Proud American

A couple of weeks ago Michelle Obama made a statement, saying that for the first time in her life she was proud of America. She is in her 40's and now that her husband is running for President she is FINALLY proud of America?
This ate at me and ate at me until I started to soul search in an attempt to figure out when I became a proud American.
I remember being very young, seeing my uncle Bill come home from Korea. I felt very proud then. But was I just proud of uncle Bill or America?
Later on when we lived in Wendover and I would visit my dad at his work place and see the fighter pilots that would hang around the communications station in their flight suits and cool looking sunglasses, driving their F86 SaberJets, I was proud of them. I was proud of the United States Air Force. That would be the first time I was aware that I was proud of America.
My father was in the Navy. He fought in the Pacific during WWII. I saw his medals. I saw his mementos from the war. I was always proud of my father. He was a great and proud American.
Just being around him made me proud to me an American.
I joined the Air Force right out of high school. I was proud to do it. My chest swelled up when I took the oath to defend and protect the Constitution of the United States of America.
America is a great and wonderful nation. Some times Americans leave me wondering. I was saddened to see how the American military was treated when they came home from Viet Nam. All of us in uniform at the time stood ready to protect the very same people who would throw eggs and rotten tomato's at us. They would call us baby killers. Rapists. Murderers. But we were ready to stand and defend them and their right to say these things. Through it all I was still proud of America!
America is magnificent in it's achievements. We went to the moon. We walked on the moon. We lead the world in humanitarian achievements. We have smart, well educated doctors all over the world helping cure people of sickness. We airlift (US Military) millions of tons of food, clothing, medicine and other essentials all over the world. Every day.
I wept the day that Challenger exploded. I get tears in my eyes every time I hear Taps. And a military marching band makes my chest swell.
Am a proud of America or am I just proud of her heroes. Her achievers? The answer is I am proud of America, with her heroes and warts. I am proud of her Achievements and proud of her failures because they show that we tried our best. Even in her failures her heart was big.
So I guess I have always been proud of America. I am proud to announce THAT I AM PROUD THAT I AM AN AMERICAN.

Politically what?

Some people think that all I have ever done is fly. Not true. For 20 years I was an Air Traffic Controller. For 15 years I was a fire fighter. For 12 years I was a Fire department dispatcher. Intermixed with all that I have tended bar at a real popular pizza joint, tended bar at a very upscale steak house and served beer and shots at a down and ugly dive. Worked as a roofer laying down hot tar in the middle of August. Sold new and used cars. I even managed to build, program and repair circuit boards.
These were adventures all. I learned a lot from these experiences. Some of what I learned has served me well in other adventures. Other things...well. You have all heard the expression "that's is more information than I really needed".
When I was a controller at Stapleton International, one of the things that was popular among controllers was "trolling through the terminal". We would take our breaks and walk through the terminal. Some of the freakiest people inhabited the airport terminal during the wee small hours of the morning. The man with a monkey stands out in my mind. He was a "hippie" type. Long hair (unwashed), black full beard, dirty farmer overalls and a greasy black hat. Sitting on top of this hat was an ugly, mean tempered monkey. That monkey would hiss and spit at anybody who got too close to his companion who would just sit calmly and let him rant.
Now the guys on my crew were never a bunch to pass up an opportunity to stir the pot. Ramon would hiss and spit right back at that stupid critter until it got so agitated that his owners hat would go flying, the monkey would rush Ramon until he hit the end of his chain. Then Ramon would dodge to his left, then his right, then his left....you get the point. The chain would be a tangled up, the owner would struggle like crazy to control his "pet" and Ramon would just walk calmly away like nothing has ever happened. Cruel? Maybe. Mean? yup. Funny? You bet. Could it happen today? No way. Why? Because number one, some animal rights activist would have the hippie locked up for having a monkey on a chain. Then they would sue Ramon for cruelty to animals (monkey AND hippie) and Number two, 14 waiting passengers would complain that Ramon was acting in a manner that was not "politically correct" They would point and screech, like Donal Sutherland in "Invasion of the Body Snatchers".

"Political Incorrect Political Incorrect Political Incorrect"

Political Correctness. Politically Correct. Two phrases and attitudes that drive me right up the padded wall. They are pushed by people who are so arrogant, self important, so self serving that they are hell bent to force their will on everybody else who doesn't think and act exactly like they do. Or the way they think you should act or think. You must speak a certain way. You cannot use the "F" word, the "G" word, the "C" word, the "N" word. pick a letter, there are 26 that you can't use.
What ever happened to "live and let live?". What ever happened to living life fun? There are wackos and weirdos amongst us and they are fun. Once in a while an adventure comes along but is ignored because of being politically incorrect. Not so back in the good old days. So I will continue to post my memories of days gone by and will definately be POLITICALLY INCORRECT

Stay tuned.

Mountain Flying

During the course of my commercial training it was recommended that I take a mountain flying course. I was told that flying in the Rockies was way different from flying the plains. The person who recommended this to me was my then current flight instructor, and friend, who was valiantly trying to get me a commercial rating. What I didn't know was he was also an outfitter and elk hunting guide on the side. This I learned during the course of instruction while we were bobbing and weaving around hills and into little valleys while he kept a steady eye on the ground looking for elk herds. In spite of his apparent inattention he managed to teach me a whole lot about mountain flying. He used the "after the the fact" teaching method, saying things like "now you see what happens when you do that" or "you won't ever want to do THAT again" or just a simple "jeeeeeeeeeeze!!
Short field take-offs from a short mountain airport are guaranteed to get the juices flowing. Factor in the lodge pole pines at the far end and it is a real joy ride.
One trip in particular stands out in my fuzzy mind.
On a cold, clear, blue Colorado sky type of day we took off in the trusty Cherokee 235 on a cross country Denver - Gunnison - Aspen - Denver. We had planned to fly the valleys and canyons to Gunnison. Going up high and just flying over the divide never once entered into our minds. This was mountain flying. So we were going to stay low (9,000 - 12,000 feet msl roughly 500 feet agl)
It was a beautiful day. I was enjoying the flight. The air was crisp. The aircraft was purring. My instructor was busy with his field glasses. Just right. After a while Jim (my instructor) said "you might want to widen out around this next turn" and he went back to the elk hunt.
This "next turn" was when we were clearing one valley and turning into another. Not wanting to upset Jim and his crusade for the perfect elk herd, I widened my turn sliding out more towards the center of the valley. As I rolled out of my turn I glanced to my left and looked UP. There were dozens of people above me! One guy in particular was looking right at me. He had on mirror sunglasses. I couldn't grasp it at first. People. ABOVE Me.
Jim said "don't be rude...wave to them". So I waved. The guy in the mirrors waved back.
A ski lift! We had flown right by a ski lift. It probably seems natural to some people to fly past people sitting above you but it took me a few minutes to digest it. I moved further out into the valley.
We planned to land at Gunnison, check weather and re-fill the all important coffee thermos.
Gunnison airport sits in a valley at 7700 feet. It is surrounded by high mountains. We decided to land on runway 35. This is their shortest runway but not really a problem. It is a little disquieting though on downwind looking at a sheer wall of granite. I was getting a Little nervous and started to shade my turn to base when Jim told me to wait. I waited. and waited. I turned to Jim and asked if he was going to call the base turn or did he have a death wish. When he finally called for the turn it was almost a snap roll. I swear we were brushing our wingtip up against the cliff. But it worked out OK. There is a 200' offset threshold and Jim wanted me to get a good look at it and not try any crazy stuff like trying to land on the threshold.
We checked the weather. It was holding with just a few cumulus clouds building along the ridges. We filled our Thermos's and started out for Aspen. Just a short hop. Just over the ridge. The temperature had dropped considerably and the outside air temp during our climb out was around -25. As much as I loved the Cherokee 235 I have to admit the heater/defroster leaves a lot to be desired. We actually had to scrape the inside of the windshield. Credit cards are good for this. My feet were extremely cold. the moccasins I usually flew in were not designed for this kind of cold.
As we gained in altitude and turned toward the ridge and Aspen we were managing about 300 feet per minute. Not bad. At around 11,500 we noticed that the cumulus clouds were building at around 500 feet per minute. At around 12,000 we thought we might make it across the ridge. But then when you are sucking 12,000 foot air with very little oxygen in it little things in your brain pop up and say " yea, you can do it, keep going, keep climbing"
Jim put his hand on mine, which was white knuckling the throttle. I looked at his hand and wondered why his fingernails were blue.
He leaned over and yelled into my ear "TURN AROUND, DESCEND"
I did and as we were going back towards Gunnison and loosing altitude he smiled and advised me not to light a cigarette. He leaned back and did something that will always make me wonder about him. He opened the thermos of coffee.
Coffee that we had sealed in a thermos at 7700 feet. Opened at 11,000 feet the coffee had only one place to go. All over. But what we managed to salvage sure did taste good.
We decided to fly the valleys and return to Denver.
When we cleared the foothills and started our approach into Stapleton I seemed rather anti-climactic. I was bone tired. When I set it down on runway 26 it was more of an arrival than a landing. And yet the adrenaline was not quite out of my system. After putting the Cherokee to bed I just sat in my truck and thought about the flight and was very very happy that I was a pilot. I looked upon non pilots as mere mortals. I had been to the Rockies and back. It was a good day.