants with a wide brown leather belt that had a
round gold ring buckle. His shoes were light brown half-boots with a strap
across the front. And his walk was very distinctive- like a gorilla.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">The murderer had been unlucky enough
to leave the scene of the crime in front of four boys ages 12, 13, 14 and 15. And
the 15-year-old, me, was an AD/HD who was also equipped with 20/15 vision. I
scoped him out and stored every detail. This was not for any other reason than
the fact that it’s the way my brain is hard-wired. People who are AD/HD may be
a pain it the ass to schoolteachers, but we make really good police witnesses.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Following my description, the
detectives began asking me a series of questions that many years later I would
learn were “test questions” to see just how good my memory of events happened to
be and what sort of personality I happened to have. That night, however, they
just seemed to be odd to me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“What’d you have for breakfast
yesterday?” the lead dective asked.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Peanut butter and strawberry jam on
toast.” I replied reflexively.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“How do you know that?” <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“That’s what I have every day.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Do you eat lunch at school?”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“What’d you have for lunch on
Monday?” <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“A sloppy Joe, a bag of Doritos and a
chocolate milk.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“How do you know that?”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Because that’s what I have every day
except for Friday when they’re serving fish sandwiches, then I have one of
those. When I’m done with it, I wad-up the paper and stuff it into the pipe at
the end of the table.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Why do you do that?”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Just for fun.” <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“If I open your locker at school
tonight, what exactly will I find on the top shelf?”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Absolutely nothing.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Why is that?”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Because I never keep anything on
that shelf.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Then the detectives switched
questioning a bit.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“What time did you come back indoors
tonight?”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“7:30.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“How do you know that?”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Because “Flipper” was just ending on
the TV and “I Dream of Jeannie” hadn’t started yet.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Up until that point I actually had no
idea what had happened across the street, but I knew instinctively that it was
something bad. When I asked the detectives just what happened over there, I was
told flatly that “Two people were murdered there.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Following that part of the interview
the detectives asked if I would be willing to go outside with them and show
them where I was at different times during the evening. I agreed and we headed
outdoors as soon as I put my jacket and boots on. Kensington Street, where the Brud
house was located, ran west to east and “T’ed” at my front yard and Lexington
Drive. We crossed Lexington and walked up to the Brud’s side yard.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Were you guys playing here?” one of
the detectives asked as he pointed toward the footprints in the snow.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Yep.” I replied.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Are these your footprints?” He
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Yeah,” I responded pointing to my
own marks in the snow, “right there and here.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Are these the same boots you were
wearing?” the detective asked while pointing at my boots.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Yeah.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Make a footprint right there,” the
detective directed me by shining the beam of his flashlight right next to one
of my boot-prints.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Doing exactly as I was directed, I
made a boot-print. The detectives closely examined the two prints and then
asked me to take them to where I was standing when I saw the man leaving the
house. We walked up Kensington to the front yard of the Smith’s home and again
I was directed to do the boot-print next to my own track. I showed the
detectives exactly where I was standing and told them that I actually saw the
man come out of the Brud house and explained where he walked. Next, we went to
the street in front of my house, and I showed the two detectives the route over
which the man had walked. Additionally, I showed them that he had passed
directly under the streetlight and that was how I was able to see so clearly
what he was wearing. Next the detectives and I went back inside my house and back
to my family’s kitchen table for a full repeat of my previous questioning.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">While I was busy with the detectives,
another aspect to the story was taking place a few miles away at the Saginaw
Civic Center. The Saginaw Police Department’s officers did security at the
Civic Center and one of the officers sought out my dad.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Walt,” the officer asked quietly,
“don’t you live in Sheridan Park?”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Yeaht,” my dad replied in his
mid-Michigan accent.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Do you know the Brud family?”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“They live right across the street,”
Dad responded.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Well, you’d better get home,” the
officer directed sternly, “Bob Brud just came home and found his wife and
daughter murdered.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">My dad hustled to the arena’s
commissary where my mom was working.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Get yer’ jacket,” he ordered, “we’re
goin’ home.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Mom protested that she had a lot of
work to finish.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Come on,” Dad insisted, “we’re goin’
right now!”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">About then Civic Center manager and
our family friend Bill Fifer came in and told Mom not to worry about the work and
“Just go.” Of course, now Mom insisted on knowing what’s wrong. When Dad told
her, mom dropped her work and my parents headed home.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">I cannot imagine the atmosphere in
that 1972 Ford LTD station wagon as my Mom and Dad raced home, because I was
not in the car with them. Yet anyone who is a parent can imagine what it was
like as my dad tooled that car through the streets only to reach Sheridan Park
and get stopped at the entrance to the subdivision by a police officer. After
explaining briefly who they were and where they lived and that their kids were
home alone the officer waved them through. My folks sped to our driveway. Then
they dashed to front door and burst into the living room only to find their
oldest son at the kitchen table being questioned by two detectives!<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">To say they were surprised would be
an understatement. Crapping a solid gold terd would be much close to the truth.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">As my folks arrived the detectives
were just leaving- so mom and dad didn’t hear any of the questions and answers.
That was good because my mom was a perpetual gossip, and she would have been on
the phone the following day telling everyone every word of what had been said. Before
they left, the detectives warned me not to discuss what had happened with
anyone; friends, teachers, or parents and especially not the news media. I
would have my chance to tell everything to the prosecutor and in court, but
until then I was to not discuss the events that I had witnessed. Of course, as
soon as they departed, everyone wanted to hear everything… I told them nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">After the detectives departed, we
spent the night peeking out through our bedroom windows toward the drama across
the street. Most of my aunts, uncles and most of my cousins lived either in
Sheridan Park or within five miles, so we had people coming in and out all
night long. At about 11:00 that night, my kooky cousin Bobby came bursting in
through our back door carrying a loaded hunting rifle! He said he was there to
protect us while my dad was at work on the railroad. Later my cousin Stevie
dropped by and told us not to worry, because he had already ordered a pizza for
delivery to our house. The delivery guy got quite a surprise when he drove into
our normally peaceful Sheridan Park neighborhood only to find it packed with
police investigating a murder scene. Nothing like that had EVER happened in
Sheridan Park prior to this.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">We stayed up through the night
watching the events through our bedroom windows. We saw the state police crime
lab arrive and later watched as camera flashes illuminated the windows of the Brud
house. None of us knew what was going on inside that house and none of us wanted
to know. In fact, it was a scene that would keep even the most hardened police
officer awake at night. There was one thing that everyone knew for sure and
that was the fact that there was a murderer on the loose; I knew for sure that
I had seen him leave the scene of the crime and I had just described him,
head-to-toe to the police. I felt somewhat comforted that the killer could not
describe me in the same manner.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Dawn broke and with it an early
spring fog settled over Sheridan Park. We watched as the coroner wheeled out
two stretchers with bodies wrapped in white sheets; one the size of an adult
and one the size of a child. The police cars eventually left one by one and
with them went everyone’s desire to watch through the windows. Mom said we did not
have to go to school that day and I crashed for a few hours of sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">When I woke up it was clear that the
story was huge in the news media. Local TV stations took turns standing in
front of the Brud house and reporting on the murders. I had the thought that I
could give them a scoop that would blow their doors off, but that thought was
tempered with the fact that the person I saw may not be the killer at all- he
could just be another witness; only the police would know for sure. The one
detail of my story that did get out was the part that my sister remembered me telling
the detectives were finishing my interview- it was the way that the guy walked;
“like a gorilla.” I was somewhat astonished at just how fast that little tidbit
got around. Apparently, Mom got that out of her and then was quite busy on the
gossip lines while I was sleeping. Of course, everyone wanted me to talk about
what caused the detectives to take such an interest in my story. Cousins
prodded as did aunts, uncles, and neighbors… I told them nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">My mom likes to tell the story of my
parents taking me to a small, local amusement park when I was four years old.
One of the park’s main attractions was a miniature train ride. Supposedly the
engineer of the train was carrying the payroll in a large canvas bag that he
proudly displayed before the trip began. The ride took passengers into the
local woods where eye-catching items had been set up. One of those was actually
a fake alligator; yeah, an alligator in mid-Michigan. Climax of the ride was a
staged train robbery with masked, old-west bad guys on horse-back who came out
of the woods firing six-shooters into the air, shouting, and circling the
train. The punchline was that the robbers made so much commotion, when the rode
off, they forgot the money. We boarded the train, which was no big thrill
considering that I had been climbing aboard real railroad engines since I
learned to walk. As we went through the woods out came the robbers! They
circled and shot their guns and hooted and hollered- then they left. As the bad
guys started to leave, I turned to my mom and said, “They forgot the money.” A
few seconds later the engineer laughingly held up the money bag and shouted,
Hey! You forgot somethin’…” and the rest of the train laughed. The point of
this little back-story being that I have always been a person who happens to notice
things that other people miss. This time, that little trait would pay off in a
very big way.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">A few days after the murders we were
all at the Civic Center for public skating when one of the police officers came
up to my dad and said simply, “We got him,” then he added, “and he walks just
like Wes said.” That night on the local news we saw the police perp-walking
Robert Walton into the jail and people started calling our house saying that he
walked just way I said.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Once an arrest in the case had been made,
life in quiet Sheridan Park went back to normal. Yet about a month or so after
the murder, all four of us snowball throwers were ordered to come to the
courthouse to speak to the assistant district attorney. Once there we had some
fun playing the stairwell of the new courthouse building and one-by-one we were
asked to come into the office- I was the last one in. The other three guys were
in there for about 15 minutes each, not so with me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Assistant prosecutor Ray Kasmeric, a
sharply dressed man with red hair and beard did the questioning and was aided
by a lady clerk. He asked me almost the exact questions that the detectives had
asked me on the night of the murder, and he got exactly the same answers. Then
he asked me to describe the man’s clothing again, and again, which I dutifully
did. Next, he briefed me on what court would be like. He made it very clear
that real court is nothing like what you see on TV. The defense attorney cannot
get up and strut in front of you and cannot get “in your face” and badger you.
He said that if the defense attorney tried something like that, “There are
things we can do to stop him.” He also made it clear that Walton would be in the
courtroom and will likely be looking right at me, but he is not allowed to say
anything. Then he told me something that would puzzle me for the next three
decades. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“When you are asked to describe the
clothing,” he instructed me, “you are to describe everything just as you did
today- except for the shoes. If you are asked about the shoes, you are to say
“I don’t recall.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“But,” I mildly protested, “I do
recall the shoes, they were light brown half-boots with a strap across the
front.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“And we’re telling you now,” he
replied firmly, “that you do not recall the shoes.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">It dawned on me that perhaps I had
not gotten the shoes right, even though to this day (more than a half century
later) I can close my eyes and see those shoes. Thus, I agreed that if asked
about the shoes I would say that I did not recall them.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">In mid-summer of 1973 all four of us
were called over to Jimmy Brink’s house. His dad was home for lunch and had
brought with him four subpoenas- one for each of us. Being a natural born smart
ass I asked if we could “dodge” the subpoenas like we see on TV. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“You can’t dodge a subpoena,” Mr.
Brink smirked a bit and then said, “I’ll show ya’ how you get served.” He
tossed my subpoena at my feet and said, “There… yer’ served.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">My subpoena was for the 17<sup>th</sup>
day of September, 1973 to appear in front of Judge Fred J. Borchard and the
defendant was Robert Walton on trial for “two counts of open murder.” <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">By September, my family was in the
process of moving from our beloved Sheridan Park to the tiny farm town of
Freeland. This was necessary to get me into a high school where I would not get
knifed considering that the school to which I had been headed was not a pillar
of education and a smart ass like me would have been sliced up within a week.
On the morning of my enrollment at Freeland High School I was sitting in the
principal’s office as my Mom made out my paperwork. Mr. Vittito, the principal,
knew that I had come from the east side of Saginaw, and was probably wondering
what sort of kid he was adding to his school’s population. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">As we finished the paperwork, Mom
added, “Oh! By the way, he will be absent one day a week until further notice.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Why is that?” the principal raised
his eyebrows.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“He’s a witness in a murder trial,”
Mom stated matter-of-fact.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Vittito’s eyes got big! Then mom
quickly added that I was a witness for the prosecution, and I was not involved
in the actual murder. For the next two years while Mr. Vittito was principal,
he seemed to really keep an eye on me… just in case.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Mom drove me to court on the
appointed day and we were all told to wait in the hall. Meanwhile, our parents
were allowed to sit in the courtroom and watch the trial, but they were not
allowed to tell us what they saw and heard until after we had testified.
One-by-one the other three guys were called into the courtroom, testified and
left; I simply sat there- all day. Except for the fact that my day at the
courthouse was changed to Tuesdays, it was the same for the next week and the
next and the next and the next. Mom, however, was able to sit and watch the
trial- what she saw was shocking.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Walton, as it turned out, was the
homosexual lover of Bob Brud who had conspired to have his wife raped and
murdered. Brud’ four-year-old little daughter was also raped and murdered by
Walton, but his two-year-old son was untouched. This was an effort to draw
attention away from the fact that the murder was done by a homosexual.
Additionally, it came out that Brud was making pornographic home movies of his
wife and other men and selling them. Also, it came to light that Brud had
systematically lured little boys in Sheridan Park into his home, molested them
and then gave each one a model ship or airplane kit to keep them quiet. When
that information got out, suddenly mothers all through the subdivision realized
that their sons had brought home model kits that someone had given them. Confessions
led to a flurry of complaints filed with the police department. To make matters
worse, it was revealed that Brud and some fellow child molesters had
infiltrated the local chapter of Big Brothers and molested boys there. After
the trial, when I learned all of that I thought back to that day when Mr. Brink
called us all in and warned us about Brud. His blunt, firm warning probably saved
us from that monster.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">As the trial went on and the weeks passed,
I thought that the prosecutors had forgotten about me. My Mom even asked if
they knew I was waiting and they said that they were fully aware that I was
there, waiting, and I would be called. Finally, as the prosecution was about to
close their case, Mom heard Brady Denton, the prosecutor, turn to Kasmeric and
say, “Go get the kid.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">As the courtroom door swung open, Mr.
Kasmeric stuck his head out and motioned to me to come in. Walking up the aisle
I could feel that every eye was on me. The bailiff walked me up to the witness
seat- it was black leather and over-stuffed. I gushed into it and was thankful
that it was too comfortable. There was no swearing in, Judge Borchard simply
asked me if I knew the difference between right and wrong and the truth and a
lie- I said that I did. There was a long pause as the prosecutor shuffled some
papers. Looking over at the defense’s table, there sat Walton. He had a yellow
legal pad in front of him with nothing written on it and three sharpened yellow
pencils neatly placed to the right of it. His eyes were locked on me, and he
appeared not to move or blink- he simply stared at me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Denton started by asking for my full
name and my age- I answered. Then he asked what I was doing on the evening in
question. Soon he led into asking what I saw at the Brud house. Then he pointed
to a chalkboard that was standing at the front of the courtroom just to the
left of where I was seated. It had tape lines on it that drew a map of the area
where we had been playing that night. I was asked to go to the board and show
exactly where I was standing. Next, he asked for me to draw the path of travel
of the man that I had witnessed leaving the Brud house- I drew a dashed chalk
line. I was asked to show the location of the streetlight and draw a circle
showing the area that it illuminated. Then I was told to take my seat. As I sat
down, Walton was still staring at me. Immediately it struck me that he was the
bad guy, a murderer, and I was the good guy, on the side of the law and
justice. I thought, “Alright you bastard, you want a stare-down, you got it.”
And for the rest of the time, I looked directly into his eyes as I answered
questions from Denton.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Finally, Denton asked me to describe
Walton’s clothing. He asked about the jacket, the shirt, the belt, the pants-
but he didn’t ask about the shoes. Then he ended the prosecution’s questioning.
Judge Borchard asked if the defense had any questions for this witness?
Walton’s defense attorney was busy writing and never even looked up- “No your
honor,” he quipped. I was excused by the judge and told to step down. Walking
from the witness chair Walton kept his eyes locked on me and I stared right
back at that monster all the way past the defense table. Then I looked for my mom.
She was smiling proudly, but mom’s will do that.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Mom went back and watched the rest of
the trial after my testimony while I went back to a normal school schedule-
with Mr. Vittito watching me. On sentencing day mom and I went to the courtroom
together to see the murderer get his just deserts. Walton was convicted on both
counts of murder and sentenced to 30 years in the State Prison. Brud was never
indicted on any charge much to the dismay of the jury foreman, who I heard tell
the prosecutor point-blank, that they would have convicted Brud too.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Spin the clock ahead 31 years. I was
hanging out at Tri-City (now MBS International) Airport’s firehouse with a
friend of mine who was an airport fire fighter. In these days just after 9-11
security was really tight at MBS, but I got in through the gate that evening by
ringing the buzzer and when someone answered through the speaker asking who it
was I said Osama Bin Polack… and they let me in. I had brought in a radio-controlled
model boat that I had built for my buddy in order to swap it for some cool lake
freighter photos that he had. As we sat at the firehouse’s dinner table
haggling and I demonstrated how the boat’s controls functioned, one of the
airport police officers strolled in. The gray-haired officer stood there for a
while watching the model boat work and then he said,<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“You don’t know a guy named Bob Brud,
do ya’?”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">That question pushed my button in a
big way, I stood up, pointed my finger at the officer and half shouted, <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Bob Brud is a felon and a child molester,
he belongs in jail, and if I had the chance I’d put him there myself!”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“WHOA! WHOA!” the startled officer
exclaimed as he waved his hands out as if telling me to stay back. Then he
squinted and asked, “Did you used to live in Sheridan Park?”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Yeah,” I snarled.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Were you the…?” he began to ask as
he squinted more.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“No,” I growled, “I was one of the
ones he didn’t get.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Where’d you live?” he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“3324 Lexington, cattycorner across
the street.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">His eyes got huge and he reached out
toward me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Yer’ the clothes kid!” he exclaimed
with a wide smile, “I did your interview that night!”<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Meanwhile the airport firefighters
were a bit startled by my little outburst, but now the officer and I began to
laugh a bit. He told me that Walton was out of prison having served his full 30
years. I asked if I was at risk, and he told me that I was not. He had done
Walton’s release interview- it was his final assignment before he retired from
the Saginaw Police Department. Walton, he said, had totally lost his mind. The
killer has no memory at all of the murders or the trial and the only thing that
he asked was if the officers could have a traffic ticket taken off of his
record. A Canadian citizen, Walton was deported and driven into Canada by the
RCMP- he can never return to the United States.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Then, I asked the officer a question
that had been bugging me for more than three decades- why would they not allow
me to talk about the shoes?<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Oh! Oh!” the officer nearly jumped
from his seat, “Yer’ gonna love this! You are responsible for probably the most
overtime paid to Saginaw police officers in history!” he half joked.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">As it turned out the circumstances of
the murders quickly led the detectives to Walton. When they arrested him, they
executed a search warrant on his home. In his bedroom closet they found every
stitch of the clothing that I had described- except the shoes.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“My partner and I laid those clothes
out on the guy’s bed and it was all there,” the retired detective said, “but
the shoes. We looked at one another and both said “We gotta find those f$%kin’
shoes!” <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">There was something incriminating about the shoes, so there began a city-wide search for the shoes. Trash cans,
sewers, dumpsters, mailboxes, pools- even the banks of the Saginaw River were
searched; nothing! Then they drove to Canada and with the RCMP questioned
Walton’s mother and searched her residence; nothing! The best that they could
figure was that he gave them to his mother immediately after the murders and
while driving back to Canada she tossed them out through the car window while
crossing the Blue Water Bridge and into the swift current of the St. Clair
River. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">He also explained that I was the “bow
witness.” In other words, they had Walton all gift wrapped, and I was the bow
on top.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">As the years went past since 1973
I’ve done a lot of jobs- some of which involved catching bad guys- in some
cases really bad guys. I’ve been asked by people, including police officers
that I have worked with, why it is that little five foot ten 176 pounds of me
seems to have little or no fear of the bad guys. The answer is simple, I have
stared into the eyes of the worst of them, and I helped put the bastard away. I
only wish we would have gotten Brud too. According to the Internet, he died in
2011. My hope is that he is currently rotating on a spit in hell.<span style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7722716643991015737.post-72179352030421713952022-10-20T09:32:00.000-04:002022-10-20T09:32:05.067-04:00A half century ago TONIGHT.<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-no-proof: yes;"><b><i>A half century ago tonight I became a hockey guy... here's the story.</i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-no-proof: yes;">Hockey in Saginaw? Ooooookay.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-no-proof: yes;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEimsTQ-l6IACLMSJg4BJXNJcfv-zYXnXBVpggTU-JLlW0wO6JqrMRCi6--oPIY_uWQ8VE2YLb-jiD0g4NZw_GHLaf6P10bN8nADtu2kr4eR9O_gtuv328wegcxZ6bT64cEbFTIgvMsyxpk6jJqrOc2Rn-V1Vg5t8UpX_S1UziUbirlJ09tj7dxzOIDj" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="625" data-original-width="466" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEimsTQ-l6IACLMSJg4BJXNJcfv-zYXnXBVpggTU-JLlW0wO6JqrMRCi6--oPIY_uWQ8VE2YLb-jiD0g4NZw_GHLaf6P10bN8nADtu2kr4eR9O_gtuv328wegcxZ6bT64cEbFTIgvMsyxpk6jJqrOc2Rn-V1Vg5t8UpX_S1UziUbirlJ09tj7dxzOIDj=w239-h320" width="239" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">For people who were already hockey savvy, that
first season of Gears hockey was a real grinder. As with any new franchise, the
wins were few and the mistakes were plentiful. For the majority of folks in the
Tri Cities area, however, the Gears were something of a new novelty. Saginaw,
in 1972 was a place of very heavy industry and it was a time when anyone who
wanted a job could get a job- or two. The factories or "shops" as
they were called, ran 24/7. As a kid I recall getting up in the middle of the
night and walking out into my back yard on the East Side of town. Standing
there, I could hear the low, distant, yet constant "thrum" of the
industry while the horizon to the north glowed an unending orangeish red from
the foundries exhausts. The only thing breaking the "thrum" was an
occasional train's horn echoing in the distance. Everyone was working- working
all the time, first shift, second shift, third shift, time-and-a-half, double
time some days and triple time on holidays- working at jobs that had always
been there during my lifetime and I was sure would always be there forever.
Like many of my generation, I thought that this was what it was like-
everywhere. When the Saginaw Gears hockey club moved into town, many local folks just did not know
how to properly participate in hockey and I was among them. Being an asthmatic
from birth I rarely participated in organized sports of any sort. Most sports
involved a lot of running as a part of conditioning and that simple activity
always landed me back home wheezing and near death. I could skate because every
winter dad would turn our back yard into an ice rink, but for the most part I
was consumed by my passion for aviation and spaceflight. I couldn't tell you
the difference between a football linebacker and a tailback, but I could tell
you, in detail, how a Saturn V moon rocket worked. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><span> </span>My sports world, however,
was forever widened considerably on October 20, 1972. That was the evening when
my dad took us all to the Civic Center where he and mom were working the hockey
game. Dad and I had been going around for weeks leaving game posters at
assorted retail establishments around the city as a pay-as-ya-go task that he'd
picked up from the Gears. In place of some payment, he'd gotten us kids some
"comp." tickets to the game. That evening the Gears were playing the
Flint Generals and I went- figuring I'd be bored... hell, I'd rather have been
home with my rockets. Although Canadian kids grow up with hockey, what I
witnessed that Friday night at Wendler Arena was something I'd never seen
before. The speed and precision of the game completely captured me... of course
seeing a Flint player get clobbered with a Sherwood was pretty cool too. About
all I really knew about the sport of hockey that evening was that our guys were
in white, and the other guys were in blue and the object of the game was to put
the puck into the net. Later, all three of us kids chattered about hockey all
the way home then through the weekend and then all week at school. It was the
most exciting thing we'd experienced since one of my rockets set the field
behind our house on fire the previous summer.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span> </span>On the evening of my first Gears game, the crowd
was slim with most of the arena's seats being empty, but by the end of December,
hockey had hooked the residents of Saginaw just as it had our family and
attendance at Wendler Arena was breaking records with more than 5,000 people
attending a game. Hockey did not simply "catch on" in the Tri Cities,
hockey spread like a wildfire. Oddly, it did not matter one bit that the Gears
had a dismal losing season in 1972-73. No matter how the TV sportscasters
criticized the team, the fan base continued to grow exponentially. In our house
we'd turned into hockey nuts to the point where just two months after our first
game, my dad had to dish out a punishment for a combined misbehavior of us
three kids and rather than grounding us for the month of January, he simply
said "No Gears games for a month!" We really felt that one too. For
Christmas 1972, my list departed from the normal "Rockets, books about
rockets, models of rockets" and instead included hockey skates, hockey
gloves and hockey sticks." I'd finally found a sport that scrawny
asthmatic like me could play. In our neighborhood we played street hockey in
deep-freeze weather, skated and shot pucks on any patch of frozen water that we
could find. Overnight we'd become hockey people- and we liked it.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Any shred of first season playoff fantasies that
the Gears or their fans may have had evaporated on Sunday, February 11th when
they suffered a 1 to 0 loss at home to the Toledo Hornets and were thus
mathematically eliminated from post season play. Although the sports reporters
were still critical of the team, the Gears lost that game in front of nearly
4,000 fans while established teams, such as Columbus, were playing front of
less than 800 paying fans. The final home game of the first season was played
on March 13 in front of a near sell-out crowd of 5,503 fans. With the Flint
Generals in town the game turned into a goaltender's nightmare and a goal
scorer's dream. By the end of the game the Generals had more than enough goals
to have won with a total of 7. Unfortunately for Flint, the Gears had a lot
more with a total of 12 goals and easily won the game. There were penalties a
plenty in the game because the two teams had mixed it up a month earlier in
Flint and now, they were both looking to even some scores. The biggest burr was
between Dennis Desrosiers and Flint's Rod Cox. Cox had spent most of the
previous game taunting Rosie into fighting and tried to do the same in this
game, but Dennis was not taking the bait. Finally, at the urging of the crowd
Don Perry sent his bruiser Mike Legge out to polish off Cox- which he easily
accomplished. While Cox was in the box, Rosie skated by and tossed a rubber
chicken in with him. That drew Dennis a game misconduct, but for a guy who had
scored 60 goals that season- it was worth the laughs. The star of the show was
the same guy who had scored the Gears very first goal- Mike Hornby. He nearly
scored a double hat trick lighting up the red light 6 times. Hornby's 6th goal,
however, was disallowed, but it's likely he really was not disappointed. Oddly,
he was the second Gear to score 5 goals in one game- Dennis Romanesky had
accomplished the same feat back on November 10th. Hornby did get a reward for his
effort- from a local fan who offered to give any Gear who duplicated
Romanesky's 5 goals in one game accomplishment a new car. Keep in mind that
this was 1973 when a new car cost just over $3,000. The rumor was that Hornby,
Dennis Desrosiers and Stu Irving conspired that if any one of them won the car,
he would sell it and then the three of them would split the profits three ways.
I never heard if that actually happened or if Hornby just got in the car and
split town. You see he was immediately headed to Florida to join the
Jacksonville Barons who were finishing their season. One would hope he kept the
deal with the guys- because Hornby would be back with the Gears next season.
Rosie, on the other hand, had just been signed to a North Stars contract and was
reported by the Saginaw News to have "...earned a one-way ticket out of
Saginaw and the IHL..." and into the AHL for the next season.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">No sooner had the players started to clear out
their apartments and head back home than plans were being made for the 1973-74
season. Blair and Perry were content with the first season but far from
satisfied. Changes would be made, but still the hockey madness had taken good
root in the Tri Cities. The crowds were growing and with a slightly better
record in the next season, it was thought that the franchise could go far. In
the 72-73 season the Saginaw Gears franchise set an IHL record for highest
average attendance in a first season- averaging just over 4,200 fans per game.
It also had the best "wins" record in 9 years for an inaugural IHL
season with more than 30 victories. Of course, Blair knew from experience that
although the Gears had to get better, he did not want them to get <b><i>too
much</i></b> better. The one kiss of death for a new franchise is to win a
championship in the first or second season- because from there the only place
to go is down. No doubt, Blair could not have imagined how close to that kiss
of death he would come.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p> </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7722716643991015737.post-80244424912156049162022-08-15T14:15:00.000-04:002022-08-15T14:15:22.540-04:00HAVE I BEEN... DISTRACTED?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgclniZPpc1ETHiHr3HDRsrqq4WF2M6aNOWKE42_O52ctIbmeYWYTCmBlU4o5nDnSzHBEF100JzkM1u9fcr9RN2nHyQHr0czgRT7mkPTBybi6t12SJUM_Q30VyMETQSRctlzOyLSmBEldxqsYpGW_2L3c_35btJjz-KYP2uAUeuAtpee7pAxR_k62vf/s793/zwrknodne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="577" data-original-width="793" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgclniZPpc1ETHiHr3HDRsrqq4WF2M6aNOWKE42_O52ctIbmeYWYTCmBlU4o5nDnSzHBEF100JzkM1u9fcr9RN2nHyQHr0czgRT7mkPTBybi6t12SJUM_Q30VyMETQSRctlzOyLSmBEldxqsYpGW_2L3c_35btJjz-KYP2uAUeuAtpee7pAxR_k62vf/s320/zwrknodne.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> Gee wiz... I just looked at the last time I posted here... it appears that I may have been distracted! Actually, I've been working on 2 novels plus my <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCpBwIbveQP1InF0a_WW9AWQ">Great Lakes YouTube site</a> so I sort of have an excuse. Additionally I just finished an 18-day road trip and book signing, which covered 2,864 miles and 70 hours of total driving time. I signed so many books that all 3 of my special Pentel autograph pens ran dry!! <p></p><p>So... I'm not dead (yet anyway) and I am back at work. Since I just posted this, I hope that Blogger will not delete this blog due to "inactivity" like they did my Saginaw Gears blog.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7722716643991015737.post-43964167429839607372022-02-28T10:25:00.001-05:002022-02-28T10:25:06.001-05:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgxtOq7vHYCuNUmRoy7zjt3D2ILQ98nlQS6HPtGbxnd-fWMlahurJf1rjf3TuFUUe0852wzaixbpZJaROtAx3LbojD55KCe1Ek_KU90Fs7FAsN198AksgkX43OXWXkPTq3jMJHe966PUv_XOECg6JYn4dZSFnkJuJSmNbA26VzJNKjpk_GV9cosDqGW=s1706" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1706" data-original-width="1254" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgxtOq7vHYCuNUmRoy7zjt3D2ILQ98nlQS6HPtGbxnd-fWMlahurJf1rjf3TuFUUe0852wzaixbpZJaROtAx3LbojD55KCe1Ek_KU90Fs7FAsN198AksgkX43OXWXkPTq3jMJHe966PUv_XOECg6JYn4dZSFnkJuJSmNbA26VzJNKjpk_GV9cosDqGW=s320" width="235" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7722716643991015737.post-21549274825914060672022-01-30T14:47:00.000-05:002022-01-30T14:47:37.759-05:00IS VERIZON OPERATED BY ALIENS?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiBIBJNC1LxXeCVRznuVo6HzMgkoe6g2S1-hHw2b6cL619Br76HYeSrx5GbFomu0jItPyNxiAVoK_jSXnUrtLhtDKe9GRhAbv2dEPdtWfDOFWwGBNfRWS-E57tQ16AzlJ77lJD3Ijbwlck9WRMaLSTisjkytOr3B3c4lLbEK1Vsv_lWDScvyiC9yOVw=s730" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="730" data-original-width="542" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiBIBJNC1LxXeCVRznuVo6HzMgkoe6g2S1-hHw2b6cL619Br76HYeSrx5GbFomu0jItPyNxiAVoK_jSXnUrtLhtDKe9GRhAbv2dEPdtWfDOFWwGBNfRWS-E57tQ16AzlJ77lJD3Ijbwlck9WRMaLSTisjkytOr3B3c4lLbEK1Vsv_lWDScvyiC9yOVw=s320" width="238" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I have come to the conclusion that on-line outfit that calls itself "Verizon" is so screwed up that it may just be the place where MIB stashes wayward aliens rather than the post office.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For may years I was a loyal Comcast customer, but our phones were on Verizon. Then with the lock-down, plus the fact that Verizon came through our out-in-the-sticks neighborhood and buried photo-optic cables, thus adding more speed potential, my wife decided that we should bundle everything with Verizon. Sounded like a good idea at the time.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Last week she got a new fangled device called a "MoCA" from Verizon in order to make our home offices more stable. After getting that we found that it had to be installed, because their do-it-yourself instructions called for an I.P. address and we have no idea which to use- now I was assigned to contact Verizon and get a service tech out here to hook it up. There was just one problem... well, a lot of problems.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">First off trying to log onto "My Verizon" could not be done. It recognized my password, but it wanted me to answer the infamous "secret question." Of course being a boomer, I had both written down in my password rolodex. I answered...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">NOPE! Didn't recognize my answer.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But don't worry... there's a handy link that you can use to get a recognition code sent to allow access.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Goody... I did what I was told and it sent it to my phone. Or, at least it was supposed to send it to my phone.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Instead what it sent my phone a password reset screen.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Shit. I didn't want that. All of my other services have a double check access where they send me a text with a four digit code, and I just put that in the waiting box on my computer and bingo- I'm in. Not so in the Verizon universe.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">You see here is where the aliens blur the digital universe. Verizon has two different "Teams." One is the home TV and Internet world that they lovingly call planet Fios and the other is the smart phone thicket that they just call Verizon. By sending me that screen they are now telling me to log into the cell phone world... which has no idea what a MoCA is. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Okay... I'll be a good little pawn and log on that way... but... I'll need to reset my password AND pick a new secret question. Of course the choices are all items that could be easily discovered by a hacker, (such as what was your high school, who was your best childhood friend... easily found by surfing Facebook) except for one... "What was your favorite childhood place?" I answer...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now I can log back in... right?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">WRONG!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Again... it doesn't recognize my favorite place answer.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">PISS!!!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I go all the way out of everything and try and go back in. This time I find a "Chat" window.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Wonderful... except, it only offers a sent few common problems- none of which are currently mine.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Pecking around I get it to the "ask a representative" in chat...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After a morning of frustration, the chat person answers with their standard, "How are you doing today?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I reply with, "After spending an hour fighting with your server, you don't want the answer to that."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Protracted delay... probably because the person responding is new on this planet.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Oh, I'm ready about that run around." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Okay...please someone nueralize me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"I'm trying to make an appointment to get a technician out to my home and hook up one of your MoCA devices." I respond.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Beyond protracted delay...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Oh sorry am I, you are on the Verizon phone team, and that is the Fios team, I switch you over."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">AKKKKKKK!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Long delay...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The screen pops up...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"You've been logged out due to inactivity."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7722716643991015737.post-56479659960354039252021-12-06T19:51:00.008-05:002021-12-06T19:51:53.061-05:00 I WAS BOB DOLE’S CAPTAIN… ONCE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX77b_OGKkeThByeGH6NcLJBshOI5DINyA2dYQkF5OD7WrHeZ8Ikf9ZH840wbakWYkjSX54PCGQ5i6geMwZe57SF7FfFHx2OL7UMA5VU8TQ8gHfaPGnUEc_-1kZ8eghHS_vtqkhP1wulw/s900/KingAir0001c.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="416" data-original-width="900" height="93" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX77b_OGKkeThByeGH6NcLJBshOI5DINyA2dYQkF5OD7WrHeZ8Ikf9ZH840wbakWYkjSX54PCGQ5i6geMwZe57SF7FfFHx2OL7UMA5VU8TQ8gHfaPGnUEc_-1kZ8eghHS_vtqkhP1wulw/w200-h93/KingAir0001c.bmp" width="200" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Friday morning October 23, 1998… I was at my workbench in
the basement of our Annapolis townhouse tinkering with one of my lakeboat
models. As a corporate pilot you normally don’t have a schedule, so at any time
the phone can ring and you’re off to who knows where for who knows how long.
Thus, the phone rang. It was the typical “how fast can you get to the airport?”
call.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>It turned out we had a customer at DCA who was supposed to
be on some short hops in the Falcon Jet, but the jet got there and it broke.
There were no other Falcons available, so I was supposed to take the King Air
200 over and pick up the folks. No sweat- I “hurried” to the airport, where my
new-hire F.O. had already pre-flighted the aircraft and we blasted off for DCA.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Waiting at the executive terminal was none other than
senators Bob Dole and Mitch McConnell as well as three staffers. They were
off-year campaigning for republicans and had several stops that day in which
they were to smile and wave for the local TV news cameras and say a few words
for the selected candidate before flying off to the next stop. However, they
were supposed to start off in the Falcon Jet at 11:00 and now it was nearly 12:30.
When Senator Dole saw the King Air pull in, he was TICKED. He said he knew
airplanes and this bird was too slow. He ordered his last two stops cancelled.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Senator,” I told him, “I’m your captain today, and you don’t
need to cancel anything. I can get you back on your jet schedule.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>“Can’t do it.” He snarled, “We’re canceling those last two
stops.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>“You can go ahead and do that sir, but I’m an old turboprop
pilot. I know every trick in the book and I can get you back onto your jet
schedule,” I tried to convince him.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>He didn’t wanna hear any of it.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As we walked out to the aircraft, I quietly told his aid
that be ready to un-cancel those two stops, because we’d be back on the jet
schedule.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>While we strapped in my F.O. asked how we were gonna do that? I
told him to amend our clearance and request minimum vectoring altitude and
direct. We blasted off and screamed at 4,000 feet toward stop number one. This particular
King Air 200 would do about 307 indicated if all was right, but today I was
happy to snug it up against 250, which is the speed limit below 10,000 feet and
set for max continuous temperature. I figured if thing got too I reduce back to max continuous torque, but
as it turned out, that was never a factor. It was clear and million that
afternoon with light winds- perfect conditions for a hustle flight. ATC
vectored us directly to a near straight-in
approach at the first airport. As we zoomed in toward the end of the runway I
kept my speed up to just under 200 and tower cleared us to land. But here we
are, hot rodding in clean, and my F.O. is getting fidgety as the runway drew
closer.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>“Watch and learn,” I told him as I pulled the power levers
back and the engines groaned. The props acted like speed brakes. At the gear
speed I commanded gear-down and started feeding flaps. She slowed nicely and
rolled onto the runway. I cobbed the props into beta and then reverse and we
taxied clear. I turned to my F.O. and told him to get our clearance for
departure while I taxied us in.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>The crowd and cameras were waiting as the two politicians
did their thing and in short order climbed back aboard. I was in the taxi roll
while my F.O. was still walking up from closing the door. We repeated the
process and by our third stop we were within 15 minutes of Senator Dole’s jet
schedule. The key was that all our hops were fairly short. Plus, we didn’t have
to climb to altitude for fuel economy. We did order fuel to be topped while the
senators were doing one of the stops and that line guy could’ve worked for a
NASCAR pit crew. He was in and out in no time and now Senator Dole was back on
his jet schedule.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>His aid came aboard and happily informed me that the last
two stops were back on the trip. I decided to just keep up the pace and by the
next to last stop we were ahead. As I taxied up, they were going to park me
between two aircraft- the senator’s aid stuck his head into the cockpit and
told me that one was some big donor’s Citation and the other was the governor’s
King Air 90. It was a tight fit.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>“If I don’t make this,” I told my F.O. as we both saw the
army of TV news cameras point through the terminal’s picture windows, “we’re
gonna be the lead story on CNN tonight.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>We made it in without getting into any negative inches. As
senator dole got ready to exit he asked if either of us wanted to go in a
stretch our legs?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>“Sir,” I told him, “we’re just gonna sit right here and stay
as far away from those news cameras as we can.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>He laughed and said, “I wish I could do the same.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>It was at that moment that I noticed that both senators
looked exhausted. I’d been so focused on flying and keeping our pace up that I
hadn’t really considered how those two men were doing. That stop took a bit
more time than the others and afterward as the passengers were back aboard I
took the opportunity ask them how they liked the trip so far. Senator Dole told
me to just have a seat and remarked that he needed to relax a bit. I had my F.O.
go stand back by the door and told him that if he saw any media coming toward
the aircraft to just pull the door shut.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Senator Dole told me that he had been on the road
campaigning for people for a remarkable 52 days straight. And he had six more
days to go! Heck I was only 41 at the time and 52 days of planes, hotels,
buses, news media and all that goes with it would have worn me to a frazzle.
Senator McConnel was only along for today, so he’d gotten off easy. It was no
wonder that Senator Dole was miffed when they replaced the jet with a
turboprop. Now, however, he had a bit of time to decompress. So, we sat there
on that fine autumn evening, relaxed and burned up some of that ahead-of-schedule
time that we had built up.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>We hit the final stop about nine minutes ahead of his jet
schedule. On this leg I let my F.O. fly and he tried his hand at my
smart-flying technique. The only tricky part is at minimum vectoring altitude
you have to keep a very sharp eye out for VFR traffic- especially on a Friday
evening with great flying conditions. At this stop the senators had to board a
bus and head over to a rally at some convention center. My F.O. and I hit the
airport eatery and had our late dinner. While we were there one of the guys
from the line office came in and gave us a message that the passengers were
taking longer than expected.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Since my F.O. had such a good time flying the previous leg
he wanted to fly the final leg unto DCA. Comin’ up from the south we were
between banks and the traffic was nil. We got our last straight in final of the
day. As a corporate pilot, you have to really make nice with your passengers,
so I went to the back to open the door for the senators and walk with them to
the terminal. I told Senator Dole to look at the time. We were nine minutes
ahead of his jet schedule.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>“We flew fast!, We flew fast!” he chirped happily as he
punched his fist in the air.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>“No sir,” I said quietly, “we flew smart.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>“We flew fast!, We flew fast!” he repeated gleefully.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>I don’t think he even heard me. He was just glad to have the
day done.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7722716643991015737.post-73600334966120768922021-09-20T10:58:00.001-04:002021-09-20T10:58:45.216-04:00ERAU...stop in and visit.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiep69RfTHmeW5rcDMPV6Q6zRagJRyrhMpju9lSSav5pICQFc5yW02UVy_4OOYNWsk7MzKikFBNYICmRobqbetl-f1bR3rLIVHsDCbUewvXzaNRiOCSp1_Wt-YVOTE388dbajvvzj7FlDk/s1034/grw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="691" data-original-width="1034" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiep69RfTHmeW5rcDMPV6Q6zRagJRyrhMpju9lSSav5pICQFc5yW02UVy_4OOYNWsk7MzKikFBNYICmRobqbetl-f1bR3rLIVHsDCbUewvXzaNRiOCSp1_Wt-YVOTE388dbajvvzj7FlDk/s320/grw.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Recently I returned to the Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University. My two daughters are both considering ERAU and thus my wife (who is also an ERAU alumnus) and I had the oldest one contact the university herself and set up their of the Daytona campus. We parents got our tour through the alumni office.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Nearly everything from my era at ERAU DAB is completely gone. The only thing that remains is the old dorm. The word is that they cannot rip it down because the school has build new modern dorms all around it and thus there's no way to get the heavy equipment in to do the demolition.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR_c52F4kIpT-iSs-iJpm16ChlIhNckL55Nm58l2EZTdnmATcmber1XBaCptPQwRiag_J41IfTST0gfhraG-cGErcWPSxjSlWuWdY1fpt2pq9TW3RMTPWSc9kjnxwCCGnzhtSIrTab_sU/s1085/dorm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="688" data-original-width="1085" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR_c52F4kIpT-iSs-iJpm16ChlIhNckL55Nm58l2EZTdnmATcmber1XBaCptPQwRiag_J41IfTST0gfhraG-cGErcWPSxjSlWuWdY1fpt2pq9TW3RMTPWSc9kjnxwCCGnzhtSIrTab_sU/s320/dorm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm NOT complaining here folks. The campus is AMAZING and futuristic. Students zip around on motorized skateboards controlled by their cellphones, droids deliver food anywhere on campus, flight students without a private certificate start out flying VR sims and the dorms are more like hotel suites than college housing. Of course, the parking problems are still quite painful. The new student center, however, is a spacious all-in-one facility that serves every need imaginable from food to an advanced research library.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I highly encourage everyone to visit the campus. If you are an ERAU alum. contact the alumni office and arrange a tour.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We had some great times on the old campus, yet all of that is now just in our memory. Today the university grounds are something that I personally could never have imagined.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAYYWoy55lQKGCHfs1lLV9ZRMQYR132o9j93U4SCpY79gCjPhVRM3AcUrVu65vVFpcgRZJtv9nJ6b02PTGK2FCxfqxuRY-qqkBj3iVTHBSAC0LJShZ9FxYAHBV28nAUIgwQRY112IcOhg/s1028/a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="462" data-original-width="1028" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAYYWoy55lQKGCHfs1lLV9ZRMQYR132o9j93U4SCpY79gCjPhVRM3AcUrVu65vVFpcgRZJtv9nJ6b02PTGK2FCxfqxuRY-qqkBj3iVTHBSAC0LJShZ9FxYAHBV28nAUIgwQRY112IcOhg/s320/a.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7722716643991015737.post-80668588405538484812021-07-22T11:05:00.001-04:002021-07-22T14:33:52.370-04:00"The Mercury 13"<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVM23gRqr2ypQNTgq4tHI0Y9zwCaeqPYIYNf2XABL6VTXDjLaY_IYMbXLXyZGFdemCRa1bduyV88EPQyxG26Bu1fm6zFytHDHYVzXS6ZWrMJhgd9OswfrCHfZtyI_HZXIg8B-NOOmYITU/s999/Wally_Funk_2012.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="999" data-original-width="711" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVM23gRqr2ypQNTgq4tHI0Y9zwCaeqPYIYNf2XABL6VTXDjLaY_IYMbXLXyZGFdemCRa1bduyV88EPQyxG26Bu1fm6zFytHDHYVzXS6ZWrMJhgd9OswfrCHfZtyI_HZXIg8B-NOOmYITU/w143-h200/Wally_Funk_2012.jpg" width="143" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">First off, I'm a HUGE Wally Funk fan. She is an outstanding aviator with amazing credentials. She is exactly what I call "A pilot's pilot" and an aviator that everyone should look up to. Like so many of us she always had the desire to fly in space and now, thanks to Blue Origin and Jeff Bezos, she did just that.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">With that said, I think it's time to quell this "Mercury 13" fiction.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">First off the, the term, "Mercury 13" never existed until the mid 1990s when it was coined to title a TV program that simply alleged that somehow NASA recruited a group of women pilots with the promise that they would be astronauts, ran them through medical testing and then simply cut them off and cast them aside.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That is complete bunk... but hey... it was in a book in 2003 too... so it must be true... right?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The fact is that Dr. Lovelace, of the Lovelace Clinic, which had tested the Mercury astronaut candidates, on his own, and without NASA's consent or request, decided to begin testing women to the same standards as they had tested the 32 men a year earlier.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">NASA's Mercury Astronauts were notified of their selection in the first week of April 1959. That was a full year before Lovelace began his independent testing of women.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">NASA did NOT "cut them off" or "cut them out" or "abandon" them. The women who Lovelace tested, although outstanding female pilots all, were never in consideration in the first place. The original letter seeking astronauts went out in 1958 to 110 military test pilots- all were men. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Lovelace later sent out letters to 13 of the women stating that they had passed the medical portion of testing and asked if they would like to return for "further training." The group assumed that Lovelace was representing NASA- but he wasn't. He was only representing the Lovelace Clinic.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the mid 1960s those same women pilots that Lovelace had tested made an effort to be considered as astronaut candidates, but the hardware had already been developed at great expense and NASA's focus was on simply getting the male pilots into and back from space alive. From reading some of management's accounts of that time, they initially had no idea who these women were.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Frankly, and this is just my opinion, the political pressure applied by that effort on the behalf of the women likely irritated some of the more narrow-minded men in upper NASA management. It was one more unnecessary political issue for the agency to have to deal with- and those fellows had very long memories. Just read Chris Kraft's book and you'll see.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Thus, it was not until the 1970s when the prospect of the Shuttle flying "like an airliner" came along that NASA management finally opened the doors to female crew members as well as female pilots.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Disdain toward women in aviation, however, was a very real thing through all of aviation history and right up into modern times. I personally flew with an old fart captain in 1998 who would boisterously say that he resented women in the cockpit and he would, "...never fly with one of them." Which is ironic as this attitude existed in an era when aviators such as Eileen Collins<span style="color: #050505;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span face="Segoe UI Historic, Segoe UI, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif"> </span><span>where piloting the Space Shuttle. Meanwhile that guy was universally known as the worst pilot in our entire pilot group. (My wife nearly clocked that loudmouth at the company Christmas party. One more glass of wine and I'm pretty sure she'd have knocked him on his ass).</span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yet, when I came into the aviation industry in 1977 women were simply a part of the pilot group. I trained with them and my second flight instructor was a woman. My favorite ground instructor at ERAU was Dana Middlekhoff who was a long time aviator. I had female flight partners and later managed women who were flight instructors plus I crewed with many women in the airlines... no big deal. </span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So my attitude is that we're all flyers. Let's simply stick to the actual history.</span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The "Mercury 13" is a myth made up for a 1990s TV show. But, Wally Funk, IS a true aviator.</span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7722716643991015737.post-42522006003336536402021-06-24T17:25:00.002-04:002021-06-24T17:25:57.162-04:00I'LL SIGN ANYTHING THAT'LL GET YOU OUTTA HERE QUICKER<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One of the dark sides of aging into your 60s is that you
begin to see many of your teachers and mentors pass away. It’s the price you
pay for living long. This week I was deeply saddened to discover that someone
who was a good example of one of the good guys, has left this life. His name is
Dr. Tom Connolly and he was a star among the faculty at the Embry-Riddle
Aeronautical university and someone that I looked up to through all the time
that I was there. The best way for me to handle such things as his passing is
to do the one thing that I am best at- write about it.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0PaAuZRljO9ZXKaEuh6h16b0bOZ4r2uwv7qWRWYnZKebcxyDWyj9rkjfjQ899VaYVFtLL4m1Xv0zkSRo_1zygLZe729Ee2XzXKV4MWp8Vi9Kniinh2NWmy5753Rz8uu29sOiTJZ_lAbU/s600/imag415.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0PaAuZRljO9ZXKaEuh6h16b0bOZ4r2uwv7qWRWYnZKebcxyDWyj9rkjfjQ899VaYVFtLL4m1Xv0zkSRo_1zygLZe729Ee2XzXKV4MWp8Vi9Kniinh2NWmy5753Rz8uu29sOiTJZ_lAbU/w179-h200/imag415.jpg" width="179" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">As most of you know I was in and out of ERAU for a full
decade and saw Dr. Connolly rise from faculty member to administrator. Likewise,
he was well aware of my struggle to work my way through the university. This
episode takes place in my senior year. Along the way of climbing the mountain toward
graduation, the “independent student” receives all sorts of shots. In my case
they came from occasional vindictive jerks, or administrative bumps in the
road, or self-induced speed bumps of stupidity, or just unexplainable funk adoodles
(UFA)s- all of which have to simply be handled and left behind. This was a UFA
that left me unable to register for flight without the signature of my faculty
advisor. I only had two advanced flight courses to do and an aerodynamics class
to make up in order to be completely done with my degree. The aerodynamics
class was due to the fact that the previous trimester I’d had to miss the final
because my oral surgeon in Michigan insisted that I fly back and be in his
chair within 24 hours because of a rare infection of the bone the result having
an impacted wisdom tooth removed while back home during Christmas break. I’d
gone through all of the channels before I had to bug out and when I got back 14
days later, made up all of my exams but aerodynamics. The instructor, Bishop
Blackwell, had taken a six month sabbatical in Mexico right after finals. So, I
just had to take the “incomplete” and was set to make up the class in the
spring. Now, however, I needed a signature to get into my next flight course.
My faculty advisor was Bill Gruber, and he simply refused to give me the
signature. The result was a polite, but somewhat peppery discussion where I
actually avoided telling him to have that stick removed from his tight ass.</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;">When I left his office, his student assistant, who was a
friend of mine, gave me a quiet “psssst” and motioned to come near.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;">“He’s going on sabbatical for six weeks,” she whispered.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;">“When’s he leavin’?” I whispered back.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Wednesday,”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Who’s takin’ his place?”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Tom Connolly,” she replied with a whisper and a wink.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nodding in approval I left. Instantly I knew one thing,
Gruber was an Air Force vet. and Connolly was a Naval aviator… two different
breeds, and one without a stick up his ass.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Thursday, I walked into Dr. Connolly’s office with my
document that needed to be signed in hand. I didn’t even get a word out. He
just nabbed the paper and signed it while saying,</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’ll sign anything that’ll get you outta here sooner.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;">He handed me back the paper and I walked over to the flight
line and registered for FA-314 minutes later.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Six weeks later I was finishing the flight course when I got
a message in my box to come and see Gruber immediately. So, that’s what I did.
He was pissed,</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You went over my head, if you weren’t dang neared finished
with that flight course I’d pull you out of it!” he snarled</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I didn’t go over your head Mr. Gruber,” I replied
professionally, “I went around your flank. You departed and left your flank
wide open.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;">He told me to get out of his office.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Of course he and Dr. Connolly had discussed the whole thing
long before Gruber called me into his office, I’d been around that place long
enough to know that. And if Gruber could have pulled me, he would have. He just
needed to vent toward me. I finished 314 and 315 and then easily passed the
aerodynamics class to end my time at ERAU. Thereafter whenever I saw Dr. Connolly
on campus I always smiled and shook his hand. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Whenever I saw Mr. Gruber, such
as at the homecoming basketball game, I’d take the time to go up to him and
quietly ask if his flank was open.</span></p><br /><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7722716643991015737.post-69006185420247231202021-06-09T09:11:00.001-04:002021-06-09T09:11:03.773-04:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaf9GoznnEgcSrtV71TJ6CC34O_mt1rIbbi8wjA315pG9cArhGrVUP2EtnMNqJ_bvs8nqNLkLWBlJFTADfwqJxCPT3EnnrPrzXwJ8Bi0ewZwbu_AR8TIwJvtl0G4uN4Kvbdzu-JvVbqBY/s1712/060421klyde_ann.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1712" data-original-width="1248" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaf9GoznnEgcSrtV71TJ6CC34O_mt1rIbbi8wjA315pG9cArhGrVUP2EtnMNqJ_bvs8nqNLkLWBlJFTADfwqJxCPT3EnnrPrzXwJ8Bi0ewZwbu_AR8TIwJvtl0G4uN4Kvbdzu-JvVbqBY/s320/060421klyde_ann.jpg" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7722716643991015737.post-3020520530273257972021-03-01T10:23:00.000-05:002021-03-01T10:23:00.535-05:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFHApVFkI8mt4dW3217VKoST2394orgvHJzS6vObrYwXFDHwVZJz7TjJzy2EeGsTrReAbnZKlYtSK3ODGdc6D9eAXWbK42ca6uHpz6PkQjpo2avMpbJSUUcwfYjrzcg-jjCfkPaMAChZQ/s646/Home-DetsaSS_logoWall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="646" data-original-width="594" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFHApVFkI8mt4dW3217VKoST2394orgvHJzS6vObrYwXFDHwVZJz7TjJzy2EeGsTrReAbnZKlYtSK3ODGdc6D9eAXWbK42ca6uHpz6PkQjpo2avMpbJSUUcwfYjrzcg-jjCfkPaMAChZQ/s320/Home-DetsaSS_logoWall.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Often I place little things into my cartoons that help me go farther than just the words in the bubbles.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This week I went to work and created a "Special Screener" logo that helps me express my disgust at the fact that our nation's capitol is, at this moment, cordoned off with razor wire. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The logo is two stylized "S" letters made from razor wire.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Washington DC has ALWAYS been a place where the American people can freely walk right up the steps of the capitol building and gaze back across the open mall toward the Washington monument. People from all over the world come and are free to do the same.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Suddenly, we find huge steel barriers topped with razor wire blocking access.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Why?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Well because there was a riot an people stormed the capitol and broke in." comes the reply.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And so... where is the danger now? I don't see any more "rioters" stalking in DC. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Oh... and I didn't see any such response last summer, when Antifa, and BLM rioted, tore down statues, burned buildings and a historic church all of which went on for days. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Liberty is lost by way of it being slowly chipped away... and by razor wire.</div><br /> <p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7722716643991015737.post-17057030843211399882021-01-17T19:57:00.000-05:002021-01-17T19:57:15.224-05:00I lost a pal...<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQQyLw55k3XdyzWLwOub0TY3iHqqISRX2bqirGxihQAw8hlDgS5RL1bPQm_9l0F2J8hKgozZbcUR2arHJacywJltAL8ArdxJOib86_z_8uwAdyR-sS-QKgVYcoeu9HKo_EpTxaOImDTBw/s1812/Ron-Jay+Scott.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1812" data-original-width="1372" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQQyLw55k3XdyzWLwOub0TY3iHqqISRX2bqirGxihQAw8hlDgS5RL1bPQm_9l0F2J8hKgozZbcUR2arHJacywJltAL8ArdxJOib86_z_8uwAdyR-sS-QKgVYcoeu9HKo_EpTxaOImDTBw/s320/Ron-Jay+Scott.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It is with deep sadness that I announce the passing of a long time friend. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Ron Jay Scott" was his "air name" and it's what he liked to be called. He started his career in Saginaw, Michigan as a DJ at radio station WSAM in a time when I was just getting into rock music. We all listened to 1400 "Big Sam Radio" in the early 70s and Ron Jay often worked the afternoon show.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Then I knew him as just a voice as did tens of thousands of Saginaw teenagers... until the Saginaw Gears hockey club hit town. Ron Jay took an interest in hockey and soon became infected with the hockey bug. The new franchise needed all of the local help that it could get and that soon led Ron Jay to being a part-time worker for the team. He soon grew his role and went to announcing. By the 1975-76 season he was doing "color" calling during the game broadcasts while still working for WSAM, which had become "The Home of the Gears." The following season he sometimes filled in for team announcer Al Blade and formed a good chemistry with full time announcer Wally Shaver. On May 11th, 1977 he was side-by-side with Wally calling the third period of game 7, Turner Cup finals as the Gears won their first ever IHL championship. I actually have that recording that I later shared with him. During that season, me being in Zamboni alley with my dad and Ron Jay working for the team, I bumped into Ron Jay often and we traded quips about hockey and the team. He was nice to everyone and we all thought he was cool.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Our paths separated the following season as I went to Florida to become an aviator and he soon took over working as the Gears full time game announcer and publicity man. It was in that role that Ron Jay won a second Turner Cup with the Gears and even got a championship ring out of it!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">In 2002 I started a web site for the Saginaw Gears and about three years later Ron Jay contacted me through it. Now it was me, interviewing him. I found out that he was really into trains and he found out that my dad, who he knew only as the Zamboni driver, was actually a career railroad engineer. He kicked himself in the butt when I told him that back in the day all he needed to do was ask and dad would have taken him for a train ride. Since my dad had passed on by that time I packed up a care package for Ron Jay consisting of all of dad's old railroad training manuals and all sorts of other railroad stuff. Dad would have done the same.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1272" data-original-width="1600" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ2h1Tiz9sEakdSL6L34aK9Mums1V-oKztIW68pMqikI6jllBQxfc0MgvtYMSn3zOCJfGFi2hI_cwNyzkToUS2zPgDrNDVibc1uLydXqNtObpLxFO9zTLph61kLaH849auNtHXiTjDiI8/w320-h254/Turner+Cup+80-81.jpg" title="Ron Jay with his second Turner Cup" width="320" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Ron Jay with his second Turner Cup</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Of course I got busy writing books and Ron Jay got busy being retired. However, he always hung around hockey and had spent a good deal of time announcing for the Notre Dame hockey team.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It always seems that when you haven't been in touch with an old friend for a protracted period, that's when we lose them. This post is for you Ron Jay. You are missed.</div><br /> <p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7722716643991015737.post-26751908167495570002020-12-13T13:49:00.004-05:002020-12-13T13:49:39.299-05:00Back up and running... pretty much<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmLf6nQESfkrSpuRfEf7EEx5Oxxa8ICK8e6bpqaMvCz04F0LOAAAsBphsVaZxbbM71K6q2bdC3SrEIsQa2lREdjgcqmoMSksqXfxGUMf267Ss8iGL5nogOIZ9rIjR2RfmKu0mkoNif9kI/s2543/20201211_195900%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1236" data-original-width="2543" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmLf6nQESfkrSpuRfEf7EEx5Oxxa8ICK8e6bpqaMvCz04F0LOAAAsBphsVaZxbbM71K6q2bdC3SrEIsQa2lREdjgcqmoMSksqXfxGUMf267Ss8iGL5nogOIZ9rIjR2RfmKu0mkoNif9kI/s320/20201211_195900%255B1%255D.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Back up and running after the huge Windows 10 crash... well... almost anyhow. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Another few days of tweaking and I'll be back to posting here.</div><br /> </div><br /> <p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7722716643991015737.post-46175172891869827732020-12-04T19:15:00.000-05:002020-12-04T19:15:18.193-05:00Windows 10- spawn of SATAN!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNS13ppu-fdpPxU5FTpboAzxwWcXojWYiuFyYmiDqqYo9pPWuMnPM-yX4zLnmCi-DNcPpP7-jMHPh2d-nEioiB78ougfVele6JwC5SFUqRRAAjGNkPYEYV6AI-GpwMxxpuTpHaf5qLhio/s552/meltdown2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="452" data-original-width="552" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNS13ppu-fdpPxU5FTpboAzxwWcXojWYiuFyYmiDqqYo9pPWuMnPM-yX4zLnmCi-DNcPpP7-jMHPh2d-nEioiB78ougfVele6JwC5SFUqRRAAjGNkPYEYV6AI-GpwMxxpuTpHaf5qLhio/s320/meltdown2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Windows 10 is the spawn of SATAN himself</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Any... yes ANY previous version of the Windows operating system was better than Windows 10. Yet the mega control freaks at Microsoft forced it down our gullets. To get us all to switch they said that they and their cohort Norton would no longer support Win 7... then they told every hacker in the world that we were wide open- come and get the hold outs.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My Windows 10 has developed a bug that will NOT DIE.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOSnqw605xFa21D3EwRcedOlHhc9iQFRNcGkjE36tbxKe0rwZytE-8DNMZISTdTRV_Il1kqlBxv-tIMoCMz9bwIpwE5vCmb9oysnT4LZeR3C-OwGyIgS3qtRCZ20cB8zfpfKAZT6Dgvww/s681/00000000000000x.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="283" data-original-width="681" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOSnqw605xFa21D3EwRcedOlHhc9iQFRNcGkjE36tbxKe0rwZytE-8DNMZISTdTRV_Il1kqlBxv-tIMoCMz9bwIpwE5vCmb9oysnT4LZeR3C-OwGyIgS3qtRCZ20cB8zfpfKAZT6Dgvww/s320/00000000000000x.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's a constantly appearing, ever annoying "handy" pop-up window that wants to provide useless "Editing Tips" and I tried everything to kill it. I even went of Facebook and offered a free book to anyone who could kill it... some tried, all failed. Next one of those who was trying to help me connected me with Microsoft Support. That technician and I were online together working on it... no luck after one hour and 57 minutes of working it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Finally he said that it was just a bug in my Windows 10, and the only way he figured I could fix it was with a fresh download of Windows 10... which I just did 3 days earlier.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">May ANTIFA burn down Microsoft HQ.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If you really hate someone, do not wish death upon them, nor a kidney stone... just wish a Windows 10 bug upon them.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7722716643991015737.post-64746856940986249112020-11-15T22:24:00.001-05:002020-11-16T09:08:27.935-05:00NEWLY MINTED CAPTAIN<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbmtHcc7lIHzPkPCYyanu9M30wX0OImLsJXBiz-Itlb51SiCcQ7JICUcuG1CG7MG-m15zH43ePNn86J0mNKHdwgdoC2eZnQp3YNgthMv-LEXndDe1StYqqxRS5L4jSRWssNsaCi_-ow0I/s1494/laptop123.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="974" data-original-width="1494" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbmtHcc7lIHzPkPCYyanu9M30wX0OImLsJXBiz-Itlb51SiCcQ7JICUcuG1CG7MG-m15zH43ePNn86J0mNKHdwgdoC2eZnQp3YNgthMv-LEXndDe1StYqqxRS5L4jSRWssNsaCi_-ow0I/s320/laptop123.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My captain’s upgrade bid opportunity
with Northwest Airlink came up in November 1995. That, however, was to be the
captain of Jetstream 3100, referred to in our pilot group with little affection
as the “Junkstream.” Those aircraft in our fleet were beat to hell and the trips
all sucked. No thanks, says me! My chance to bid captain on the Saab 340 that
I’d been flying since I started at the company came up the following spring.
Yet, my prime bid for vacation came out at the same time. Unwittingly, the
idiots at crew scheduling had approved my sweetheart choice of two weeks
back-to-back beginning on July 5<sup>th</sup>! If you were a pilot at a
regional airline in those days, that alone could trigger an orgasm. When I
showed it to the guys in the crashpad they all laughed, and then immediately
began a group scheme to preserve and protect my bid.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">First off, I
needed to NOT bid for captain. Second I needed to not interact with scheduling
for any reason- just lay low and be a good boy. Additionally, no one outside of
our CID crashpad could know about this award. Finally, I had to sit tight and
watch a whole bunch of pilots that I was senior to go to captain ahead of me.
The result was that within four months I was the number 2 first officer in the
whole company and number 1 in MSP.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A funny trend
then took place. Tim Hughes, who was the senior captain at CID and the leader
in this conspiracy, had been bidding with me nearly all year. He was also an
IOE (Initial Operating Experience) check airman in the Saab. So, sometimes he
had to go and fly with newbee captains. When he did that, the company usually
stuck me with some newly minted captain out of the southern system. It was
sometimes fun but on one occasion I needed to drop the hammer on one of these
egos.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Tim and I
flew up to MSP on our first leg of the day then he had to split to do his IOE
dance. Our next scheduled leg was to Duluth, also known as “Scrub Dog.” It was
early May, and the weather had been unseasonably warm. But my look at the
weather that morning showed a quick moving cold front sweeping down out of
Canada. There was a lot of moisture in the air, and that spelled nasty for Scrub
Dog. I hadn’t met the new guy yet as he was not one of our northern pilots. He
was born and minted in MEM and the southern system. Worse yet was the fact that
the newly earned fourth stripe had really inflated this person’s ego.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’d remained
in the cockpit finishing my paperwork when captain newly-minted stomped aboard.
He flopped into his seat, looked at me, scowled and said,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Here’s my rules for first officers…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Gee… no hand
shake… no hello? Gosh. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As he was
uttering the old worn out “Flaps up, gear up, shut up,” line I unbuckled,
nabbed my flight bag and got out of my seat. I’m not God’s gift to aviation,
and I had always been a really good guy to trip with. Sense of humor and clear
focus on the job and procedures- but at age 39, I was a good deal more mature
than nearly all of the other FOs and some of the captains at the company. Plus,
this was my second airline… I wasn’t gonna take that sort of crap from anyone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“See ya’…” I said calmly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Where, ya’ goin’?” he said with a note
of surprise.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m fatigued,” I replied, “thirty
seconds and I’m tired of your shit already.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Wait, wait…” he chirped, “ya’ don’t
have to be like…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now it was time to lay out some facts
for this new captain from the tropical southlands.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You probably haven’t looked at the
weather up in Duluth, and there’s no way I’m flyin’ into that shit this morning
with the likes of you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hey, hey, “ he waved his printed
paperwork, “I just got off my flight in from Memphis and I have it right here.
Look… maybe we got off on the wrong foot.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah, and it’s in your mouth. Now
you’ve got mine in yer’ ass.” I decided that maybe this guy was worth keeping
if I could deflate his head enough to allow for room in the cockpit. “Look at
your sonority number and look at mine. I’m nearly a full year ahead of you.
That means that I’ve been flying around in this shit up here for a long time.
They had you all set up to go into the worst of it today with me, but you gotta
pull that “my rules for FOs” bullshit on me. So now I’m gonna leave and they’ll
replace me with someone new who is sitting on reserve. Get it?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That took the wind out of those sails
and we started to communicate. He offered to take the leg up to Scrub Dog and I
said I’d take the leg back to Minni. We made it in and out in unsettled weather
then on the climb out the shit hit us. I was flying and we started to get
thunder ice. I knew which way the stuff was moving and our normal route to the
southwest was just not gonna cut it. Then we hit a large area of turbulence
just as we contacted MSP approach there was a “woosh” as we ran through a brief
area of severe ice that turned to moderate. I called for the boots to
“continuous” and he asked about “bridging.” I told him that was myth and give
me “continuous” which he did, then the radar went pure red. Of course it wasn’t
heavy rain, it was the raydome iced over- which happened on the Saab sometimes.
Now it was a matter of just knowing the pattern of the storm’s movement. I
called ATC and told them about the icing and asked for a turn to about a 135
heading. He cleared me for that, plus “as needed” and asked to let him know
when we were in the clear. It only took about the longest five minutes or so in
that new captain’s career before we popped out of the shit. I had to ask him to
tell approach and they had some Northwest flights follow our lead. Captain ego
was pretty much puckered in his seat. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We came into Minni from the east and
landed just fine. I asked how he liked flying in the northern system?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I ain’t never seen notnin’ like that
before?” he shook his head.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Don’t worry,” I told him politely, “it
can get worse.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We flew together for three more trips
before I hit my go-home day. He instantly mellowed out and was a darned good
pilot and well on his way to being a good captain. However, he did tell me that
he was bidding back into the southern system right away.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Oh… “and what about the vacation bid?” you
may ask. Well, that’s another story.</span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><a href="www.authorwes.com" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1366" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiku2mp3UmQO137LUC05jCevhkxi_Wzmym3hYpS7sd3glmmDJCto5VQgFf49tN4AP5uzO-c2F98gcIeDjZg1xG2ps3fcBaJAV73PNukzO59u7PIdsvoi4qGoKzFANizMufFRcpbIPAZA4U/w320-h213/Softcover++%25282%2529.jpg" title="Get Wes' aviation spy thriller novel" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>Get Wes' aviation spy thriller novel "Invisible Evil" <a href="www.authorwes.com">HERE</a></i></b></span></span><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7722716643991015737.post-26608828966109102762020-04-12T13:04:00.002-04:002020-04-12T13:27:21.539-04:00Winning Bets<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The following is an excerpt from the book I'm currently writing the working title of which is "NON-STANDARD APPROACH; I was only at Embry-Riddle for three terms- one for Carter and two for Reagan" </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Everything in this post is Copyright 2020 Wes Oleszewski and may not be reproduced without express written permission.</span></i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">WINNING BETS<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I never bet unless I’m 175% sure I’ll
win. As a corporate pilot I had a customer who flew to Vegas about once a month
and had us stay there for a day or two. I never lost a dime on gambling-
because I never bet. On one trip my boss brought his wife along and she was
really bugged by the fact that I wouldn’t gamble. I explained that the odds are
highly slanted toward the house and I was getting paid to be there- not the
other way around. As we left dinner one evening I walked right past a row of
slot machines ignoring them all. Finally she stopped me and gave me a quarter
out of her purse.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Here!”
she said directly, “Just put this in one of those machines and pull the
handle.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hey, it was my boss’ wife… so I
inserted the coin dutifully and pulled the handle. Then I walked away to my
room while the wheels were still spinning!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
can’t just walk away like that!” she shouted down the hall, “What if it wins?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It
won’t.” I replied over my shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And it didn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I applied that same attitude all
through my Embry-Riddle saga. When we entered the school as freshmen, the
student bookstore had lots of swag with which to relieve us of even more of our
money. Most of it was fairly high quality and we snapped it up. One such item was
the weather-proof zip up book satchel. It was made of neoprene with a heavy
duty zipper and was said to be totally waterproof. In the Florida climate, that
was a good thing for your books- which were certainly not cheap.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhllfVNv8hHcPyxKPOl435-jotMnHI4i9r07XUef2XSQWAlxgc-Z6ab-KgobLgwCaCNn2ejAkn_2oXet4D8JzE6BkcE-TldI5FLdrie7BnNGMRLJyy3lHEDu3Ho6nGrGWMxc-Xrk1NwFO4/s1600/20200411_162805.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1285" data-original-width="1600" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhllfVNv8hHcPyxKPOl435-jotMnHI4i9r07XUef2XSQWAlxgc-Z6ab-KgobLgwCaCNn2ejAkn_2oXet4D8JzE6BkcE-TldI5FLdrie7BnNGMRLJyy3lHEDu3Ho6nGrGWMxc-Xrk1NwFO4/s200/20200411_162805.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My 1977 neoprene book bag.<br />
Not in bad shape after all these years.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I bought one- we all bought them.
They had the ERAU logo on them and they were easy to carry. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One day while we were getting off the
bus at the RSI and walking back to our room I was goading my roommate Mike that
these bags were completely waterproof and I could actually toss mine into the
pool and my books would come out dry. That turned into a bet… five bucks, a
hand shake and I tossed my book bag, with my books in it, directly into the
pool! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It sank like a rock.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kicking off my shoes and ditching my
wallet I dove in after it. It was at the bottom of the deep end and I went down
and easily recovered the bag. Surfacing I shook off a bit and with a small
crowd watching, I unzipped the bag. Every book was bone dry, and Mike paid off.
I didn't bother to tell him that I saw one of the other guys do the same thing
earlier in the week, so I had the edge.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Mike should have known better because
he had lost a bet for $10 several days earlier when I boasted that if he gave
me anything… anything, I could make a contraption out of it that would fly. That
evening after dinner he handed me the cash register receipt and a tooth pick
and told me to make it fly. Later in Room 182 I sailed the contraption over to
his bunk and he tossed me the cash. It was simple matter of taking the receipt
and folding it in half crosswise then making to small rips in the fold and
threading the tooth pick through them. I extended the wood to give the
contraption a slightly forward CG and it flew quite well… just like the ones I
used to make when I was in high school.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That’s what we were at ERAU to figure
out. Fly something and get paid for it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Those two little tales lead into this
one- which I think really quantifies ERAU.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">While waiting for a “Nav. II” class
to begin I waved a 3x5 note card at Earl, a pal of mine who was seated behind
me, and I boasted that I could take it alone and make an airplane that would
fly to the front of the classroom. He bet me a seafood dinner that I couldn’t
do it. Considering that I was on a starvation budget, one would think that such
was a bet I’d never take. But I love seafood and I had an ace up my sleeve.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM40lQCjqQ3DZcpl8Q8CoEpUbKtC9dx48ynTmHlYkZ33zZ7nm7tuGAMQaOGkGufsN7HFOP0w2o_diTY08bhWHnpoOFG4OK2fl76HtRsYEC0oXwptPEX7aP8pzAsiQZzWzFJvTTGwAyiSY/s1600/20200411_162422.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1275" data-original-width="1600" height="159" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM40lQCjqQ3DZcpl8Q8CoEpUbKtC9dx48ynTmHlYkZ33zZ7nm7tuGAMQaOGkGufsN7HFOP0w2o_diTY08bhWHnpoOFG4OK2fl76HtRsYEC0oXwptPEX7aP8pzAsiQZzWzFJvTTGwAyiSY/s200/20200411_162422.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I decided to make one just for this<br />
blog post.Yes, it flew...<br />
I still got it, eh.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Since the beginning of the school
year I’d been fascinated with the concept of flat plate lift. One afternoon I
had spent nearly an hour in the Avion office being informed on the subject by
one of the upperclassmen who was an engineering student. In my spare time I sat
in my dorm room and built small airplanes with flat wings out of 3x5 cards. I
had it down to a science where I could make a good flyer out of just one card.
The airplanes had a one-piece wing that ran through a slit in the “V” shaped
fuselage that was long enough so you could adjust the wing laterally for CG. The wings had small winglets and the vertical stabilizer was a
section of the fuselage that was folded upward so the “V” pointed forward. That
caused the relative wind to force the nose up and induce an angle of attack. At
the front I folded the fuselage over itself a few times to add nose weight. The
horizontal stabilizer was simply a rectangular flat piece that slid into a slot
in the aft fuselage. They flew quite well, but when you gulled the wing… they
flew great! My only problem now was that in class I didn’t have my trusty Xacto
knife. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’d have to tare carefully…there was seafood at risk.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Our instructor in that Nav. II class
was Mr. Mike Dougherty, which was great. I’d had him for my very first class at
ERAU, “Foundations of Aeronautics.” He was a former Air Force KC-135 driver and
was as cool as they come with plenty of aviation war stories and sick jokes.
Today, that quality would come through for me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I sat there during the lecture, passively
constructing my little flat wing glider. I made my wing slots with a pencil point and then balanced for CG on the pencil as well. When it was done I held it down low
and showed it off the Earl. He leaned over the desk and whispered,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Okay…
now fly it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hey, I said I love seafood.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I cocked back my elbow and gave her a
toss.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The damned thing not only flew, but
it took off!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Mr. Dougherty had been lecturing
toward the other side of the room and I’m not sure what caught his attention;
the glider in flight, or the rippling chorus of snickers and “whoa”s. The
little plane flew right up and plopped down gently near his feet. He stopped
his lecture and picked it up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Who
made this?” he asked casually as he examined the little airplane. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A half dozen fingers, led by Earl,
pointed to me as I meekly raised my hand. Mr. Dougherty eyed the airplane intensely
and then he wound up and gave it the skilled toss of someone who'd been launching paper planes since he was a little kid! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Again the little airplane took flight
and stalling slightly a few times nearly made it to the classroom door.
Everyone snickered and Mr. Dougherty just shook his head.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Come
up after class and get yer “A” for the day,” he said pointing at me. Then he
turned to the rest of the class and said firmly, “Don’t none of y’all get any
ideas either.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This little event, I’ve always
thought, says a lot about what ERAU is all about.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOVqAUHJYLKd8y0r7FH4VymT9b8nVM7LJEBQrngfOdR0g1PUFgxqkdeGy2Abs423BYGDVjQfeS2BDk4ifBoQun9sUPR9qlJXF6mLyLkjBIL91rb8Yg2zCSvYT1ISC7liDCpOmvbochUPA/s1600/HattrickBestSeller.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="753" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOVqAUHJYLKd8y0r7FH4VymT9b8nVM7LJEBQrngfOdR0g1PUFgxqkdeGy2Abs423BYGDVjQfeS2BDk4ifBoQun9sUPR9qlJXF6mLyLkjBIL91rb8Yg2zCSvYT1ISC7liDCpOmvbochUPA/s320/HattrickBestSeller.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Check out my Hat trick of best sellers <a href="http://www.authorwes.com/">HERE</a><br />
Or <br />
catch them on e-book ...<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Wes-Oleszewski/e/B001JP7MEM?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1&qid=1586710992&sr=1-1">Here!</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7722716643991015737.post-18721263171337136202019-12-14T19:03:00.000-05:002019-12-14T19:04:29.780-05:00Dinner with a Legend<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRGwCFxcpNT1bS0piyuR5b7J1z4QKoLQh6qXSV_nwjdpv3CKWQNhK-aMW0f3FsoN2RCKFntN-cgmd1_oy7ESqLw3cY4iMoUehAu4BzS6HWHquxQ8PhpbDuAGxHW_FUZRkO0jY0EjumkQM/s1600/zzzzMinetaN_I_BW.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRGwCFxcpNT1bS0piyuR5b7J1z4QKoLQh6qXSV_nwjdpv3CKWQNhK-aMW0f3FsoN2RCKFntN-cgmd1_oy7ESqLw3cY4iMoUehAu4BzS6HWHquxQ8PhpbDuAGxHW_FUZRkO0jY0EjumkQM/s320/zzzzMinetaN_I_BW.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Former DOT Secretary and Congressman from California Norm Mineta (Right)<br />
who is a legend, and Me, the guy who has never done anything worthwhile (Left). </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Friday the 13th is usually considered a day of bad luck, things going wrong and general ill winds. However, on Friday the 13th, of December 2019 the day would become an unforgettable good one for me.<br />
<br />
The day before I got a text from my buddy, fellow ERAU alumnis and author Bob Brantner. He had spoken to me a few weeks earlier asking if I wanted to attend the annual Wright Memorial dinner with him and his dad, former DOT Secretary Norman Y. Mineta- who very much prefers to simply be called "Norm." It would be a "black-tie" event and the tickets were $250... each. Of course I could hand out a few business cards and deduct the ticket cost, but that term "black-tie" was like scratching a blackboard to me (<b><i>for those of you who do not recall what a blackboard is, the reference used here indicates a very annoying noise that causes a shiver to run up your spine. - Advice from a boomer to the generation know-it-all, yet experienced nothing</i></b>). My normal formal wardrobe involves jeans, sneakers and a CCM Hockey T-shirt. I suggest to Bob that I'd probably pass on the offer. On Thursday morning, however, he hit me with a text saying that his dad had bought six tickets to the event and two people had dropped out, so now I had a free seat and if need be, just a suit and tie would be fine. I said I'd have to contact Teresa and see what she had scheduled for Friday.<br />
<br />
Texting my wife I outlined the situation. Now, she has been working as an FAA contractor at several different companies since 1990... she replied, "NORM! You GOTTA GO!!!" I responded that I did not have tux. She fired back, "It's Norm Mineta. RENT ONE!" Then a moment later she sent another message saying that I did to have a tux- "Look in your armour." I went to the armour and began sliding back the "good shirts," ties and dozen hockey jerseys all of which were waiting for countless years steeped in the atmosphere of cedar wood. There against the back wall was a single hanger with a plastic bag-draped item that had not been disturbed since New Years Eve 1999... it was my long forgotten tux that was older than both of our children.<br />
<br />
Of course the first question was... does it still fit? Pulling it out, the pants, jacket and shirt amazingly still fit. In fact the pants were slightly large. Examining the jacket closely I found one small moth hole on the sleeve so tiny that no one would notice. Next I dug out the shoes... the damned things fit too! My only issue was that the shirt collar was too small to button. The tie would hide that. I was in business and I quickly texted Bob and told him to count me in.<br />
<br />
Friday morning I decided to get a start by putting some badly needed polish on the shoes. Opening the can I found what had once been the polish was now dried up and cracked, looking very much like a lunar sample that had just been re-opened after a half century. Additionally I found that I did not have a plain white T-shirt! Every shirt that I had was garnished with some sort of block writing or insane image. It was sure bet that people looking at the front of my tux shirt would be able to read "WKRP in Cincinnati" in red letters right through it! It struck me that I was a long way from my days as a corporate pilot where the shoes were shined and the ties were ironed. Thus it was a dash to Walmart. Now... just try to find a package with one, size L mens crew neck T-shirt, in that place. All that was on the shelf was the packages of 8 or 6 and most were size 3XL... which I guess was the hottest seller at Walmart along with the wife-beater shirt because they had plenty of them. Finally, after strolling around a bit and digging up to my elbows I found a pack of two! The shoe polish was easy, but as I picked up the can I heard one of the other shoppers mumble, "What the hell do ya' use that for?" Apparently our wardrobe normality was similar.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.authorwes.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXe3QJYXt92Ej2POUiagMOJmUt_mOEAYKds18ChxYnfV0mlI0vONWiApoBfeisno22CllScRdXJuWGyofap96RCNSAFz3f7Oh0CnF-QFCcsbkBqjJzDwbwFY6JB31d_AZnNQxrhNd1yCE/s200/zInvisibleEvil.jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">To get a signed and personalized copy<br />
click <a href="http://www.authorwes.com/">HERE</a> To get an e-book<br />
click <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Wes-Oleszewski/e/B001JP7MEM?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1&qid=1576367621&sr=8-1">HERE</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
That afternoon with freshly polished shoes I donned my tux which felt happy to finally be out of the armour. Yet I considered that I'd be way more comfortable in my hockey gear, but had hope that I may somehow blend in with the black-tie crowd. Teresa was, as always, working from home on Friday as I stepped out of our room and into the living room to show her how I looked and with the hope that she'd catch any glaring errors. Of course since she was working from home, I was pretty much invisible. I cleared my throat to get her attention. She looked over, smiled slightly and twinkled her fingers to indicate either "good bye," or "get lost" I'm never sure which.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.authorwes.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1036" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO4VW_tSoRV-hDP8SGyCqaAVj6yX_Qa9eKa_PkJ37OklQPuz3-xiljuSb0DBq_OPsuT04zTBQdcVVtMw26Qp0em7qD1ryfVRZCRHl4tHalGpCLejfLsgiEOKUK1kWrech5V1SQBcl39dA/s200/zGLWWII.jpg" width="129" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">To get a signed/personalized copy<br />
click <a href="http://www.authorwes.com/">HERE</a> to get the e-book<br />
click <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Growing-Spaceflight-Apollo-part-one/dp/1942898010/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1552327403&sr=8-4">HERE</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Driving to meet the rest of the party I stopped at a red light and the guy next to me looked over as if to say, "humph... a waiter." Then navigating to Norm's house, my amazing Google navigation gave me a last moment wrong turn and I found myself in the driveway of a dilapidated country house with two disabled rusting pickup trucks and a mountain of trash in the year. The rusting screen door had a hand-scrolled sign hanging on it that read "BEWAR OF DOG."<br />
<br />
I knew that Norm was a down to earth sort of guy, but that could not be his house. A quick call to Bob got me turned back in the right direction and soon I joined the Mineta team. In the gang, which was led by Norm Mineta, were Bob, who was directing activities, plus <span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #1c1e21; line-height: 115%;">Patrick McCarthy, </span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="background: white; text-decoration-line: none;">Kaylee
Downen-Pizzonia</span></span><span style="background: white; line-height: 115%;">,</span><span style="background: white; color: #1c1e21; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="background: white; color: #1c1e21; line-height: 115%;">and </span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="background: white; text-decoration-line: none;">Don Knight.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="background: white; text-decoration-line: none;"><br /></span></span></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirr0RCftqWs6R2t-kxqK-jFGVFTXFcDPfjO7QfJxvLsykoKYvOa6pbdB8l4tYfZFuHXAEWHol8BtT24zH1O_DlyomcxgYYW3-ppcVLk1AdvimDNPsL_8SXUZNUxliJFJtBPxAqboqh4T4/s1600/zzzzMinetaBW.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1600" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirr0RCftqWs6R2t-kxqK-jFGVFTXFcDPfjO7QfJxvLsykoKYvOa6pbdB8l4tYfZFuHXAEWHol8BtT24zH1O_DlyomcxgYYW3-ppcVLk1AdvimDNPsL_8SXUZNUxliJFJtBPxAqboqh4T4/s320/zzzzMinetaBW.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Mineta gang (L to R) Norm Mineta, Patrick McCarthy,<br />
Kaylee Downen-Pizzonia, Bob Brantner, Don Knight, Me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigHL8TyltifKjQbp041CeUG4GVXQjI7OjPQrBaNM3bIrB2eEObo2_VPT9qAquCpPNZcPrpKpr9bInfvw0XjZvmt-4VKVU-wCzCWlQA_HwSqMn39jUHl303zrbsedAmyxolRsVn-iWdve0/s1600/ZZZZMarkN_me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigHL8TyltifKjQbp041CeUG4GVXQjI7OjPQrBaNM3bIrB2eEObo2_VPT9qAquCpPNZcPrpKpr9bInfvw0XjZvmt-4VKVU-wCzCWlQA_HwSqMn39jUHl303zrbsedAmyxolRsVn-iWdve0/s200/ZZZZMarkN_me.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The great Mark Usciak<br />
and some other guy...<br />
ummm... me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After the normal struggle with DC traffic we arrived at the hotel and the event. I was sure that I would not see anyone there that I knew outside of our group. As I was going up the escalator to the reception, I looked down and coming up was my long time space pal and photographer Mark Usciak! I greeted him at the top and he was surprised to see me too. "Where are we," he asked rhetorically, "Tuscon? KSC? Houston?" From there the night evolved from slightly awkward to fantastic. I quickly found that people in aviation and space all see Norm as a superstar. Everyone wanted to shake his hand, greet him and have their picture taken with him. As I recall nearly every speaker that night mentioned his name and the spotlight shined down on our table as the crowd applauded. When selecting seats, Bod sat next to his dad and told me to sit on the other side of Norm. I felt highly honored. As we ate dinner, Norm engaged me in friendly conversation- everyone can take a lesson in charm from him, including me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyhSOJ44QQ1Vyy8wqwNcRjC1b94q9puIgWzIbOHAWHB55seyfAlIBY9CWk6mEF-hlegq_zyg-Zvj_nySwLEEPMrE7LofdXs8SVMXpRidHocKDz-oQSTDSNF-OsLMDQUeaJtpF4ZkduIvk/s1600/20191213_213423.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyhSOJ44QQ1Vyy8wqwNcRjC1b94q9puIgWzIbOHAWHB55seyfAlIBY9CWk6mEF-hlegq_zyg-Zvj_nySwLEEPMrE7LofdXs8SVMXpRidHocKDz-oQSTDSNF-OsLMDQUeaJtpF4ZkduIvk/s200/20191213_213423.jpg" width="200" /></a>Of course plenty of pictures were taken. The only problem was that they had the ball room bathed in burning blue light- so we all looked purple. My later solution was to transform my photos into gray scale.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSyJcei5bKwhaGvGw0zCrBRBE2Clht5ZGsGS12NxpPgj6KF_7SQyimrhtvRheomm9POvfV-5y9qzFPmA1CtH-QM2BNNHlKyiqIHgNgrrM9Qwl4KjnmCcR1yka-98Y6fgvQieziJg9vnWg/s1600/20191213_214631.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSyJcei5bKwhaGvGw0zCrBRBE2Clht5ZGsGS12NxpPgj6KF_7SQyimrhtvRheomm9POvfV-5y9qzFPmA1CtH-QM2BNNHlKyiqIHgNgrrM9Qwl4KjnmCcR1yka-98Y6fgvQieziJg9vnWg/s200/20191213_214631.jpg" width="200" /></a>Mike Collins got this year's Wright trophy award and he spoke to the crowd. In typical Mike Collins fashion his plain-spoken, humor-laced speech had us all in the palm of his hand. I met General Collins for the first time last summer at Spacefest. I got the chance to tell him that his book, "Carrying the Fire" was what inspired me to become a writer, and later the author of more than two dozen books and counting. In the summer of 1977 as I was preparing to head off to Embry-Riddle and become a professional pilot, I read his book cover-to-cover. I said to myself, "Gee... the guy who wrote this is an astronaut and a pilot. If he can write, I can too." For some reason that solidified my deep belief that you don't have to do just one thing in life.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.authorwes.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1044" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHMxAYE0cczaIqT1ry1Vvl7hp_GYnYxXnOIfT2B6DTZtsmJz41peFvezDU_1T7CFuWX5ReLh_2H02hYFYRC3Pqc_k_BHMcgJ3qswcDb9DGxGeCDGjiGPJfrCx9sRsi-Xgu34VKOuUMwVo/s200/ZWoodenShips.jpg" width="130" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you'd like an autographed<br />
personalized copy click <a href="http://www.authorwes.com/">HERE</a><br />
For an e-book click <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Growing-Spaceflight-Apollo-part-one/dp/1942898010/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1552327403&sr=8-4">HERE</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
Unlike my friends Bob and Mark, who often attend black-tie events, for me, the Polack kid from the wrong side of the Saginaw River, such is extremely rare. I have to thank Bob and especially Norm for this chance for me to mingle among aviation's elite. As I repacked my tux this evening I told my wife I would need a new shirt for it. She just smiled and said, "Whenever you get invited to another tux event, we'll get you a new shirt," we were both certain it'll not be anytime soon.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.authorwes.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnaCsP4fxEWT9nihAiRFMMOC_VsQKMOUz5iQ5FPfctgH9mNSa-NgPIWtAG2oODlRQs5HOIaRYnh-9xZMgQsUlgTW1lF330tm4OZfBbZ2XTjp845aL7sgUwNqBNX4j7OxLZl2nUTLbA0XE/s320/authorwes.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ummm... yeah... these are my books... so far anyhow.<br />
Click <a href="http://www.authorwes.com/">HERE</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
For the e-books visit <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Wes-Oleszewski/e/B001JP7MEM?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1&qid=1576367621&sr=8-1">HERE</a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7722716643991015737.post-1980863167511285952019-11-27T21:17:00.000-05:002019-11-28T22:06:15.464-05:00Dedicated to a very special guy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9m13U_PziM9f-BpLjG9M21UoUCsQJG915nXVmOPjNQCYC02iG2mqxJv4gL72QeYNfellyPP6jd-Ut9ab4Mv1BI4zjcuu8t8xe6jAaMWzO12VwlZcPhZpuw455VRlm-crkiZPekr-oMMg/s1600/img006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="627" data-original-width="1054" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9m13U_PziM9f-BpLjG9M21UoUCsQJG915nXVmOPjNQCYC02iG2mqxJv4gL72QeYNfellyPP6jd-Ut9ab4Mv1BI4zjcuu8t8xe6jAaMWzO12VwlZcPhZpuw455VRlm-crkiZPekr-oMMg/s320/img006.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">James Brink
Sr. was a very important person in the first two decades of my life. He passed
away at age 92 on November 9, 2019. Thus, hang on folks- this is gonna be a
long read.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Shortly
after we moved into our home at 3324 Lexington Drive in Saginaw’s Sheridan park
I was strolling down the sidewalk near our house and met a kid on a tricycle.
It was the summer of 1964 and that little boy was named Jimmy Brink. He was
about to start kindergarten and I was going into the second grade at Nelle
Haley elementary school. We talked a bit, he turned around and rode home, went
into his house and said to his dad, “There’s a new kid on the block, his name is
Wes, he’s a Pollack… is it okay if I play with him?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">His dad, Jim
Brink, laughed and said it was alright to go and play with the Pollack kid.
Forever known to me as “Mr. Brink” that man would become a very important
person in my growing up years. You see Jimmy and I soon became pretty much inseparable.
People in our neighborhood knew that if they wanted to find Wes, they just looked
for Jimmy and vice versa. Right up until I went away to college Jimmy and I
were the best of friends- at one point we even dated sisters. Since Jimmy only
had older sisters, I sort of became his brother and wherever the Brinks took
Jimmy, I often was taken along. His dad became something of a second dad to me,
because when Jimmy got into shit, so did I. Of course we never did any really “bad”
stuff, just the basic boy’s stuff and Mr. Brink had to deal with us. Being a
Saginaw police officer he knew well that there were far worse things than the
little crap that we got into.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Once Jimmy,
who was as fascinated with wildlife, fish and wild game as I was with things
that fly, caught a large frog and had it in a paper cup. His mom wouldn’t let
him bring it into the house, so he left it on the front porch and I kidnapped
it- leaving a ransom note made of words cut out of Newsweek magazine. When Mr.
Brink came home for lunch, Jimmy showed him the note and accused me as the culprit.
Mr. Brink, in his police officer’s uniform came knocking at my door. My mom,
not yet knowing who he was answered the door and was astonished when the cop
asked for her seven-year-old son. He hand cuffed me, (the cuffs kept falling
off of my scrawny wrists) and marched me over to their house where he cuffed me
to the lamp post in the front yard and shot me with a squirt gun until I told
him where the frog was.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He taught me
many other life-lessons, some far more serious. His first was respect for his
service revolver- NEVER touch it unless he handed it to me. Jimmy and I both
learned how to fire both that and some of the other guns that his dad owned.
When his ammunition got old he’d take us down by the Cass River and we’d shoot plastic
bottles and stuff. Thus, his guns were not sexy, or forbidden, or glamorous they
were simply his work tools. Eventually we got our own guns and we treated them
with the same degree of common sense. From the time I was 16 I had a loaded .22
semi-auto rifle in my closet, just like Jimmy’s. He and I would take those up
to their cottage at Windover Lake and shoot them out in the woods. We never
considered ever firing or even aiming any of our guns at another person. That’s
not what you did with guns- thus we were taught.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Some of the
more important lessons that I would learn from Mr. Brink were the </span>unwritten<span style="font-family: inherit;"> rules of law enforcement. Rule number one: People are stupid. Rule number two:
Remember you’re a people too- thus you may do something stupid. A later rule
was that there are some people who get up in the morning, look in the mirror
and say, “Today I’m goin’ to jail.” So, when you put them there, you’re just
making their fondest wish come true. In later years while I was working my way through
college by busting shoplifters, I remembered that rule… all 372 times that I
put someone in jail.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He showed
Jimmy and I that it was way more fun to be on the right side of the law than on
the wrong side. A good example of that took place on a summer day in the early
70s. One afternoon Jimmy called me said that his dad wanted me to come over and
to bring my baseball mitt with me. Okay. Whenever Mr. Brink asked for something
odd like that we just did it. I showed up at their house and in the living room
was Detective Sergeant Brink and another detective. The other guy asked Jimmy
and I if we knew what a marijuana leaf looked like? We said “yeah” because the
Saginaw PD had come to our school and showed us in a demonstration. He told us
that such was great and they had a problem that we could solve. There was a
guy in Sheridan Park who was growing pot in his back yard like it was tomatoes.
The neighbors were calling in complaints, but none were willing to sign a
complaint- they didn’t wanna get involved. So, it just so happened that Jimmy
and I were walking up the street, innocently tossing a baseball in a friendly
game of catch until we got to the guy’s house and then… whoops, I tossed that
darned ball right over the fence! Oh darn. Jimmy went over the fence
effortlessly (keep in mind that we guys who grew up in Sheridan Park jumped
every fence routinely, so this stockade fence was no problem). About 30 seconds
later he came back over in a hustle. “Let’s get otta here!” he murmured. He
hadn’t gotten a leaf… he had uprooted a whole plant! Holding it in his folded
ball mitt, it was too long to fit completely into the glove. So, he kept
shoving one end back in and the other end would come back out as we walked back
toward his house. Just as we turned the corner, one of the neighbors, who was a
deputy sheriff, cruised by on his way home. First we puckered and then we
snickered at the fact that here we were carrying a whole pot plant in Jimmy’s ball
glove and law enforcement drove right past us. Now being good citizens who just
stumbled upon a huge pot grove, we decided to, of course, take it back and turn
it over to his dad… who just happened to be a police officer… at home… with a
narcotics officer. What a coincidence. Mr. Brink and the narcotics detective
snickered too- not only at the fact that the sheriff had passed us, but mostly
at the fact that Jimmy got a whole plant. What he didn’t get was his baseball.
He just nabbed the plant and went back over the fence. Later that day the house
was raided and that evening Mr. Brink came home from work and tossed Jimmy the
baseball. It was recovered during the raid.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In another
event Mr. Brink showed a fine example of cool. We were on Windover Lake water skiing
and always the mischief-maker Mr. Brink spotted two pretty blonds who had just
come out to sun on a nearby dock. Jimmy and I were just trading turns and as
Jimmy got into the water his dad suggested that it might be fun to zoom in
close and “Give ‘em a splash.” Off we went- Jimmy dropped one ski, zoomed in
close and splashed the girls. They squealed and <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jimmy made several more passes. Then it was my
turn. I was still trying to do the one ski thing so I made a single pass with a
lesser splash then dropped a ski and thus proceeded to spread myself across the
surface of the lake in a spectacular crash. The boat recovered my ski and
putted by so Jimmy could have the girls ask their folks’ permission to ride in
the boat. A few minutes later the two blonds were in the boat and I was up on
the skis again. I wrecked two or three more times trying to do the one-ski
thing and provided sick comic relief. Finally the boat came along side and
Jimmy said I was done for the day… my nose was bleeding. Apparently the last
crash was harder than the rest. Climbing back aboard I met the oldest of the
two sisters, Debbie. We were together from then until I went to college two
years later. As Mr. Brink pulled the boat back to our dock an enraged neighbor came
stomping down the hill. He was shouting out how reckless we were running the
boat. When the angry idiot stopped to take a breath Mr. Brink just calmly said,
“If you don’t like it, why don’t you call the sheriff.” Unable to contain
himself the enraged oaf held up his chin and shouted, “I’m with the sheriff’s
department!” With the utmost cool of moves Mr. Bring simply said, “You’re with
the sheriff’s department? Let’s see your badge.” Not expecting that retort the
dude stammered, “I… I… left it at home.” Mr. Brink then reached into his
bathing suit pocket and pulled out his badge. Displaying it he said, “Well, I’m
with the police department and in the state of Michigan all law enforcement
officers are required to carry their badges on their person at all times. So,
either you’re in violation of that policy or you’re impersonating a police
officer, which is a crime. So I’d say you need to go back home and find your badge.”
The enraged neighbor deflated and trudged back up the hill never to be seen
again for the rest of the summer. Mr. Brink turned to us kids and said, “I
think we’d better take it easy from now on.” That sort of cool-headed thinking
in the face of an enraged person is a quality I have since always tried to hold
in my own life. It works.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When I was
in the 9<sup>th</sup> grade at Webber Jr. High school, Mr. Brink helped keep me
from taking a very embarrassing ass kicking. I’d gotten a new girlfriend as the
school year began. The only problem was that this sweet little auburn-haired 8<sup>th</sup>
grader came with a string attached. It was a snot-nosed little 7<sup>th</sup>
grade pipsqueak boy who had decided that somehow I’d stolen his girl. She’d
made it clear that such was not the case, but still the little runt blamed me.
Now, knowing full well that I’d shove a street hockey stick up his butt, he was
not about to take me on himself. Instead he set his Neanderthal 8<sup>th</sup>
grade half-sister upon me. She was a monster who could easily have pounded me
into a pulp. Plus, I was raised that you never hit a female… even if she is a Neanderthal.
My only choice was to let myself get beaten into a heap in the hallway at
Webber. How embarrassing. After an increasing series of threats of my impending
doom I sat down and talked to Mr. Brink… what am I gonna do? He was a detective
in the juvenile division then and asked what the Neanderthal’s name was? When I
told him he just nodded and smirked. “You know her?” I asked. “Oh yes,” He said.
As it happened, the following day my family was leaving for a two week vacation
in Florida. Mr. Brink told me to just go and enjoy myself and not to worry. I
did as he advised and when I got back to school, the Neanderthal was gone! The rumor
around school was that she’d been busted for drugs. Mr. Brink later told me
that she’d been arrested on possession with intent to distribute, he also told
me that I would not have to worry about her anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On a very
serious note, Mr. Brink saved all of us on the block from a notorious child molester.
On the day that Bob Hughes moved in across the street from my house Mr. Brink
called the five of us who hung out together in for a meeting. He told us in
VERY serious terms that Bob Hughes was a child molester and a convicted felon
and to never be coaxed into his house or find yourself alone with him. We were
ordered to stay away from him and if Hughes made any advanced toward one of us
we were to immediately go to Mr. Brink and report it. His level of seriousness
scared the crap out of us and we indeed stayed away. Three years later I
testified at the murder trial of Hughes’ wife and daughter wherein his
homosexual lover was convicted on both counts. Since I was the last prosecution
witness to be called, my mom sat in the courtroom through much of the trial
while I waited outside. It came out in the hearing that Hughes had
systematically molested a number of young boys in our neighborhood, then gave
them model ship kits to buy their silence. A number of mothers were shocked to
recall that their sons had come home with those models. Some of the few who
were spared were the five of us in my gang of friends whom Mr. Brink had
warned. By the way, don’t take my word for what a low life Hughes was- it’s all
in the court records. He’s dead now- and burning in hell.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Mr. Brink
was one of the very few people who had traits that I wanted to add to my own as
I grew up. He never lost his temper at me and he never ridiculed me in spite of
all of the shit that Jimmy and I got into as kids. One of the last times that I
saw him was when he was doing arena security for the Saginaw PD at the Civic
Center during a Gears game. I had a brand new camera and found him standing at
the stop of a stairway watching the game. I focused on him and then said
loudly, “Mr. Brink!” He turned around and I snapped his picture that is
attached with this tale. I spoke to him on the phone back in March of 2009
after an old friend of Jimmy and I had passed away. I had to get Jimmy’s phone
number so I could inform him. Mr. Brink and I had a long chat and caught up on
many years.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This world
is a lesser place with the passing of Mr. Brink. He was one of the very few
truly good guys. </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7722716643991015737.post-19949676826592787782019-09-01T19:30:00.000-04:002019-12-01T12:10:52.694-05:00KLYDE AND TYPOS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">THAT TYPO WAS QUITE QUIET</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’ve often
been asked how the Klyde Morris cartoon strip is made? What are the mechanics?
And how does an occasional, obvious typo get through?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTUdfQ4BzqniH6jiar1Xn-y7GuilWQC4TVfSbLh2zPa4uQqUYtjNBh5VInHaf_r2zYfNvDBtWA2pB94KUzRj75E8G8SJwMA9usnDXX66tWFm-TqIs4KVVhjO5Q7X8nCNWIVU1GJgfP9xc/s1600/authorNklydeV.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1275" data-original-width="1600" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTUdfQ4BzqniH6jiar1Xn-y7GuilWQC4TVfSbLh2zPa4uQqUYtjNBh5VInHaf_r2zYfNvDBtWA2pB94KUzRj75E8G8SJwMA9usnDXX66tWFm-TqIs4KVVhjO5Q7X8nCNWIVU1GJgfP9xc/s200/authorNklydeV.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">To start
answering that I have to first highlight the software that I’ve used since
Klyde first hit the Internet back in 1998. Originally, I had a Cannon scanner
that came with a real cheap-O drawing software the name of which I’ve
completely forgotten. The scanner was a piece of crap, but that little software
package worked quite well. It was very simple to use and allowed me to take the
hand-drawn cartoon that I had scanned and neaten up lines, add shades and erase
stuff. Great. However, have ya’ ever tried to draw with a mouse? No can do…
with any quality that is.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was my wife
who suggested getting a Wacom pad and pen which would allow me to draw right in
the computer. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeplXDnGYevfASKHSW5Ap9q9bg2-36JWGtQwdxCHTNAcmLdaOaqhtiDiBt4UYaQpkEkLXWUNGxAj8NwqpwMiZT9Puz71UYaHE8VpJm1AjYrMK9MPNC3nytNVHdxbbPHIMYKD5bad-yrCE/s1600/Saab-Fairchild_SF-340A%252C_Northwest_Airlink_%2528Express_Airlines_I%2529_AN1082122.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="679" data-original-width="1024" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeplXDnGYevfASKHSW5Ap9q9bg2-36JWGtQwdxCHTNAcmLdaOaqhtiDiBt4UYaQpkEkLXWUNGxAj8NwqpwMiZT9Puz71UYaHE8VpJm1AjYrMK9MPNC3nytNVHdxbbPHIMYKD5bad-yrCE/s200/Saab-Fairchild_SF-340A%252C_Northwest_Airlink_%2528Express_Airlines_I%2529_AN1082122.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Since I was already suffering from pronator syndrome from years
spent flying, okay, fighting the Saab 340 in the weather of the north central
states, ditching the mouse worked for me. I, currently on my 4<sup>th</sup>
Wacom pad.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx9-3Jd7-XlkGNW26Wj0bpi-0_XhdGJ2Bruvid85UJhZPEOisArjhxFcJSOTHhPjDSw5A7lCoUlaJZ2rxEL9FlQ4-5W1SAl5vTSsabHRkZtAQ_Ai7RjKeT2ssqq7E1uRiPUAoO_HrrWZ4/s1600/20190901_131451.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1088" data-original-width="1600" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx9-3Jd7-XlkGNW26Wj0bpi-0_XhdGJ2Bruvid85UJhZPEOisArjhxFcJSOTHhPjDSw5A7lCoUlaJZ2rxEL9FlQ4-5W1SAl5vTSsabHRkZtAQ_Ai7RjKeT2ssqq7E1uRiPUAoO_HrrWZ4/s320/20190901_131451.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Yes... that pen rest is sitting on a hockey puck. Those pen holders<br />are always too light weight, so I glued mine to a puck. Works great.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In February
of 2000, my web master and the guy who built klydemorris.com, James Ahrens, found
a utility that allowed him to take my own handwriting and associate with my
keyboard. I sent him a file of every single key on my keyboard written in my
own hand, both upper and lower case, and now I could write the cartoon totally
in the computer! Of course I do still draw scenes and characters and scan them,
but for dialogue the pen and ink were gone. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Two years
later disaster struck as I had a computer crash that wiped out my desktop unit.
Of course when I had the new computer built I found that Windows 2000, which
was what we all were forced to use because Microsoft was no longer supporting
Windows 98, would not run my drawing software! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">CRAP!!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I tried
assorted popular “drawing” software programs and they all had one huge flaw…
they wanted to do TOO MUCH. They were designed for people who cannot draw and
they have scads of additional “tools” trying to meet the needs of all of their
cannot draw users. All I needed was a simple tool that would let me draw a
line, erase a line, add some color, or shading and move some items around, yet
nothing really got me there without a jungle of other aids that I didn’t need
or want.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7rczmso6keHup7RlSnMg7NrnHgOYFXeOWDXnQIoM9pEjMWkINtQlTCKGoyR8VQQuzOEdL9y0Lgv3r2dC9KBknpduRbBYyHmeic-4NYQcIC1jGivd17xAqqZZRBZXgh7r-Kp1TaIgmbPk/s1600/img835.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="711" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7rczmso6keHup7RlSnMg7NrnHgOYFXeOWDXnQIoM9pEjMWkINtQlTCKGoyR8VQQuzOEdL9y0Lgv3r2dC9KBknpduRbBYyHmeic-4NYQcIC1jGivd17xAqqZZRBZXgh7r-Kp1TaIgmbPk/s200/img835.jpg" width="197" /></a><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Finally I
was actually doing chat with an operator at a company called Ulead and I
expressed my frustration. She said that her daughter, who was an illustrator,
had the same complaints and she got her an old copy of one of their utilities called
Photo Impact 6, which Ulead no longer sold. She suggested I try eBay. Bingo!
Problem solved. To this day I use that old 32 bit utility and Windows 7
actually runs it with just a few hiccups that I’ve learned to live with.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Now, as to how
the typos get through…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Any
professional author or writer will tell you that you should never proof read
your own stuff. Why? Because you already know what it should say and your brain
can read right over what it does say. Additionally, Photo Impact 6 does NOT
have a spell checker. Thus, putting the words into Klyde is very similar to old
fashioned type-setting. That was way back in the olden days when news papers
had every letter in every word in every story and headline set individually, by
hand! In the Klyde Morris cartoon I have to type in every letter of every word
and I have no magic spell check or auto correct to aid me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That process
alone dose… I mean… does… lead to countless typos. I despise typos, they make
my nerves hurt, my head ache and most of all they make me look bad. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2IXME25iGZzrpgt9Tmv4pJ0zEwwOGKC_FOGKgyFknh4box-FDP9JmWO5L2Muz0UW3s5Nl4y4c4t3AL9p9H_v9eeerA6HLFJVsZDxZfe8YodCk1GRbFBf7Gykdet8Jvlhbb0FwTVa8YB4/s1600/zwrknodne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="577" data-original-width="793" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2IXME25iGZzrpgt9Tmv4pJ0zEwwOGKC_FOGKgyFknh4box-FDP9JmWO5L2Muz0UW3s5Nl4y4c4t3AL9p9H_v9eeerA6HLFJVsZDxZfe8YodCk1GRbFBf7Gykdet8Jvlhbb0FwTVa8YB4/s200/zwrknodne.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Additionally, I was always the kid in school who spelled everything the way it
sounded. Agin and agin the teechers preeched at me thit mie splling was
atrochious. I’d hand in an essay which would be handed back with so many red
pencil marks on it you could not even see what I had written. They did all they
could do to change me- they flunked me, they put my mom through parent / teacher
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>conferences that were akin to Vietcong
POW interrogations and my report cards were sent home with comments such as “is
capable of doing better work” and “doesn’t focus in class” or “refuses to read
aloud” and “was drawing instead of doing his work” or “thought it was funny to
walk behind Debbie Kline and unsnap her training bra.” So now when I make a
typo it gives me flash-back to the third grade… both times, 1965-66 and
1966-67.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Of course
good editors normally catch those little, self-made pools of puss from HELL
that are my few typos. Some, however, are so cleverly disguised that none of my
two editors manage to catch what I created and then read right past myself. A
good example is this cartoon, which ran for a full week and was viewed a
quarter of a million times before one alert reader finally caught it…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbRRC7uodpgwZzmrTi3NgBQApve5rFRUD297krKp2IZdZy486oQnYDGjuCRlHuS_DiXdgiIIPqUqwHhfOARG2MyK6kRfZCkC9s8DhDirZl8b1d12suWvH0Jme1GeDX_Sw81F-1itAT4XA/s1600/zerk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1092" data-original-width="1600" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbRRC7uodpgwZzmrTi3NgBQApve5rFRUD297krKp2IZdZy486oQnYDGjuCRlHuS_DiXdgiIIPqUqwHhfOARG2MyK6kRfZCkC9s8DhDirZl8b1d12suWvH0Jme1GeDX_Sw81F-1itAT4XA/s400/zerk.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Did you see
it?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That typo
was quite quiet. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Invisible-Evil-stunning-aviation-thriller-ebook/dp/B07KWKGRZX/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=oleszewski&qid=1567379756&s=books&sr=1-1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguYPg81o3N5O5LmbnzqgvqqVTRGz2AsI0X9z_Dm2MFFpaH3WlSkxbZTL9wmmQ5eY_19p0lHAkod1FU3XAnUOBwwmoLOpNEExNFcGa-OiyG6tfW5U4X2_Mm5ekp6lRLwivmHdtLDGFTnlI/s320/InvisibleEvilfinalbs1BestSeller.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Get my Aviation Spy novel <a href="http://www.authorwes.com/">HERE!</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7722716643991015737.post-9587344391830324632019-07-23T14:19:00.001-04:002019-07-23T14:19:21.783-04:00CATCH MY INTERVIEW ON TALON TALKS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://alumni.erau.edu/s/867/landing.aspx?sid=867&gid=1&pgid=6231&fbclid=IwAR0iQV9kGY49QcDGLE9SncsyfvYz0haq6bpzEtoCeAk67pMQDGDFuRmtrXk"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwSs0pE2FeHliJL3HJKWYyzWhRs9dfHwiwauorP-ozsJINmRZEdJY14A6NlYYhyphenhyphenUnJeraygT88-ovUEe0edLta0stTmIr3bKxaL8F6jtNhSvf2U_Cm-4XArV-2LDw6k12DkQ4pAbHG_lQ/s320/ep1-wes-oleszewski-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
I was granted the honor of being the very first guest on Embry-Riddle's new podcast series <a href="https://alumni.erau.edu/s/867/landing.aspx?sid=867&gid=1&pgid=6231&fbclid=IwAR0iQV9kGY49QcDGLE9SncsyfvYz0haq6bpzEtoCeAk67pMQDGDFuRmtrXk">TALON TALKS</a> and it was a great time. Click in the picture to listen!</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7722716643991015737.post-35008751752856095902019-04-30T15:18:00.002-04:002019-04-30T15:20:16.021-04:00Environmentally Appropriate <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDTYy6JCgLs_iuRpLOAy28HQxU717RFNLRpLGwlNHfYfafETYgGMo9sEcKxX2KNSXvfG1xgXvcEy2EdTvh0SzPVTSW7vWTh9WxT4aAcGBuleFTQKiP8_7z03AdP_EwscuATrE7fyhTggE/s1600/20190430_135421.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="583" data-original-width="422" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDTYy6JCgLs_iuRpLOAy28HQxU717RFNLRpLGwlNHfYfafETYgGMo9sEcKxX2KNSXvfG1xgXvcEy2EdTvh0SzPVTSW7vWTh9WxT4aAcGBuleFTQKiP8_7z03AdP_EwscuATrE7fyhTggE/s320/20190430_135421.jpg" width="231" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><i><b style="font-family: inherit;">My wife, who is perhaps the most intelligent person I've ever met, has had a bad cold and cough. I took her to the doctor and he </b><b>prescribed</b><b style="font-family: inherit;"> some medication that included cough syrup. This morning before she headed off to work she told me that she was gonna stop taking the cough </b></i></span><b><i>medicine because it tasted awful and really wasn't helping. Then she took a dose and left. Two hours later I get the following text from her...</i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><b>"Can you please call the doctor and ask for the environmentally appropriate way to dispose of codeine?"</b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><b><br /></b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><b>Really?</b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><b><br /></b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><b>I mean there's 2 ounces left in the bottle!</b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><b><br /></b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><b>Realizing that there is NO WAY on Earth that I can call a physician and actually have such nonsense spew from my mouth... I sent my beloved wife the following e-mail...</b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Environmentally
safe method of disposing of 2 ounces of codeine-guaifen 10-10-0 mg/5 ml cough
syrup:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">While
wearing non-latex protective gloves, safety glasses and 3M 6200 or similar
class respirator spread out 55X64cm sheet of non-acid brown paper in a well ventilated
outdoor area exposed to full sunlight at midday under no wind conditions. Carefully
pour the 2 ounces of cough syrup onto the paper in a spiral circular motion
extending from a center point outward until the entire contents are expended
from the bottle. Build a 3 meter square metal screen enclosure and cover the
paper so as to prevent any animals, bees or children from reaching through. Cover the
paper with that screen using the greatest of care to not contact any of the liquid
with any part of the screen. Place no less than six, 1 meter tall, international
orange cones around the enclosure and top with a solar-powered amber colored
strobe light. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Allow to dry. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Once fully dried, re-don the non-latex protective
gloves, safety glasses and <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>3M 6200 or
similar class respirator. Ensure that no animals, insects or bacteria are
within 80 meters and using steel tongs remove the paper from the shelter and fold
it as small as possible. Place the paper into a Trader Joe’s grocery double bag
and ride your bicycle to the Atacama Desert. Once there, dig a hole 20cm in
diameter and 1 meter deep. Using a bamboo pole, shove the bag to the bottom of
the hole and cover completely. Then interpretive dance around the hole
chanting, “OhwhatuhkluckIam” repeatedly for 16 hours or as long as your water
holds out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You may now
feel safe and environmentally appropriate. Because the very fact that you have sincerely
asked this question clearly demonstrates that you’ve already taken too much of
this shit.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Wes-Oleszewski/e/B001JP7MEM?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1&qid=1556651790&sr=8-1"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaL8avPRHDdfrxUrK9qDH08J0LYyGupA3Vo3BTkIjUaEkKdduzxUhj9rw7Wbqw4-Wgo31Kl1Vpt5-PGFNf24KW0rR8XUkOnPzOrDT_xzIOMjH9HcoPoDC7CrAggTaXmhvWcsgVpjqJUx4/s320/82.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b><i>If you think this was fun, check out any of Wes' <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Wes-Oleszewski/e/B001JP7MEM?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1&qid=1556651790&sr=8-1">BOOKS!</a></i></b></span></span></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0