The Klyde Morris Project

SLS Mobile Launcher on the roll

2011-12-02T10:54:00.001-05:00

SLS Mobile Launcher on the roll

On the 24th day of July 1965, at NASA's Kennedy space Center, a crawler transporter moved and Apollo Mobile Launcher for the first time. In this first test the crawler transporter moved the Mobile Launcher exactly 1,749 yards. At that point the test was stopped to allow evaluation of the move. In the days that followed technicians discovered pieces of steel and, more importantly, pieces of brass laying along the crawlerway. The discovery of these metal fragments led to the discovery of 14 tapered roller bearings that had been damaged on the crawler itself. This unexpected damage stopped all testing and left the crawler transporter and the Mobile Launcher parked on the crawlerway until further notice.

In short order the problem found its way into the news media. For the first time widespread doubts concerning the Apollo program began to sprout from Florida to Washington DC. Even the iconic Walter Cronkite spoke about it on his evening newscast as he told his audience that the crawler transporter and Mobile Launcher were sitting on wooden blocks under the Florida sun and no one was sure if they would ever move again. Of course the problems were solved, the crawler transporters did move again and the three Mobile Launcher’s served the United States space program for the next four and one half decades supporting Apollo, Skylab, ASTP and finally- as Fixed Service Structures- two of them tended to the Space Shuttle.

With the conception of the Constellation program NASA determined that a new generation of Mobile Launcher was needed. Construction of the new Mobile Launcher began with delivery of the first major components to KSC in February of 2009. This new 390 foot tall mobile launcher was intended to support the Aries I launch vehicle. On February 1, 2010, however, the Obama administration sent to Congress its FY2011 budget proposal which contained no funding for the Constellation program. With that the Ares launch vehicles and all related hardware were subsequently defunded. Yet the contract for the construction of the Mobile Launcher remained running and the launcher was basically completed by August 2010. Then there it sat, outside of the Vehicle Assembly Building (VAB) having no vehicle to support until the Congress could undo the Obama FY2011 NASA budget proposal.

Much like Cronkite back in 1965 many in the current news media attempted to make an example of the Constellation Mobile Launcher in order to call into question the future of NASA's human spaceflight program. One very popular commentator, who is a friend of mine, made a habit of asking guests what they thought about that "B.W.M. (Big Waste of Money) out there sitting by the VAB." This would seed some conversation concerning NASA's human spaceflight program and its future. Of course in today's modern news media spicy conversation often trumps reasonable examination. The fact is that supposed big waste of money actually could not become a big waste of money until it was actually scrapped. With that in mind the United States Congress was determined that in its rebuke of the Obama FY2011 NASA budget they would protect as much of the money invested in the Constellation program as possible. Those "sunk costs" included hardware such as the new Mobile Launcher.

In the summer of 2011 the information came out that NASA planned to use the Constellation Mobile Launcher as the mobile launcher for the new Space Launch System. A reasonable examination of the Mobile Launcher finds that although the structure outwardly looks like a complete launch tower it is in fact little more than a framework. None of the critical equipment that would make it vehicle specific has yet been installed. Thus, the new Mobile Launcher can easily be adapted to almost any launch vehicle. By way of this reasonable examination NASA has now breathed new life into the Mobile Launcher and successfully pulled some $238 million out of the Obama administration’s wastebasket. Now, along with the revival of the Orion spacecraft and other Constellation hardware, some $500 Billion in taxpayer sunk costs have been recovered.

Just after 10:00 am on the 16th day of November 2011 a crawler transporter lifted and moved a Mobile Launcher and its Launch Umbilical Tower for the first time since the early 1980s. At that familiar snail’s pace so often seen as the crawler transporters move spaceflight hardware, the new Mobile Launcher was taken out to Lunch Complex 39B. In testing reminiscent of the early days of Apollo the Mobile Launcher was being run through a series of compatibility tests and checks. After two weeks on the pad the Mobile Launcher was again lifted and slowly rolled back to its parking place near the VAB. Although overlooked by most in the media this simple test was a symbolic milestone in the process of undoing the Obama administration’s myopic cancellation of America's program to return to the moon. As I write this, I'm looking at my computer screen and watching by way of the Internet while a half a billion tax payer dollars are rescued from the Obama administration's waste-can as the new Mobile Launcher rolls smoothly along the crawlerway at the Kennedy Space Center.

What was once condemned as a "BWM" is now back on track to become a critical piece of hardware in America's effort to explore space beyond low Earth orbit.

STS-2 LAUNCH DAY

2011-11-12T10:04:00.001-05:00

STS-2 LAUNCH DAY

I WAS THERE… Only this time I was closer.

Excitement concerning STS-2, the second launch America's space shuttle, was at a similar pitch in the second week of November, 1981. Yet that excitement came with a different tone. Now, although most of America- indeed most of the world- knew that there was a space shuttle but, most folks still didn't really know how it worked or what it was all about. Still its existence had permeated into the public mindset. Just over six months after the launch of the first space shuttle, the roar of the SRBs and main engines on the Space Transportation System (STS) had awakened the nation-but they still weren't quite sure what they were looking at. Seven months after that firs launch, NASA was preparing to give the public another lesson.

Launch day found me on a bus headed from Embry Riddle's campus to KSC. Unlike STS-1, this time I actually managed to find a seat on the bus. So, instead of being 14 miles from the pad I would be standing on the causeway about 8 miles from complex 39A. Just the prospect of being that much closer to a shuttle launch was exciting enough on its own merit. As our bus exited I-95 in the predawn darkness there was an atmosphere of confusion surrounding the launch time. Earlier the previous day there had been a failure of a multiplexer aboard the order and talk of a launch delay. The news media of the day had not quite evolved to the point of 24/7 coverage. Thus we were left with whatever reports had been on the 11 o'clock news the night before. Even those were highly sketchy, some saying that the unit had been repaired others saying the new unit was being flown in California. Of course if you are like me you were going to take a chance on missing a launch so, we all piled on the bus anyway.

This was the second time around for this whole post to KSC to see the second shuttle launch exercise. Originally, STS-2 had been scheduled to launch some six days earlier. At that time the countdown pocket gotten as far as T-31 seconds and then cut off at all sequence start. The cutoff and caused by a high temp. sensed by the sequencer. This event had been caused by clogged oil filters in an APU and the entire launch ended up being scrubbed. We had all spent in uncomfortably cold Florida morning walking around the causeway and listening closely to the loop on small loudspeakers strung along the waterfront. It'd been a case where a long night turned into a disappointing morning for most folks at KSC. For me, however, any chance to get on to KSC and get close complex 39 was a plus.

As our bus inched its way toward KSC word came from a local radio station that the troubled component aboard the orbiter that had caused all of the doubt the night before had been replaced. The downside was that there would now be a delay of several hours in the launch. Considering that our bus was in traffic so thick that we had recently been passed by an armadillo, we all saw the delay as a very good sign. At least it would give us time to get to the causeway and get off the bus before the launch

As we turned onto the causeway the bus was stopped by a KSC official. Some brief conversation took place between the official and our bus driver, then the bus made of 180° turn and started heading back. Just as we were about to panic the bus driver came over the PA system. He explained that he had been told that there was no more room for buses of the causeway and instead we were being rerouted to view the launch from the VIP site. A cheer went up.
Doubling back about a quarter mile we came upon a two lane road that led north toward complex 39. Called "Static Test Road" this easily overlooked little roadway led to another small road off to our right. That golf club shaped drive looped around and allowed our bus plus another dozen or so other buses stop and unload. Although we were only about three quarters of a mile closer to the pad now than we were at the causeway, it seemed to us as if we were right on top of 39A. We were told that our location was called "bunker number 7." Actually it really wasn't much more than a cul-de-sac cleared of the Florida undergrowth that had once been used for tracking cameras. There was, however, a small set of bleachers constructed at the south end and that was already filled with the real "VIPs" who had arrived earlier. I guess the term "VIPs" was only being used in the general sense here because those of us on the buses who were the causeway overflow mixed quite easily with these folks. Most of them were friends of families of crews, contractors or spaceflight workers.

As the crowd grew and our "VIP" area began to load up with spectators. Everyone went looking for a good place to sit on the ground yet still be able to stand up and take pictures of the launch. Scouting around quickly my buddy Jeff and I saw one large open area that seemed to have a perfect view. We will commented that we couldn't figure out why no one had staked out this area so we headed over there and planted our butts on the ground. It took about 15 seconds before we realized exactly why no one else had taken the spot. You see- it takes about 15 seconds before the first couple of fire ants from the nest you’re sitting on to start stinging you. Leaping to our feet we bounded out of there sweeping away fire ants as we went. We spent a good part of the rest of the morning watching that spot as other people made the exact same mistake.

Of course no VIP site is complete unless it has some extension of the KSC gift shop to take the money from the VIPs. Bunker number 7 was no exception to this rule. Indeed a small portable gift trailer had been set up and was doing a good business. They probably would have gotten every dime that I had if I had had a dime. Unfortunately all I had was my camera, my tape recorder, my thermos of hot tea and a fairly well-squished peanut butter sandwich with really cheap strawberry preserves on it. In my college days I formed a strange habit that I still retain to this day-that is traveling around without as much as a penny in my pocket. Later in the morning I was sitting for a short time in the bleachers when one of the real VIPs sat down beside me and showed me an STS-2 postal cover. She told me they were selling them at the gift trailer for $1.75 and then you could have them officially stamped and even mailed off at the postal trailer. I told her "That's really cool," and that it would be fun to mail one off to my folks. She told me I should do that and I replied that the only problem was that I didn't have $1.75. She looked at me a bit surprised that I explained that I was working my way through college by way of Kmart. Sympathetic she asked "Well… didn’t you bring anything with you?" I said "Yeah," as I reached into my backpack and showed her my well-squished peanut butter sandwich with really cheap strawberry preserves on it. She laughed and handed me one of her postal covers with orders to take it and send it to my folks adding that she fully understood about working your way through college. She even pulled a couple of postage stamps from her purse and gave them to me. She said, “One day, that’ll be a collector’s item.”

Inside the cover was a small note card sized sheet that was blank on one side and gave some common space shuttle facts on the other side. I took a moment to scribble a note to my folks on the blank side also denoting that the countdown was currently at T-2:00:08 and counting. Dropping the note card into the cover I happily trotted to the portable post office and mailed the envelope that one day may become "… a collector's item."

Joe Engle and Dick Truly were strapped aboard the Columbia at about that same time. To most of the public they were unknown rookies who had never flown before and space, but to us spaceflight buffs these two pilots were far from being rookies. Engle, in fact, was already an astronaut who had flown in space before even he joined NASA. He had flown the X-15 a total of 50 times between 1963 and 1965 with three of those missions reaching altitudes above 50 miles. This qualified him to wear astronaut wings. Additionally Engle and Truly actually had a one up on the first shuttle crew, Young and Crippen. To date Young and Crippen had performed one landing of a shuttle orbiter, but the crew of Engle and Truly had already performed two landings of a shuttle order. In 1977 Engle and Truly were two of the four pilots who flew the space shuttle Approach and Landing Tests with the orbiter Enterprise.

Glued to assorted portable radios we monitored the count as it was broadcast by various local news stations. When the count neared the planned time to come out of the scheduled T-9:00 hold, Launch Director George Page elected to take a moment before resuming the count. It was his intention to keep his controllers cool, take a deep breath and make sure they were doing everything right. That little bit of extra hold time, however, really annoyed some of the newsman- of course that meant nothing to the launch director. After just a few short minutes the count resumed in the Columbia had the undivided attention of several million of people around the world.

After the previous week’s scrub nearly everyone seemed to be hypersensitive to the T-31 second mark in the count. As that point came and went a cheer and applause echoed through the crowd. Apparently everyone seemed to have the perception that if you got past that moment in the count you were good to go. In fact, I noticed for many years that passing the T-31 seconds mark and the start of redundant sense sequencing tended to draw a smattering of applause. The cold hard truth was that it meant nothing more than detection of problems were turned over to the computer and thus, anything that would keep you from flying could not be detected several million times faster then when you are off the sequencer. So there was really nothing to cheer about.

In the final seconds prior to the launch I went and stood on the bleachers with the real VIPs. The guy standing next to me was armed with a Super 8 movie camera. At main engine start he raised the camera to his eye, pulled the trigger and began filming. I guess he didn't expect what those of us who had been there for the previous shuttle launch had already experienced. A few moments after SRB ignition the shuttle reached out and grabbed us compelling everyone scream "GO BABY, GO!" A moment later I glanced over to see the guy, mesmerized and standing there looking up at the departing shuttle, his mouth hanging open and his hand with the running movie camera down at his side- filming the bleachers. I nudged him with an elbow and got his attention then pointed down at the camera."OH!" He said as he returned to filming the launch. For some reason the shuttle did that kind of stuff to you.

A little more than 8 minutes later the United States had accomplished something never before done- they had reused a manned spaceflight vehicle. Columbia was safely in orbit and soon we were safely back aboard the bus- feeling that strange sense of pride, as if we had launched Columbia ourselves.

Today, 30 years after the launch of STS-2, I still have that "collector's item" postal cover that I sent to my folks. I figure it’s worth about $1.75. And so today I'm going to take it out, sit it on my desk and remember the launch and the kindness of that nice lady who took pity on an impoverished college kid that day. I even bought some cheap strawberry preserves, just so I can make a well-squished peanut butter sandwich. It strikes me that at every space shuttle launch, in fact every manned spaceflight launch, pleasant people gather in a completely joyful atmosphere- people just like that lady. You can ask yourself how often is it that anywhere in America crowds of people, upward of a million at a time, from all different backgrounds, gather in one place and they are all happy, proud, pleasant and friendly. Without any taking of sides, protesting, shouting, political smears, hatred, vilification, damage and violence- they come only to witness and celebrate the peaceful advancement of human civilization. This perhaps is the most overlooked benefit of United States human spaceflight. With the end of the shuttle, this witnessing and celebration the spectacle of that peaceful advancement of our civilization is quite likely to be the one thing that we will all miss the most in the years ahead.

REMEMBER BIG FITZ

2011-11-10T19:21:00.001-05:00

November 10, 1975- ~7:12 pm

Teleported Into Leif Garrett land

2011-11-08T17:30:00.002-05:00

Into Leif Garrett land

Could this be true, or am I just wishful thinking?

History is a fun thing, those of us who study it and research it know that the old saying that it repeats itself is absolutely true. In some cases it becomes a tragic yet predictable truth- yet in other cases it becomes a wonderful stroke of karma.

In the year 1977 the absolute hottest teen idol on the face of the earth was a bushy blonde haired singer named Leif Garrett. Blessed with a bookable voice and armed with the best backup musicians and producers that money could buy Leif Garrett turned into an adolescent money-making machine for those who cared for nothing more than the bottom line in the accountant’s ledgers.

Basically, the instant that Leif Garrett’s numbers again the slip he was abandoned and left to his own.

Our contemporary version of Leif Garrett is an idol constructed totally of bubblegum who goes by the name Justin Bieber. His name when spoken in a household that contains girls under the age of 11, I can be the equivalent of scratching a blackboard for any parent. In our household every time I see the bubblegum idol the only question I have for myself is "how long before he's going to be in rehab?" My only hope can be that his star falls before my little girls discover him.

As a parent, with two little girls, my hopes concerning the toppling of the bubblegum idol may be coming true sooner than I had actually expected. A paternity suit has been filed against the lollipop Pharaoh, and although this could likely be a simple publicity stunt or a false allegation I for one am pulling for Justin Bieber. You see a test will be taken to see it little Justin is a daddy or not and I'm hoping he's lucky enough to actually be a daddy. I say this not for the reason you may think. But rather because if it is true, scurrilous as it may be, the positive daddy test result will instantaneously teleport the bubblegum idol into Leif Garrett land… Forever. His sponsors, hanger-ons, managers, agents and recording labels will flee like Bamby from a forest fire.

With any luck it may be five or six years before the money leeches in the music industry can cook up a new bubblegum idol. At any rate my bet is for rehab for Justin somewhere around 2017.

I Have a Dragon On My Head

2011-10-30T21:39:00.003-04:00

This past May when the weather turned fine and wonderful I went about my normal spring duty of cleaning the windows in our home. Since we live near the water our house consists of three floors that are almost all Windows. The second floor alone has a total of 19 Windows all of which are large, new and very energy efficient. Those qualifications alone make them a chore to clean. Upon finishing the last day's cleaning I discovered that my left shoulder was pretty sore. I figured that over the summer the soreness would fade-but instead it got worse. By early October I had decided that it was time to visit the doctor.

If it wasn't for the welds on the tank dome gores of the Saturn S-IVB stage and the need to inspect them for microcracks back in 1964, we probably would not have the amazing technology known as the MRI. Thus I found myself sprawled beneath one of these machines as it clacked away while hovering over my sore shoulder. A few days later surgeon took those films, slapped them on a light table, looked at me matter of factly and said, "This is very straightforward- you have torn rotator cuff. You'll need surgery ASAP." Then without batting an eye he added that my left arm would have to be immobilized after the surgery for no less than seven weeks and I would there after have to be in the sling for no less than four months. When he asked what I did for work I told him I was a writer. He said that was my good luck because the fingers on my left hand could still punch the keyboard.

After hearing testimonials from other folks who have had the same procedure I realized that there would be a lot of "discomfort" in that seven weeks and the odds were good that I sure as hell wouldn't want to be pecking at the keyboard with that left-hand. It was then that I saw an advertisement on the TV for some new voice recognition software called "Dragon." Although voice recognition software of 10 or 15 years ago had been a nightmare I had the feeling that it may have come a long way since then. Considering that price software was reasonable and that for me, as a writer, it was also tax-deductible I decided to buy it.

Now here I sit with my swollen fingers, my immobilized left arm, talking into a headset that came with the software that I learned how to use in just one evening and writing this blog. I have a Dragon on my head… Of course, that may just be a hallucination generated by the pain medication that they gave me after the surgery.

The biggest problem I found so far with Dragon is trying to put the damned headset on with just one hand.

While discussing the details of my surgery with the doctor who would perform the task we sat in his office and he carefully and professionally showed me the finer points of the procedures. As we began to talk about my rehabilitation, I mentioned that I had purchased some voice activation software to aid me in my writing while I was on the mend. The doctor stopped talking, his eyes widened, suddenly everything about my surgery had been put aside-"Did you get Dragon?" he asked excitedly. "Yeah." I replied.
Soon we were chatting about the voice activation software that he currently used in his own office and how the company that sold that software was no longer supporting it-he was going to have to select a new package. It turned into one of those scenes where I shortly became aware that my surgeon had done thousands of surgeries just like mine and so what really sparked his interest was the new software. Frankly, I found the situation highly reassuring-I was in the hands of a true expert. It was sort of like jumpseating on airliner and in the middle of the whole flight you happen to mention that your dad was a railroad engineer and thereby you suddenly discover that the guys flying the aircraft are train buffs. Suddenly the whole task of flying goes out the window while you sit there and chat about trains all the way to Baltimore.

Anyhow, for the next five months I'll be writing this blog by talking to my computer. The best part of that is-I really haven't bought anything that allows the computer to talk back… Yet.

Tales from the Blue Book; SHAVINGS

2011-10-26T15:06:00.001-04:00

SHAVINGS

School wasn't something that was hard for a guy like Slats. Elementary was no problem, Junior High wasn’t much of a challenge and High School just sort of went by. Art was his best subject, but he really didn't have an interest in anything else… and so he went on to College.

College wasn't hard… well at least not first three weeks of it. You see, his college was noted for its distinguished humanities department. When he arrived he knew that somehow he just would not fit in… and so he didn't.

It was Tuesday afternoon in HU-101, basic writing, and the homework was being handed back. He got his paper filled with red marks- so many, in fact, that it was hard to read what he had written there himself. Quickly he flipped the page over facedown on his desk- in the hope that the person sitting behind him hadn't seen it. English had never been his best subject- in fact his writing had frustrated English teachers as far back as he could recall. This was especially true of his spelling. “YOUR SPELLING IS ATROCIOUS” was the normal comment made by teachers who graded his spelling, yet never took any constructive actions to correct the problem. They simply passed him with a “D” for Don’t ever have to have you in my class again. One of his English teachers went so far as to have a stamp custom made that said “Slats, YOUR SPELLING IS ATROCIOUS” so she would not have to write it out. Slats was impressed that she’d actually invested in a stamp with his name on it. That is… until the day he graduated. As he walked proudly across the stage in his cap and gown, passing the administrators and faculty, his English teacher reached out and stamped him on the forehead… then she gave him the stamp and told him to keep it, because he was gonna need it.

Slats had always found it rather amusing that a guy like him could so effectively annoy someone like English teachers with a college degree. And all they could do about it was to keep reading and get more aggravated. Besides, he figured anyone who is dull enough to major in English deserves to be frustrated. Slats could always picture them sitting up late at night, grading papers with a red pen size of a baseball bat, shaking their heads and making a "clicsh clicsh" sound with their tongues and being frustrated beyond end when they got to his paper.

"We will go over the homework in a moment," Slats’ English teacher, Mrs. Wilson said as she moved back toward her desk, "but first…" Her voice muffled as she bent down behind her desk.

Standing in spinning at the same time she produced a Homelite chain saw, and started it with a single quick pull.

WING-NING-NING-NING-NING-NING-NING!

She lurched toward Slats rev’ing the saw.

"Holy shit!" he leaped backwards from his seat as if ejected.

ZANGO! With one swipe she took off the seat back and the heel his left sneaker.

The door was out of the question he reasoned as he crawled over his classmates and their desktops, the sounds of the saw at his butt.

WING-NING-NING-NING-NING-NING-NING!

Mrs. Wilson rev’ed the saw, its exhaust blowing papers onto the floor as she charged toward Slats looking to draw and quarter him. He leaped through the open window.

ZANGO! Another swipe.

Out the window he went plummeting from the second floor and hitting the ground like a sack of sand. Slats rolled a bit and then sprang to his feet as half to the window shade flopped at his left. Looking up he could see that up on the second floor Mrs. Wilson now had her skirt hopelessly caught in the saw.

"What the hell was that all about?" he mumbled brushing the grass from his chest.

For a second Slats contemplated the half-severed heel of his sneaker, then decided it was best to get out of there. Flopping into the library he sat down attempted to repair his shoe, it was no use.

"Shit." he exclaimed.

A moment later he realized the word was echoing across the stillness of the library. He looked toward the librarian’s desk expecting a stern “shush.” Instead she produced a Homelite chainsaw, and started it with a single pull.

WING-NING-NING-NING-NING-NING-NING!

She leapt atop her desk kicking the books aside with her orthopedic shoes! She rev’ed the saw.

WING-NING-NING-NING-NING-NING-NING!

"Aw nuts!" Slats bolted for the door only to be stopped by the chewing blade as the librarian headed him off at 629 of the Dewey decimal system. Slats dodged as she took a swipe at him.

ZANGO! A bust of Ben Franklin decapitated.

ZANGO! Half a globe.

ZANGO! A Thesaurus because just a Thesau.

Slats ducked, spun, kicked her in the rear. Stumbling forward the librarian slammed into a large book rack. The texts rained down on her as the bookrack collapsed. The entire section of books turned into a giant pile as a grinding chewing noise came from under the books and ground slowly to an end.

Slats made for the door.

"I must be losing my mind," he reasoned. Trotting across campus in a near panic his mind raced. There must be some safe place somewhere on the campus- and he had to find it. Two buildings later he found himself in the counselor's office. If he were actually losing his mind, this was the place to go.

There was no waiting, so he got to go right in. Slats sat down next to the counselor's desk. A sweet mousy little lady the guidance counselor came in with a delicate cup of tea and sat at her desk.

"Hello," she said sweetly, "what's going on today?"

"Sometimes I wash my socks and my underwear with a red shirt," he told her preparing to regurgitate all of his problems in this single visit "and they all come out frigging pink. I go through girlfriends like most people go through bulk packages of toilet paper. The last one told me that she was leaving me for everyone else. My roommate ate the last of my peanut butter and people are trying to kill me all over campus… am I going nuts, or what?"

She raised her eyebrows a bit and then softly said "Oh, I don't think so. You may need a little shock treatment, but other than that…" She shrugged.

Standing up Slats decided to go out and give life one more try. Who knows maybe a few chainsaw attacks in one day was just a coincidence. Closing the counselor's door behind him he gave another thought to the flopping heel his sneaker.

WING-NING-NING-NING-NING-NING-NING!

The blade of a Homelite chainsaw burst through the counselor's door from the inside! Sticking in the door it stalled inches from the back of his neck.

"Oh… Heck." The counselor’s voice squeaked softly from behind the door.

That was it, the last straw. If Slats was gonna stay alive he had to not only get off campus, he had to get out of town. Making the familiar hike down to the bus depot, he bought a one-way ticket home, hopped aboard and kept a close eye out for chain saws. 36 hours later he dragged into his parents front door and collapsed in one of their living room chairs.

"Mom, dad… It's been a nightmare." he whimpered to his parents with his face buried in his hands.

"Don't worry son," his folks said in unison, "you're home now, just relax, it's going to be okay…"

WING-NING-NING-NING-NING-NING-NING!

Sort of like camping

2011-09-02T09:53:00.001-04:00

Where I live- surviving a hurricane, or a tropical storm, or even one of our classic Nor'easter is sort of like camping... only without the premise of "fun."

After the storm, you wake up at first light without the aid of an alarm, having "slept" in your cloths. There are no TVs, no computers and no lights- because the power failed hours earlier. Outdoors there is an unusual silence that is broken only by the low "putt-putt-putt" of some of the neighbor's generators. There is no traffic as fallen trees and downed wires prevent cars and trucks from going anywhere.

Our community is on the tip of a point of land that juts into Chesapeake Bay with one road in and out. Thus all around us, the water that had previously been whipped into crashing waves is now calm and glass-like. The roar of the enraged water is gone and seemingly all at once the neighbors step from their homes to do "the walk." The streets are peppered with leaf greenery ripped from the trees and the normal background sound of insects, birds and other critters are silenced because they are all still sheltered from the storm. Even the screeching seagulls have flown far inland and sheltered in a dumpster or landfill somewhere. It is one of the few times that all of the neighbors come out, all at the same time, with nothing better to do other than to walk around and talk to one another. After all, there is nowhere else to go and nothing else to do. Everyone tours the damage asking the same basic questions; "How'd ya' do?" "Did ya' come through okay?"

Eventually life settles into getting along without the power company being involved. Cooking done on outdoor grills, food preserved by the ton of ice you bought or froze yourself while getting ready for the storm. Toilets flushed with buckets of water either stored in your bathtub, or scooped from the bay, or bailed from the kid's swimming pool. Everyone helps everyone just because someone may need help. Soon kids actually play outside. Folks relax on their decks or in their yards simply doing nothing because nothing can be done. Families join one another cooking, eating and sharing food in the refrigerator because it won't last long anyhow. Often the three day cooler works better that any other appliance. As darkness falls, assorted forms of off-the-grid illumination are used and soon everyone goes to sleep early, because there is no reason to stay up late.

It's just like camping- only instead of picking up your home and taking it back to civilization when you are done, you simply stay in your house and wait for civilization to come back to you.

Alpha-Omega

2011-07-27T22:38:00.004-04:00

Alpha-Omega

Eye-witness to the beginning and the end of the Space Shuttle

When the July 8th launch date for STS-135, the final flight of the Space Shuttle, was announced I had the feeling I was screwed on covering the launch. After a quick look at my calendar, I was sure… I was screwed. The family summer vacation road-trip that we had been planning for nearly a year was scheduled to depart on that same date. So, the final launch of the Shuttle would take place while I was in the family van headed up I-70. It was a pretty depressing thought, since I had been there for the very first Shuttle launch and I had recently held the hope of attending the final launch. Still, plans had been made, hotel reservations were in place and a family reunion was on the schedule- NASA’s plans had simply conflicted with those of my family.

I did my best to not mope in the open, after all, this vacation had been my idea in the first place. The best that I could do was wish for a scrub that would last a few weeks. An issue involving the Main Fuel Valve on one of the Main Engines looked promising for a while, but it was easily corrected at the pad with no impact on the launch date. I came shuffling downstairs from my office and mentioned to my wife that the problem was going to be cleared. After a quarter of a century together, she sensed what I was trying to hide. “Ya’ know,” she suggested, “if we modified our travel plans just a little bit you could go down for that launch.” I replied with some doubt, but she insisted, “You were there for the first one and it’s only appropriate that you should be there for the last one. I mean, how many people can say that?” There are lots of times when I know that I’ve married the right lady- and this was yet another one. “Sort of an alpha-omega,” I replied with a smile referring to the Greek letters symbolic for the first and the last. “Exactly.” she grinned. In less than a half hour our vacation was slightly altered and I had my plane tickets booked.

As the year 1981 began it had been five and one half years since the last Americans had been launched from the Kennedy Space Center. The psyche of the American public had been shoved through the turmoil of the late 60s and then dragged through the “change” of the 70s. So, as STS-1 was prepared on Pad 39-A the prospect of the United States starting a new and spectacular adventure in space quickly captured the imagination of a pride-parched public. Over the previous half decade the news media, having cut new sharp teeth on Watergate, had done their best to highlight every fault and failure in the development of the Shuttle. Most of the public, however, had been too dazzled by disco balls to notice. By April of 1981 a real, flight ready, fully functional Space Shuttle sat waiting on the pad- as if to spite its critics.

Camping out on the riverbank in Titusville prior to the launch we all knew that we were there to witness history- one way or another. I knew that this launch would be the ultimate in “all-up testing.” Such testing involved launching an entire, amazingly complex vehicle, as a single working unit instead of launching and testing one component at a time. This time, however, unlike the Apollo Saturns which were all-up tested unmanned, the Shuttle would be tested with astronauts aboard. It was a pinnacle in flight test that will never again be attempted or reached. A full chapter in aviation history was going to be written right in front of us and that reality sunk in to a few of us more than it did to most folks who were watching.

At Main Engine Start we saw the three Space Shuttle Main Engines (SSME) ignite and come up to full thrust with perfection. This was in spite of the media telling us about the numerous SSME failures and even a few explosions that had taken place in development and the implication that this could very well happen on STS-1. Then the largest solid rocket boosters on earth ignited in precise unison- again contrary to media implications of disaster. Raining fire STS-1 gracefully arced into the morning sky with an earth-shaking roar that awakened the American spirit. On the river bank we screamed and shouted everything from “GO! BABY GO!” to the “WOOOO!” of rebel yells. At SRB sep. an estimated near-million people spontaneously broke into applause. We looked at the smoke trail left by the SRBs with the feeling that this was the start of something new- something big- something to be proud of. Knowing spaceflight history like I did, I tempered that feeling with the thought of “If only we can keep the politician’s hands off of it.”

Living in Florida for most of the next decade I was able to witness 17 of the next 25 launches, including the loss of the Challenger. Although I was able to often see the launches up close, sometimes my view was from Daytona Beach or the Embry-Riddle campus or even the Ormond Beach Bridge. After 1986, my aviation career took me far from KSC and the busy Shuttle spaceport. Still, when NASA successfully recovered from the loss of the Challenger and the only significant politician’s hands-on the program turned out to be President Clinton directing the construction of an “International” space station, I figured that the fleet of orbiters would be flying far into my old age. After all, each hand an individual 100 mission designed lifespan and each was only flying about two or three missions per year. It looked as if John Young had been correct when, after STS-1, he said that America was in space to stay. We were both wrong.

In a knee-jerk reaction to the loss of the Columbia in 2003, President Bush directed that NASA must do three things. First, it must set a course and develop vehicles to return to the moon and go on to Mars. Second, it must retire the Shuttle by 2010. Third, it must abandon the International Space Station by 1015. Then he directed his Office of Management and Budget to short change NASA by an annual amount for nearly $3 billion a year. This political three card monte game doomed the shuttle and left open the door for an anti-NASA president to later gut the agency. Enter Barack Obama and the cancelation of the return to the moon and the vehicles to replace the Shuttle. By allowing the shuttle program to die on the Bush schedule, and by canceling its replacement, Obama could successfully gut NASA’s human spaceflight program and reform the agency into a federal think-tank.

Thus, the mission of STS-135 became the swansong of the Shuttle program and perhaps may become the end of NASA’s human spaceflight program as well. Arriving at the KSC press site on launch morning was predicted to be “bittersweet” yet for me it was more bitter than sweet. It was 4:30 in the morning and I had planned my early arrival to beat the traffic. Although I was successful in that, I found myself parked in the third row of the over-flow and directly in front of a small gate leading through the press site fence. The predawn morning was devoid of stars as a sub-tropical weather system was smothering the space coast. Although the press site was brightly lit, the chances of a launch were quite dim as the weather seemed ready to force a scrub.

Normally, the press room is haunted by two basic categories of reporters- what I like to describe as the “hardcores” and the “meatpuppets.” The hardcores are the gang of spaceflight media who are there for almost everything, Shuttle, Falcon 9, Atlas, Delta, even Ares I-X. They are a bunch who can bring up a technical question, bounce it around each other for a few minutes and come up with the absolutely correct answer. They know each other by name, face and reputation and I always feel lucky to occasionally sit among them. The meatpuppets, on the other hand, are the people assigned by their network to cover an event of which they know almost nothing about. Of course they do such a task all the time anyway so what’s the difference. Whether covering a murder trial or an oil spill, it is all the same to them. They get handed a few notes, look into the camera or transcribe a press release and then they move on to the next story.

I was only in the press room long enough to say hello to some of the hardcores when the meatpuppet storm began. In short order media from all over the world were squeezing into the press room or setting up shop in assorted EZ-up tents outside. One of the hardcores looked around the room and quietly said “I wish they’d all go away and just let us who cover these things cover it.” Then she pointed with her finger toward individuals standing nearby as if able to be selecting people and said, “You can stay, you can stay, you can stay…” she pointed at me and paused for a second. “Hey,” I quipped, “I was at X-Prize with you… I have cred.” “Yeah,” she smirked, “you can stay.” Whew.

At recent launches there has actually been a third category of media that remained somewhat self-isolated; they were the “Tweeters.” In a good P.R. move, NASA recognized the effect that the cyber crowd can have on raising awareness of Shuttle missions. In keeping with that they began to credential persons who applied to come and simply Twitter about being at the launch. Thus a group who collectively know about as much about spaceflight as the average meatpuppet end up sitting at their computers and describing their experiences in 140 words or less. A crowd of these tweeters are thus placed into a huge white tent with their computers. Oddly, since their greatest interest is tweeting, you hardly ever see any of the tweeters around the press site. They all stay in their tent with their computers. That is, with the exception of when the astro-van drives past with the Shuttle crew aboard. Then the tweeters storm from their tent in a massive geek stampede to the roadway. There they stand and wave to the van. It’s actually quite a frightening sight as this rush of tweeters comes out of the tent. I happened to be walking across their intended path when the STS-135 stampede took place and felt compelled to run for my life! Once the astro-van passes, the tweeters simply, and quickly funnel back into their tent to tweet about the astro-van in 140 words or less.

No one at the press site really thought that there was much of a chance for a launch on July 8th. We kept joking about being there just to cover the scrub and asking what time everyone was coming back tomorrow. The weather, however, had the last word and ended up fooling even the hardcores. As the time arrived to come out of the nine minute hold, the weather simply opened up into “Go conditions.” We all came out of the press building as the clock began counting beyond T-9:00 and we simply stood there waiting. The normal “loop” that is broadcast over the outdoor loudspeakers was fairly muted so the hold at T-:31 seconds caught everyone off guard. One of the hardcores with a phone to his ear blurted out that GOX vent hood did not show fully retracted. I asked aloud toward no one, “Is there a procedure for that?” someone nearby said “If they recycle they’ll be out of the window.” Another hardcore blurted out “They’ll confirm with a camera.” and someone else said “They can do the hydraulic pressure too.” Then, suddenly, the count resumed. Indeed they did have a procedure for that. In less than a half a minute Space Shuttle lifted majestically from the pad and roared into space for the final time showing a great deal more grace than those who caused the program to end.

When it was all over the meatpuppets and their crews wrapped up their gear and left as fast as they could. The rest of us, like the crew from ANN, simply could not leave- not yet anyway. Personally, I hung around for nearly three hours as I found it hard to get in my car and drive off of KSC. The hardcores milled around. No one talked much about the finality of the launch. Mostly we just hung out together as true hardcore space buffs. When I finally could bring myself to leave I took a long look around. The pads, the MLPs, the LCC, the VAB, all of the buildings- soon to be empty, devoid of people, these were the things I considered. The huge press site would soon be empty as well. All of the contractors who dedicated their best years to the program now would see their careers vanish like the smoke from the SRBs. This is it, this is the end- those jobs, those careers and those people are gone and they are not coming back. Unlike STS-1, when the launch represented a new beginning and amazing things to come for this nation, STS-135 represents the opposite. It represents the end of fantastic things and shows the direction that our so-called leaders have sent this nation in- and that is certainly not something to be proud of. Thus, we have the omega.

2011-07-26T11:06:00.015-04:00

Some kids looked forward to Christmas, some kids looked forward to their birthday and some kids looked forward to the last day of school... I looked forward to every Apollo launch as if it were all of those rolled into one. So it was that 40 years ago today, on the morning of July 26th, 1971 I sat cross-legged about 18 inches away from the picture tube of our family TV, glued to Walter Cronkite. It was launch day for Apollo 15 and even at the ripe old age of 14, I'd slept the night before like a little kid waiting for the sounds of Santa hitting my rooftop. Up before dawn and busily dialing between the three networks I went looking for any snip-it of information on the mission.

While most of the kids in our subdivision of Sheridan Park were deep into their normal mid-Michigan summer activities, namely swimming, biking and just plain hanging out, I'd been distracted from all of that lately by the upcoming Apollo 15 launch. In fact the afternoon before the launch I'd gone with some of my pals to the theater to see "The Andromeda Strain" and while the movie was terrific my mind was on Apollo 15. I had a special plan of attack for getting as much as I could out of the flight. For Apollo 14, I'd hijacked my little sister's new cassette tape recorder (an offense that she carries with her to this day) and recorded portions of the mission coverage off the TV onto two 30 minute tapes. Having played those over and over every day since the mission I found that a total of 60 minutes of Apollo was simply not enough. Thus, for Apollo 15 I'd purchased, with my last dollar, a three pack of cheap-o 60 minute cassettes. I was now so broke that my mom actually had to give me the money to go to the movie! Still, I sat through the show quietly planning exactly what parts of the Apollo 15 mission coverage I'd capture on each cassette. Indeed in my teenage mind I had it planned out just like NASA planned the mission... well, almost.

Late into the evening prior to launch-day I decided to do a flight readiness test of my recording equipment. Suddenly- A GLITCH! My, or rather- my sister's, external microphone had failed! This was before they started putting built-in microphones on recorders- so I was really screwed. It was 9:45 at night- there wasn't a store in the Saginaw Valley that was open- especially not one with a microphone. Worse yet, I'd spent my last dime on the tapes! I scrambled for a solution. Wiggle the wires... no use. Tap on it- no good. Take it apart... now it's REALLY busted! Sheridan Park- we have a problem! Perhaps, I pondered, when the store opens at 9:00 in the morning, I could get there and after negotiating some sort of a lawns-to-be-cut-later deal with my parents I could buy a new microphone, and make it back home within the 26 minutes between the time the store opens and the launch takes place... okay... that was nuts. There was no way that was going to happen- just the negotiating the lawn cutting part with my parents alone was on a par with negotiating with North Vietnam. I sat there looking at the disassembled microphone and I thought "What would Gene Kranz do?" "Simple- he'd call a meeting of his engineers and controllers and he would tell them to go out and find a solution to the problem with what they had." What they had... hummm... it was then that the thought struck me that several months back I had accidentally stuck an earphone into the microphone jack and it fit; in those days both had 1/8 inch jacks. And and earphone has the same basic elements to it as the microphone that was now laying in pieces in front of me- I knew that because I'd dissected plenty of earphones. In short order I scrounged up an earphone that I had not dissected and tested it in the microphone jack- IT WORKED! Sure the sound had a lot of tin in it and some 60 Hz hum, but recorded. Using a railroad pounding card, some masking tape and a hand full of tissues, I had a microphone that the boys in the backroom at Houston would be proud of. I added a small measuring stick to give me the optimum distance from the TV speaker and I was "Go for the launch of Apollo 15!"

During project Apollo, with the exception of Apollo 11, even the best space buff largely did not know much about the crew prior to each mission. There was no NASA TV, no NASAspaceflight dot com and no Spaceflight Now- there were only the news papers and the three networks of CBS, NBC and ABC and they really did not bother talking much about Apollo, other than on the eve before the mission. Such was the case for Apollo 15. When we did get the scoop on Apollo 15 we just got a thumbnail on the evening news. Two aspects really stood out for me. One was the Lunar Rover which was, without question, the coolest thing ever done on the moon. The other was the deep-space EVA that Al Worden would do on the return trip to recover film canisters. That really put the hook in me. It was new and it was a never-been done EVA. After seeing the neutral buoyancy training that Worden did for his EVA- every swim that I took in our backyard pool turned into a trans-earth EVA.

Another thing stood out to me and my rocket pal Jeff, (who- although not as much a fanatic as me when it came to spaceflight- could at least talk the talk, converse on my level and tolerate my spaceflight mania) was the fact that Apollo 15 had the coolest mission patch ever. Additionally, on launch day, NBC opened their coverage with the the best yet mission theme song and opening sequence.

As the count neared zero and AS-510, the Apollo 15 Saturn V launch vehicle, roared to life- hundreds of thousands of people watched from the area surrounding the Kennedy Space Center. Millions of those like myself who were the most interested, however, watched it on TV. For me it always struck me that the glory and power on my TV screen represented an advancement of humanity- which was pretty deep thinking for a 14 year old. There was also the reality that as the Saturn V thundered aloft on my TV screen, I could focus on that tiny little triangle at the top under the escape tower and know that there were three men in there getting one heck of a ride. For me, that was the ultimate in cool in the summer of 1971.

While the mission went on my friends in the neighborhood knew enough to not bother to come to my house and ask me to come and hang out. I was standing by the TV set armed with my make-shift microphone. As always, my parent's living room carpet turned into the lunar surface as models of the LEM sat upon it. That is... until the first lunar EVA stopped at Elbow Crater on the actual lunar surface. When the camera on the rover panned over and looked down along Hadley Rille. It was a sight that captured the imagination of anyone actually paying attention. It clearly demonstrated that the moon was not just a simple, flat, gray place where we had "been there, done that." It was a place of grandeur, a place of wonder and a place of unimagined discoveries for those bold enough to go there- apparently Barak Obama, who would later grow up to cancel our return to the moon because we'd "already been there and done that..." was out playing basket ball at that moment. For me- watching the amazing event drove home the point that my parents carpet was no longer capable of representing the lunar surface... I would have to dig up the back yard and make a rille and some mountains.

The LRV, or Lunar Roving Vehicle, turned out to work far better than anyone expected and was soon the darling of the news media. Apparently the makers of Tang saw this coming and soon jars of Tang appeared on the shelves, each with a little, blue, plastic LRV shrink-wrapped onto their side. Also included were two sitting astronauts who were molded in white plastic. It was perhaps THE coolest toy of the entire Apollo era. The rear axle was hollow and had both wheels molded to it. A ratchet-like handle officially called a "Turn Winder" could be attached from the hub of the left rear wheel and a small rubber band extended from it, through the axle to two fixtures on the right wheel. By holding the right wheel and winding the Turn Winder clockwise 40 to 70 times, (as directed by the instructions) you could set the rover down on a driveway or fairly smooth carpet and it would drive along just like the real thing. Although it didn't like polished smooth surfaces, it did very well on my living room carpet. The only problem was the color- thus I quickly painted mine white with maroon fenders- and then it seemed to drive a lot better. Over the decades, my Tang LRV was, unfortunately, lost in the process of my "growing up."

Steeped in geology, each of Apollo 15's launch and protracted lunar EVAs were covered in full, from beginning to end in a marathon of TV news. Frank McGee steered the coverage for NBC as he had done since Alan Shepard and Gus Grissom's flights just 10 years before. he was backed up by John Chancellor and Jim Harts. ABC had, as always, turned its coverage over to Jules Bergman. I watch Walter Cronkite and Wally Schirra for the launch, not just because I loved to listen to both talk, but because CBS was on UHF at our house and for some reason the UHF channel had the least 60 Hz hum for my makeshift microphone. On the lunar surface we watched as Dave Scott and Jim Irwin sampled and described the geologic features. Watching the EVAs I found that I did not know a thing about geology- as a result, the next two books that I bought were not about rockets, they were on the subject of geology. Decades later, from the cockpit window of a Falcon jet, I found myself looking down at the earth and considering the features in the geologic context that I learned from Apollo.

On the final EVA Dave Scott did his famed hammer and feather drop. Then after the EVA came the lunar liftoff. For the first time we would see the ascent module of the LEM blast off from the descent module by way of the LRV's TV camera. It turned out to be more spectacular than anyone expected. There was no visible flame- in a vacuum flame cannot be seen- instead there was an ejecta of gold and silver mylar and the ascent stage of the Falcon departed the view as if on a wire. As the APS went out of view the crew turned on their own cassette player and broadcast the Air Force theme.

During the trans-earth coast the big moment came for Al Worden's EVA. The news people tended to poo-poo the event, I was totally captivated. This was an amazing spacewalk and although I could not duplicate it in the family pool, I did my best to try.

Splashdown presented the only real off-nominal event in the flight. Of the three parachutes that lowered the CM to the ocean's surface, one collapsed. Later it was determined that the dump of the hypergolics from the CM's RCS system caused the failure. Thus, although the impact was hard, the crew was safe and the mission was concluded.

A year and a half after the Apollo 15 mission had been concluded and two months after our missions to the moon had been canceled for the first time, I got the chance to visit KSC for the first time. It was February 1973 and there were plenty of Apollo goodies in the visitor center's gift shop. While there I snagged an Apollo 15 patch that has rested safely in my collection ever after. I still think it is the coolest Apollo patch ever. For many years, however, I'd wished that I had not lost my Tang rover. Then, about 10 years ago, I was surfing e-bay and there was one for sale! The seller only wanted $9 for it! I bought it on the spot and then contacted the seller. He told me that he'd bought a bunch of stuff in a warehouse auction and among it was a box containing several hundred Tang LRVs and assorted parts. I immediately bought three more- one extra for myself and two for a couple of pals of mine. I run mine on the carpet of my office every now and then, of course the color is still wrong.

My favorite holiday

2011-05-31T14:00:00.008-04:00

Anyone in my family will tell you that my 2nd favorite holiday is Thanksgiving- I love the food, in fact I could eat a turkey dinner every week. My 1st favorite holiday, however, is the Memorial Day weekend. Sure, we take that time to honor our veterans and service members and those who gave their lives for our liberty. I give plenty of thought to that every year. However, to me, this weekend means some other things as well. From deep in my childhood, every Memorial Day, my dad would BBQ chicken on the grill while the Indy 500 blasted out over the radio (yes- in those days you could not get the race live on TV, but there were 3 local AM radio stations that carried it). Then- when the chicken was eaten and the race was won, there were the old war movies on TV. As the weekend expired, summer began. Those reasons alone make up my favorite holiday.

Over the years, in my own household, I have tried to keep the tradition going. Of course now the Indy 500 is a 4 and one half hour live TV event- not to mention the only time all year that I actually tune in ABC (or any of the three once-great networks). I have two kids of my own- who could care less about the race, but at least one of them does like the chicken. And considering daddy duty I only get to watch bits and pieces of the old war movies, my favorite of which is "Midway."

Of course I watch "Midway" whenever I can- not because it is a classic, but because it has so many cool aircraft in it. Who cares if some of the clips are out of context, or that you have a guy taking off in a Wildcat and coming back to crash in a Hellcat. Who cares that a lot of the Jap Zeros are actually T6s with a rising sun painted on the side- they're radial engine aircraft for crying out loud! I'll sit and watch "Midway" over and over again as if was a first-run feature, just for the airplanes. And if my wife asks me why I'm watching it "again?" I'll reply that it's (in the words of double ace Carl Brown, whose Aviation History class I attended in my freshman year at Embry-Riddle) "I love to watch the planes fly and the Japs die." Which does not go over well with my wife... because she's Japanese.

One afternoon while sittin' and watching "Midway"... again... my wife and my sister-in-law (who is equally Japanese) were getting ready for us to all take a trip to the mall. My wife shouted "Let's go!" My sister-in-law leaned over the couch and said, "Turn the TV off- let's get going." Without looking over at her I replied that I could not turn off "Midway" because, "I wanna see who wins." She said, "We won." I gave a hurumph and said "If that was true, then at this very moment I'd be surrounded by..." I looked at over toward two unimpressed oriental ladies standing in our living room which was decorated with Japanese nick-knacks and screamed "JAPS!!!!" They took my remote away and dragged me to the mall. I guess she was right- they won.

While at Embry-Riddle as a student, the showing of "Midway" was a huge attraction. This was mostly because the majority of us students spent most of our time sitting in our rooms building models of WWII aircraft. Sure- we were airplane nuts, but the most important aspect to our free time activity was that at the time there were 5,000 students on campus and less than 2 dozen were females; there wasn't much else to do. When they showed "Midway" in the University Center in 1978 it was standing room only. Although the movie had come out in 1976 it was a box office flop- there was still a lot of anti-war mind-set running around the nation. So, just a year or so later the film could be had for on-campus showing. What self respecting university would have the nerve to show a "War Movie" on campus? Embry-Riddle would- hell, what other university would have a double ace teaching Aviation History! Poor Carl Brown often had to field questions about TV's latest twist on WWII... "Baa Baa Blacksheep." I recall one student asking him how real it was- Brown replied "Have ya' ever seen Hogan's Heros? It's about that real." Of course, later, when "Midway" finally came to network TV, we combined it with model building and had the best of both worlds. Today, although Embry-Riddle has far more girls on campus, my bet is that the dorm room have the same scores of WWII airplane models.

So it was that this Memorial Day weekend my wife took the kids to have a "girl's adventure" at a friend's house and they left daddy alone at home... to cook chicken, watch the Indy 500 and all sorts of old war movies in peace. Although I did spend some time gazing out the window toward the stars and stripes waving out on my flag pole and respectfully considering all of those who served under those colors, I also caught the "Midway" marathon on TV. The United States won- every time.

Now... summer has started.

STS-1... I SAW IT !

2011-04-12T09:43:00.008-04:00

STS-1… I SAW IT,

Part 1

What Led Up To STS-1

Over the years I’ve encountered scores of folks who are interested in spaceflight. Yet many of them only know the Space Shuttle and many of those folks only have recall of the program post-Challenger. They were either too young to pay much attention before then, or they simply had yet to be born. For that reason I have composed this series of stories to give them my personal perspective on the first Space Shuttle mission as I witnessed it. Being a person who sat as a pre-schooler, legs crossed, on the floor of my grandma’s house and watched Alan Shepard’s Freedom 7 launch and later sat, legs crossed on the hallway floor of Nelle Haley Elementary School along with all of the other students and watched Gemini 3 launch on TV, I later became a rabid space-buff. I think because of that I can offer an interesting perspective. For those of you who are of my same generation, I hope I can offer another angle to your own memories. A good yardstick to use in measuring public interest in the space program is the news media. Prior to wide-spread cable TV, the three major networks directed most of the public’s attention toward current events. After Apollo 11, people who- sadly- were born without the aviation and aerospace gene began to lose interest in the space program and that included the producers of national TV news. Those of us who were farther evolved, however, simply did our best to follow the program through any source we could find. My parents let me stay home from school to watch the televised critical events of Apollos 12, 13, 14,16, and 17 as well as Skylab 1, 2 and 4. My mom said I was learning more in those few hours than I was in school anyhow. I also tried to do my best to help those who had been born without the spaceflight gene. As a sixth grader I spent every single one of my opportunities at classroom “show-N-tell” holding a model of a Saturn V or an Apollo CSM or LEM in front of my class and explaining assorted aspects of the vehicle and program until my teacher Mrs. Rosure said “That will be enough now Wes.” I never caught on to the glazed eyes of my classmates who had no idea as to what I was talking about. By the spring of 1970, my classmates would groan when it was my turn at the front of the class. They later got even with me on the dodge ball field.

Skylab was the hardest program for any space-buff to follow. In the shadow of Watergate, most of the news media had other things to cover and we were left with occasional radio reports by folks like Jay Barbree. In fact, so indifferent had the news media become about manned spaceflight that the reentry and splashdown of Skylab 4, on February 8, 1974, was the only return to earth of United States astronauts on a US spacecraft that was not covered on national television. I was left in my parent’s living room frantically spinning the tuner on the TV between the three major channels and mumbling “What the…?” The media came back for the Apollo/Soyuz Test Project (ASTP) mission in July of 1975. Although the coverage was pretty good, we space-buffs were struck by one single, cold fact- as far as manned spaceflight was concerned this was pretty much “it” for the next few years. Unlike today’s situation where any plans for NASA’s human spaceflight efforts are quagmired in presidential disdain while the agency itself dithers leaving America’s space future adrift, in 1975 when ASTP splashed down there at least was the Space Shuttle in the future. Just a year and a half after ASTP, the orbiter test-bed Enterprise was flying at Edwards AFB on the back of the 747 carrier aircraft. At first, the media did not see this as much of a story, but by August 12, 1977, when the first free flight of the Approach and Landing Tests (ALT) took place- at least for the moment the media came back, and so did many folks in America. The coverage began early in the morning and ABC News nearly covered the event from wheels up to wheels stop. After all, the Shuttle was new and somewhat exciting. TV rating points may be gained. For me, ALT blended both of my passions- aviation and space. The first ALT free flight took place just 16 days before I arrived at Embry-Riddle in Daytona Beach to begin my aviation career. Although much of America once again rapidly lost interest in the ALT flights after that first test drop, I carried my interest with me onto the Embry-Riddle campus. Suddenly I found myself among a whole crowd of people who were just as crazy about flying and space as I was. As my younger brother put it, “It’s like he’s finally been institutionalized.”

Being that Daytona was so close to “The Cape” meant a lot of trouble for a space-nut as it easily distract from required my studies. So, I decided to put my space-nutdom on the back burner and focus on becoming a professional aviator. Still, it was not easy- in the late 70s a lot of work leading toward the shuttle was going on. The 15,000 foot long Shuttle Runway had been constructed and actually had an active tower. Unfortunately, the guys in the tower had almost nothing to do. Thus, in those days, you could call them up on the tower frequency listed on the sectional chart and request a touch-and-go. They were always more than happy to grant that request. So it was that as a student pilot on one of my dual flights I landed a Cessna 172 on the Shuttle runway. Just a couple of years later, such a thing would have been unthinkable. On the 24th day of March, 1979 the Shuttle runway received its first orbiter as the Columbia arrived from Palmdale, California. Three of us drove down together and parked across the river to watch the 747 land with the orbiter aboard. From across the river, they looked great- like a majestic preface to the future in space. Later, on the evening news, the story appeared quite different. Of the 38,000 tiles in the vehicle’s thermal protection system, only 60% had been installed and of those nearly a thousand had come off on the flight to KSC. The up-close images looked far worse than what we saw from Titusville. Two months later the Enterprise herself came to Florida and a lot of us made the pilgrimage to the Kennedy Space Center to take the bus tour and see her being test-fitted on Pad 39A. Meanwhile, along the crawlerway and over by the VAB, the number 2 and 3 Apollo launch towers as well as the mobile service structure were being cut up. Large sections of the launch towers had already been re-planted at pads 39 A and B to act as shuttle Fixed Service Structures, but the portions not serving as such were sold for scrap. The number 1 launch tower was sitting behind the VAB, un-used. For the next year and a half the work on the shuttle would be intense and completely behind the scenes. Even the most rabid of space-buffs would hear very little about the shuttle and at KSC the bus tours would see a lot of weeds growing where fantastic things once happened. The vast majority of Americans would focus on much more important things… like disco, The Dukes of Hazard and the growing tally of days that the hostages had been held in Iran.

My focus was on my critical job of stocking shelves and ringing up prescriptions in the cosmetics department of the Daytona Kmart store in a effort to not only get back into college, but to also somehow feed myself… where is Sally Struthers when you need her? It was a bitter cold Monday across Florida on the 29th of December, 1980 as the first operational Space Shuttle stack rolled out of the VAB. I was rolling a big metal cart of shampoo, denture cream and glycerin suppositories out of the stockroom at the Kmart at the same time. In the store’s appliance department, the TVs showed clips of the rollout on the local central Florida networks. Oddly, they completely ignored my rollout of shampoo, denture cream and glycerin suppositories. It seemed, however, that the rest of America ignored both events alike. The stack for STS-1 (Shuttle Transportation System- 1) resided on pad 39A for nearly two more months until February 20, 1981 when the Flight Readiness Firing (FRF) took place. In that test the Shuttle’s main engines were fired for 20 seconds at 100% thrust while the stack remained held to the pad. The noise not only woke up central Florida, but it woke up the nation- the vehicle was alive! A month a seven days following the FRF NASA announced officially that the launch date for the first Space Shuttle would be April 10th. Standing there in the Kmart cosmetics department I decided that I was not going to miss it. I told Andy the pharmacist that I was gonna be down there to see it. Andy asked what I was going to do if I couldn’t get the day off? I replied “I’ll quit the job.” Knowing I only had a bicycle he asked, “How’re you gonna get down there?” I replied that if I could not get a ride, I would ride my bike and get as far south as I could. He just shook his head and snickered. The fact was that I had spent my whole life passionately following spaceflight and nearly every bit of that had been sitting in front of a TV set. There was no way I was going to be this close to that piece of spaceflight history and again have to watch it on TV. I was going to be THERE to witness it first hand- even if I had to ride my bicycle.

Part 2

We’re Gonna Swim Across That River and Strangle Jules Bergman.

Thirty years ago I was a young college student trying to work my way through Embry-Riddle in Daytona Beach and being a life-long space-buff I had seen every US manned spaceflight launch on TV. As such, I was determined to be down at “The Cape” to witness, first-hand, the launch of the first Space Shuttle. The only problem was I did not own a car and the best eye witness location for the launch was almost 50 miles away- a bit longer than the distance that I usually rode my bicycle.

A day before the launch I ventured to the Avion student newspaper office on Embry-Riddle’s campus was told that AIAA was chartering a bus to go from the campus to KSC for the launch of STS-1. I hustled down to buy a ticket, but found that the tickets had sold out almost immediately. Dejected I returned to the newspaper office and began to plot my bicycle ride down US1 to Titusville. I figured it would take me most of the night to get down there and although riding a bicycle down US1 in the middle of the night to see a space launch may seem a bit nuts, the term “*A bit nuts” is denoted on my birth certificate.

Just as I was about to head out and start peddling, a friend of mine stopped me and said that she knew of two guys in the dorm who were driving down. She suggested that we should go and she could introduce me to them. If they had an extra seat, it may keep me from becoming a road pizza on US1. As it turned out the two guys were happy to have me ride along. They were in fact both space-buffs just like me and we instantly became friends. Jennings, who owned the land-boat of a car that we drove down in, was from Michigan just like me and to this day I consider him to be a friend. Brian, the other guy, was an expert in everything that flies and would go on to not only work at the National Air and Space Museum as a photo archivist, but would also serve as the best man in my wedding seven years later. Together the three of us headed out that Thursday evening to witness aviation history… or so we thought.

On the trip down toward the launch site we chattered about spaceflight history. As we came within a dozen miles of Titusville, we suddenly saw spaceflight history. Above the trees the darkness was slashed by the crossed white beams of the pad spotlights. Although we could not yet see the shuttle, it was an image that we had always seen in books, magazines and on television. It made your heart stop and your jaw drop in spite of yourself. Entering the town of Titusville we suddenly discovered that we had no idea where the hell we were going. Where would we park? What about private property? Collectively we decided just to turn toward the river. Driving down Grace Street we hit Riverview and the riverbank itself. For a few minutes we cruised up and down Riverview calculating a good place to park. I spotted a county pumping station and suggested we should park near it. That way if any of the locals gave us a hard time, we could just go onto county property. We pulled in and bailed out of the car and just stood there frozen by the sight of the white shuttle bathed in those crossed spotlight beams. For a moment, all three of us were 15 years old again.

Snapping out of the shuttle’s spell for a moment, I saw that it was just after 10 pm and I decided to hike up Grace Street to the Mister Doughnut shop up on US1. There I found a pay phone and I called my folks up in Michigan to ask “Guess where I am tonight?” Being the parents of a rabid space-buff, it was an easy guess for them. When I returned to the car I was amazed to see that in the past 20 minutes, nearly every parking spot along the riverbank near us had been taken, and there were more cars coming. Clearly, there would be no problems with the local residents.

Opening the trunk of his car, the guy who had parked right next to us revealed a sort of mobile Space Shuttle flight following station. Attached to the underside of the trunk lid he had a poster depicting each phase of the STS-1 flight profile. He had charts and table that listed each mission event as well as assorted abort profiles and abort destinations. He had shuttle cut-away diagrams that detailed ever component. Most importantly, however, he had a small portable TV that ran off of his car battery. In 1981 such TVs were not rare, but in our present location his TV was the center of attention. Several hours into the night I decided to go for a walk up US1 and see what may be happening. The streets were busy as I strolled along and every sign that could have its letters rearranged had a shuttle best wishes message. After about a mile or so I came upon the local mall. Even though it was very late at night, the parking lot was filled as if it were the day before Christmas. The doors to the mall were propped open and people were coming and going. I went inside and many of the stores were open and doing a good amount of business. Most noticeable was the local toy store which had set up a table just outside their door. Upon the table was a cash register and stacks of Space Shuttle models which were apparently selling like crazy. When I got back to the riverbank everyone was standing around gazing at the distant shuttle or talking spaceflight. We talked about every aspect of spaceflight past, present and future. Most of us simply agreed that we had no idea as to what STS-1 would do, or what the shuttle’s future would really be. It was like going to space-buff heaven. The only problem was access to a bathroom. On a trip up the road to buy a cup of tea I found out that the guy running the Mister Doughnut up on US1 did not mind folks using his restrooms, as long as they bought a doughnut “or somethin’.” When I got back to the riverbank I spread the word and soon folks were strolling up the road to Mister Doughnut and returning “rested” with coffee or a pastry in hand.

Shortly after dawn the countdown hit the first in a series of holds. The TV in the mobile Space Shuttle flight following station seemed to pick up the local ABC station the best, so we were glued to Jules Bergman and Gene Cernan. The issues started with a fuel cell problem and then a problem with the back-up computer. The guys on the TV knew about as much about the problems as we did, but Bergman kept down-talking the prospect of a launch today. As count recycles and holds folded up on one another, Bergman kept talking about NASA officials saying things such as their “…expectation of having to go through multiple launch attempts over several days.” Finally Jennings just growled that he was about ready to swim across the river and strangle Bergman. Of course, Jules Bergman was correct in one sense- we were not going to see the Space Shuttle fly today. Finally, after what seemed like an entire day of holds and recycles, the word came across the loop that they were going to once again recycle to T-20 and go out and remove the crew. Some two and one half hours after the scheduled launch time, the effort came to a halt. Shortly after that came the official scrub announcement- frankly, it was almost a relief. We’d all been awake for more than 24 hours and other than a bag of doughnuts that I’d retrieved from Mister Doughnut, none of us had eaten. Everyone up and down the riverbank agreed to meet in the same place Saturday night for Sunday morning’s attempt at a launch.

The next day at work I went into the personnel manager’s office and told her that although I was scheduled to work on Sunday, I would be at the shuttle launch and if it was late, I’d be late too. Unexpectedly, she simply smiled sweetly and said, “No problem, I understand- have fun.” It’s funny how folks who live in central Florida have a different view of spaceflight than other people around the country. Of course, most of the country had watched the whole scrub live on TV and from the White House to my parent’s house every American seemed to suffer through the recycles with us. Most of them, however, were much closer to a restroom than those of us on the riverbank.

Part 3

Go Baby GO!!

The night before the second launch attempt we got a later start out of Daytona than we had the first time. We stopped and ate and this time we were all armed with sleeping bags. Just as we had planned Friday morning, almost everyone parked where they had been for the scrub. This time, however, some of us crawled into our sleeping bags and grabbed a few hours of sleep. I have to admit that I kept waking up, looking at the shuttle in the spotlights and then covering back up thinking “Wow.”

As dawn broke folks began milling around again. This time there as a different feeling in the air- I had a sense that the shuttle was gonna go for sure. A few hucksters were walking up and down the crowd, as they had done on the day of the scrub, trying to sell assorted souvenirs. One guy had a simple white bumper-sticker that had a rough shuttle image on it and the words “I SAW IT.” Someone, I believe it may have been Jennings shouted to him “What if it blows up?” Without missing a beat the huckster reached into his pocket and pulled out a large black marker. He pointed to an open space on the right hand corner of the bumper-sticker and he said “Then you take this marker and over here you write BLOW UP.” He was apparently a huckster with the Right Stuff.

Our friend with the mobile Space Shuttle flight following station in the trunk of his car had taken his place right next to us again. Just like on scrub day, I had remembered to bring along my tape recorder. I’d been taping launch broadcasts from the TV since I was 13 years old and I got Apollo 14, so I wanted to get this one. I asked our pal with the battery powered TV if I could place my tape recorder next to his TV at launch time and pick up some of the broadcast. He happily agreed and we all waited as the countdown passed every milestone that it had stumbled upon during the first attempt. No one knew what to expect- in fact, the damned thing just might blow up. We saw nothing but a silhouette of the shuttle and pad 39A as the sun came up. It was a bit hazy and so our view remained that of a silhouette while the count ticked down. Like expectant parents we paced a bit and alternated between looking at the pad in the distance and focusing on the little TV set. I kept running through my mind the fact that this was indeed history that could be considered on the scale of witnessing Freedom 7, or Friendship 7, or Gemini 3, or Apollo 8 or perhaps even Apollo 11. Countless space firsts were about to take place right in front of our eyes. I just had to hope that I did not forget to turn on my tape recorder. As the countdown hit the two minute mark I hit the record button and set the tape recorder down next to the TV. Oddly, about that same time no one was looking at the TV set, every eye that had a view of the pad was focused toward the silhouette of the shuttle backed by the amber sky. Everything seemed to get quite still.

At main engine start we saw the silhouette of the steam billowing from the engines working against the sound suppression water. Three seconds later the solids lit and we saw what looked like a second sunrise. Then the STS-1 stood up on two stilts of flame as bright as the sun. Everyone was screaming “GO!... Go Baby GO!... GO!” I heard myself screaming it and I heard it echoing up and down the riverbank. What I did not hear, was the shuttle. Then I remembered something I read in Mike Collin’s book “Carrying the Fire.” When he described watching the first Saturn V, Apollo 4, launch he said that about the time he said to himself “you can’t hear it.” the sound hit him. And just as I had that thought, the sound hit us.

Although there were certainly a few Saturn V veterans present, most folks who were there to witness STS-1 had never experienced anything like the shuttle. It reached out and took hold of you and shook the ground under our feet. My tape recorder picked up the sound of the items in the trunk of the car rattling. The only thing louder was the sound of the shouts, screams, squeals and rebel yells coming from the crowd. People were jumping up and down and punching their fists into the air as STS-1 ripped into the sky. You really had to work to hear any of the calls coming from mission control. The whole thing kept going for over two minutes and then we heard the “Go for SRB sep.” call. It was then that everything seemed to grow comparatively quiet with just a smattering of “Hoots” and “Whoooos”. A few seconds later at SRB separation we saw the translucent white plume and then saw the two solids dropping away. At that moment a spontaneous cheer went up followed by a rolling applause produced by the half million or so people who now lined the riverbank as far as the eye could see. It was as if the home team had made a fantastically great play in front of a sellout crowd. It was sudden and it was contagious- I found myself clapping as if someone in NASA could actually hear me. That applause was actually captured on my tape. Following SRB separation we turned our attention to the tiny TV set, watching and listening as STS-1 headed for its target in orbit. In the distance out over the Atlantic the vehicle looked like a very bright star hanging in the sky. As the boost continued we had the illusion that the vehicle was actually heading downward toward the horizon- because that was what it was actually doing. Soon the star simply faded into a pinpoint. A glance at the TV and then a look back toward the sky found the shuttle lost to the eye. At Main Engine Cutoff (MECO) everyone seemed to snap back to reality.

There was pure joy in the crowd and you heard a lot of “Man! Did you see that?” as if someone could have missed it. We patted one another on the back, smiled and felt great, even though we had done nothing more than be there and watch. One fellow coined it all when he grinned widely and said “Gee… I wish they had another one.” Even the ride home was conducted as a festive traffic jamb. People were filled with pride and in our car the clogged roadway simply gave us more time to chatter about the launch.

I got back to Kmart in time to start my Sunday shift on schedule. Over in the appliance department a small crowd had gathered around the TV sets. One of guys working in that department had thought ahead and set one of the VCRs to record the launch which was playing over and over again as customers stood and watched- over and over again. On that Sunday the folks that I worked with all heard that I had been there and the guys in the appliance department told their customers and pointed toward me. As I stocked my shampoo, denture cream and glycerin suppositories, dozens of people came up to me and asked “How was it?” The best I could do was to simply reply that it was indescribable and urge them to go down and see one.

Since STS-1 I’ve been able to witness shuttle launches from the beach, from the press site, from Embry Riddle’s campus, from the grounds of the Astronaut Hall of Fame, from the Ormond Beach Bridge, from the NASA Causeway and twice from different KSC VIP sites. In all I’ve seen a total of 19 shuttle launches in person. I state that figure with regret as I, like most space-buffs, thought that the shuttle would go on and on and serve out the system’s designed life-span of 100 missions per orbiter. I fell into the trap set by NASA itself when it decided to make shuttle missions appear commonplace.

Now, the program is ending and there is no equal replacement ready to fly. I managed to take my two little girls to KSC to see the STS-125 launch. I wanted them to be able to say “I saw it” when the subject of that fantastic vehicle that launched like a rocket and flew back like an aircraft comes up in history class and the teacher tells about the days when we as a nation did amazing things that we no longer do. On the 30th anniversary of STS-1 we have come full circle as a space fairing nation. We went from having the shuttle as a drawing board concept that teetered on the funding votes of Congress, suffered the doubts of the critics and over-ran its schedule into a launch test series that led it to become operational. On that day the skyline of KSC looked much the same as it does today. The Apollo LUT number 1 sat idle near the VAB as LC-39B was under construction. Today, the Ares I LUT sits idle near the VAB while LC-39B is being demolished. The shuttle is coming out of an era of successful operation while the Obama administration defunds its replacement which, after suffering at the hands of critics, had a single test flight and the vehicle meant to replace it teeters on Congressional funding whims and remains little more than a drawing board concept. I’m happy that my kids can say “I saw it” but I hold deep regret for future kids who will not be able to say the same.

Solid Clouds

2011-02-14T17:35:00.006-05:00

It was way back in my bachelor days, years before I met my wife. I boarded a People Express flight from DTW to MCO and snagged a good window seat on my way back to my pathetic "trying to earn enough money to get back into college at minimum wage" life in Daytona Beach. As I took my place at the window a good looking blond girl who was about my age came and took the aisle seat in my row. "My luck may be changing." I wrongly thought to myself.

Of course, like any good aviating bachelor, I immediately tried to impress the young lady next to me with the fact that I was a pilot and I knew all about how to fly. It didn't take long, however, before I correctly concluded that this person seated next to me had exactly zero interest in me or the fact that I knew how to drive airplanes. Likewise, it took about 90 additional seconds of listening to her talk before I also concluded that the lights were on, but no one was home in the aisle seat. In fact the dingbat wouldn't shut up as she rambled on across three states about going to the Boy George concert in Orlando. Before we hit the Florida state line I was attempting to crawl into the book I'd brought for the flight.

As we approached Orlando we let down through a few broken layers of cubie-clouds and the aircraft was doing the standard turns needed for traffic and to set up the approach. About then the dingbat in the aisle seat leaned over and asked, "Yer' a pilot... why do these airplanes always do these little turns like that?"

How could I resist?

Turning to her as serious as an instructor pilot I said, "They're avoiding the solid clouds." She frowned a bit. I went on, "You've heard the term solid clouds... right?" The dingbat nodded- the rattle sound coming from her head sounded like the silverware drawer in my house- "Well," I continued to explain, "clouds are made up of ice crystals suspended in the atmosphere by vertical air currents, and if those crystals get packed close enough together they can form a solid mass. We pilots are trained to spot those masses and maneuver around them." At that moment as if on cue, the aircraft took another turn, "Ya see! There goes one now!" I pointed out my window. The dingbat leaned over me straining to see out the window. "Did ya' see it?" I asked. She said she'd missed it, but asked me to point out any others. I told her that since we were getting lower and into warmer air there probably wouldn't be any more. The dingbat was disappointed.

After we landed at MCO, the dingbat simply got up and said "C-ya'..." as I recovered my book bag and delayed as much as I could before leaving my seat. As I stood up and started to walk up the aisle, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see a neatly dressed fellow in a golf-shirt smiling broadly. "I loved the solid clouds bit." he laughed. "Oh... you heard that eh?" I replied. He smiled even more widely and said "Every word... you really had her goin' there, she was buying ever word of it. I'm gonna remember that one." He asked if I was from ERAU and I said that I was. "I'm on my way to get a G-III type," he told me, "This one's gonna make a great story for the break room at FlightSafety." The two of us walked and talked for a bit through the terminal and as we went our individual ways- him to his G-III type and me back to scratching my way back into college- he said "Stay clear of those solid clouds!" I replied, "Hey, we're trained for that."

There are some days you wish you could forget

2011-01-28T13:45:00.004-05:00

I was on my way back from the flightline at Embry-Riddle, Daytona. We'd been advised by ATC as to the launch time which was about 15 minutes after we got on the ground. About half way across campus, on my way to a math class, I stopped to watch the shuttle rise above the horizon. I saw the ET explode and then watched the SRBs weave across each other- it was very clear that something went real wrong.

Instantly I ditched math and ran to the UC (student center) where the nearest TV was. I kept telling myself this was an RTLS abort... very few of us, including big time space buffs like me, had been informed of the fact that RTLS could not be done during the burn of the solids. It was a dark fact that NASA simply did not talk about. Anyhow, I got to the UC and the crowd around the TV was so big that you couldn't hear a thing, so I sprinted up to the Avion newspaper office where we had a small TV going. The simple words from Mission Control that they had "...lost downlink" said it all to me. That told me instantly that the vehicle was simply gone.

Just a few missions prior I'd covered the STS61A mission from the press site. The mission carred the D1 space module and while we waited for the countdown, the word come out that Christa McAuliffe was there, and all of us in the press swarmed to meet her. When I did, I was struck by the fact that I now knew exactly why NASA had selected her. She lit up the whole room and charmed the daylights out of even the most hardened journalists. When the Challenger was ripped apart by dynamic forces that only come in the worst nightmares of aerodynamics, and Christa McAuliffe lost her life, I was angry- very angry. I was angry at the fact that this innocent person, who was not in the aviation profession, had done what most of our passengers do. She had placed her life, her trust, in those of us who were in the aviation profession, and our aviation profession had let her down. Those of us who dedicated our lives to flight know full well the risks, but those who we carry aboard our flying machines do not- so they trust us.

I knew one other fact as I stood there on that dark day, watching newscasters who could say nothing more to me. I knew that, in the end, this accident would be traced to one place for its cause- management. In fact a week of so later I wrote an op.ed. in the Avion saying exactly that. It also said that whenever the final decision as to flight safety is removed from the pilots, or in the case of spaceflight- from the engineers, and placed into the hands of management, crews WILL die. The Avion's space reporter, Jim Banke, a management major, took exception to it and wrote a contrasting opinion. Months later, we found that an engineer who had objected to the launching of the SRBs in cold weather beyond their tested envelope, was silenced as he was told to "Take off your engineer's hat, and put on your management hat." Says it all.

And yes... I'm still angry.

One Sharp Old Bird

2011-01-03T22:10:00.016-05:00

Along the way to a career in aviation you come upon scores of assholes. After a while they are about the same as stepping in dog poop- annoying, inconvenient, foul, yet blending in with all of the other times you've happened upon them. You rarely remember them. The other side of the coin is that unique individual that you meet who encompasses all that an aviator should be about. A person who inspires you simply by their casual demeanor- although they have done great things in aviation. They make you want to be like them- if only in some small way. For me, the most memorable of those select few aviators was one old bird by the name of Russ Purchase.

Being from the Tri-cities area of mid-Michigan I first heard of Russ when I was in the Civil Air Patrol in the early 1970s. People spoke of him in legendary terms. It seemed that he'd flown everything, done it all and was doing more. In the summer of 1978, after my freshman year at Embry-Riddle, I met Russ for the first time when I got a summer job at his FBO called Airflite and Serve-a-Plane. Airflite was not only an FBO, but was also a Falcon Jet service center and I was hired by Russ' hangar ram-rod, Tim Alexander, to work as a stockboy in the parts department- it was my first job in aviation. I was introduced to Russ by Tim who stated, as only Tim can, "This is Russ, he owns the place." the he added to Russ, "This is Wes the new parts guy, he thinks he's gonna be a pee-let" (Tim's favored slang for "pilot"). Russ, a thin, balding guy with a sweet little old man air about him, smiled and welcomed me to Hangar 6. That summer I really did not interact much with Russ before heading back to college and driving myself so far into debt to the University that they would not let me back in.

Thus in September of 1979, after getting the news that ERAU would not let me back in until I actually paid them instead of just signing promissory notes, I needed a job- any job- and fast. The first thing I did was call Airflight and talk to Tim. He told me they needed a "hangar rat" and I could start the next day. I had no idea what a hangar rat did, but it was a job and it was aviation related, so I jumped at it. The fact was that the hangar rat does just about everything and anything, but mostly you're a janitor. If it's full- empty it. If it's empty- fill it. Everything else- ya' paint yellow.

On my first day as the hangar rat I ran into Russ, who was a bit surprised to see me- he said he thought I'd be back at school. I explained that I'd run out of money and he fully understood. Knowing that Russ was the local FAA Designated Examiner, I also brought up the fact that I was aiming to take my private pilot checkride sometime in the near future. I'd passed my private pilot prog. check at ERAU, but did not qualify for their new Part 141 Self-examining authority, so I'd need an FAA ride. He told me that I could use one of his Cessna 172s just for the cost of fuel when the time came. Then he added, "When yer' ready, I'll fly with ya'..." and he smiled. Although the check pilots at ERAU scared the crap out of me, Russ had a very different air about him. He did not treat me like a student, or a wet nose, or a wannabe- all of which I actually was. Frankly, I could not wait for the chance to get Russ' signature in my logbook.

At work everyone seemed to have an aviation story to tell- except me, of course. I was way too new to aviation to have many good stories of my own... at least, none that could compare to the other guys. The corporate pilots sat around and told stories of Falcon Jets. The mechanics told stories about about the guts and innards of aircraft. The avionics guys told stories about circuitry and stray electrons. And the lineboys told stories about everyone who was telling stories. When Russ Purchase told a story, however, it was about something like flying the Ford Trimotor. When he got into one of those tales, I just sat there and listened... wide-eyed with my mouth hanging open and a little drool running down my chin.

I recall one Ford Trimotor story the best. Russ was a captain on the Trimotor flying out of assorted mid-Michigan cities to Chicago. They flew in all sorts of weather with few aids to navigation and fewer weather reports. In those days Russ and his fellow Trimotor pilots had a "rule" about engine outs on takeoff. The rule was that no matter what, with an engine oyt at takeoff, NEVER try and turn until you have plenty of altitude- "Just keep her flyin' straight as an arrow and get yer' altitude as ya' can, a foot at a time." The notion was that a turn in the low and slow part of the takeoff climb would cause the Trimotor to stall and spin into the ground. Now, I have no idea if that is an actual aerodynamic characteristic about the Trimotor or just a myth of the era, because I've never flown a Trimotor. I have no information as to what the Vmc is for the Trimotor, so I just took Russ' word for it. Anyhow, he was departing Saginaw's Harry Brown Airport back in the Trimotor days with a "boatload" of passengers and cargo. In those days the "field" part of the term "Airfield best described the airport, which was also surrounded by farmland. The Trimotor had hardly broken ground when the right engine "just quit." Russ was doing his best to keep her flying and kept telling himself not to turn, just keep goin' straight and get altitude a foot at a time. He was getting his way with the aircraft as he had a very slight climb. Then he looked out the window, and "Here comes a barn!" Get a little altitude, get closer to the barn, get a little more altitude, get a lot closer to the barn, get a little more altitude, barn's fillin' the windscreen. Hold yer' breath and nudge her up a bit... cleared the barn by a few inches. Whew! Russ breathed a sigh of relief, then looked over at his first officer... who had fainted dead away. With thoughts of modern airports, emergency landings, airways, fire and rescue equipment and the NTSB, I asked Russ, "So, what'd you do then?" He replied casually, "We flew to Chicago... that's where we were goin'."

Russ was not just a guy stuck in the old days and old equipment. Once he was away from the hangar for a whole week and I was told that he went to Atlanta... to golf. That figured- because the autumn weather in mid-Michigan had been beyond crummy for nearly two months. The next week Russ was back and I stopped into his office- probably to empty a waste basket or some such thing. I asked how his golf trip to Atlanta had been. He told me that it had rained all darned week. Then, with typical Russ matter-of-fact he added "...so I just went and got a Falcon 50 type. Been meanin' to do that." I was totally blown away- here I was sweating every prog. check that I'd done at ERAU in the 172, and this little old guy just goes out and gets a Falcon 50 type rating as an afterthought! As I went about my hangar rat chores that day it struck me that I would never, ever, EVER, rise to that level of aviation ability. Someone whose scope of demonstrated ability can so easily go from the Ford Trimotor to a Falcon 50 type in an afterthought.

While the autumn of 1979 went on the weather remained just plain rotten- every single day. Either the winds were gale force, or the rain was coming down out of a 200 foot ceiling, or the snow was blowing instead of the freezing rain. The days ticked off, and so did the days remaining in my private pilot endorsement. It was already November and I had not even touched an aircraft since late summer. It was not looking good for my private pilot checkride. I sheepishly went to Russ' office in an attempt to outline my problem. I'd no sooner told him the date of my endorsement when he stopped me. "Son,..." he said softly, "when you get to be my age, you don't worry about dates. Just keep yer' stuff here, and when the weather breaks- we'll go." and that was that.

One of my chores as a hangar rat, for which I often earned over-time pay, was washing aircraft. That involved pulling a bird into the hangar, closing the hangar door, using masking tape to close every opening on the aircraft, washing, rinsing it and then removing the tape. If the owner asked I'd also be happy to polish the spinners with Met-All... because that took about 2 extra hours... of time-and-a-half pay. One day I'd washed a Cheyenne for a local construction company, and I'd accidentally left the tape on one pitot tube. The following day the pilot (whose name is changed here to protect the innocent, and the stupid) climbed aboard and went ripping down the runway, only to abort his takeoff run as soon as (he stated that) he saw he had no airspeed indication. He taxied clear and came back toward the hangar. On the radio he was furious and it echoed through the lobby of Hangar 6 "That kid left tape on my damned pitot tube!" Oh yeah, I was doomed, a real pilot was about to drill me a new one- I felt about two inches tall as the aircraft screamed up to the hangar. Russ came down and said nothing- rather he just went close to the lobby door and waited. Bill the Cheyenne driver came bursting in through the door and proceeded to scream at me wagging his finger and holding up the tape. He went up one side of me and down the other... then Russ spoke with a quiet authority that it was like hitting Bill with a CO2 fire extinguisher. "That's what preflights are for Bill." The enraged pilot stopped, turned, and stormed back to his airplane. The entire lobby by then had been filled with mechanics attracted by the commotion and as the door slammed behind Bill, they all burst into laughter. Tim looked toward me and said "If he says anything else to ya' just ask him if he knows where his keys are." Russ began to giggle a bit as he headed back up to his office. Tim then explained that the previous spring Bill, the Cheyenne God, had locked the aircraft's cargo door and left the keys hanging in the lock, then flew it all the way from Milwaukee like that. By the time he got back to MBS the flopping keys had worn a hole in the skin of the aircraft. Apparently Bill was not real good about preflights.

On another occasion, we were "dumping" the hangar, or taking all of the aircraft out to get to one at the back and then putting them all back again as fast as possible so as to not let the weather take too much of an advantage of the open hangar door. We were in the process of putting the last aircraft, a Lear 35/36, back into the crowded hangar and my station in the operation was to be at the button that commanded the door to roll up and down. The lineboys were experts with a tug and could fit aircraft in with less than an inch of space between one extremity and another- they did it all the time. Their motto was "As long as you don't get into those negative inches, yer' fine." My station was also right next to the lobby door and Russ was standing there with the pilots of the Lear that was being parked. As the lineboy tugged the jet ever so slowly through the hangar door, the tip tank got close to the door frame... real close... as in about 1/4 inch. I could hear the pilot start to hiss as he expected a crunch that never came. The jet cleared, the tug was cut loose and I had the door closing before the motion stopped. The pilot barked "THAT JUST BARELY GOT IN THERE!" Russ turned to him and said, "Say that again... only without the exclamation point."

The morning of November 22nd, 1979 started out gloomy, but by mid-morning Indian Summer broke across mid-Michigan- it was perfect for my checkride! All I recall of that morning is bounding up the stairs to Russ' office. As I trotted in, Russ was at his big desk with a huge smile on his face as soon as he saw me. "Go ask Tim." he said. I went back down to Tim's office and he was waiting for me too. "Get otta here and go fly." he said faking a sneer. As I bolted he shouted "Punch out first!" I hit the time clock, grabbed my flightbag and headed back to Russ' desk for my oral. On the way up the stairs it suddenly dawned on me- I hadn't studied for the oral! At Embry-Riddle the orals were a really tough and required days of study for me, now I had to walk in and do it cold and in front of an aviation legend to boot. I sat down and Russ asked me a basic question about weight and balance, then he started teaching me all about Falcon 50 takeoff performance, V1 cuts, V2 climbs and balanced field. Then he told me to go pull the 172 out and preflight her... my "oral" was done. As I was pulling on the tow-bar, again a bit of cold reality hit me- I had not flown an aircraft since the end of summer.

Russ strolled out, climbed aboard the aircraft and simply said, "Let's go." He asked for a soft-field takeoff and I made it happen- it felt good to fly again. We headed out from MBS and over to the east. As we flew along Russ was looking out the window toward the wingtip. Then he simply said, "I think the little ball is out from the center a bit." I looked at the turn-n-bank and sure enough, the ball was about 1/8 out. "Damn," I thought to myself, "this old bird is sharp, I'd better sharpen up myself- RIGHT NOW!" Russ had me do some stalls, some slow flight, asked me how would I get from where we were to some of the other local airports and finally asked if I lost the engine right now where would I go. One of the few things that I knew for sure at that time was that when an instructor pulls an engine on you, the first place you look to go is straight down. The oldest trick in the book is to get you to look out rather than down- the best field, it is said, may be right under you. I looked down and sure enough, there was the perfect field for a forced landing, right under me. "I'd go there!" I answered pointing straight down. "Okay," Russ said. Then he leaned over and said, "Let's head back." I figured it was time for some more takeoffs and landings. But Russ leaned over and asked "Mind if I take it?" Now... at Embry-Riddle, when the check airman (AKA "prog. pilot") asks to fly the airplane back to the airport, it means you have failed in a very, VERY big way. I must have looked at Russ with horror on my face as I choked and stuttered out something like "Sure...okay..." He must have known instantly what was going through my mind as he grinned and said "You passed, yer' okay... I just don't get to fly the 172 very much." I worked the radios on the way back and took a few moments to savor the fact that I was flying with Russ Purchase.

After parking the 172 down at Hangar 4, Russ stepped out and said to meet him up at his office for my temporary certificate. The lineboy told me to just leave the aircraft on the ramp because they were gonna dump the hangar anyhow. So, I just gathered my stuff and walked up the ramp. Along the way I wondered what the guys in the hangar would say when I got there. They all knew I'd been waiting for weeks for this, especially Tim who teased me constantly about wanting to be a "damned pee-let." My bet was that one of the first things he'd say was "You owe me a beer" because he often said that. With that in mind, I went into the hangar and headed straight to my hangar rat's room. The previous week we'd finished a "C" check on a Falcon 10 and the guys from the jet had given every guy in the hangar who worked on the jet a six-pack of beer... including me. Being a non-drinker and not wanting to make the customer feel uncomfortable, I politely accepted my six-pack and just stashed it in the hangar rat's room for who-knows-what. Now, I figured a joke on Tim was a good use for that beer. I grabbed the six and stuck in my flightbag then went into the lobby. As I walked by Tim's office, he called me in. "Congratulations, ya' damned pee-let," he said reaching out to shake my hand, "Ya' owe me a beer." I reached into my flightbag, pulled out the six-pack and said "Here ya' go." as I set it on his desk. He chuckled and said "Just tell me you didn't get that otta Dow Corning's Falcon." I told him where it came from and he was more than happy to take the gift. Upstairs Russ made out my paperwork and I was officially a private pilot. When I went past Tim's office again he asked if I wanted to take the rest of the day off and celebrate. I told him no, I just wanted to punch in and get back on the clock- I still needed to earn enough to get back into Embry-Riddle.

A month later, I was ready to head back to school. Russ had my last paycheck printed and ready so I would not have to wait for money before heading down to college. As he handed me the pay-stub he quietly said, "You'll notice I didn't charge you for your checkride, you're gonna need every dime down at school."

Russ later sold his FBO and all of the trimmings to the Aero Services network of FBOs. He stayed on for a year or so as a manager, and then retired. I happened to be there visiting on his last day. He drove up in a huge motorhome, said his farewells and drove off into retirement- in style. In my aviation career I do not think that I achieved 1/100th of Russ' mastery of, not only the flying, but also the business of aviation. I'm sure that most of us who knew him would be forced to admit the same. He was one sharp old bird. Russ is no longer with us, but I've got his signature in one of my logbooks, and of that I take pride. I got my private certificate from a legend in aviation- yep.

The best $24 I ever spent

2010-11-05T18:39:00.003-04:00

In early September of 1998 the pilots at Northwest Airlines went on strike. At the time I was flying Falcon Jets and so matters involving airlines had about zero impact on me. The one thing that I did take notice of was the fact that the strike caused the airspace above the northcentral states to be really, really quiet. That fact led to my investing the best $24 I ever spent in the aviation business.

Shortly after the strike began, I was called to do a trip from Washington DC to Winnipeg, Manitoba. On the way up there we soon discovered the amazing quiet on the center frequencies. In fact, about as soon as we cleared the DC airspace we got "Direct Winnipeg." All along the way we noticed that it seemed as if we had our own personal controller working only us on every frequency. I even joked to one controller how quite the skies were when those Northwest guys were walkin' around with picket signs. He came back with "Tell me about it- makes the day long."

On the ground at Winnipeg I managed to visit a really terrific hockey shop and generally observe the locals who were enjoying the last remnants of summer. They all had the look of people who knew that the Canadian winter would soon drop on them like an anvil. The weather was currently warm and beyond clear.

As we showed for departure I looked at the weather and we had clear skies all the way to DC. Since the strike was still going on, we would also have clear frequencies with ATC once more. Our clearance was essentially Winnipeg direct IAD, thence. Looking at the route of flight I saw that it took us down Lake Huron, and that gave me an idea. Considering that the MBS VOR, actually located in Freeland, MI- my home town- was just slightly off our route. Considering that my parents lived less than two miles from the VOR itself, I figured it may be really cool to alter our course and fly right over mom and dad. In doing so I could pick up the flight-phone, call them up and tell them to go outside and look up. I bounced that off of the guy I was flying with and he just lit-up. "Oh, we gotta' do that!" he giggled.

When I picked up our clearance I told ATC that we wanted to alter our route to Direct MBS, Direct IAD. There was a pause on the radio and the confused controller came back asking "Why do ya' wanna do THAT?" I came back and replied "My retired parents live right near the MBS VOR and I wanna fly over, call 'em on the flight phone and tell 'em to go outside and look up." There was another pause then the controller came back snickering and said, "That's too good, okay you're now cleared direct MBS, direct IAD." I read it back and he replied, "Read back correct, have fun!"

One of the most important rules that any pilot should have burned into their soul is that Air Traffic Controllers are people too. Although there are many times when it is absolutely required that you be brief and concise with them, there are times when if you need something, you can just talk to them like people. As long as it is within the reg.s and not out of line with traffic flow and needs, or safety, they're always willing to help you. The best thing to teach a student pilot is if you need help, call ATC and simply ask for it. There is a real person on the other end of your mic and you'll find out they are pretty damned cool... especially when you want to do something neat-O. Another thing that many pilots often forget is that controllers talk to each other- so it was that our departure controller called up the line and told the next person what we were doing and so on.

As we got within about 20 miles of the MBS VOR I picked up the flight-phone and called my folks. Such calls cost, at that time, about $12 per minute- so I had to be brief. Being retired, my mom and dad were almost always home. Mom answered and I asked if she was on the portable phone- she said that she was. I told her to go out side, she did. "Look up." I said, do ya' see a contrail?" "No." she replied puzzled. "Look north, toward the airport- and when you see a contrail, that'll be me. I'll call you back when we're directly overhead- this is costing me a ton." I hung up and then began to wonder if this was a no-contrail day! Since no one else was up near us, it was hard to tell.

As the DME ticked off and our course on the screen came directly over the MBS station I called mom and dad back. Mom sounded like she was jumping up and down with excitement. "Oh my God! Oh my God!" she was shouting, "We see you, we can see you! You're right straight up!" I replied with our altitude and told her we were turning and heading for DC. "We see you! she shouted and laughed, "There ya' go!" I gave a pilot's goodbye and told her I'd call her tonight when I got home.

We were all grins in cockpit knowing that down below us were two thrilled parents. After all of the years of working my way through school, after all of the flight training, check rides, flight instruction, airline flying and career pitfalls that they had watched their kid go through, they finally got to see a contrail and know that I was on the point of it. What I didn't know was that my dad ran and got his camcorder, which, of course, had a dead battery. They also tried to get neighbors to "come and see" but on this rare occasion- no one was home! Dad grabbed his perpetually out of focus binoculars and tried to see what he could see- but I'm sure it was a fuzz. In the end it was just the two of them who stood there together in the back yard where I used to stand and watch the contrails go over the MBS VOR and they watched my contrail until it was out of sight... then my dad stood there alone and watched for what my mom said was "Quite a bit longer."

Shortly after we made the turn toward IAD, center came on the radio and asked "How'd it go? Did they see ya?" I replied back "A-firm. Two very excited old folks down there right now." ATC replied with a very cheerful "Great!" I'm sure there were some grins in the TRACON too at that moment.

After we hangared that evening I left a note in the office telling them that I'd used the flight-phone and to bill me for it. The total for the phone call came to $24. It was indeed one of those rare opportunities when circumstances way beyond your control allows you to do something out of the ordinary that is really cool. My dad passed away six years later and I have often thought of him standing out there all by himself looking up into the sky where I had been and the feelings and thoughts he probably had. From an aviator's point of view, all things considered, that was the best $24 I ever spent in aviation.

Goin' to charm school

2010-10-31T17:32:00.001-04:00

Commuting out of ORD, I had snagged a jumpseat on a United 757. The captain was a highly friendly fellow who was fairly senior and his FO was just getting ready to go to captain school for the 75 and seemed like a pretty cool guy as well. We blasted out of ORD and as we leveled off at cruise one of the Flight Attendants came into the cockpit. This FA was... well... as they like to say "OG" or openly gay. Now it is a vast misconception that all male FAs are gay. In fact a large portion of them are not. I once had a flight student who was a male FA at American and he liked to say that the way you get laid a lot in life is to be a straight guy working as an FA. Anyhow, the OG-FA politely asked if we'd like anything to drink.

Offering the crew something to drink at cruise was a standard practice in the pre-9/11 era when cockpit doors did not have to be barred and locked and then welded shut from the inside during flight. I said I was okay and didn't need anything, the FO echoed my answer and then put his hand over his mouth as if to conceal a smirk. The captain, however, just looked straight out the front window and stiffly said "Nothing, thank you." The OG-FA then left with a friendly "See ya'." An instant later, the captain reached over and hit the FA intercom button. When the lead FA answered the call he said sternly, "Cone in here please." By now the FO was looking out his window as if to say "I don't wanna see this."

In about a heartbeat later the lead FA came in and the captain directed her to close the door. "I don't care what you do for the rest of this flight," the captain snarled as he looked at her in a hateful manner, "but you keep that f%$&ing faggot out of my cockpit!" The stunned and clearly offended lead FA simply murmured "ok" and left, slamming the cockpit door.

No sooner had the echos from the slammed cockpit door faded than both the captain and the FO burst into laughter. The captain turned to me and saw that I was a bit stunned and began to sing "I'm goin' to charm school, I'm goin' to charm school, I'm goin to charm school..." The FO turned wiping his eyes and said "You sick bastard, I don't believe you just did that." The captain began to dance in his seat "I'm goin' to charm school, I'm goin' to charm school..."

"I'm missin' somethin' here." I mumbled. The FO decided to fill me in. You see, they can't fire United pilots for something like that. Instead, they take them off the schedule and send them to sensitivity training... in Denver... for a week. "He's done this before." the FO explained, "What was it last time?" the FO asked the captain. "Ski season." the captain replied happily. "And before that?" the FO went on. "Prime golf weather, just like now." the captain replied with a large knowing smile. "It works great," the captain explained to me, "You insult some fruity FA that you're probably never gonna see again, they send you to charm school in Denver, you spend the days learning charm and the rest of the time golfing or on the slopes. All ya' have to do is go in acting like Archie Bunker and pretend to slowly turn into Alan Alda by the end of the week. You get a passing grade and go back to work. You still get yer' guarantee, so you don't lose any money and you get an all expense paid vacation in Denver just to attend a bullshit sensitivity class."

"But... three times?" I asked. "Hey, I keep fallin' off the wagon." the captain smirked, "Can't help it, must be a defect in my personality."

A contrail could be seen high up in the eastern Ohio sky and at the very point of it were three pilots snickering like schoolboys over the concept of charm school. You can lead a pilot to charm school, but you can't make him sensitive.

The face of ObamaSpace-via Klyde Morris

2010-10-04T15:33:00.004-04:00

ObamaSpace- NEUTERED!

2010-10-04T12:39:00.004-04:00

On the first day of February, 2010 the ever leftward bound Obama administration presented a budget proposal for NASA that was nothing short of an outrage. Apparently, a hand full of the president's bootlickers cooked up a "new direction" that probably sounded real good while sitting on the floor in a semi-circle in some academic pow-wow and then decided that they alone would set a new direction for United States spaceflight. Our leader, who is said by those closest to him to be the "most aware" "most intelligent" and "most engaged" human who ever drew breath on the planet earth, simply rubber stamped the proposal which was then dumped on the nation.

ObamaSpace sought to cancel the entire Constellation program, including the Orion Crew Exploration Vehicle, it sought to send the the majority of funding from Constellation to "commercial" and "new space" companies. Instead of continuing in its efforts to explore space and return to the moon, NASA would now focus on completely undefined "game changing" and "path breaking" technologies. It would have also dictated that NASA spend much of its time in the study of "climate change." The result would be that NASA's program of training and flying astronauts would immediately end, the VAB, launch complex 39 and the Launch Control Center at the Kennedy Space Center (KSC) would all be shutdown and effectively "Abandoned In Place" immediately following the final shuttle flight. ObamaSpace had no goal, no direction and would accomplish nothing other than downsizing NASA into a small R&D agency that could easily be defunded in a few years. It represented the ripping down of a half century of United States leadership in space- it was a liberal's wet dream.

Reaction the ObamaSpace was instant and extremely negative. Congress was taken completely by surprise and they were beyond unhappy- they were down right insulted. With the exception of a few Obama zealots, space experts came out in droves against ObamaSpace. Some managed to point out a very few good points in the proposal- such as an increase in NASA's overall budget... which just happened to come real close to what the Obama Administration had cut the previous year. There was also added funding for aeronautics and for research and development. Yet the overall picture as quite sinister as it was very clear that this was a death proposal for NASA.

So loud was the reaction to Obama's FY2011 NASA budget proposal that it actually drew the president's attention away from March Madness basketball. In a "meeting" (No one is really sure if anyone who does not totally agree with das leader actually does get to "meet" with him), Sen. Bill Nelson, D FL, said that he had explained to das leader how badly das leader's space proposal was being received. Nelson stated that he was given an assurance by "the administration" that changes would be made and das leader would announce those in a visit to KSC on April 15th. Knowing how the "administration" actually functions, however, the question was put to Nelson "...and what if Obama doesn't change his proposal enough to save the space program?" Nelson replied "Then we (the Congress) will change it for him."

On April 15th Obama's teleprompters were set up at KSC, an audience of hand-picked Obama suck-ups was seated and das leader got up and spoke. With an Orion spacecraft that he had canceled and a Space Shuttle Main Engine, that he considered as non-game changing technology and thus obsolete, as backdrop Obama proceeded to say that we would not be going back to the moon- because we've been there- done that. He said that we would spend the next five years deciding on a heavy lift launch vehicle and he would un-cancel Orion and instead turn one or two of them into escape pods to be hung on the International Space Station. Yep- he changed ObamaSpace... and if you got real close and squinted, you might just see the change. Effectively, he stabbed Bill Nelson in the back... then das leader jetted down to Miami for a high-priced fund raiser.

The Congress, however, joined forces across party lines and, led by Bill Nelson they proceeded to take das leader's budget proposal and "Change it for him." Hearings were held and overall, out of all the member of Congress who were involved, only 5 did not out rightly condemn ObamaSpace- especially for its cancellation of the Constellation program. By mid-summer the United States Senate had come out with S.3729 which passed by unanimous consent and was their new direction for NASA. It contained a fully capable Orion for exploration beyond low earth orbit and directed the immediate development of a new heavy lift launcher to replace the shuttle in both the manned and unmanned configurations. Although the bill contained enough of ObamaSpace to draw the ink from the president's signature pen, it was in fact a sharp rebuke of the administration's FY2011 NASA budget. Meanwhile the House was working on their own rebuke of ObamaSpace. Between recesses and other Congressional business, however, the House was not able to get their bill to the floor before the ending of FY2010. As a result, the House adopted S.3729 and passed it by greater than a 2/3 majority. ObamaSpace had been blown up in the administration's face.

Almost immediately, two of ObamaSpace's biggest hucksters and Obama worshipers- NASA Administrator Charlie Bolden and his deputy administrator Lori Garver began to provide political cover das leader. Their formula is very simple- just act like S.3729 is ObamaSpace and has been what the president wanted all along. Charlie's first public statement said, in part, "...we now can move forward with plans to execute the vision set for us by President Obama..." and later went on to say, "Drawing on the ambitious plan for our agency laid out by President Obama, the Congress approved the National Aeronautics and Space Administration Authorization Act of 2010." and "Passage of this bill represents an important step forward towards helping us achieve the key goals set by the President." Following S.3729's passage Garver stated, concerning NASA's return to the moon that thanks to Obama, "we will be going back with humans..." even though- ObamaSpace, and Obama himself both direct that NASA should NOT be going back to the moon- only S.3729 and the Congress changes that.

This response to the Congressional rebuke of ObamaSpace ignores the bits and pieces of the administration's proposal that blew up in their collective faces and sounds a lot like Pee-Wee Herman when he drives off of a cliff and simply says "Ha, ha, I meant to do that."

Blitzkrieg on fatigue

2010-09-11T21:39:00.005-04:00

In the wake of the February 2009 Colgan Air 3407 accident the FAA Administrator made a "Call to Action" and one of the items to be addressed was supposed to be pilot fatigue.

Personally, I was more than highly skeptical. Even though a lot of blood had been spilled, which is normally the traditional motivation for the FAA to actually "do" something, fatigue is normally placed on the back-burner which is then turned off. As a pilot who flew at a number of different airlines and corporate operations and who many times found himself taking out the mask and sucking oxygen in order to stay awake during a late night approach and landing (like everyone else in the pilot groups), I found that the FAA did little more to address fatigue than sending out cartoon posters about the subject. I've seen pilots hosed by weather desperately trying to catch a well needed nap in ops. seated right below a poster warning all about the evils of pilot fatigue.

The problem is highly multifaceted with blame spread across aviation management, FAA weak rule making and pilot lifestyles. Management has had decades to worm through the loopholes in the current duty time reg.s and they are VERY good at it. They also have this fun way of basing pilots at out-stations, forcing people to commute to and from a crash-pad and home. In my day, the folks at screw-scheduling were experts at throwing a pilot right up against the wall of "duty time" because they know that such time ends when your flight is clocked "IN" and begins when they require you to "Report" for the next duty. You must get, by regulation 8 hours of rest in between. Forget that it may be a 40 minute wait for the crew van plus a 20 minute ride to the hotel and another 10 minutes to check in- that's all deducted from your 8 whole hours of required rest... plus the return to report, which takes just as long, also comes off of your end of the same 8 hours. Meals? HA! Who has time? Undress for bed, shower and re-dress... that comes out of the 8 as well and scheduling can still say they're legal. And even if they're not, report 'em to the FAA or even the union and see what happens... ZERO.

My favorite actually happened in corporate flying when I got a call from scheduling at 5 pm, and was informed that I had a report at 2 am for a 3 am departure the next morning. I had an hour drive from home, but forget about that, what about plain old sleep? They told me "Well just go to sleep right now." Ever try that? Just go to bed at 5 pm, simply lay down and try and fall asleep... in the daylight... doesn't work folks. But hey... they were legal under the reg.s. Oh... and by the way, they had those FAA "fatigue is evil" posters slapped up all over the place.

So, when it came to Admin. Babbitt's call to action and the subject of fatigue, I had very low expectations.... I was wrong.

Today the FAA released it's proposed rule changes for the issue of pilot fatigue and they are a real blitzkrieg on fatigue. Quoting Aero-News.net, "The proposal defines “flight duty” as the period of time when a pilot reports for duty with the intention of flying an aircraft, operating a simulator or operating a flight training device. A pilot’s entire duty period can include both “flight duty” and other tasks that do not involve flight time, such as record keeping and ground training. The FAA proposes to set a nine-hour minimum opportunity for rest prior to the duty period, a one-hour increase over the current rules. The proposed rule would establish a new method for measuring a pilot’s rest period, so that the pilot can have the chance to receive at least eight hours of sleep during that rest period. Cumulative fatigue would be addressed by placing weekly and 28-day limits on the amount of time a pilot may be assigned any type of duty. Additionally, 28-day and annual limits would be placed on flight time. Pilots would have to be given at least 30 consecutive hours free from duty on a weekly basis, a 25 percent increase over the current rules."

WOW!

If Randy Babbitt can actually get these changes into the FARs, it will be a major improvement. It will cost the airlines a lot of that extra cash they're grubbing by charging for checked bags and may force companies to actually, heaven forbid,... hire more pilots. Safety may really be enhanced.

Dig it!

2010-09-10T13:04:00.001-04:00

A quote from my brother Craig:

"Obama needs to stop saying that "We're going to dig ourselves out of this hole" -- there are multiple ways to get out of a hole. Digging is not among them."

and Craig did NOT vote for McCain.

Where the flock did July go?

2010-08-17T11:46:00.002-04:00

Just who was it that cranked up the time machine and put the entire summer into fast forward? I mean, where the f%$k did July go? Just seems I turned around and it was gone! Anyone seen my old friend June? And today I saw that some sinister forces have taken a huge bite out of August and shoved it into the history book. Summer is screaming past and there's nothing we can do to stop it!!

Quick! Someone throw yourself into the volcano, sacrifice a goat, offer up a virgin (or Richard Branson- just because he makes so much using that word), do the summer dance around a blessed stack of used flip-flops! Do something, anything to turn the time machine back to normal!

Why can't January, February and March act this way?

2010-06-14T08:07:00.006-04:00

Way back in my regional airline days I found myself in and out of assorted airports in assorted cities. For most of my employ at Northwest Airlink, I haunted cities in Iowa. One day while sitting in operations at one of those Iowa stations and waiting for paperwork I was looking at the employee's "whiteboard" where the assorted customer service and ramp agents left messages. Scrolled there was a message asking for the help of anyone willing to trade next Saturday with "Tori." Tori was a tiny little Thai lady who was one of the few agents at that station who still retained most of her sense of humor, and thus was a pal of mine.

Just as I finished pondering the whiteboard, Tori walked in and plopped down in a chair. I pointed at the whiteboard and asked what that was all about. She explained that her and her husband had a big family wedding to attend on that day, but the jerk who was the Northwest Airlines station manager refused to give her the day off and told her the only way to get the day off was if someone would trade with her. So far, every single agent had refused to trade and so she was stuck. With a deflated "hurumph" she left and returned to work leaving me standing there contemplating that whiteboard.

Now, it should be known that when I was in college at Embry-Riddle and working in the student newspaper office, we would do what we called "boards." Where someone would leave a serious message on the whiteboard, the rest of us would write crazy messages spoofing it. For example a simple message stating "Pat, meet me at the library at 2:00" would result in things written around it saying stuff such as "Jim- you and me- the cone of silence at 3" or "Pete, meet me at the adult detention center- bring a file in your underwear" followed by "I don't wear underwear-Pete" and so on. Eventually the entire board would be filled with nonsense that was funny as hell, all done by assorted staff members. Since then, I'm sure none of us Avion alumni can resist a whiteboard with a serious message- and neither can I.

I picked up a blue whiteboard pen and beneath Tori's message I wrote "Don't they know that Saturday is (and I scribbled some Asian looking characters) day, which is an important Holiday to the Thai people. This is just another way that Northwest Airlines discriminates against Asian people." With the though in mind that Northwest does a huge business in Asia. I figured my message would get some attention. No sooner had I capped the pen, than our paperwork came through and I was otta there. I did not get back to that station, or work the same shift with Tori for a few weeks.

When I did work the same shift with Tori again, she came up to me and asked "I didn't know that you spoke Thai." I frowned and answered "I don't." She looked very puzzled and asked "Well, what was that Thai Holiday you wrote on the board?" I told her that I had just made scribbles that looked like Asian writing- there was no Holiday. She clasped her hands over he mouth and gasped "Oh my God! Don't tell anyone!"

It turned out that she got the day off. Another ramp agent sitting nearby burst into laughter and filled us in on what had taken place. What happened was that shortly after I departed the idiot station manager came into the employee's room and read what I had written on the whiteboard. The ramp agent, who was there, said that the station manager pondered it for a long moment and then asked "Who wrote that?" The agent answered "One of the Airlink pilots." The management boob then asked "Is he Thia?" to which the agent replied "No, but I know his wife is Asian, because he showed me her picture." With that the cluck station manager erased my message and left in a hurry- and Tori got her requested day off.

We had a big laugh on that one- Tori told me that at the wedding she had questioned all around both her side of the family and her husband's side of the family and no one could figure out what the holiday was. She giggled and told me "We even asked my grandmother who came here from Thailand and she had no idea."

Anytime you can play on the politically correct in our society, and get a day off is fine with me. For the record, the dolt station manager never said a word to me about anything ever... not even hello. I told Tori that if she ever needed another Thai Holiday- just let me know and hand me a blue pen for the whiteboard.

Something I just couldn't hold

2010-05-24T13:07:00.003-04:00

You never know who you're gonna meet while deadheading from one place to another. It was a normally gloomy Minnesota autumn day when I squeezed grudgingly aboard one of Northwest Airlink's Junkstream 31s on my way from Hibbing to "Minnie." I'd have climbed aboard a flying terd to get my ass out of Hibbing that day, so a seat aboard a Junkstream worked for me. Seated next to me was a gaunt old fellow with a friendly face and manner.

When people are seated next to a uniformed pilot they seem to automatically want to strike up a conversation. The man seated next to me asked where I was going? I replied that I was headed home and had managed to escape before crew scheduling could find me in Hibbing. He smiled and I asked him where he was headed. He said he was heading to a Medal of Honor reunion in the Philippines. I asked if he was a Congressional Medal of Honor awardee and he told me that he was. I thanked him for my liberty, but also knew enough to not ask what he had done to earn the award.

After a bit more light conversation I mentioned that I had actually seen a Congressional Medal of Honor in a glass case at one of the museums in Washington DC. With that, the nice old gentleman reached into his shirt pocket and casually pulled out his Congressional Medal of Honor and handed it to me saying "Well here's what mine looks like."

For a moment I looked at it and then was suddenly overcome by the feeling that I could not hold it in my hand. I did not deserve to posses it for even a second- it's meaning was so huge and the lives of so many true heroes were behind it that it simply overpowered me. In haste I handed it back and mumbled something like "I really don't deserve to hold that." The man actually understood that. He smiled knowingly as he tucked it back into his shirt pocket.

We talked about his route of flight as we headed for Minnie. He told me that Northwest Airlines gave Medal of Honor awardees free seats on their way to events such as his reunion and we talked about what a long trip it was. In what seemed like only minutes we were rolling up to the gate and getting ready to deplane. The man reached into his jacket and gave me his card "Donald E. Rudolph" was his name. I said goodbye as he left and I stayed behind... so I could stick my head into the cockpit and tell the crew "Hey, you guys'll never believe who sat next to me!"

When I got home I paid a visit to the Nimitz Library at the Naval Academy and looked up Mr. Rudolph. His official awardee record is attached here. Mr. Rudolph passed away at age 85 on May 25, 2006- just four days before Memorial Day.

As Memorial Day 2010 comes and goes it is important to consider the true heroes in our society. Too often we Americans elevate sports figures, TV personalities, musical stars and even politicians with slick public relations wizards to the undeserved status of "Hero." Yet walking among us every day are those who actually had to fight for our liberty and gone past are millions who died for our liberty. I've been lucky to meet a number of those brave people and hope to meet many more- all of whom I believe should have a medal of honor. I just hope none of them ever hands me one again.

Rank and organization: Second Lieutenant, U.S. Army, Company E, 20th Infantry, 6th Infantry Division. Place and date: Munoz, Luzon, Philippine Islands, 5 February 1945. Entered service at: Minneapolis, Minn. Birth: South Haven, Minn. G.O. No.: 77, 10 September 1945. Citation: 2d Lt. Rudolph (then T/Sgt.) was acting as platoon leader at Munoz, Luzon, Philippine Islands. While administering first aid on the battlefield, he observed enemy fire issuing from a nearby culvert. Crawling to the culvert with rifle and grenades, he killed 3 of the enemy concealed there. He then worked his way across open terrain toward a line of enemy pillboxes which had immobilized his company. Nearing the first pillbox, he hurled a grenade through its embrasure and charged the position. With his bare hands he tore away the wood and tin covering, then dropped a grenade through the opening, killing the enemy gunners and destroying their machinegun. Ordering several riflemen to cover his further advance, 2d Lt. Rudolph seized a pick mattock and made his way to the second pillbox. Piercing its top with the mattock, he dropped a grenade through the hole, fired several rounds from his rifle into it and smothered any surviving enemy by sealing the hole and the embrasure with earth. In quick succession he attacked and neutralized 6 more pillboxes. Later, when his platoon was attacked by an enemy tank, he advanced under covering fire, climbed to the top of the tank and dropped a white phosphorus grenade through the turret, destroying the crew. Through his outstanding heroism, superb courage, and leadership, and complete disregard for his own safety, 2d Lt. Rudolph cleared a path for an advance which culminated in one of the most decisive victories of the Philippine campaign.

Pilot's Hat

2010-05-05T09:09:00.007-04:00

When you are working your way up to a pilot's career, it is almost impossible to not daydream about having the uniform... especially, the hat. When you finally get there you often find that the airline usually makes you go and buy the uniform. But it comes with a nice, new- perfectly shaped hat with a sparkling brim and a dazzling hat badge. Inside is a styrofoam doughnut to keep the hat in its perfect circle shape. You look in the mirror and say to yourself "Oh yeah"

A few months on the line is all it takes before the hat becomes a pain in the ass. It gives you hat hair, it gets forgotten and has to be recovered, it blows off, it gets sat on and soon you don't want to wear it at all, so you begin to carry it. That's even a bigger pain in the ass. Finally you realize that the best way to carry the damned thing is right up on the top of your head. Then you learn that there are far larger pains in the ass at any airline than the hat... besides, it really impresses little kids- so what the heck. Next you find uses for the hat. Mine was always handy for holding a list of all of the door codes I needed to know as well as other assorted other numbers. Need a number- tip yer' hat... how easy. It's also good for sleeping when you're dead-heading. Pull it down over your eyes and the world, and passengers go away. After a while, the hat gets pretty beat up and that's when it is the best. That styrofoam doughnut is long gone having been pulled out and thrown away the first week you had to wear the thing and you can't even feel the hat on your head anymore.

That all leads me to a story told to me one day in ops. when we were all weathered in. One of the new pilots was poking fun of my well-worn hat saying I looked like a B-17 pilot from World War II when another guy piped up and began to tell us about his first day with his hat. He'd just gotten home from training and his girlfriend, whose dad was a long time airline pilot, called. She asked him to come over and said "Dad says he wants to see you in your uniform." So he gleefully put on his brand new uniform and drove to her house. Once in the living room he modeled for the family- the dad seemed to approve, then said... "There's just one thing wrong..." he reached over and removed the newbee's hat. "...it's this hat." With that the senior airline pilot ripped out the styrofoam doughnut from the hat and ripped the doughnut apart. Then he put the hat on the floor and started stomping on it. Next he started kicking the hat all around the living room and finally out the front door. Then he kicked it around the yard, through the flower bed, into the bushes and stomped it into the yard mulch- all in front of the newbee's horrified eyes. Then the senior pilot picked the hat up, flexed it as to rip it apart, brushed it off and placed it back on the newbee's head. "There..." he said, "...now it looks like an airline pilot's hat."

Today I'm a long way from my airline days but my beat-up hat still serves a use... my kids just love to wear it.

Unexpected Results

2010-04-27T09:58:00.006-04:00

As the process goes on in Congress to save the United States from Obama's FY2011 blue-bag NASA budget, and Obama continues to find nearly zero support in either house, some unexpected and good byproducts are coming out.

Back in August I predicted, quite correctly, that our new leftest-in-chief would attempt to kill NASA. After all, that's every left-winger's dream and it has been so since 1966. I was incorrect, however, in thinking that the issue would be evenly split in the Congress- I was incorrect. I also predicted that with the Obama Administration and the Congressional spending sprees going out of control, the next Congress (which will likely be Republican dominated) will have no choice other than to repeal, defund and cut in order to save the nation- and that would include NASA. Both of my predictions were no-win situations for NASA.

On the first day of February, 2010 the Obama Administration dropped their bombshell on NASA and the nation in their FY2011 budget proposal. Congress, almost as a whole, was not impressed- in fact, they were highly insulted. The hand full of poly-sci. brains who came up with the plan were, like all liberals, sure that everyone would love their new plan and as usual- they were dead wrong.

From the on-going rhubarb over the Obama FY2011 NASA budget, some unexpected and positive results now appear to be emerging... that is... if you are not in the Obama camp.

First off- this attack on NASA Human Spaceflight has not only triggered wide spread feeling of disgust, but it has also drawn much needed attention to the lack of proper funding for the Human Spaceflight effort. The Congressional purse holders have universally stated that NASA needs more funding- and they mean beyond the crumb that Obama offered- which does not even keep pace with inflation. The most eye-opening statement came from Senator Mikulski when she made the point that we cannot keep having a new space program every four years with every new president.

Next there was my prediction that the next Congress will have no choice other than to cut, defund and repeal- and that must include NASA. A careful look at what the current members of Congress are thinking as well as what those who are looking to unseat the current members are saying shows that I am wrong- at least where NASA is concerned. The attitude now seems to be cut everything Except NASA. It is something I never thought I'd see in my lifetime. Additionally, Republican candidates running for Congress this year find this fully Obama-owned budget to be a nice handy political issue to be used in the upcoming elections. If they say that they want to cut NASA in any way- they can be linked as agreeing with Obama... a poison pill for any Republican and perhaps for any Democrat as well. Thus it is much more productive to simply disagree with the FY2011 NASA budget and let Obama take the heat.

The bottom line is that some unexpected good things are coming out of the attempt of the Obama Administration to castrate NASA. It is just a real shame that we have to go through so much doubt and agony to get to them.

Apollo 13

2010-04-14T10:54:00.007-04:00

At the time of the Apollo 13 flight, I was a 6th grader, the neighborhood crazy space buff- and the kid who raised his hand EVERY day in class to say something new about spaceflight that the entire class, including the teacher, couldn't care less about. The launch was on a weekend and then the mission seemed just to vanish from the media. Unlike Apollos 10,11 and 12 where coverage began an hour before the launch and followed through the TLI burn the Transposition & Docking and even mid-course corrections with "Special Reports" as well as scheduled videos from the crew... Apollo 13 was just not there on my TV. There would be a brief soundbite on the evening news, but everything else was gone. The night of the explosion, I'd gone to bed about a half hour prior to the event, right during the broadcast from the crew that no one saw, because none of the networks bothered to carry it. 1970 was really a f&%ked up year and the news media was a part of that.

Walking to school the next morning I met my pal Larry who asked me if I knew that Apollo 13 had blown up. I thought it was a joke and Larry was just jerking the space-geek's chain. He said "No, really- it was all on the TV last night." I remained skeptical- I mean, they hadn't interrupted my breakfast cartoons with any sort of special report, so I knew nothing. Then in the classroom, everyone asked me what had happened. Gee, since September I'd been annoying them all with Apollo tid-bits, now, they all wanted me to tell them what's going on... and I didn't know squat about the event. My teacher was rather disappointed- "I thought for sure you'd know." she kept saying.

At lunch time I ran home and counted the minutes until the local news at noon came onto the TV. They knew very little at that time, but I soaked up what I could. There was a lot of talk at the time that the vehicle had been "hit by a meteor." I returned to class from home after lunch armed with my 1/48 scale CSM along with my trusty copy of "We Came In Peace" for referance and several TV news reports that I'd seen over lunch. Frankly, I didn't know much more about the event at that moment than the newscasters did- but I did pretty much the same thing as they did, I gathered what bits and pieces I had, garnished with some models and enhanced with an "I know" attitude and went back in front of my little audience of my fellow 6th graders. The rest of the week, I was a fairly popular 12 year old at Nelle Haley Elem. School (after that I was just a geek again- of course) When asked the question about a meteor strike, I found great value in just rubbing my chin thoughtfully and saying "Well... that's one thing, but it could be a lot of things." - yer' thus, never wrong later.

It is interesting to note that through out the whole of the Apollo 13 mission, no one really knew what had happened beyond the reported "bang," the shaking of the spacecraft and the loss of systems. The bursting LOX tank was not traced down until well after the flight was over. So, I was holding onto the meteor theory because as a 12 year old space buff, I simply could not imagine NASA allowing any sort of defect or damage to go undetected prior to a launch.

My folks, who both worked during the day, let me stay home from school for the reentry and landing. I recall the gap following blackout and the concern in Cronkite's voice. I, personally, wasn't worried for a moment- to a 12 year old space buff during the Apollo era, NASA simply could NOT fail- ever. I said to myself "This is just a comm. problem, any second now they'll spot the chutes." while I conducted several dozen splashdowns with my model CM on my living room carpet. I'm serious- there was not a second of doubt in this kid's mind- NASA will do it- period. Sure enough, there were the chutes. I remember thinking "No problem" NASA can do anything.

Ahhhh... to be 12 again and living in the era of Apollo.

2010-04-07T15:47:00.002-04:00

What will Obama say at KSC?

2010-04-06T16:33:00.000-04:00

What will Obama say when he visits KSC on April 15th? That is the question that almost all of the spaceflight community is currently asking itself. Will he stand arrogantly by his budget to kill NASA's human spaceflight program, ignoring the outcry of the American people who oppose it- just as he did his health care takeover? Will he channel JFK and send our nation off on a bold new adventure to a specific place by a specific time? Will he do a verbal tap dance all around the subject while avoiding any commitments and then hop back on his 747 and blow back to the safe and friendly confines of the Washington beltway? Will he talk in billowing terms about vague but exciting sounding projects while actually offering only a few additional crumbs to NASA? Will he promise everything and then turn around and do nothing? What is going to happen? What will Obama do? Indeed, these are the questions.

Put all of the talk of which vehicle, what system, when and where, that is being debated in the spaceflight world aside, you will find my point of view about the whole matter. That is- why the hell should American citizens even have to wonder what is next for NASA or will NASA even exist after this president gets done with it? It is an absolute disgrace that we should be left in doubt at all. NASA is the cornerstone of our leadership in technology and innovation and the fact that it very existence under any sort of threat at all by any president is a national outrage.

So... what do I think Obama will say and do when he "visits" KSC for his space "summit" on April 15th? First off, he will surround himself with bootlickers who will fill the seats, then he will talk in billowing circles for 98% of the summit's allotted time allowing everyone else just enough time to sound-bite agree with whatever he says, he will then stand stubbornly by his toxic NASA budget and toss a crumb or two (such as a single shuttle flight extension) toward NASA and Senator Nelson before he tours the Space-X facilities and then he will smugly hop on Air Force One and fly away still in the firmly held belief that he can never be wrong and nothing that the United States does can ever be right.

This time, he will not win the Congress, however. There is widespread condemnation over his budget in both houses of Congress and among both Republicans and Democrats. Obama will have his NASA budget altered by the Congress in order to save NASA and keep NASA astronauts flying, and he won't even care. You see, NASA and America's manned space program means nothing to him, it is an annoyance to be handled by others- he's only coming to KSC because he was urged by Senator Bill Nelson to do something... anything, in the wake of his disastrous budget's release.

I only hope that I am totally wrong in this and that when it comes to NASA's manned spaceflight efforts, Obama really is "engaged" "enthusiastic" and "only has been ill-advised" as Bill Nelson has stated. And if I am wrong, I'll come here and say so- all four of you reading this will know. But... this is Obama, a president who never fails to let our nation down. On April 15th, I expect him to let us down once again.

The Emperor's New Budget

2010-03-01T10:05:00.004-05:00

So it was that the Obama team that desires to kill NASA's manned spaceflight program brought their blue-bag budget to the United States Congress... there they had high hopes of finding some friends who would see things Lori Garver and John Holdren's way. Ya' know... taking the guts out of the United States space program and then watch with glee as it withers and the propped-up "commercial" operators fail thus taking this nation out of Human Spaceflight operations forever. They packed up their lackey, the supposed NASA Administrator Charlie Bolden to go in, read the script, talk the circle talk and take the point, as well as the flack. My bet is they figured, as I did, that the committees in both houses would be about 50/50 for and against... we were both wrong.

What they got instead was a royal tail flaming by all but one of the Congressional committee members. Holdren went first and not only did the members of the Congress want to drive a stake through his heart, if they could actually find it, but they worked hard at wrecking his fantasy of anthropogenic Global Warming. He held firm to the Global Warming myth but found little cover when it came to NASA and the emperor's new budget. Holdren had brought a squirt gun to a firefight. In short- he got the stew he helped concoct tossed right back into his face. Other than seeing this political goon in a dentist's chair getting a triple root canal, this show was about as entertaining as it could have gotten for me.

Charlie Bolden was next and his afternoon in the Senate was focused strictly on the department that he is standing command over and driving at flank speed toward the Obama iceberg. Charlie read his opening statement containing the reasoning that he and his little group of zealots are trying to sell to us in order to explain their gutting of the United States space program. His reasons were about as thin as the paper they were written on. There were no direction, no objectives and not a thread of inspiration nor a hint of pride in Charlie's opening- there was only circle-talk and a hefty garnish of "possibilities" "somedays" and general vapor.

To say that Charlie was ill-prepared for the coming onslaught of Congressional anger would be something of an understatement. Charlie, in pilot terms, got his six waxed. If his chair had been equipped with an ejection capability, Charlie would have done well to, as John Young said, "Just pull the little handle." At one point I swear I saw him reach down looking for the "D" ring... it was not there. Even I was surprised as one after another the committee members stated the small shreds of the Obama budget that they favored and then turned on Charlie and beat him up with the rest of it that they hate. The process continued in the House hearings the following afternoon. In all some 24 of 25 congresspeople skewered Charlie and he had no good answers to any of their questions.

It is quite clear that the architects of this radical direction that the Obama administration intends to send NASA on are actually making it up as they go along. That is one hell of a way to run the United States space agency. Their appearances in front of the Congress in an attempt to justify this gutting of NASA is a stab in the back to every person who has dedicated their lives to NASA and the efforts of that agency that has given great pride to this nation. The Obama budget and those who have had their hands in its authorship are a disgrace. Charlie got exactly what he deserved- he was ill-prepared, lacking in his ability to communicate, unable to recover from mistakes and easily confused. He failed this checkride.

Charlie's amazing stew

2010-02-22T17:44:00.003-05:00

Oh what an amazing stew NASA Administrator Charlie Bolden is making for himself as he rushes to to sell, at all costs, the new Obama NASA budget. Charlie will, it seems, do anything to serve lord Obama. No matter how toxic the paint, he will paint himself into a nice tight corner and then fall upon the brush as if it were a sword just to please the grand Obama.

Get out there Charlie and serve the American people a giant crap sandwich by telling everyone it is peanut butter. Charlie knows that the FY2011 Obama budget is a poison pill for NASA and that will lead to the slow death of something that has held America's greatest pride for 50 years. He knows too that this will spell the end of United States astronauts flying in space, let alone flying beyond low earth orbit- but what the hell, Charlie has already had his rides, so screw the rest of the Americans who may want to fly in space- let 'em ride Soyuz... right?

As I write this, Charlie, Lori and a hand full of other Obama idolizers are busy composing circle talk that they can spout in front of Congress that will make the Obama vacuum in United States human space flight seem like a new and exciting adventure. Charlie's good at circle talking too- he uses the term "there" as if it were a grand new place to which all of us can someday sail thanks to the great Obama. Never mind that he offers no actual definition as to where or what "there" is, or that, under the Obama budget to nowhere we will not have any hardware to get us to "there" for 15 years or longer- nope, just make it sound like a grand adventure Charlie and then Obama will be pleased.

And what of that Congress? Well to listen to and watch Charlie and Lori and their little demolition crew, you'd never know that the Congress has the final say- in fact, you'd think that the Congress has no say what-so-ever in the matter. Obama decreed that NASA's human spaceflight program is finished and Charlie says "Thy will be done." With any luck, Charlie will be in for a rude awakening.

What if... what if... the Congress elects to order the Space Shuttle program extended to cover the gap, the Constellation program reinstated and the Ares I developed in full. What will Charlie do then? You see one of the corners that Charlie has painted himself into is the Shuttle- which Charlie has said, in public, to KSC workers, flying it is like "playing Russian roulette." If the Congress, who actually DOES have the final say instead of Obama, and orders the Shuttle to continue flying, Charlie, who has compared that operation to playing a suicide game will have to oversee putting crews on additional shuttle missions. The word "squirm" comes to mind.

Of course if Charlie does not like his situation he could do the honorable thing and resign his post- but that would leave the amazingly ill-suited Lori Garver, how cannot think her way out of a spaceflight paperbag, in charge of NASA. That would really make Charlie's idol and leader, The Obama, look bad... and we can't have that, can we Charlie.

All in all Charlie has been given quite an amazing toxic stew to serve to the American people. He gets to lead the effort to dismantle a 50 year program of historic success to which hundreds of thousands of Americans have dedicated their lives to and more than a score have actually given their lives for. Demolishing American pride is Obama's on-going quest and right now his chief mechanic is Charlie Bolden. But what does Charlie care... as I said, he had his rides, so to hell with everyone else, Obama is all that matters to Charlie.

Obama trying to kill US human spaceflight

2010-02-02T11:48:00.008-05:00

Way back in mid August of last year I wrote a piece called "A Big Ol' Plate Of NASA To Cancel" where I outlined the nightmare scenario of our leftwing radical in chief doing what all liberals since Mondale have been drooling to do- kill NASA. Guess what... as predicted- he just tried to do it- in his latest budget. In fact, from reading the budget, you'd think that Obama's people took it from my blog.

This budget takes 45 years of United States domination in the science and technology of human spaceflight and simply erases it with the stroke of a pen. Now, as Obama wants to see it, we'll have fun robots to go all over and see things. Plus we'll chase the myth of man-made Global Warming for several billion dollars a year- but wait! there's more. Now we will give shovels full of money- billions worth- to "commercial" operators so that NASA can rent seats from them to go up to the International Space Station- yes, boatloads of teachers and scientists and researchers all going to the ISS, there in low earth orbit... ya' know, where we went way back in 1962. You see, our fearfilled leader, Obama, believes that that's just high enough for people to go.

Of course there are no real details in the budget on all of this other than the order to "cancel the Constellation Program" our project for return to the moon. Those so-called "commercial" operators will not even have a fully functional and tested launch escape system ready for the next six or seven years, but we're going to turn our backs on the billions in sunk-costs invested alread in Constellation and shovel as much mone as we can to these "commercial" operators. Yeah...right.

Such courage it took for our fearfilled leader to just take four and half decades of human spaceflight and chuck it. Then go back out to his private basketball court for a bit of hoop.

You see, this is not about technology, or risk, or jobs or even budgets. This IS about United States national pride. The United States manned space efforts as conduced by NASA have been a beacon of national pride since May 5th, 1961 when Alan Shepard launched in a 15 minute sub-orbital hop. Less than 5 years later, the liberals began to peck at that icon. They were never able, however, to knock it down or get it deleted from the Federal budget. They came close in the early 1970s when shuttle funding passed by a single vote. They had high hopes between 1977 and 1980 while Jimmy Carter served as the liberal in chief -screwhead, but he just was not quite sociopathic enough to cancel the shuttle. But 2010 is different... as there are Democrat majorities in both houses of Congress and Obama has managed, with a leg up from W. Bush to spend the nation into near oblivion. Now was the time to strike at the biggest pillar of United States pride, and Obama did just that.

As people who actually can see the importance of manned spaceflight as conducted by NASA, we still have one shred of hope- the Congress. You see, our fearfilled leader and his gang of bootlickers who now reside in DC have actually gone a bit too far in their accelerated race toward national socialism and the American people are rising up. In congress there are now as many as 150 Democrat seats that could be at risk this fall and Obama's latest outlash at or national pride may not sit well in the Congress. We can only hope that the tallest icon of United States pride, our human spaceflight program, will not be dissected and tossed away by Obama. Stay tuned.

Klyde morris 020110

2010-02-01T20:13:00.001-05:00

Should we do somethin'?

2010-01-20T15:38:00.004-05:00

Recently, an overseas airline began profiling lone males on flights as all being potential child molesters. Yep, now there's a profile that I'm sure the current DHS can live with... yet it brings to mind a "There I was" story.

Back in the pre 9/11 days a crew that I was flying as a part of came in direct contact with a situation that fits this. It was one of those end-of-the-day flights as we were headed to our out-station from the hub. In the cockpit things were nice and quiet and boring... just the way airline pilots like them. The passengers were loaded, the paperwork was done and soon the cabin door was closed. I had ground on the horn and we were rolling away into the evening, as cool as can be. We were also on the back side of "the push" so most of the traffic had already departed- it was smooth goin' all the way to our runway. As we rolled across the field toward our runway, ground came on the radio and told me to contact Ops. before departure.

When I called Ops., to my surprise, the Chief Pilot answered. He told us that our flight attendant was under orders that if there as a single peep of any sort of a disturbance in the back, we were to call for ATC Priority Handling and turn immediately back. We asked what was going on, but he simply told us to ask the flight attendant. By then we were set to blast off and there was no time to call to the back until we were otta 10.

Of course nothing drives a flight crew like curiosity and we blasted up through 10,000 feet as fast as we could. I buzzed the back and asked the FA what was goin' on. He said that he did not think it was a big deal, but while the passengers were standing in line waiting to board, an adult male had made a "remark" to a young female who was flying as an unaccompanied minor. Whatever the remark was it frightened the little girl to the point that she reported it to the gate agent. The gate agents had arranged seating so that the idiot guy was seated all the way aft and the UM was seated forward, close to the flight attendant. We decided just to keep the seat belt sign on and that there would be no cabin service... just so we would have less of a chance of having to turn back. The captain made a BS-PA saying that ATC had reported the likely hood of some rough air ahead to cover for our actions. The captain then leaned over to me and thumbed toward the rear... "Lock the door" he said.

Now... Hollywood often portrays airline pilots as brave and heroic... and just like everything else that comes out of Hollywood- that's all bullcrap. In fact, if there were an airline pilot's pocket checklist for what to do when the excrement hits the turbine blades back in the cabin, it would say "Put out the sight that says DO WHAT YOU WANT WITH THE WOMAN AND CHILDREN, BUT LEAVE US ALONE and lock the door." So, of course we followed that procedure.

When I made the in-range call, our destination Ops. came back with a "What the hell's goin' on up there?!" To which we responded, "Why? What the hell's goin' on down there?" They told us that the place was full of cops and they had a guy at the gate acting like a wild man... he was the little girl's father. Apparently he had been contacted by the airline and told that some guy aboard our flight was trying to molest his daughter. He did exactly what I would do in the same situation... race to the airport like batman, burst through the doors, storm through security and try and beat the facts out of the totally uninformed gate agent. Of course the police were not far behind and were currently trying to cool him down. I reported back that all was very quiet aboard and the idiot remark guy as actually sound asleep, according to the flight attendant. Additionally, the little girl was and well protected from the scum of the earth, because the cockpit door was closed.

We taxied up to the gate and through the windows you could see some big, bristled guy surrounded by a half dozen cops. They deplaned the little girl first and she was escorted in by airport police and a gate agent, the other passengers followed and as soon as the last guy went in- all hell broke loose. From the cockpit all that we could see were arms, elbows, feet and fists. It was a lot like being a hockey player watching a brawl break out in the stands.

I murmured to the captain, as we watched, "Should we do... somethin'?" He gave me that are you f$%king nuts smirk and said, "Yeah... make sure that door stays locked and as soon as they're all gone out of that window, we'll go out and walk across the ramp to the other side of the building, go through Ops. and get in our cars and go home.

That's exactly what we did.

Explosive Honey

2010-01-09T14:08:00.002-05:00

Things are tense in the airport business as the terrorists (or suspected persons of ill intent- as the Obama administration may wish to call them) have once again tried to blow us up. The front line in this war (or overseas contingency operation- as the Obama administration would prefer to have us call it) is in the airports of the United States where the TSA stands ever vigilant... that is, unless they have a cell phone call to answer or it is their lunch break. Yes, they remain nose-to-nose with the enemy... us... the American flying public.

The process of scanning bags, ordering shoes removed, guarding exits and rummaging through checked luggage is one laced with risk. Indeed, no TSA agent knows what resides within the next removed shoe or what awaits in the next bag, this is especially so for the luggage rummage detail. The next bag could contain men's jockey shorts with a brown streak or a boobie-trapped load of C-4 explosive (under 50 pounds, of course, so you won't get charged extra for checking the bag). Every day is like playing Russian roulette with one bullet and 98,728,412 empty chambers... the pressure is enormous... at least until break time.

Fear hung heavily, like a tapestry of doom over the checked baggage area at Bakersfield CA's Meadows Field Airport on the morning of 5 January, 2010. In the shadow of the Christmas Day Crotch Bomber, everyone was on a razor's edge... and then it happened!

A single bag was opened and inside were found several unmarked bottles with a suspicious golden liquid inside. Although Bakersfield is known to many as one of the honey centers of the nation, the TSA was smarter than that... no, THIS was not the yellow product of one of the bazillion bee hives in the local area... THIS WAS A BOMB!

Quicker than you can scream 10-9 over the airport's P.A. system, the TSA sprung into action. Immediately the owner of the bag, a 31-year-old gardener from Milwaukee, who had flown to Bakersfield to spend Christmas with his sister, was arrested like a jihadest fresh from Yemen and tossed into some hostile, isolated room. The local police, FBI, CIA, NSA and perhaps even the NAR (National Association of Rocketry) were alerted. Sirens screamed as SWAT teams were mustered and every person in Bakersfield who carried a badge from police to elementary school safety patrol kids were rushed to the scene. Bomb-sniffing dogs were deployed and indicated that the golden liquid was explosive. The airport was locked down, passengers were all immediately considered to terrorist accomplices- no one was above or below suspicion. Two of the TSA agents who came near the bag were "overcome" and had to be rushed to the E.R. at a local hospital. Surely now the EPA needed to get involved- but, they were far too busy tracking down that dangerous carbon dioxide that we all exhale and were thus under-staffed... so they could not respond until man-made Global Warming is stopped.

Confidential sources report that TSA attempted to put the bag's owner under the ol' "hot lights" for questioning... unfortunately, California no longer allows incandescent lights to be used anywhere in the state for environmental reasons and all they had were LED lamps, which were not hot and are too dim to force the truth out of anyone. So they had to settle for threatening him by saying they would move him to Nevada where they still have hot lights. Yet even under that pressure, the bag's owner refused to confess to packing explosives... so they made him take off his shoes- and keep 'em off.

The national threat level was elevated to a bright orange, almost an apricot, but not quite a tangerine.

Hours passed before a non-dog analysis for the substance showed it to be... honey.

So... what caused the dogs to alert? And what caused the two (not one, but TWO) TSA agents to be "overcome" and have to be rushed away to a local ER?

So, what can we learn from this event? Maybe the bomb-sniffing dogs just like honey. Maybe the owner, a gardener, who works with nitrogen agents a lot contaminated the bottles. Maybe the TSA agents like honey a really, really lot and simply were overcome by yummyness. Maybe they saw something else in the bag (remember those Jockey shorts with the streak). Maybe they knew it was only honey and how much that can mess up a uniform if it leaks and the thought of the dry cleaning involved just knocked them out. Or, maybe they both decided that this stuff was about to blow the entire airport to snot and they would be best off to fake a faint and then get transported away to the hospital and that way when the explosion went off they'd be a safe distance away and could just sit up, remove the oxygen mask and say "Well... I seem to feel much better" (that's what I'd have done).

What matters most is that TSA did its job. With total disregard for any thread of common sense, they shut the system down and held hostage a whole bunch of innocent Americans in an outstanding display of stupidity. We are all now allowed to feel safer... and put our shoes back on.

01/07/10 klyde morrsi

2010-01-08T12:26:00.000-05:00

Oh yeah, this is leadership.

2010-01-04T10:53:00.003-05:00

So- we narrowly avoided another terrorist attack... oh, wait... The new term is "Man-Caused Disaster." Yes that's right, in our new wave of Political Correctness, we must use the new terms so as not to offend anyone... like a slug with a bomb sewn into his underwear looking to blow up an A330. Those of us with working brains know that calling a terrorist attack a man-caused disaster is like calling an Evil Knievel crash a "Boo-boo." Still that does not stop the idiots running the country from driving the NASCAR racer of Political Correctness over the bodies of United States citizens- ( a NASCAR race car turns left, turns left, turns left... get it?)

Yet we ask, prior to the Christmas day crotch bomber, what were our leaders thinking of?

Why it was health care of course! That was the focus... you know- all of those masses of Americans who were on their knees in the streets, hands held to the sky begging "Oh please or mighty government save us! Take over the system of health care before we all DIE! And... by the way we expect to be dead before Christmas 2009." Don't you remember seeing all of those people, dressed in rags, crowded into the streets- it was right out of Soylent Green- waiting for the scoops to come!

Yep- that's what was important prior to the crotch bomber.

If we could see into Obama's mind, what would his priorities be now? Probably be something like this...

*Golf
*My image
*Why the hell did I leave warm weather after the holidays?
*I've got to find more ways to avoid Biden.
*Wow, I really look good sitting at this desk.
*The Chicago Bulls.
*Airline security.
*I really do look good sitting in this office.
*We need a third teleprompter the next time I speak.
*Okay... there's nothing hanging out of my nose, I can go in front of the cameras.
*I have a great profile for being on a coin.
*My toothbrush should have the Presidential seal on the handle.
*Health care

In two months, however, that same list of Obama's priorities will look something like this...

*Golf
*My image
*Why the hell did I leave warm weather after the holidays?
*March madness.
*I've got to find more ways to avoid Biden.
*Wow, I really look good sitting at this desk.
*The Chicago Bulls.
*I really do look good sitting in this office.
*We need a third teleprompter the next time I speak.
*Okay... there's nothing hanging out of my nose, I can go in front of the cameras.
*I have a great profile for being on a coin.
*My toothbrush should have the Presidential seal on the handle.

Meanwhile the TSA is going to come down on us... the enemy in their eyes... with a wave of new, pointless, "security" rules... none of which will be applied to anyone who would fit the profile of someone who would want to actually do "Jihad" upon us. Nope- they'll be real busy checking my 2 year old's taggy blanket.

Soon we'll all have to take off our shoes, dump our liquids and remove and display our underwear because the TSA will be nose to nose with the flying public of the United States. And if their luck holds out they'll soon be unionized to boot! If you think that TSA stands for Thousands Standing Around now... just wait until they have a national seniority list and the ability to strike.

There is, of course, that great protector from the year 2002- the "No-Fly List." This is about as outdated as the Lucy Show and equally useful when it comes to preventing "man-caused disasters." The list is said to currently contain such threatening names as Sadam Hussein and Mohamad Atta along with Snidley Whiplash and Darth Vader. Hey- I feel safe now.

Yesterday (January 3, 2010) a guy walked through the exit at Newark airport. The TSA alerted, locked down the airport and promptly lost him. That's right... they LOST him. After several hours of making everyone- including those who had already passed through screening, go back and take their shoes off again- the TSA was not able to find the guy... so they figured that was enought time to look for him and they reopened operations... Oh well.

Protection against terrorist acts will require aggression against the real enemies, action in the field, human intelligence gathering, common sense and leadership. Since 9/11 we have had none of that and considering the current idiots in charge, we are not likely to get any of that.

klyde morris 01/04/10

2010-01-04T07:39:00.001-05:00

klyde morris 12/31/09

2010-01-01T17:44:00.002-05:00

Crotch Bomber

2009-12-28T17:24:00.003-05:00

So, yer' on a one-way ticket, paid in cash, no bags, coming out of Yemen bound for Detroit... and no one's suspicious?

Of course the politically correct security unicks in Amsterdam would never suspect such a person- especially when that passenger is headed for Detroit where most Euro. persons figure little civilization still exists anyhow (They're obviously mistaking Detroit for my native town of Saginaw in such cases). So they simply look the other way and let the one-way, no bags, paid with cash walking pile of excrement board the aircraft.

Terrific.

Here's my low down on the whole thing. ANYONE coming out of Yemen should be equipped with a bomb-sniffing dog's nose inserted up their butt in order to board a United States bound Aircraft... period.

Klyde Morris 12/24/2009

2009-12-26T11:12:00.001-05:00

Christmas

2009-12-24T17:04:00.006-05:00

I'm happy to recall that, when I was a kid, Christmas around the Oleszewski household were terrific. The photo here shows Christmas morning 1969 and it was great. Now, I know that some folks out there had unhappy childhoods and really sad Christmas memories- my dad was one such person. When he was a kid, all of his family were heavy boozers and they all went out on Christmas eve and drank themselves into a stooper while he was left home alone with a single toy that he had been allowed to open in order to keep him entertained. On Christmas morning, all of his family were too hung-over to be at all festive, or for that matter- to cook breakfast. When dad had his own family, he made sure that such a Christmas would never be a part of it.

On Christmas eve, normally, everything happened at our house and dad spent ever dime he had and some that he did not have making sure that fun was had. Since we lived in mid-Michigan, we normally had a white Christmas. My memory is of friends and family blowing in through the front door at or Lexington Street house followed by bursts of snow. Normally, my maternal Grandma stayed over at our house so she could be there for Christmas morning- this was because out of her 8 kids, only my mom was willing to host her for Christmas, that act would pay off later for my mom.

Christmas morning was a real hoot. We three kids would be up before dawn, not knowing that Santa had just completed work an hour or so earlier. The first glance at the tree revealed what still seems like a mountain of gifts. In fact, most of the boxes contained stuff in the 49 cent range with only a couple of higher priced (in the $10 range) items. It did not matter at all, as it all made up a huge pile which is likely not much more than a huge memory. My best gifts were space models- anything rocket or Apollo related, but I was always a sucker for a 29 cent bag of "Army men." The folks sat back and watched as we ripped away at the paper that Santa had applied just a few hours earlier. Then, after the gift frenzy, mom would cook a huge breakfast and we'd eat as fast as we could in order to get back to the new toys. For some reason, mom and dad always looked exhausted.

We did our best to keep up the traditions after we kids went way to college, but it wasn't easy. Soon I had a wife and a flying career, which does not know holidays and the other members of the family were equally on their own. Mom and dad only spent one Christmas alone, which was 2003. Dad passed away in early December of 2004 and I took it upon myself to see to it that mom, by then a granny herself would be at my house for every Christmas morning. Now she get to see my kids dig into the mountain of cheap gifts that are well wrapped by Santa plus the few high value items.

Now- I wish you all a merry Christmas as I excuse myself to be with my family. My dad's here too... trust me.

Balloon Boy verdict

2009-12-23T11:50:00.006-05:00

As I write this some judge is reading the verdict in the trial of the two doinks who faked the Balloon Boy event a few months ago. You know... the one where they pretended that their kid was accidentally launched in a balloon that most of us looked at and said it could only loft about 20 pounds. Yet the 24/7 cable TV media picked it us as a real event and were totally suckered in. That Balloon Boy spoof is what I'm talking about here.

Turns out the parents are a pair of con-artists looking to audition in order to land a reality TV show.

If I were the judge, I'd give them a dose of their own medicine and my verdict reading would go like this...

Judge: Okay... I find you both guilty, and I sentence you to death by hanging, the sentence to be carried out immediately- bailiff... get a rope.

Defense attorney: Your honor, this is highly irregular!

Judge: So is the crime- the punishment there by fits the crime... bailiff, where's that rope?

Bailiff: Ummm *hurumph*

Judge: Don't hurumph me, I'm the Fu$%ing judge here, get a rope! Come on now, chop, chop... we have a lot of cases on the docket and a lot more idiots to hang, let's move along- take 'em out and swing 'em both, it's almost time to break for lunch.

Defense: Your honor- who will raise the children?

Judge: Turn the little nippers loose in the desert and let 'em raise themselves- they'll have a better chance than with these two.

Now you know why I'm not a judge.

The most pointless call

2009-12-14T08:12:00.000-05:00

Every person has a list of pet peeves and that is especially so for pilots. Last Sunday while riding aboard SWA as they made the approach into BWI in IMC at 300 and 1, I was casually reminded of one of my pet peeves- that its the most useless call that any crew member can make in a cockpit.

For those who have not flown in, or aspire to fly in an airline cockpit, the rhythm for both takeoff and approach/landing consists of "calls." This is commonly known as the "Challenge and Response" method of cockpit operations. That is- the pilots are required to say very specific things and respond to those said things in a highly specified manner and wording. As an example, when flying an approach toward minimums, many air carriers will specify in their procedures that the non-flying pilot call certain altitudes as the aircraft nears decision height- such as "500 above" to which the flying pilot must respond, simply and exactly, "500 above." This strict system of calls keeps the cockpit clean and focused. On occasion, crews will pre-brief calls not in the procedures manual to meet safety needs. An example being an approach into weather that can produce wind-sheer. In that case the flying pilot can ask that if the airspeed begins to increase over five knots the non-flying pilot will call "airspeed increasing" and the flying pilot will respond "airspeed increasing" then if the airspeed increase hits 10 knots the non-flying pilot will call "wind-sheer" and the flying pilot will then execute the missed approach and respond "missed approach." Other than situations such as that, extraneous or non-standard calls during these critical times are not only unsafe, because they are distracting, but are also highly unprofessional- and for me, simply annoying.

Most of the non-standard calls that I've experienced have come from very new airline pilots who still think they're working as CFIIs and cannot resist the urge to teach instruments while going down the approach, and old-timer pilots who simply need to be placed into a nursing home, given a recliner with a yoke attached and told that they're still flying.

For me, the most annoying non-standard call always comes while you're making an approach down to, or near minimums. That call is "Intermittent Ground Contact." What makes this utterance so dangerous and annoying is the time at which it is spoken, which is normally when you are close in on the approach. It always tells me that the non-flying pilot is looking out the wrong window and in the wrong direction at the worst time. Frankly I'd rather have 'em looking at their laptop and talking about the current Preferential Bidding System- at least that way I'd actually know I was flying the approach alone all the way in.

In order to see this intermittent ground contacts through the clouds, the non-flying pilot has to be looking out the side window and usually straight down. I need their eyes looking toward the runway and on a slant equal to the approach path. I want them to call those runway lights so I can get that extra 100 feet of descent. Worst of all, I'm too low on the approach to reach over and slap the idiot.

What makes the intermittent ground contact call totally pointless is that while you are on an instrument approach, what you can see straight down means absolutely nothing. What you can see on the approach path slant in the direction of the runway at decision height is what matters... PERIOD.

I once flew a God-awful bid with an idiot who, among other annoyances, called "intermittent ground contact" on several of my approaches. I asked the old fart why he kept making that call, because it was not in our procedures. He replied that he was trying to reassure me. Say What?! If you wanna reassure me, put on on neck brace and look straight ahead- that way if your head turns you'll let out a scream like Greg Neidermeyer in Animal House and I'll know your not doing your job.

On another occasion I was on a low approach with the first officer flying and that person asked me to call intermittent ground contact. Not wanting to argue the point during the approach I simply stuck to company procedures and conveniently forgot to make the extraneous call. Later on the way to the hotel I asked why the FO wanted me to call ground contact. The answer was "Because I want to know it's down there." SAY WHAT!? The ground is always there! You run into it on every landing... why do you wanna be reassured that it is where it always is? This is just like the person who says they don't wear a seatbelt in their car because if the car was overturned and on fire in a wreck and they were knocked out- how would they get out? Ever seen a knocked out person get out of a car, or anything else?

Bottom line is the team that makes the approach must have the proper mindset before entering the approach. And I'm not talking about just having your charts in order, bugs set and briefing complete. I'm talking about considering every approach to turn into a missed. Thus, it will be what it will be when you get there- no sweat. You make your calls, you follow your procedures and you do not stray- then everyone goes home. That formula always works. Most professional pilots know this, but you'd be surprised at how many don't get it. So, if your non-flying pilot calls "intermittent ground contact" do me a favor and after you're at the gate dump their flight bag into their lap and then stretch it over their head and shoulders and beat on it like a bongo... I would.

Report cards

2009-11-28T18:17:00.004-05:00

My daughter just go her first report card- ALL good grades... she takes after her mom.

In grade school, my own report cards were always a jumble of assorted good grades intermixed with a healthy garnish of below average and unsatisfactory marks. Keep in mind that this was the 1960s and teachers were not inclined to care about how any sort of grade may scar a kid's ego. My parents always focused on the "citizenship" grade- If I kept that one up in the good range, the rest did not really matter. Of course there was always that one place in the report card where your teacher got to write-in a comment at the end of the year... mine must of troubled my folks a bit...

Grade K: "Wes is very nice to everyone and has only had one disciplinary event- That was when we were pretending to have the room set up like an airliner. The girls took turns playing stewardess boys took turns wearing the ear-muffs and playing the pilots. Wes was very upset when the game ended and he had not gotten to be the pilot and wear the ear-muffs. I explained to him that not everyone can be an airline pilot. I mean- it is not as if that incident would effect his whole life- what are the odds that he'll grow up to be an airline pilot?

First Grade: Not only does Wes not make good use of his time in class, but he is in a constant state of daydream. His presence in the class could easily be substituted with a common paperclip.

Second Grade: Wes cannot read aloud. I strongly suggest he be taken to the reading specialist and find out why he cannot read. (BTW- I did indeed go the the "reading specialist" who explained to my folks the difference between "Can't read aloud" and "Won't read aloud" as well as my being bored to death with "Dick and Jane" and "see spot run." Today I'm the author of 14 books, and I still refuse to read ANYTHING aloud in public. It's a choice, not a disability.)

Third Grade (the first time): Wes never completes an assignment. He is continually drawing and doodling in class- in some cases has even drawn uncomplimentary images of me. He must repeat the third grade. (Insert maniacal laughter)

Third Grade (the second time) I have often considered moving the blackboard to a position outside the classroom window- that way perhaps Wes may actually spend some time looking at it.

Fourth Grade: There is an observation tower and a high powered rifle in Wes' future- I'm just not sure which end of the scope he will be on.

Fifth Grade: When I first learned that Wes had been selected as Captain of the school safety patrol I said to myself "My God! They've given him a badge! And now he's in charge!"

Sixth Grade: Wes cannot read. He also knows far too much about project Apollo than he should. He leads the class astray with unending NASA analogies. We have a classroom, we are not NASA- please try and make this clear to him before he enters Junior High School next fall.

11/26/09 klyde morris

2009-11-27T22:09:00.001-05:00

Human factors

2009-11-23T07:32:00.002-05:00

Although airlines are unwilling to invest in flight crew comprehensive training in human factors in order to improve safety, and are not willing to apply human factors to operations, there is one area where they have the human factors lesson well applies- passenger's wallets.

Back in 2008, as the price of fuel began to rise and the mismanagement of airline assets began to really show, someone in airline management used the volumes of information on human factors to find a great way to grub a lot of money. The formula involved simply charging a fee for every bag that every slob who was dumb enough to still buy a ticket decided to check. One after another the airlines implemented this little scam and factored that the other airlines would, for the most part, follow suit. They did. The calculation also involved the human factor that once these fees were in place across most of the"legacy carriers" passengers would soon hate the fees, but would also get used to being used in this manner. They did.

A year and a half later, the airlines are no longer facing the steep fuel costs, the pensions of their employees have been erased in the bankruptcy courts, capacity has been slashed and the airlines are raising the checked bag fees. The passengers- in a predictable human factors response- are grumbling, but still pay the higher fees.

In this coming holiday season, my mom will be flying out east here to be with us for Christmas. Northworst Airlines wants to charge her $20, each way, for her one bag. I refuse to pay- instead, I told ma to get a nice cardboard box. She will drive a block two days before her flight and take her box, containing her travel clothing, plus some winter and summer clothing, and she will go to FedEx and, using my FedEx account, ship her stuff by FedEx Ground to my house. When her visit is over we'll store some of her clothing here and what she wants to send back to her home we will FedEx back to her. That process will cost just over $8 each way and will screw Northworst Airlines out of their fee.

Figuring a way around their fees is a human factor too.

Your airline management resume

2009-11-22T07:08:00.000-05:00

If you want to get a job in airline management you would do well to simply put on your resume that you are experienced in dry wall hanging.

The reason why dry wall hangers are well qualified to become airline managers is because they have grerat experience in screwing. Screwing one thing to another, screwing up(ward), screwing around (corners), screwing and then covering the screws so no one can see them, screwing their customers (walls) and knowing that when you've screwed as much as you can screw things at work- it's time to get out of the house and move on to another house and do more screwing.

Where are those Internet forum space experts now?

2009-11-21T10:10:00.002-05:00

It has been HIGHLY amusing watching the Ares I haters after the launch. The silence has been quite loud. A few of them have tried the "re-contact" route, but that was rapidly shot down. There were some "yeah but" butts out there doing the "Yeah but, the 5 segment SRB will burn differently and may still TO" but no one is listening anymore.

The fact is that there are a lot of self-proclaimed "experts" out there as well as a crowd of their faithful followers who are now standing around with a lot of egg on their faces. NOT ONE of the critic's predicted horrors appeared- in fact, not even a hint of ANY of the predicted faults actually existed.

All of those cyber blow-hards with their blackberry-generated quips, their posts with tag lines saying things such as "Cancel the shaft now" or "Kill the stick" and so on have not had a lot to say- the screaming has gotten very quite and the arm waving has degenerated into a shrug or two. Even those "Kill the stick" sort of sub-tags have either vanished from forum posts or have been changed in many cases.

And so, the lesson here is that most of those critics who spoke the loudest, waved their arms the hardest and had the most toxic stuff to say about the Ares I-X did not really know what they were talking about- they only knew how to make it sound good and thus make themselves feel really important. Now, I'm sorry to say- their thrill is gone. But hey- perhaps the I-X Prime may come along and they can once again play in the mud puddle that is their own ego. They'll be back- trust me.

Swine Flu U

2009-11-18T15:10:00.004-05:00

On Saturday, November 7, 2009 at 11:30 I was walking down the stairs at home and suddenly realized that my arms felt a bit achy. By noon, I was curled into a ball on the couch with 3 shirts on, a hood over my head and several blankets- shivering, cramped to the point where my hands were in fists and I had a temperature of 102.2. That's right- I was turned into a meatball in just 30 minutes!

Within 2 and one half hours I was in the doctor's office and he took a brief look at me and after hearing about the on-set he told me I, without any doubt, had the H1N1 Swine Flu. He then told me that mine, although a textbook case, was nothing compared to the guy who'd just been in ahead of me. That guy was a US Naval Academy football player. Described by the doctor as being "The most muscle-bound human I've even seen." He too was turned into a large pile of shivering meat with a temperature of more than 102. The doctor said that he asked the big, peak of health guy how long ago this had hit him. The giant midshipman raised his wrist watch with difficulty, looked at it and replied "22 minutes ago... sir." If it can take a guy like that down, one can imagine what it can do to dweeby, five decade old doofus like me.

I had my first dose of TamaFlu in me within 4 hours of being stricken and with a surgical mask stretched across my face, went directly into isolation in our guestroom. That is where I remained, with a pile of DVDs and a portable player... for the next 7 days. To protect everyone I had to remain isolated until I could go 24 hours, unmediated, without fever. Upon reaching that goal you're considered non-contagious.

The worst part about this flu is the non-productive cough. It does not allow you to sleep, because it never quits. The result is that I was awake, coughing, for 3 nights straight. Thankfully, for the past several years I've been collecting DVD boxed sets of old TV shows such as, Barney Miller 1976-77 season, WKRP- first season, Saturday Night Live 1977-78 season as well as the full Mel Brooks movie collection etc. I also have every DVD ever produced by Spacecraft Films. I needed all of these- just to keep me sane. I could not get into my work area, because my wife was using my machine to tele-commute to work while she took care of me, and my daughters use my laptop... besides I was too vegged out to do any computer work anyhow!

I was just thankful all the while that those wonderful folks at our Federal Government... you know the same ones who want to take over all of our healthcare... made sure that all of the Gitmo terrorists and all of the suits at the bailed-out banks got their swine flu shots before I did.

All because of that dumb little ant

2009-10-30T12:26:00.002-04:00

As I stood in the dark at the KSC Press Site and gazed out at the Ares I-X, in the distance, poised on Pad 39B, bathed in crossed spotlights, and then looked behind me to see the big observation building marked "CBS" and "NBC" as well as the satellite dished broadcast trucks, one thought haunted me...

"How is it that I get to be here, and get to do this?"

How does someone who grew up as a rabid spacebuff witnessing spaceflight history only through the living room TV as it was broadcast from those same buildings end up here? How is it that the person who was the weirdest kid on his block and used to stuff ants into balsa spacecraft and launch their helpless butts atop model rockets end up here, now, a first hand observer of spaceflight history? Certainly it is not by way of formal journalistic training- because I have none. Surely it is not because of my career as a professional aviator, because there are lots of them out there- and none of them are here with me. And definitely it is not because I have any skill or technical training that NASA could use in this event- because I absolutely have nothing in that portfolio.

Additionally, I'm far from being a veteran space reporter. In fact, when I attended the roll-out of the Ares I-X a week earlier, I got my badge and lanyard and I asked the lady when the buses were going to take us out to the press site. "What buses?" she replied looking a bit puzzled. After I explained that I'd not been to the press site since I was on my college newspaper, the lady snickered and told me that all I had to do was to put on that badge and drive to the gate, show the guard the badge and then drive my car to the press site. Drive my car into KSC!?! Ooooookay. As the guard waved me through the gate and I headed toward the VAB, I began to giggle out loud... Suddenly I was 15 years old again.... "This is soooooo cool." Most teenage boys have fantasies about naked girls and winning the big game, space buffs, however, have fantasies about driving into KSC. Thus I was living out one of my wildest dreams (besides, I'd experienced the naked girls in my college days- so what's left? I don't think that winning "the big game" is in the cards for me). Of course this dream come true was tempered by the thought of accidentaly making the wrong turn and getting machine gunned by the KSC Security SWAT Team.

So how is it that a slob like me, gets to be here?

The short answer is, of course, that I wrote some articles on the Ares I-X for the Aero-News Network and because of them I asked to be credentialed for the roll-out and the launch. Yet, the short answer is not good enough- if I looked a bit deeper into my life I found that a common thread runs through a lot of the cool stuff I've done. It is all because of that dumb little ant that I draw.

From the time that the Klyde Morris cartoon began appearing in the Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University's Avion newspaper, my entire path in life has been altered by that simple bit of artwork. I went from being the generic freshman that no one noticed to the person that every frat. wanted to pledge and every person throwing aparty tossed an invitation to- all in just one trimester. I was lucky enough to realize very early on that it was not me that was popular, it was not me that they wanted to hang out with- it was the cartoon character.

Way back in 1982 my dad suggested that I should consider being a cartoonist who can fly rather than a pilot who draws cartoons- but I thought flying would be more fun. Dad was actually right- it just took 3 airlines, one corporate gig and 3 furloughs for me to figure that out. I'm amazed that the popularity of that little cartoon ant is a sort of "E ticket" to all sorts of things from free trips to airshows, to witnessing stuff like X-Prize and the Ares I-X. Likewise, I'm also amazed when stuff like that comes along and I stand there feeling very much like a 15 year old again, grinning and saying to myself "Not bad for the weirdest kid on Lexington Dr." and it is all because of that little cartoon ant.

Ares I-X... an arrow pointing toward the future

2009-10-28T10:59:00.005-04:00

As the Ares I-X lifted majestically from Pad 39B, it became the world's largest eraser. What it effectively erased were all of the outlandish claims made by the nutcake Ares I haters that have been splashed all over the Internet.

Some of the more outlandish claims were that the Ares I-X would hit the Fixed Service Structure on liftoff, or that it would become uncontrolled and cartwheel, or that it would buckle in half and explode, or that it would have to be destroyed by Range Safety shortly after liftoff and would cause heavy damage to to the space shuttle sitting on Pad 39A. It did none of that. Perhaps the most tasteless came from the paranoid camp of the "Direct"proponents when one of their lead guys claimed, shortly after roll out, that he'd "heard" that officers at the Range Safety Office were refusing to sign off on the vehicle so the launch would not go. Considering that these "Direct" guys already made fools of themselves in front of the Augustine commission by stating that dark forces within NASA were somehow out to get them- this new claim, posted without sourcing, put them solidly into the tinfoil hat/alien abduction crowd. All of these claims were argued on the Internet with near religious vigor and far beyond the point of sensibility.

On October 28, 2009 at 11:30 a.m. the Ares I-X lifted off of the pad and in just over 2 minutes, it erased the soapbox upon which all of the Ares I haters were standing and shouting their nonsense. The flight has been successful and the Ares I haters are left attempting to rebuild their snowfort of nonsense.

Like an arrow pointing toward the future, the Ares I-X demonstrated that the vehicle configuration is completely sound. It did not hit the tower, it did not cartwheel out of control, it did not fold in half and explode, it did not damage the nearby space shuttle and very obviously- the range safety officers did indeed sign off on the launch.

People who were sucked in to the nonsense presented by the fanatical Ares I haters should learn a lesson from this mission. Be careful what you read and believe that has come from the Internet. Think for yourself and use hard engineering facts instead of buying into hysterics.

Dealing with aviation management

2009-10-08T09:56:00.002-04:00

As a pilot- when dealing with management I always used a simple formula- which is probably why every company that ever hired me regretted it shortly there after...

When it comes to management, you can either spend your time kissing their ass or kicking their ass- in the end they're always gonna screw you anyhow- so at least if you spent your time kicking their ass, you got your shots in while you had the chance.

How to get hired by an airline

2009-10-07T15:44:00.000-04:00

When up-start pilots find out you've been hired by several airlines and corporate operations, they always ask "Well how do you get hired by an airline anyhow?"

I always take that as "Well how'd (some jerk like) you get hired by an airline?" In that context it's a fair question and it deserves an honest answer. Before giving that, however, I'm obligated to tell you, the readers and airline pilot wannabes, what it is really like to get hired by an airline.

Most wide-eyed up-starts see airlines as big, clean aircraft, the smell of jet exhaust, your ID clipped to your pocket, a uniform on and walking around out there on the ramp pre-flighting. Here's a dose of reality... often the only good part about walking out on that ramp is the fact that there is so much noise that you can fart as loud as you want and no one can possibly hear it.

Cold truth be said, getting hired by most airlines is a lot like (from a guy's perspective mind you...) hooking up with a girlfriend who has supermodel looks and the mind of a psychopathic killer. Everyone thinks you've got it made, but after a few months she's trying to kill you over and over. Within a year your life is in shambles, she's constantly hounding you on the phone demanding to know your every move, treating you like property and you can't leave because if you do all of your relatives will think you're gay. In the end she sends you off to the funny farm, drooling but comforted in the fact that you'll soon be drown in Thorazine and lost in remembrance of the good old days when you were a flight instructor new-hire at some tiny FBO.

That said... actually getting hired is, in my own experience, largely a matter of luck (good or bad- depending on your perspective). In my case, it seemed as if the harder I tried to get hired, the more I got passed over, or... "got The Letter" that says "thanks but no thanks." Yet. when I wasn't really trying was when I got hired. Take my career disaster at TWA for example. I didn't want to go there, but I got the interview and decided to go through it just for practice. I actually wore an Alfred E. Newman, Mad Magazine tie to the interview (HONEST!). That's how much I did not want to get hired there... the bastards hired me anyway... at the end of the interview they told me they liked my tie.

Back in 1992 as I was trying to escape the CFI, bug-smasher role, I did my very first airline interview. It was a point in time when pilot hiring was actually somewhat worse than it is today and Continental Express announced they were actually hiring and- to everyone's amazement- was not requiring Pay-for-Training! I sent in my paperwork and I got invited for an interview! I spent 2 weeks flying the flight school's Frasca multi engine simulator as I intensely prepared for the interview- I studied the AIM and FARs- especially part 121. I was gonna be as ready as I could be. Finally, I took the ticket they sent me and non-rev'ed out to Texas, took my room in the crew hotel and spent the evening rehearsing my "answers to common airline interview questions" in the mirror. I was sure that I had a chance to go in there and really impress them with my 1,200 odd hours, no ATP but plenty of charm and new suit. When I reported to the big... BIG meeting room the following morning I saw that it was packed with others of my ilk or better... way better. Tons of former airline pilots were on furlough in those days and they all seemed to be in that room... I felt like a six year old. One of the other guys and I got talking and he had the skinny on what was going on. They were looking for 12, count 'em, 12 pilots to fly their ATRs. This new found pal of mine had been counting the heads and I was number 43 to come into the room... he and I stopped counting around number 57. And, it got worse. When the guy from the hiring board came to the front to speak he told us that there were just 3 positions remaining because they had already interviewed 3 groups of similar size to ours. He then made a joke that obviously most of us did not have a chance, unless we had a space shuttle mission under our belts- and one guy raised his hand... and he was serious. My "in the interview room" session lasted about 9 minutes. No technical questions, no common airline questions, just "briefly tell me about yourself" and it was over. The hiring board guy then mercifully sent me back to the big room to finish filling out my paper work and told me that when I was done I could just come back to the interview room and shove the packet under the door... which I did. I got "The Letter" a week or so later.

After almost a year of similar interview nightmares I decided to get my ATP and shortly there after was invited down to interview at Paradise Island Airlines in FLL. I went down there with a "Aww what the hell" disposition. The HR part of the interview was so basic the lady doing it could have been interviewing me to work at K-mart again. The technical part was done one-on-one with the Director of Ops. He asked a few simple IFR questions and then came across the place in my logbook where my Beech 18 time resides. He asked about it and I told him it was just poor-man's autopilot, night IFR, dead of winter- I flew while the real pilot slept and then the same guy signed it off as dual given. He asked if I'd gotten anything out of it. I said "hell yeah" that "I actually learned to fly instruments in the 18 and although it's like spinning a plate on a stick while standing on one foot on a bowling ball on a moving escalator, it really made it a lot more easy when I got back to college and went into the T303 Crusaders." We laughed. He then got sly and asked what was unique about the brakes in the 18. I told him that when one guy is on the breaks the other guy's breaks are useless because of the shuttle valve between the two. He asked how you lean the engines- I described the color of the exhaust flame. He asked about the tail wheel retraction and I answered about the bicycle chain and keeping it well oiled. He smiled and told me he used to fly the Beech 18. He shook my hand and said he'd like me to go wait in the hallway for a bit as he had a few other people to talk to. I asked how many and he told me they had 21 candidates for 3 seats and I was the first one to interview so far. I sat outside as about six other guys were escorted in and out. Then the HR lady came out and asked me if I wanted to come to work for them.

Oddly, after all of the formal training, the degree in Aeronautical Science, the ATP and all of the hours spent sitting next to students- what got me that first job was simply the time I'd spent playing autopilot in the middle of the night in a ratty, old radial engine, widow making, oil throwing Beech 18 in the coldest winter of my life. Those flights didn't cost me a cent. My first airline job was gotten by pure happenstance- the D.O. of that carrier and I just happened to have that one experience that clicked.

Of course- my first airline job could easily be defined by what I said earlier... ya' know... that stuff about the supermodel psychopathic... oh yeah.

Check the box.

2009-10-03T09:10:00.002-04:00

Recently regional airline pilots have come under fire, yet again, in the 24 hour media. The snip that caught my attention was spewed by Fox News' morning show court jester, Brian Kilmeade. Ya' know, the sports reporter who can talk about any sport, except hockey... which to Kilmeade, apparently does not exist. While watching the Fox morning show "Fox and Friends," I was treated to Kilmead's rambling and scatter-brained comments on, what he referred to as a "law" about pilots talking below 10,000 feet. This tid-bit apparently fed to the meat puppet through his ear piece by an equally clueless producer in the booth, was supposed to refer to the "below 10 rule." a.k.a. the Sterile Cockpit Rule.

Somewhere in Kilmead's ramble was the accusation that pilots... especially regional pilots... according to "the NTSB" are prone to violating the "law" by conversing below 10,000 feet. Reality check: Please- can someone find ANY airline pilot who has not violated the below 10 rule in their career? Of course you cannot- although everyone does their best to follow the rule, in aircraft such as regional turboprops that spend almost half of their time below 10,000 feet, strict adherence to the rule can lead to serious breakdowns in both CRM and moral of the crew. Of course, Kilmead has NEVER spent any time flying in the cockpit of a regional turboprop, so he has all of the qualifications to spout a story about the subject to millions of viewers.

The story that the meat puppet and his producers were referring to was from "The Buffalo News" and had little to do with the NTSB. In fact the subject was largely about some posturing of FAA administrator Randy Babbitt who was speaking in front of some "aviation safety officials" and trying to contrast the US Airways Hudson River ditching to the Continental Connection Flight 3407 Colgan Air crash. I'd like to know when the last time was that ol' Randy flew a month of trips in the cockpit of a Saab 340... in January... in the northern states.

This news story, however, goes way beyond some inter-crew chatter and directly into Babbit land.

Thus, we'll give Kilmead a pass here- because, like nearly all TV media people, his personal knowledge of professional aviation extends about as far as finding the proper seat on his next flight and stowing his carry-on... with the help of a flight attendant, of course. We'll also give a pass to his producer, who is equally aviation clueless. The person most irresponsible here is Randy Babbitt.

In one portion of his "talk" to these aviation safety 'officials" (whatever that is), Administrator Babbitt rants "Properly trained people will do the right thing the right way, and do it at the right time," as he went off to point the finger at the crew of Colgan 3407 far more intensely than at Colgan itself. Yet, he never really directed any finger pointing at FAA itself. The real issue of training, you see, resides at length with the FAA.

Airlines train the same way that they do everything else, to the minimum standards required by... the FAA. And as much as Regionals are to blame for minimal training, the FAA is to blame for setting the standards that make up those minimums. Areas such as I.O.E. are so flawed, even in many of the major airlines, that a new hire can easily be swamped. For those of you reading who are not airline pilots, I.O.E. (Initial Operating Experience) is the flying that you do directly out of training- revenue flights, with passengers... and it is mandated to NOT be training. That's right- you come to a new airline, fly the sim until you drop and once out of training, you go directly onto the line... and that flying cannot be training. Someone should find the idiot who came up with that concept and kick 'em straight in the nuts. Also, training in safety enhancing areas such as C.R.M. is often brushed over because the time and budget do not allow for in-depth activity. If the Regional airlines have any great flaw it is in this area. Did I hear Administrator Babbitt mention raising that standard? No. Why- because it would cost airlines money.

In Babbitt's "Call to Action" he says "Training has got to be more than just checking the box." Sounds really good... sounds really good... but where is the new, published, FAA required standard for that action? No place. It does not now exist, nor will it ever exist. The last thing that the airlines want to spend a single extra dollar on is training. Training does not generate revenue and if the FAA publishes an increased standard- such as an expanded, mandatory C.R.M. training section, the airlines will have to pull pilots off the line to meet the new standard, plus pay for them to stay in a hotel, plus pay for instructors, materials and non-rev travel. If the pilot's are in the classroom, the airline is not making any revenue through the use of them and even worse yet- they're having to put out expenses to accomplish the new standard. GADS! We can't have that... screw safety, get Babbitt on the phone... Suddenly Administrator Babbitt's illusion of increased safety- in a practical sense- becomes a burden on the airlines and at that moment it becomes something better treated with lip service than by the classroom. The airlines will continue to train to the current minimum standard, check off that box and move along.

Babbitt may desire to have everyone think he's imposing higher "beyond just checking the box" standards, but in fact all he is doing is generating a sound bite. He knows FULL WELL that the airlines will never go farther than checking the box for the minimum required because there is zero incentive for them to instead do the maximum possible. "Well what about avoiding another accident- isn't that an incentive?" you may ask. Get real... the airlines can always point the finger at the dead flightcrew, insurance pays, the FAA provides lip service and only the next of kin will remember the horror- that's how airline management thinks and the FAA is only too glad to go along. The FAA cannot expect airlines to change as long as the FAA is talking tough over top of the table while playing footsie with the airlines under the table.

And since Administrator Babbitt has pointed his finger toward the regional airlines and their training, let us throw a rock back toward his own glass house. You see, I was in the regional airlines in the days when Captain Babbitt was leading ALPA. The days when new pilots trying to break into the regional airlines were required to pay for their own, substandard- but good enough to just check the box, training. ALPA was in the position to stop or highly restrict this by placing a restriction against pay-for-training into the contracts of every ALPA regional. They never even tried. Instead, they told their members to simply tell hopeful new hires "not to do it." Yeah- that's real effective when said to some CFI who has spend three or four years going around the pattern in bug-smashers and spending 14 hour days at some crummy airport six days a week... real effective. Why it's almost as effective as this "call to action" nonsense.

The bottom line is that Brian Kilmead and Randy Babbitt should get together and talk about hockey- the impact on aviation safety will be the same as Kilmead's report and Babbitt's "call to action."

The Ares I... in trouble?

2009-09-16T19:25:00.001-04:00

It seems to be that almost every spaceflight site on the Internet loves to publish that NASA's next launch vehicle, the Ares I, is in "trouble." That is... every place except where actual Ares I hardware technicians engineers exist.

Is the Ares I in trouble? Currently- the answer is "yes" only on the keyboards where the ineffectual arm-chair self-proclaimed spaceflight experts exist. You see the fact is that the Ares I launch vehicle is only troubled in cyber space. You see, cyber space is the playground where the children who actually hate... yes... HATE this launch vehicle, romp. They seem to get their little rocks off by generating all sorts of factual sounding, yet hollow expressions of the vehicle's short falls. Yet when one tries to pin them down by asking them to show you actual numbers or to provide documented, first-hand proof of what they claim, these arm-chair critics quickly scurry down the foggy path to Internet obscurity. You see, it is far more easy to post cyber venom as if scrolling on the wall of a stall in a public restroom than it is to actually build and launch a new vehicle. I like to refer to these ineffectual arm-chair self-proclaimed spaceflight experts simply as "Stall-wallers."

The problem is, that too often these stall-wall cyber critics are seen as actually having true credibility. Let us take a moment and look at that credibility. The first sign that you are reading the rants of a stall-waller is to look at where you are reading the rant. If it is on some "forum" someplace, look first at the poster's number of posts to date. If that total is four figures or more, and the person is not the site owner or a moderator- it should be a dead give away that you have a stall-waller. Ask yourself this, who has the time to sit and post on one or more forums that many times? Think about it- do the math, or let the forum do it for you and look at the poster's posts per day. What sort of a person, other than the one who actually runs the forum, has that kind of time? Certainly not someone who is involved in engineering launch vehicles for a living, nor someone who is managing a complex flight program. Instead you have some arm-chair dweeb who is using the Internet to make themselves look and feel important. The next test to see if you have a stall-waller is to simply ask for complete numbers, sources and documents to support their rant. When you get, instead, a wide ranging and foggy re-write of their original junk, ask again. Soon will follow the personal attack on you and the "well who are you to ask ME this?" retort. Stall-waller! Another great method for uncovering the stall-wallers is to watch for their "key" words and terms. The use of the term "Kool aid drinker" or any form there of, is a dead give away. Repeated use of "...my sources tell me..." is another term that is a dead give away. Additionally people who talk in all knowing terms, yet later ask dumb questions that should be solved by common knowledge is another give away. Lastly, watch for Herding- because these jerks like to run in packs and often need cover from others wearing the same style tin foil hats and thus will come to one another's rescue with the same unsubstantiated dribble.

That said- the rubber hit the runway this week in the halls of Congress when the Augustine Commission met with the people who actually will have genuine influence as to where the future of the United States space program will be. Apparently, those people in Congress haven't spent any time hanging out on Internet space forums... because their attitude toward the Ares I, and I-X was polar opposite of what the stall-wallers would have you believe.

It was a "cold shower" day for the Ares I haters.

It seems- as I've said all along- that the Ares I is only really "In trouble" on the Internet. The members of Congress were speaking largely in favor of Constellation and the Ares I. They seemed ready to reinstate the $3Billion dollars annually that was cut from the NASA budget and would make the Program of Record (Constellation) work again. They spoke, not in terms of Gap reduction, but in terms of gap elimination. It has been stated as fact by the stall-wallers that the Ares I has all sorts of "Show-stopper" technical issues- Augustine testified that his commission "...found none of this." Additionally, the stall-wallers have argued that the "sunk costs" of $8billion already spent on the Ares I did not matter at all when it comes to decision to cancel their hated vehicle and switching to one of their pet boosters (pick one- there are several). Yet the weight of sunk costs was a very big factor in the hearings.

I mentioned the fact that the Ares I and I-X were in trouble, was simply a figment of cyber space- while I was on one of the comment sections of NASAwatch a few months ago. The site's owner- who is normally level headed except when it comes to Mike Griffin or, apparently, the Ares I- told me to go and post that stuff on my own blog, because HIS "sources inside the Augustine Commission" had told him that the the Ares I was in deep, deep trouble in the commission. Gee... I just watched 2 days of hearings, and saw no indication what-so-ever that the Ares I was in "deep trouble." In fact I saw just the opposite. Augustine himself said today that there would have to be a very compelling reason to cancel the vehicle and right now there was none. Additionally, when asked about the I-X he stated flatly, "I think we should launch it." Gosh... his remarks do not sound to me like someone who has sat on a commission where a launch vehicle was in "deep, deep trouble." Apparently, all of the doom sayers exist only here in cyber space and not on the Augustine commission or in the halls of Congress... just like I said on NASAwatch.

091409 klyde morris

2009-09-15T10:21:00.001-04:00

Why 9/11 cannot be repeated

2009-09-11T19:53:00.002-04:00

Although the current idiots in power in DC are doing a really fine job of resetting the nation into a position that terrorists can easily use to hit us once again, the bearded cowards from sandland will never be able to use airliners to do so... and here's why...

The reason why they were able to successfully use airline aircraft to accomplish the 9-11-2001 attacks is very simple and now very gone. What facilitated the plot hatched by the bastards that day was the worst kept secret in airline security called "The Common Strategy." This was a plan that was taught in EVERY airline training course- including the private ones where some of these creeps paid to learn how to fly 767s- and it could be effectively titled "How to get hijacked." It was cooked up by the FBI, the FAA and some professional terrorist negotiators. The rules for the flight crew were very simple- in flight: do whatever the hijackers tell you, on the ground: make the aircraft into a building. Additionally, there was a saying: "If release is offered- take it, if escape is possible- make it." In short- you were supposed to be 100% non-confrontational and stall for time, because time was the FBI's best weapon. "Wait 'em out" is what we were instructed to do. "Don't be a hero." was stressed. That even went as far as surrendering control of the aircraft if the terrorist said that they were going to fly it... which is exactly what all four flight crews did on 9/11- because that is exactly what they were trained, many times, to do. We were told to keep this plan a "secret"- yet thousands of crews were given this secret in training- from the new-hire regional flight attendant, to the sliver-haired major airline captain who'd seen it once a year for their whole career. Needless to say- it wasn't that much of a "secret." Somewhere along his path of hate Mohamed Atta or someone near him learned of the "Common Strategy" and used it to put together the perverted plan that killed 2,974 Americans.

The moment that we saw the second aircraft strike the second tower, every airline pilot instantly realized that "The Common Strategy" had been used against us in an unthinkable manner. At that same instant, we all said to ourselves, "SCREW THAT, no one's getting my aircraft ever again." Screw the negotiators, screw the experts, screw their training- I'll get on the F&%king P.A. and tell the passengers to fight back with their lives and I'll pull so many G's that those bastards will find their teeth in the carpet- and if they do get through the door they'll be wearing my crash ax between their eyes.

Thus- a repeat of the 9/11 attack can never take place again using airliners from civilized countries. All the TSA passenger searches and assorted nonsense is little more than show. The real security is in the cockpit, and it has been that way since the moment the second aircraft hit the World Trade Center. This all means that the bearded bastards from sandland will have to hit us in another way- and at this moment they're plotting on how to do it.

091009 klyde morris

2009-09-11T13:36:00.001-04:00

YER' A LIER!!

2009-09-10T08:56:00.003-04:00

Last night, at the President's address to a joint session of congress, a Republican Senator shouted "You Lie" while the president was at the podium... lying. Now there's a big soundbite whoop going on over the event.

Frankly, yelling "Yer's a lier" in the Congressional halls is the same as yelling "Yer' a cheesehead" at a Packers game.

090709 klyde morrus

2009-09-09T09:02:00.002-04:00

090309 klyde morris

2009-09-03T09:29:00.001-04:00

Heart Ache

2009-09-01T20:45:00.005-04:00

So, you're an aviator and you're sittin' around the ops. room tryin' to read some article in USA Today and decide if it's written by an actual journalist or just by someone who was recently fired from the Springer show's writing staff, and suddenly you realize that Don Johnson's only charted song from the 80's "Heart Ache" keeps running through your brain and you can't stop it... does that mean that death is stalking you?

From my years of aviation experience, I'd say... probably not. You see, when things are frustrating, weird, crummy or all of the above, you're the most likely to be on the right path in aviation. It is only when you think you've got it made, or you've hit the jackpot that you are really about to be cast into the pit of aviation excrement.

As I recall, the day I got hired at my first regional airline, which happened to be the second highest paying regional in the nation, I really thought I had it made. Sure, they were making us pay for training, but it was in the middle of the hiring slump of the early 1990s and everyone was being forced into PFT to get any job anyhow- so why not be happy at recouping my investment a bit faster at a higher pay-rate? You bet I was a happy camper. Three months later, however, when I was furloughed with severance pay and stuck with a five figure debt, I felt a bit different.

Of course I should have known better- when I was a CFI I'd always wait for my students doing dual cross-country flights to get about 5 miles from our home airport and then ask them how they thought the flight had gone. They'd smile and say "Terrific" and I'd pull the engine on them. The lesson being to never let down your guard, because that is the moment when the big hand of aviation is going reach out and give you a karmic wedgie that you'll remember.

Thus the lesson is, that when you are sitting around ops. and you are pondering the fact that you decided not to send in that matchbook cover application to the Southern Georgia School of Truck Drivin' and instead ended up at your current aviation company that sucks so bad- you're probably safe to go flying. On the other hand, if you've just gotten engaged to a super-model and you have a winning lottery ticket in your pocket plus your current company actually DID take delivery on those new aircraft that they promised would be "coming soon" while ground is being broken for a new terminal... instead of flying, you may as well just go out and crawl into a big black ziplock bag and wait for the end to come- that way there will be less of you spread around for the NTSB to pick up.

083109 klyde morris

2009-08-31T10:08:00.001-04:00

"Written-up"... ME?...

2009-08-27T22:20:00.003-04:00

At most jobs the most used of the soft core punishments is when "they" (some butt-sputter who somehow has rank over you) threaten to write you up, or what they think is worse yet, actually "writes you up." This moronic exercise serves to do little more than piss you off while allowing the butt-sputter to feel really, really self-important. It takes place in every sort of job from the name tag Joe-jobs to the airline pilot's cockpit seat. I'm proud to say that as a lifelong smart ass I've been written-up at every level... except for now, perhaps... because I'm self employed and own my companies myself... so I'd have to write myself up.

In the airline pilots job I was written up by the worst captain on earth. I countered by going directly to the chief pilot and demanding a competency check ride "Right now" (by the way I was a probationary new hire at the time.) I got my check ride a few days later followed by another meeting in the chief pilot's office with the check airman to discuss why we did the ride. I was just fine in the operation reported the check pilot- so why did we do this? I told them that I wanted to prove they had flown with the wrong guy- the captain who wrote me up was the real problem. A lesson to me, however, did come out of it. There after, I asked every captain that I flew with to "write me up" because every airline pilot needs a pile of good write-ups in their file to provide a cushion when some asshole decides to turn in a bad report on you.

Most of my write-ups were earned while working the Joe-jobs as I worked my way through Embry-Riddle. I found K-mart to be the most fun to be written up at... because, although they threaten to fire you after your third time being written-up, they actually will do nothing of the kind. My first K-mart write up came when I was working in the Over-the-counter Drugs department. I was content to just keep my shelves stocked and show customers where the toothpaste was, but nooooo... the butt-sputter department manager insisted that I do "PAs." These are announcements over the store PA system to advertise some product to the people in the store. Management kept score as to how many PAs that each of us did, and my score was zero. Soon the pressure grew until I was told to make a PA "or else." I asked what they wanted me to PA and the answer was "Anything... just take a product off the shelf and PA it." Can ya' see this one comin' folks? Yep... I got written up for PA-ing Glycerin suppositories, "...with ease and comfort you apply them into your..." I read from the bottle as the butt-sputter department manager came running up the aisle toward me- I can still see the look on his face. Sure, I got written up, but no one ever tried to force me to do another PA.

Of course K-mart turned out to be a rich place for a smart-ass seeking a record for being written up. I was later transferred to the Garden Shop/pet department and got written up there for things such as, teaching the parakeets to say the word "slob" (who knew that once they learn a word they repeat it until they die?), wrapping an action figure in chains and a little padlock and dropping it into an aquarium, altering the pricing board outside that said "5 pound fert." replacing the day manager's noted instructions to the evening crew and having an entire section of hoses replaced with plastic pink flamingos, mounting a dead guppy on the sign that read "Pets Clearance" taking a freshly killed rat and placing it into a store bag then taking it back to the damaged goods clerk and asking her if it was repairable, attempting to dress a parakeet in G.I. Joe cloths... yet the one that I snickered about the most took place after closing and after I'd learned what a nifty ride the hand-forklift was when you turned it around backward and rode it like a scooter. I'd been ordered to "Take it to the back stockroom and hurry." So I rode it up to the back aisle and really got her goin'. Made the sharp turn at the grill and burst through the double swinging doors that led to the stockroom only to come face to face with the little old lady who worked in the millinery department. I swerved, missed her and ran smack into a huge stack of boxed toilet paper that arrived that evening by truck. The entire wall of stacked butt wipe came tumbling down on me... and I deserved it. The next day I cut a small flower from one of the plants and took it to the little old lady that I'd nearly killed, gave her a hug and told her I was an idiot... she agreed.

It is always a hazard to have someone who is clever and a smart ass doing simple labor- because they have too much time to observe and exploit. Once while working at a hotel as a "set-up" guy, or the person who sets up rooms for meetings, I observed that nearly every employee made multiple trips in and out of the front office every day and when they did, they passed the desk of one of the office staff, a personable girl by the name of Linda. EVERYONE would stop and chat a bit with her. I also noticed that we had tons and tons of hotel pens in the store room. I convinced the staff that what we all should do was to get a pen and when you stopped and said hello to Linda- casually leave your pen on her desk. We could then see how long it would take before she caught on. Of course the word quickly spread. By the middle of the second day, poor Linda was swamped with pens. Of course the hotel manager, a Nazi, found out and soon everyone finked on me and I got called into my manager's office to be written up... like I cared, I was on my way back to school in a month anyhow. My boss went through all of the steps- then winked and told me he's left 11 pens on Linda's desk himself.

Oddly, some of my pranks did not get me in trouble. When working at Hangar 6 in the late 70s as the "hangar rat" or the guy who does all the crap work, I pulled one of my best pranks. It had been snowing real hard and the hangar ram-rod told me to go get the big rung ladder, go up on the hangar office roof and see how much of that snow I could shove off. I went and got the ladder and also recruited two of the idle mechanics to help me in my prank. In order to get the ladder outside I had to take in down the hall past the ram-rod's office window. I had one mechanic stand on one side of the window, and one on the other. Then I took the front of the ladder and did the old Three Stooges bit... as I walked past the ram-rod's window with the front of the ladder under my arm I bumped into his window sill, he looked up I waved and kept walking. Then I handed off the ladder to the other mechanic, got down on hands and knees and scurried under the window and grabbed the back end of the ladder from the first mechanic. As I passed the window carrying the rear of the ladder I bumped the sill again and he looked up, I waved and kept right on going as if I was on both ends of the ladder. Later that day, after I'd finished on the roof I was out in the hangar mopping the floor or some such thing when the hangar ram-rod came out. Looking down and picking at his finger nails he simply said "How'd you f&%$in' do that?"

Thus, if you are out there moppin' hangar floors, or tossin' bags of cow poop in a garden shop trying to pay for flying lessons or if you're a new-hire pilot at an airline- don't fear being written-up. It's just the way that the butt-sputters document the fact that they exist on this planet, because they actually need proof of that... you don't. In the end, the ways of the universe always even things up. The captain who wrote me up got hired by a major airline and fired while on probation- likely for being a dick. The managers at K-mart are suffering by still being employed there 3 decades later and the Nazi hotel manager (who was a real member of the local Nazi party by the way) has to contend with Nancy Pelosi and her friends joining his socialist movement- which is probably as insufferable as being in a tough street gang and having Richard Simmons say he's one of you... "Say what?"

082709 klyde morris

2009-08-26T20:35:00.002-04:00

082409 klyde morris

2009-08-24T13:19:00.002-04:00

082009 klyde morris

2009-08-20T08:18:00.001-04:00

Once upon a time in the King Air "AKKKKKK!"

2009-08-19T09:21:00.005-04:00

We'd just set down on an early morning run to take a TV crew to up-state New York so they could cover an auto race. The ramp was packed as I taxied the King Air 200 to the directed unloading area. My FO popped the door and let the guys out as I finished with the cockpit. By the time I got to the door and stuck my head out the crew had their gear and were walking away.

"HEY!" I shouted, gaining their attention, "Come on back here!"

The guy in the lead came back as the others followed.

"Ya' know the little bottles of booze that we carry?" I asked as they looked at me a bit sheepishly.

"Yeah." came from the group.

"Well I noticed as you left that not one of you took any of those." I said pointing toward the storage compartment. The guys all looked a bit puzzled. "This ain't Delta guys, the booze is included in the flight- yer' company already paid for it." I insisted, "I'm the Captain and I'm telling you to get yer' butts back into this aircraft and clean out that liquor cabinet!"

With that they all happily re-boarded the aircraft and proceeded to wipe out the booze drawer... except for one guy who just stood there on the ramp and waited until his pals returned from their raid.

"What's up with you?" I asked him, "Are ya' a non-drinker like me?"

"Nope," he replied hanging his head, "I already have eight bottles in my pockets." A group laugh broke out.

On the drive to our hotel, which was about 60 miles away, my FO spoke up.

"I can't believe you did that with the booze," He said, "Don't ya' think you'll get in trouble with the company?"

"No," I replied smugly, "We do such short hops with the King Air that no one ever gets the chance to mix a drink. Those bottles have been in that cabinet for years and the stock really needs to be rotated."

After a 48 hour stay in a crummy hotel in some crummy town whose name I can't recall because it is blurred into the names of a bazillion other crummy towns, we were back at the airport. Before we had left the aircraft in the hands of the overworked line crew I'd left our fuel order. This particular aircraft had a leaky seal on the right outboard tank. So I had left instructions not to top that tank. This was because when it was topped, the fuel would syphon out for about the first 10 minutes of flight- until the level burned down away from the seal. It wasn't a hazard, it was just a bit of a waste. My FO was within weeks of leaving the company and going to his first regional airline- so I was working him in a manner similar to what I knew he'd see at the airline. With that in mind, I would send him out to preflight and I'd place that entire responsibility of the preflight on him- just like an airline FO. He was good, and I knew that whatever airline Captain got him to work with would have a good trip.

Coming in from the preflight, my FO told me that the overworked line guys had missed my note about the right outboard tank and topped it anyway. In all of the confusion, with a ramp packed with aircraft, it was easy to understand- annoying- but easy to understand. Frankly, on a trip that had been peppered with all sorts of little pains in the ass- this was something I could shrug off.

Our people showed up just in time for us to beat the rush out of the airport and we took the runway on the roll and blasted out of there with as much glee as noise. We were climbing out and looking for a low altitude cruise in the mid teens when my FO looked out toward the right wing.

"Yep," he reported, "it's syphoning again. Leavin' a long contrail of fuel back there." Then he happened to glance back into the cabin. "And the passengers have noticed it."

I glanced back and saw the guys in the back getting uneasy as they all were now taking notice of our vapor trail. Soon it became obvious that they were electing one of their group to tell me about the vapor trail. Seeing that- I casually spoke to my FO...

"They're gonna ask about it. Let's have some fun," I told him, "when they ask me about it, just follow my lead- do what I do."

My FO grinned in response just as the leader of the group stuck his head through the door and tapped me on the arm...

"There's something leaking out of the wing." He pointed toward the right wing as his fellow passengers looked on worriedly.

"There is?" I leaned over as if looking out my FO's window.

Then I looked at my FO and acting panicked blurted out, "AKKKKKKKK!"

My FO looked back at me and screamed "AKKKKKKK!"

Then we looked at each other and waving our arms overhead screamed "AKKKKKKK!"

Then we held our heads and went "AKKKKKK!"

Then I turned around and went casually about flying the aircraft, and my FO followed suit.

The whole cabin erupted in laughter.

"I take it that's not a problem... right?" the passenger asked.

"It's an expected pain in the butt." I replied. Later I leaned over to my FO and told him never to try anything like that at the airlines.

We landed and released our happy passengers. A few days later while preparing for another trip I stopped into the front office and told them what I'd done with the booze cabinet. The manager told me that was simply great because they'd been meaning to rotate that stock out for over a year. I was also informed that the passengers on the last trip said they'd had a great flight and they wanted to fly with me from now on... must have been what I did with the booze. I was thinking to myself "AKKKKKK!"

A big ol' plate of NASA to cancel

2009-08-15T13:10:00.007-04:00

There are so many aspects and dynamics going on right now in the world of the DC vote grubs that no one knows what will be next, or in the future for anything. Frankly I think we'll be lucky if they don't change the flag to green with a red hammer and sickle and then have Obama come on the TV and declare himself president for life- because most of the media would simply go along with that. In reality, the party in power is rapidly ripping itself to shreds while the other party is trying to figure out where all of that ripping noise is coming from. Into all of that, the Augustine commission is about to slide, in front of the most liberal left wing President in American history, a great big platter of NASA all garnished with "Nothing fits any budget" sprinkled all over it... YUM! Sitting there with his knife in one fist, his fork in another and his red hammer and sickle bib covering his nice suit what will the President do with such morsel?

Take a wild freakin' guess. Go ahead- all of you space coast workers who voted for him after his shoot and scoot campaign stop at KSC and all of you aerospace workers who voted for him because the union said you should, and all of you NASA workers who had senator's Bill and Babs present him to ya'... come on... guess!

Anyone think that after quadrupling the national debt in just six months and taking heat for running the fiscal boat of the United States full speed onto the rocks, the President may just take this opportunity to fulfill one of his most chanted campaign slogans and make a "change?"

The media is already on board- as it was said today in the Orlando Slant-enal it is now up to the President "...to decide whether human space exploration is a worthy priority or an unaffordable luxury." OH BOY!... it is a left-wing liberal's dream come true! How better to take the last thing that the USA actually leads in- spaceflight- and gut it, thus bringing us closer to the liberal's goal of finally making us a third world nation!

And even if President Obama does not decide to gut and castrate NASA- there is the congress. The Health Care socialization movement is so damaging the Democrats that they could lose more than 80 seats across both houses next year. That means that some bedrock NASA supporters may be out, and those who replace them will not be in the mode of increasing budgets of any agency. It is going to be cut, reduce and repeal in an attempt to pull back from the insane spending of our current one-party government.

So- the entire balance of United States human spaceflight now will be cast into the bee hive of indecision and CYA politics that is Washington DC. What will the President do? Lead? or vote "Present?" Perhaps he'll send us on a grand adventure to discover... EARTH! Ya' know- chase the left's global warming myth at the rate of a few billion bucks a year until he's thrown out of office. What will the headless chickens in the congress do? And even more important- what will the next batch of vote grubs who replace the current herd of wafflers do? Will they vote to allow our great garden of technology wilt on the vine- like they did four dechades ago? We can only watch.

Oddly, some at NASA are actually delighted at the prospect that project Constellation may be cancelled- because they feel it has been raiding money from the agency which will somehow find its way back to whatever they are personally working on. I fear they have a shock coming. In that embarrassingly inaccurate movie "The Right Stuff" there was a line that went "No bucks- no Buck Rogers." Of course the writers of that script, along with getting almost every other fact wrong, also got that quip wrong- the way it really works is No Buck Rogers- No Bucks. Without human spaceflight, NASA will fade into the federal background. Be careful what you wish for people- those who wished for the death of the Ares I, those who wished for the cancellation of Constellation, those who wished for an end to the shuttle program, those who wish for the end of the ISS, those who chanted for "Change" and those who wish for the end of NASA itself- you may all get what you want, and all at the same time.

CAL, the moron lottery and the 50/50 rule

2009-08-12T18:56:00.000-04:00

I love the term "Aviation Safety" as it is actually an oxi-moron. Although, statistically, aviation is by far the safest way to get around- if you talk to anyone at the NTSB (which oversees safety and investigates accidents involving highway, railway, marine, aviation and pipeline) and ask what the safest way to travel is, they'll answer by saying simply- "pipeline."

The simple fact of physics is that anytime you accelerate the human animal to speeds greater than 50 knots or loft the human animal higher than 50 feet you have banked enough potential energy to kill it...period. So simply by entering into any mode that does either of those two things, you are in danger of death. I call it my 50/50 rule and have taught it to all of my flight students- not to worry them, but to scare the living crap out of them. The 50/50 rule is a reality pill that anyone who does other than sitting on the fence and watching the birds, should take.

You see, we who have been steeped in the profession of aviation, know well that we are only as safe as we keep ourselves. That, along with the 50/50 rule is another lesson that the public at large should learn. That lesson is that aviation is the most inherently dangerous for those who forget that it is inherently dangerous. Such was the case recently with the CAL flight that hit turbulence and had passengers flinging around the cabin like a maraca. The captain had had the seat belt sign on for over an hour at the time of the incident. You see when the captain has had the seat belt sign illuminated for over an hour and then the aircraft hits turbulence while some passenger is slobing around with their belt off- and thus finds his or her head stuck through a fresh hole in the overhead and ends up examining the wiring for the reading lights- we in professional aviation know that person has earned their new position on the aircraft. Aviation safety is that simple- follow the rules, listen to the instructions and you'll be as safe as you can make yourself- which is the best that you can do. Yet still the public won't get it. I watched a ton of coverage of the CAL turbulence encounter and the reporters focused on the injured passengers- zooming in on bandages on their faces and braces on their necks while ignoring the seat belts they failed keep fastened.

Of course CAL will end up paying a ton to these morons who can't understand the light-up sign that shows fasten your seat belts, or the announcement made by the flight attendants. Unfortunately, these dim-wits have, in fact, now won the moron lottery. Yes they'll get lawyers (who'll get most of the cash in fees) and they'll file and collect plenty from the airline. The moron lottery has no regard for how much sense a passenger failed to use, it only applies to how safe flying is supposed to be in spite of their non-efforts in the process of making it safe. No one will ask the questions "Were you going faster than 50 knots?" "Were you higher up higher than 50 feet?" "Why didn't you have your FU%$ING seat belt on!?" The answer, of course, would be "Duhhh... I donno." DING! DING! DING! You win the moron's lottery! Johny Donnavin, tell 'em what they win!

One of the paradoxes of the aviation industry is that in order for us to sell it to the public we have to convince them that it is "perfectly safe." A long time ago I recall someone at one of the small airports I was flying out of telling a perspective customer, "Flying for me is just as common as getting into my car and driving... it's that safe." He was killed in a car accident a few years later... wasn't wearing a seat belt. Odds are that if he had told that person the facts, like the 50/50 rule, they'd have never signed up for flying lessons. Odds also are if he'd have learned the 50/50 rule himself and obeyed the law about seat belts, he'd be alive today too.

We have to go along showing the public the big yellow smiley face from the 70s while only sharing among ourselves the honest stories of just how close the close calls can be. Perhaps with every commercial pilot's certificate there should come a big paper sack with a big yellow smiley face painted on it and eye-holes cut into it... ya' know... to be worn while in public.

Although when traveling, I feel the most safe when I'm above 18,000 feet- in pro. land- I never think of flying as perfectly safe. As an ATP and professional aviator I always keep in mind the 50/50 rule and the fact that no matter if I'm in the nose or in the back, I'm still in a huge hunk of metal that is a complex machine that is cheating the law of gravity. The bottom line is that aviation is the most inherently dangerous for those who forget that it is inherently dangerous. Of course it would be really hard to sell tickets if that motto is written across the ticket jacket.

081009 klyde morris

2009-08-10T10:20:00.001-04:00

080609 klyde morris

2009-08-06T10:17:00.000-04:00

072709 klyde morris

2009-08-03T09:45:00.002-04:00

073009 klyde morris

2009-08-03T09:44:00.001-04:00

080309 klyde morris

2009-08-03T09:43:00.000-04:00

If you ever see me at Oshkosh again...

2009-07-28T19:32:00.004-04:00

If you ever see me at Oshkosh again, you'll know someone else is payin' the bills.

That's not because I don't like the EAA's annual aviation extravaganza, in fact, I love goin' to Oshkosh! I love seeing the terrific aircraft collections, meeting old friends, meeting Klyde Morris readers and doing all sorts of "Oshkosh" aviation stuff. The reason why I will not pay to go back and "do" Oshkosh ever again, is because I have been told, clearly, by the hag who sits upon high at Mt. AirIndenture, and who rules at her whim all that takes place among the building, the fly market and the poor souls who venture into that place each summer as vendors, that... my money is no good there.

Here is how my little air adventure into Oshkosh hell went... The year was 2003 and after several visits to AirIndenture for other people, I elected to have a Klyde Morris booth at the venture of '03. Of course I knew that there was a long-time pecking order in how things worked there, with one old crow who held all of the strings like a female Don Corleone of booths and buildings, and thus I expected to have to earn my way up over time. Yet when one pays good money for a place at an event, one expects that those running the show will at least be civil- hell, even the Godfather gave ya' kiss before he had ya' taken out and strangled with piano wire... not so at EAA and Oshkosh.

My disaster of 2003 began shortly after I arrived in the unpleasant village of Fon du Lac and the dumpster hotel disguised as an Econo Lodge. There we were told that they had no record of our reservation that we had made four months earlier. Additionally, the confirmation number that was on the printed copy of the reservation that we'd gotten from Travelocity was not even a number that Econo Lodge used. A few phone calls showed that our paperwork was indeed valid and a call to another Econo Lodge showed that the type of number we had was indeed one used by that chain. Still- we were seen as non-persons by the guy running the joint in the middle of that night- and this was especially so when he saw the rate that we'd gotten our room for... no, no... they never have that rate during Oshkosh. But... there was good news, he did have one uncleaned room open tonight and for about double our reservation rate, he's grudgingly give us that one. He was also kind enough to give us some semi-clean sheets to put on the bed ourselves. So, there we went, me and my 7 months pregnant wife, up to our not-clean room at twice the rate that we'd been confirmed for... we were loving it already. The following morning I raised a stink with the day management and they said they'd look into it... they did... that evening they dumped the story on me that several months ago, they had called my phone number to confirm the reservation, but the person who answered said that... I was dead. Great story... I'll bet it works every time they use it.

Yet- greater screw jobs were ahead as we were about to fall into the pit of human excrement known as being a vendor at Oshkosh.

We'd been granted a space in what is generally known as the "Fly Market" and is pretty much the ghetto you are placed into when you are new to the event. Of course I thought that I knew well the "market" area as I'd walked through it many times hunting for odds and ends and generally cool stuff. To me it was an absolutely acceptable place to start, however, I'd never been all the way out in the boondocks part of the market- I'd only walked through the parts of it where normal people stroll until they get tired or run out of water and die- our 2003 spot would be way beyond that point. We were, however, lucky enough to be within smelling distance of a huge bank of porta-potties and real close to parking for the other vendors- we were just not in a location where you can make any money. We were so far from civilization, that long-time Oshkosh attendees who knew me, and came looking for me could not find me.

No sooner did we get all set up with shirts, hats, CDs, glasses, Klyde dolls and all sorts of other cool stuff that no one would likely get to see, than our neighbor across the street fired up. It was the Westbend Cookwear Show! Yep- complete with loud speakers and free cold slaw, they boomed the show at us eight times a day for seven throbbing days. The people helping me had migraines, the few customers that we did see were sent packing, in fear that these hucksters were going to brainwash them into a skillet- everyone was tortured continuously by the cookin' show- everyone that is except me... I was already dead according to the Fon du Loc Econo Lodge, so it really didn't matter to me.

"And the Lord said: There is now Oshkosh and I shall let open the sky and the lightening will flash and the rains and thunder will come in the night and a great flood will be upon the market and all will be vanquished by the waters so as to pay for their sin of going to that place... except of course... for the Westbend Cookin' Show."

So it was that when we arrived at the tent the next morning, following one of those Oshkosh late night thunder storms, we found a lot of stuff soaked, and muddy. A whole display of iced tea glasses and coffee mugs, although located well inside the tent had somehow blown over and smashed. The worst thing was that a puddle the size of one of the local lakes had formed directly in front of our tent. So even if we did get any customers that day- they could not get to us! After contacting the AirIndenture people who were supposed to help us, we were told that they would come around "sometime" to dump wood chips on the puddle and restore access to our location. By that day's 7th showing of the Westbend Cookin' Show- we had our wood chips.

Perhaps just to forget how much money I was losing on this Air mis-Adventure, I took a walk through the buildings. We were three days into the event and I quickly took note that a lot of the booths in the buildings were left unoccupied. I counted more than a dozen empty spaces. When I returned to the ghetto I was talking to one of the other vendors and he informed me that if I went to the office and paid extra, I could get one of those empty spaces. I grabbed my credit card and sprinted to the office- there to learn the cold hard truth of how AirIndenture is really run.

Upon reaching the window through which all communication with the vendors takes place, I first encountered a sweet young lady. I asked if it was true that I could "buy-up" into a vacant indoor booth? She replied "Oh yes, you can do that." I passed my credit card through the slot and told here to charge me "Whatever it takes" to get me out of the Fly Market. She went into the back and was gone for a long, long time. When she returned she apologised and told me "Well, you can do that... but you can't." I asked for an explanation, but she could offer none. I asked who else I could talk to and she told me the decision had been made by the lady who oversaw the vendors- she gave me her phone number and half warned that if I really was sure wanted to call her that was the number. At that point I REALLY wanted to call her- but had no idea that doing so would be considered a sin so great.

You see... if, when dumb enough to actually pay to be a vendor at Oshkosh, you dare to speak with the wicked witch of the great white north, you will have angered her- because she is so high and mighty that in the act of speaking with a low life such as a vendor, she feels soiled. In our very brief conversation I was told that the reason why I could not get into a building was because "You're not a true aviation company- and we already have our quota of not true aviation companies in the buildings." When I pointed out that my cartoon strip only deals in aviation and aerospace subjects and that I have several million readers- nearly all of whom are in the aviation and aerospace industry, she replied "...well, then you are borderline- and we already have our quota of borderlines in the buildings." I asked if she was actually going to not take my money and leave those more than a dozen spots empty just based on that reasoning? She replied "Yes." and then followed up by saying that as far as she could see, it was unlikely that my company would "ever get into a building." In other words- just by asking the question, I'd pissed her off so she was now using her powers (which on a whim up-graded me from Not True to Borderline and could just as easily have reclassified me as True Aviation) to black-list me. Then she snidely asked if there was anything else she could do for me? I replied that I'd like to have her broomstick to take to the wizard so he could give me a brain.

When the week of hell finally expired, we broke our tent down along with everyone else who was in the ghetto. In all, my final calculation showed me some $3,000 in the hole due to my moronic decision to attend AirIndenture 2003. I am now forever marked as "Borderline" in the wicked witch of the great white north's big thick book of spells. You see, some people such as that have no real power or authority in the lives until that tiny space on the calendar that is the event over which they have always ruled. Then they become something beyond what they are the rest of the time- then they finally have their power once again... until the event is over. Thus I knew as I sailed upon the ferry BADGER on the way back across Lake Michigan that wiked witch of AirIndenture was deflating rapidly up there in the office "...what a world, what a world..." she'd hiss as she shrunk into the carpet in billow of green smoke. Oh, she'd be back- in fact she's probably there right now. The funniest part of this story took place six months later. The cruds at EAA's Oshkosh vendor's office had the nerve to actually call me and ask why I had not signed up for 2004! They were lucky that my wife took the call and not me. In 2006 I wrote the series of cartoons seen following this text- people thought it was original humor, but in fact it is based on actual events.

I was told recently that some big changes may soon take place at Air Indenture- I doubt that they'll be anything that could root out the wicked witch or her ilk. People like that are there until they die and then return just to haunt the place. Additionally, I will always carry the moniker of Borderline and the knowledge that I'll never get into a building and that my money is not good enough for the wicked witch, EAA or the Oshkosh event... if only I could have gotten her damned broomstick.

Ohskosh horror #1

2009-07-27T22:13:00.002-04:00

Ohskosh horror #2

2009-07-27T22:12:00.002-04:00

Ohskosh horror #3

2009-07-27T22:11:00.005-04:00

Ohskosh horror #4

2009-07-27T22:11:00.002-04:00

Ohskosh horror #5

2009-07-27T22:10:00.002-04:00

Ohskosh horror #6

2009-07-27T22:09:00.002-04:00

Ohskosh horror #7

2009-07-27T22:08:00.005-04:00

Ohskosh horror #8

2009-07-27T22:08:00.002-04:00

Ohskosh horror #9

2009-07-27T22:07:00.002-04:00

Ohskosh horror #10

2009-07-27T22:00:00.002-04:00

Things I've said to self-important blow-hards and never regretted it.

2009-07-27T21:21:00.003-04:00

As you proceed through an aviation career... from the very bottom- up, you run into a lot of self-important blow-hards who always seem to get their rocks off taking a stab at ya'. I always thought that it was important for me to reply back with a bit more than a simple "F-you." Almost any non-kowtowing reply leaves these idiots fairly speechless and often looking like they've just been shot with a stun-gun. Here's an actual example from my early days in aviation...

Self-important blow-hard: "Well then, I guess you really don't wanna be a professional pilot, do ya'?"

My reply: "Oh yes, I really do... but I want to be a good one, not a hack like you."

klyde morris 7/23/09

2009-07-25T16:09:00.003-04:00

Apollo 11 SPLASHDOWN! Watering the seeds of inspiration

2009-07-24T01:00:00.001-04:00

"Stable 2" was the proper description for the Apollo 11 CM shortly after it jettisoned its parachutes and was left bobbing in the blue pacific. It was a moment when the vast majority of Americans were left satisfied at their nation's accomplishment and ambled back into their everyday lives with Apollo being a pleasant, but low priority memory. A sliver of the population carried disgust from the event as they felt all along that it "wasn't worth it." Some of us, although unable to fully evaluate it at the moment, had just had the seeds of inspiration that would alter our lives watered by the splash of that blue water.

The seeds of my spaceflight inspiration were actually planted long before Apollo 11. In fact, the circumstances that led me in the spaceflight direction began even before early Gemini missions- these circumstanced, however, began of a troubling note. I was in the second grade in the fall of 1964 when my parents were called in to meet with my teacher and were given some stunning news... "Wes can't read." My stunned parents were informed by my teacher that I was unable to read aloud, those captivating adventures of Dick and Jane and their fascinating dog Spot. My folks were told that they had to take me downtown to the Board of Education building to meet with a "Reading Specialist." In 1964, such a visit to such a person was a real embarrassment- something to be done quietly and in the shadows- because it meant your kid was defective.

Thus my parents meekly took their defective son downtown. We entered the big, dark, building with its echoing hallways and met the lady who was "The Specialist." She was very nice and led us to a doorway that opened to a big room. She directed me to go inside and wait while she had a few words with my parents. The room had living room styled furniture and was filled... FILLED... with books. The books were seemingly tossed around everyplace and were of all sorts of subjects. There was also one, almost unnoticeable feature in that room- a very large mirror on one wall. I walked around for about 90 seconds and then found a book on the Boeing 707. I sat down with it and started reading. Behind the mirror was the amazingly savvy "specialist" and my worried parents- watching my every move. "See..." she told my folks, "he can read- he's just bored with Dick and Jane." She also informed them that the book I had was on the 6th grade level. My mom asked about my teacher's concern that I could not read aloud. In the following discussion my folks were informed of the difference between "Can't" and "Won't" (interestingly, I'm currently working on my 14th book for publication... and I still do not read aloud to the public... ever.) My folks were given marching orders to get me anything... ANYTHING... to read that I was interested in- comic books, Mad Magazine, science books, sports books... anything that I was interested in. Mom and especially dad were then spring loaded to respond to what sparked interest in me. Some of the material that my folks fed to me included spaceflight and I had shown interest in that subject. Later- along came Apollo 11 and my folks knew they'd hit the jackpot.

Several weeks after the splashdown, my dad stopped into a Gulf station for gas again. Once again, he came back from paying and he handed me something. This time it was far better than that infernal paper LEM kit, this was... a book. When I opened that book- titled "We Came In Peace" it was as if someone had thrown LH2 into the sparks of my new found spaceflight passion. Even looking at the publication today, it is likely one of the finest illustrated and composed presentations of the nuts and bolts of the effort to get to the moon that has ever been produced. I lived in that book to the point where my 6th grade teacher told me never to bring it to school again... today I own two copies.

Thanks to Project Apollo, and Apollo 11 specifically, my parents found the key to the one thing that would alter the path on which their son would travel for the rest of his life. Along that path other sparks of inspiration would show their effects, but the foundation would be firmly constructed in that summer of 1969. I'm sure there are others who say the same thing, and who have stories similar to mine. NASA, on the other hand, saw their decline begin at that same moment. Caught in the bluster of ill political winds, NASA had its single weakness exploited- NASA did not have tooting their own horn in their job description.

Spaceflight is as much about Inspiration as it is about Exploration. I was inspired by Apollo- inspired to the point where, in a social strata where the norm was that you grew up, maybe you graduated from High School, you went to work in the "shop," you got married and your kids did the same... I directed my life toward technology and toward a technical education. There's nothing wrong with workin' in the shop, or in industrial related jobs- hell, my dad was 37 years on the railroad and I was always proud of him. That said- Apollo showed me a different direction, and instilled an attitude in me that I could do anything, especially when people told me that I could not. Inspiration is the greatest benefit of human spaceflight. When people quack about the "cost" they need to be asked what value does changing a kid's life for the better have?

As the Apollo 11 CM bobbed in the pacific and its crew huddled behind the window of the MQF while Nixon stood outside pretending to be enthused yet all the while actually planning to cancel the entire Apollo program, I was busy creating. Using a common matchbox, some balsa wood odds and ends and a jar of Testor's silver paint, I was making my own little MQF. When it was finished I went out onto the patio and caught three medium sized ants. Naming them Armstrong, Aldrin, and Collins I locked their little helpless butts into quarantine- just like the Apollo 11 astronauts... minus the aircraft carrier and Nixon... of course. It was a good way for a 12 year old to mimic what held my imagination at that moment. The next morning I opened my matchbox MQF and found all three ant-stronauts stone cold dead. "Gee..." I thought to myself, "I hope the real astronauts do better."

Apollo 11- the day before splashdown... rocket fever

2009-07-23T01:03:00.003-04:00

As it headed through it its last full day in space before reentry, an unexpected side effect of the Apollo 11 mission was a form or rocket fever that turned out to be very contagious. I caught mine, and 35 years later would actually turn it into a business.

In the afterglow of the first lunar landing, people sought out ways to satisfy their newly kindled interest in spaceflight and rockets. Some, who would otherwise never give a hoot about rockets, went out and bought rocket related items. One of those was a kid on my block by the name of Dennis. I was outside playing with my pals when the word came around that "Dennis is gonna launch a rocket!" Although given a stern warning "Don't you go near that thing!" by my mom, I hurried with the rest of the kids, down the block and stood across the street from Dennis' house. Dennis, who was about 4 grades older than me, came outside and was busy preparing a really cool looking, good sized rocket in his side yard. I had never seen such a thing- it was over a foot tall and pained in bright colors. Apparently inspired by the Apollo 11 mania, he had purchased and constructed this rocket. Of course these were the days when you had to actually "build" a flying model rocket as opposed to today when you can just go and buy one already built and in a blister pack- ready to fly and made in communist China. In the summer of 1969 all they made in communist China was... well... communists.

Dennis messed around for a protracted period as we all watched. Then he stuck a long metal rod into the grass, slid the rocket down it and lit the fuse. The sky over our subdivision of Sheridan Park was split with a loud "Wooooosh!" as the rocket raced into the heavens. Our necks snapped back and our mouths opened as we let out a chorus of "WHOA!" As the rocket arced over in its coast, I was expecting fireworks to burst out- instead there was a "pop" a puff of smoke and a parachute! Nothing ignites interest in a 12 year old like a parachute! Slowly the rocket swung on it's parachute as it drifted out over the corn field behind our block and vanished among the tall corn stalks. Dennis and every kid in the neighborhood, except me, charged into the corn after the rocket. I stood back- like I'd been told... ya' never knew if mom was watching and if I went in there and got blown up, after she'd told me not to, I'd really be in for it.

Sheridan Park had never seen anything like that rocket before. In fact I seriously believe that was the first model rocket ever launched in our subdivision. A long time passed, but eventually kids began to come out of the corn. At length, even Dennis came out and walked dejectedly, and empty-handed into his house. After several hours, I was sure that everyone else was out of the corn, and that was when I went in. Oddly, it took me just a few minutes to find the wayward rocket. There it sat, draped among the stalks, waiting to be recovered. I nabbed it and headed toward the edge of the corn. I took a minute to stash the rocket and then went home. My dad was sitting in the living room reading the paper and I went up and asked him if I found that lost rocket, could I keep it? Mom went into a tizzy right out of "A Christmas Story" saying everything other than I'd shoot my eye out. Dad, on the other hand, was far more in tune to his 12 year old son. He simply said that if I found it and I knew who it belonged to, I had to return it. With that I went directly to the spot where I'd stashed the rocket and took it to Dennis' house. I knocked on the door and when he answered I handed him his rocket and told him I'd found it. He just gave a "whatever" shrug and simply said "Thanks."

A few days after the flight of the Dennis rocket, my dad came home and handed me a box- it contained an MPC Flair Patriot flying model rocket! "Think ya' can build it?" he asked. I guess I drooled a "yeah." reply and he added, "Don't worry about your mother- it's okay." By mid August I had the rocket built and dad and I had gotten a briefing from the guy at the hobby store on how to set it up and fly it. Soon it was me who was punching holes in the sky over Sheridan Park- and a lot of holes at that and with all sorts of different rockets- usually of my won weird design. I never saw Dennis launch another rocket, but with my dad's help, our yard seemed like Cape Canaveral in 1960- the neighbors never knew what was going to come flying out of it or where it would be headed. From August 1969 to August 1973 when the neighborhood kids heard that "wooosh" sound they knew where go.

I ripped a few holes in the sky over Freeland, Michigan from 1974 to 1977, but gave up model rocketry in the fall of 77 so I could focus on real flying and a college education in Aeronautical Science. many years passed and I found myself no longer flying real airplanes and decided to take up model rockets again just for fun. The one time "for guy dweebs only" activity had, however, now turned into a family activity and females were not only participating in it, but often dominating. Today I sell my own line of model rockets from Sputniks to Saturns and even the Ares vehicles- business is good... and I am officially an Apollo spin-off... partly thanks to Dennis.

2009-07-22T10:27:00.001-04:00

By TEI and Apollo 11's subsequent cruise back toward earth, preparations had already started for their arrival back on earth and isolation to ensure that they would not spread any moon germs around. Oddly, they had a already spread a fever around the planet- a spaceflight fever. As I said before, it was as if the most of the population had caught spaceflight fever- yet it was a malady that would last only a short time for most folks- only a few of us would have it for life.In my neighborhood signs of idiotic apathy were already starting to show. One of the neighbor ladies sputtered that she didn't see "...why they're doing that anyways." Of course she was also a person who believed completely that the street lights were turned on every evening and off every morning by "One guy in an office down at city hall." and she was serious about that. Thus her views about Project Apollo are put into context. Still, the seeds of cancellation of any space project are best sewn in cow manure by morons- so it was that Project Apollo's early demise took root.

What this person and her ilk had to say meant little to me- I was starving for more Apollo, more space, more NASA! I even took another stab at trying to put together that blasted paper LEM model. Again I was thwarted and ended up leaving it on my bedroom floor. In the months ahead it would be moved to my closet floor where it would sit and mock me for several years.
My dad, however, came to my rescue. Dad always worked nights and dad always worked days- lord knows when the man ever slept. Back in 1969 he was working midnights as a railroad engineer and days as an auto mechanic at the Montgomery Wards Auto Center. Following the Apollo 11 lunar landing, dad came back from work and handed me a box containing a 1:200 AMT Apollo Spacecraft model- the kind with the LEM legs permanently in the stowed position. It fit in the palm of your hand and was easy to build- indeed it was way easier than the paper LEM. I had it built and was playing with it by bedtime.

Later, dad made a deal with the guys who ran the toy department at Wards (yes- in those days department stores actually had people dedicated to specific departments), that became a windfall for me. You see, plastic models tend to not sell if the factory seal is broken- buyers are generally savvy enough to equate that broken seal with missing parts. And if parts actually are missing, there's no way the kit will sell and it is normally just marked off and tossed in the trash. My dad made a deal with the guy in the toy department, where the models were sold, that before throwing away a space model, they could sell it to him for next to nothing. They checked it with the store manager, and he said it was okay. In the atmosphere of spaceflight fever, there was plenty of pressure on the space models section of the toy department as people tore up the shelves on a daily basis. Before long dad was bringing home from work all sorts of models. Often parts were missing, but I could not care less. I was building and learning fast. Soon, that paper LEM was no longer on my build list... but it still mocked me.