HELICOPTER PARENTS
I just finished reading a very interesting and provocative article in the current TIME magazine (November 30, 2009). It was titled, “Can These Parents Be Saved?”. It was authored by Nancy Gibbs, and she did a very commendable job. I recommend that you read her article, even though it probably doesn’t describe your parenting.
Nancy labeled these over-protective Moms and Dads - “Helicopter Parents”! I flew in a helicopter, as a passenger, recently, and her term for over-protective guardians is most descriptive. They “hover” over their kids! How did our culture wander so far off track in three generations? Parents should be role models and teachers - not micro managers of the human spirit.
Were my Great Depression cohorts short changed by our parents when we were in school during the 1920’s and 30’s? I don’t think so. They taught us by their example. They told us that “this is how it is.” Then, they told us that we were responsible for our conduct, and we would be held accountable for any fall downs. We understood this, and we accepted our parents challenge. I felt good having such responsibility. I wouldn’t do anything to embarrass them.
Even though I was very young, I took my responsibility as a good citizen seriously. I went alone - from Hillsdale to Chicago - a four hour train ride - when I was six years old. Can you picture today’s parent letting their eight year old son go door to door, in the dark of winter afternoons, selling magazines, as I did? I delivered the Hillsdale Daily News when I was 10 years old. I attended Boy Scout meetings at night alone. My Mother didn’t accompany me on Halloween. My friends did.
I was caught chewing gum in my sixth grade class. Our teacher, Miss May, was the Central School principal. I knew better, but I broke the rule. Miss May called me up to the front of her desk. I did as I was bid. She told me to take the gum out of my mouth and place it on the tip of my nose, which I did. Then, she said turn around and stand there until I tell you to go to your seat. Talk about embarrassment! I couldn’t look into the smiling faces of my classmates. I don’t remember how long my torture went on, but it was plenty long for Miss May to make her point!(I very seldom chewed gum after that.) I didn’t go home, crying, and blaming the teacher for my punishment. I knew that if I did, my Dad would back the teacher, and give me a whack for good measure! Today, the child’s mother would go to the School board and claim “child cruelty” and demand that “the teacher be fired for embarrassing their little Raymond.” I held no grudge. Miss May was one on my favorite teachers. I even corresponded with her after moving to Berea (Ohio) at the end of that school year in 1930.
I walked to and from school - including going home for lunch. I walked to Church on Sunday and to Catechism class on Saturday afternoon. Vans, and parent chauffeurs, didn’t exist. My Mother didn’t know how to drive. It didn’t matter, because we didn’t have a car.
I went to St. Mary’s Catholic school in Berea for my seventh and eighth grades. Now there was discipline. Sister Edith was the principal and my teacher. I never got in trouble. Not, because I was a “goody goody”, but because I was a fast learner! I knew the rules and boundaries, and I heeded them. I figured that ‘Life” was much simpler that way. There were a couple of instances that I was a by-stander to unacceptable conduct. My friend “Hoy” was the class clown. Sister apparently, didn’t think that he was as funny as we did. I don’t even remember what happened. But, she called Hoy up to her desk, and said, “Get me the biggest measuring stick that you can find. Hoy came back with a 12 inch ruler. Sister didn’t think it was as funny as we did. She repeated her command. This time Hoy apparently got the message, and brought back the yardstick which was stored in the cloak room. Sister said “Give me your hand. Hoy extended his arm. She grabbed his hand and wound up with the same motion. Then, on her down swing, Hoy pulled his hand from Sister’s grasp, and she hit her leg with the yardstick. I’m sure she didn’t even feel it with her large -hanging rosary and full-flowing black outfit breaking the blow. To say that Sister Edith was upset, was a big understatement, as we all were taking in the “punishment”. Then she took a wild swing at Hoy.
On another occasion, I was in the Boy’s Bathroom in the school basement. I could smell cigarette smoke when I opened the door. There was Sam standing at the urinal next to me. When I first met Sam, I thought that he was an “Eskimo”, but later learned that Sam was a Native American boy (We used the term “Indian” back then.) I think he was 18 years old, and still in the eighth grade! I remember his whiskers. While we both were standing there, I heard the bathroom door open. Then, I heard Sister’s large rosary clanking as she walked toward us. She grabbed Sam by the arm - while he was still in mid-stream - and marched him out of the bathroom. No words were spoken. I have often searched my memory for what happened afterwards, but each time, I draw a blank. Still, Sister Edith was my mentor and role model. I give her a lot of credit for molding my personality and philosophy of life. She was a loyal friend. We still corresponded ten years later, during the months I served in North Africa. Her letters, and prayers, not only boosted my spirit, but I am sure played a big part in my surviving 50 combat missions.
Sister Edith taught a group of 7th and 8th grade students to be altar boys. (alter girls hadn’t been invented back then,) She not only taught us our Latin responses to the priest, but also all of our serving routine. They say that “if the student hasn’t learned, the teacher hasn’t taught”. Sister taught and I learned. I looked forward to being assigned to serve weddings, because the groom usually tipped us. But, funerals were another story. I guess it wasn’t proper to tip altar boys for funerals - even though our duties were about the same. Too sad, I guess.
I remember how I sweated out report card time. I would bring my card home from school and debate which parent to ask to sign it - depending on their mood. Today - if they still have “Report Cards”, the parents probably grade their kids and their kids may sign off.! Today, I can’t imagine parents who protest the grades on their kid’s homework and special projects. The term “homework” in PRE-SCHOOL today, didn’t exist in my day. Our Mothers taught pre-school.
Today, parents are obsessed about their child’s safety and success. When I was in the seventh and eighth grades, during the summer months, I would put a peanut butter sandwich in my pocket in the morning, and roam all over town with my friends. Granted, it was a small town - population about 5,000. We weren’t into vandalizing, but to entertain ourselves. We would also take our bats, balls and gloves and challenge kids on the other side of town to a pick-up game. Afterwards, we would go “skinny-dipping” in an abandoned- sandstone quarry - 300 feet deep with COLD water. It’s a wonder we didn’t cramp up and drown! Swimming was fun. But, sometimes when we got out, our clothes were missing. Our “friends” snuck up and hid them. The heli- folks would freak out if this happened today - with no life guard. It wasn’t a case of my parents not being fearful for my safety, it was a case of not knowing where I was, or what I was doing. Apparently, they trusted my judgment - even at that tender age. I know that they cared.
Today, parents use the computer, TV and electronic games to entertain (and baby sit) their kids. What happened to Erector Sets, Tinker Toys, Lincoln Logs and Lego toys?
I didn’t receive an allowance when I was growing up. If I wanted “spending” money, I was expected to earn it. Today’s parents must feel that if they don’t give their kids everything they want, they won’t love them. So be it. Let them work and earn their own money. They will appreciate the value of their spending more. Why contribute to a tobacco or drug habit? The world has enough problems!
I don’t want to leave the impression that I was self-raised. To the contrary. My sister Jeanne and brothers Bob and Jack got plenty of attention and TLC from our parents. They guided, and trained us, to be good citizens. They encouraged us to do our very best - that’s all they expected of us. “Over-achieving” wasn’t in their vocabulary. My parents never attended any of my high school sporting events, or my band concerts. I can’t remember whether they attended my high school graduation or not. But, they certainly were there for me during World war II. They came out from Ypsilanti to Victorville, when I graduated from Bombardiering School. They wrote to me often during the seven months that I was overseas.
During all of this dialogue, I don’t want to give the impression that I have been the perfect parent for my five daughters. For example:-
I always took my youngest daughter Sue with me when I got a haircut. The first thing that she would do in the barber shop was go to the magazine rack. She would pick up a copy of “Playboy”, sit on the floor, and start turning the pages. John (my barber) would go over and gently take it from her, and hand her a comic book in return. He hadn’t any more returned to his barbering chair, than Sue would put the Comic Book down and pick up the Playboy!
In closing this essay, I would like to quote from Nancy Gibb’s conclusion to her article - a quote that D.H. Lawrence made back in 1918 - the year of my birth! “How to educate a child. First Rule: leave him alone; Second Rule: leave him alone; Third Rule: Leave him alone; That is the whole beginning.” (Nancy goes on to say, “Of course, that was easy for him to say. He had no kids.”)
RCL - 11/28/09.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
GREAT EVENING
GREAT EVENING
Last Saturday evening (November 21, 2009) was one of the big highlights of the year for me. Eleven male members of our family had dinner together, here at Quail Creek. The original prompt was for we seven “Scorpios” to celebrate our birthdays together. Then, I thought it would be nice to include Brad - even though he is a Taurus. (He got in under the wire! A delay of Brad’s birth one more day, would have moved his astrological sign to a “Gemini” - the same as his Grandmother Marie). Not only would it be nice to see Brad, but he could join his Dad Rick, and Brother Doug, in the celebration of their birthdays.
Then, Brad asked if he could bring his boys Colton and Trenton. I hadn’t thought of that, and I am glad that he suggested it. Then, I thought, why not include the whole Maher clan! So, I told Doug that his sons were also welcome. Fortunately, after my late invitation, Jobey, Bailey and Dakota could make it. Tom, Greg and I rounded out the group.
I had reserved our small special dining room with David, the Dining Services Director. It worked out well. The eleven of us sat around the very large table. I am proud of my five great-grandsons. They were comfortable ordering from the large menu. Brad may have helped his son Colton(9) order salmon, and Bailey helped Trenton(7) order chicken tenders. Dakota(12) sat on my right, and he ordered lamb chops from the menu. Erika, a friend and co-worker of Katy’s, was our server. It was a It was labor intensive to take our orders and serve us, but she was very pleasant and helpful, and did a great job. She knows Tom and I so it wasn’t as stressful for her. When Dakota cut into his lamb chop, it was quite “bloody”, and he mentioned it to me. I told him to tell Erika and she would return it to the kitchen, and the chef would cook it some more. So he did. He told her, “I know that I ordered it “rare“, but this is bloody!” Erika did as she said she would, and Dakota was happy.
After a nice dinner and dessert, Greg asked if they would like a tour of the facility. They agreed. So, all eleven us walked around and saw the swimming pool and hot tub; (naturally, the great-grandsons were impressed), the ball room -dancing room, the fitness room (with all of it various exercising equipment);the billiard room; and the wood-working shop.
Then, I asked them if they would like to see where grandpa lives. Of course, they wanted to see my apartment - hardly large enough for all eleven of us to fit).It didn’t take long to tour my area. The way that they studied the photos( they were in many of them) and memorabilia, they must have thought that I lived in a museum.
They all left about eight o’clock, after a nice evening. I enjoyed their visit. I hated to see them go. I checked all of my closets to make sure there were no stowaways! I should have known better, after stuffing all of my “stuff” in them.
RCL - 11/24/09.
Last Saturday evening (November 21, 2009) was one of the big highlights of the year for me. Eleven male members of our family had dinner together, here at Quail Creek. The original prompt was for we seven “Scorpios” to celebrate our birthdays together. Then, I thought it would be nice to include Brad - even though he is a Taurus. (He got in under the wire! A delay of Brad’s birth one more day, would have moved his astrological sign to a “Gemini” - the same as his Grandmother Marie). Not only would it be nice to see Brad, but he could join his Dad Rick, and Brother Doug, in the celebration of their birthdays.
Then, Brad asked if he could bring his boys Colton and Trenton. I hadn’t thought of that, and I am glad that he suggested it. Then, I thought, why not include the whole Maher clan! So, I told Doug that his sons were also welcome. Fortunately, after my late invitation, Jobey, Bailey and Dakota could make it. Tom, Greg and I rounded out the group.
I had reserved our small special dining room with David, the Dining Services Director. It worked out well. The eleven of us sat around the very large table. I am proud of my five great-grandsons. They were comfortable ordering from the large menu. Brad may have helped his son Colton(9) order salmon, and Bailey helped Trenton(7) order chicken tenders. Dakota(12) sat on my right, and he ordered lamb chops from the menu. Erika, a friend and co-worker of Katy’s, was our server. It was a It was labor intensive to take our orders and serve us, but she was very pleasant and helpful, and did a great job. She knows Tom and I so it wasn’t as stressful for her. When Dakota cut into his lamb chop, it was quite “bloody”, and he mentioned it to me. I told him to tell Erika and she would return it to the kitchen, and the chef would cook it some more. So he did. He told her, “I know that I ordered it “rare“, but this is bloody!” Erika did as she said she would, and Dakota was happy.
After a nice dinner and dessert, Greg asked if they would like a tour of the facility. They agreed. So, all eleven us walked around and saw the swimming pool and hot tub; (naturally, the great-grandsons were impressed), the ball room -dancing room, the fitness room (with all of it various exercising equipment);the billiard room; and the wood-working shop.
Then, I asked them if they would like to see where grandpa lives. Of course, they wanted to see my apartment - hardly large enough for all eleven of us to fit).It didn’t take long to tour my area. The way that they studied the photos( they were in many of them) and memorabilia, they must have thought that I lived in a museum.
They all left about eight o’clock, after a nice evening. I enjoyed their visit. I hated to see them go. I checked all of my closets to make sure there were no stowaways! I should have known better, after stuffing all of my “stuff” in them.
RCL - 11/24/09.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
WEST POINT
WEST POINT
It is nice to start the day with a little bit of levity. At breakfast this morning, I was admiring my seatmate’s jacket. It was black, with gold circles on the cuffs. It was really spiffy. I hadn’t seen it before - in the year and eight months that I have been here at Quail Creek.
I asked Ray if it was new. He said “No, I got it in 1935 when I was at West Point!” I thought, how could a garment - almost 75 years old - look so nice? Then, I noticed the block- gold large “A” emblem on the left side of his jacket.. I asked him about that. Ray said that was for beating Navy! I told him that was the last time that Army beat Navy. He didn’t respond. I don’t think he heard me.
Our server was tuning in to all of this conversation. Rosie volunteered “I wasn’t even conceived by 1935”. I asked Ray about Army’s colors. He didn’t understand me, and turned to his wife, Jean, to interpret for him. She repeated what I had asked him, but he still didn’t comprehend. (He usually does a good job in reading her lips.) Then, I noticed that his hearing aid was barely hanging on to his left ear. So, I Googled “West Point colors”, and learned that Army’s colors are black and gold.
After breakfast, I was relating this little episode to one of our young servers, because I thought that she would be interested. Wrong! She wasn’t familiar with West Point. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. A sheltered life or generations gap? Or both!
Ray and Jean are my role models. They celebrated their 69th wedding Anniversary this month! (Yes, they were married in Seattle in 1940!) Jean was 19 and Ray 26 - my age, when Marie and I were married 65 years ago. We are short-timers! Needless to say, I enjoy their company very much.
I enjoyed playing bridge yesterday in the Community Center - Card Room. We had three tables - eight ladies and four men. I got fairly good cards for a change. In one round, my partner and I scored 650 points to our opponents 550. Yet, we didn’t play any of the six hands!
RCL - 11/24/09.
It is nice to start the day with a little bit of levity. At breakfast this morning, I was admiring my seatmate’s jacket. It was black, with gold circles on the cuffs. It was really spiffy. I hadn’t seen it before - in the year and eight months that I have been here at Quail Creek.
I asked Ray if it was new. He said “No, I got it in 1935 when I was at West Point!” I thought, how could a garment - almost 75 years old - look so nice? Then, I noticed the block- gold large “A” emblem on the left side of his jacket.. I asked him about that. Ray said that was for beating Navy! I told him that was the last time that Army beat Navy. He didn’t respond. I don’t think he heard me.
Our server was tuning in to all of this conversation. Rosie volunteered “I wasn’t even conceived by 1935”. I asked Ray about Army’s colors. He didn’t understand me, and turned to his wife, Jean, to interpret for him. She repeated what I had asked him, but he still didn’t comprehend. (He usually does a good job in reading her lips.) Then, I noticed that his hearing aid was barely hanging on to his left ear. So, I Googled “West Point colors”, and learned that Army’s colors are black and gold.
After breakfast, I was relating this little episode to one of our young servers, because I thought that she would be interested. Wrong! She wasn’t familiar with West Point. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. A sheltered life or generations gap? Or both!
Ray and Jean are my role models. They celebrated their 69th wedding Anniversary this month! (Yes, they were married in Seattle in 1940!) Jean was 19 and Ray 26 - my age, when Marie and I were married 65 years ago. We are short-timers! Needless to say, I enjoy their company very much.
I enjoyed playing bridge yesterday in the Community Center - Card Room. We had three tables - eight ladies and four men. I got fairly good cards for a change. In one round, my partner and I scored 650 points to our opponents 550. Yet, we didn’t play any of the six hands!
RCL - 11/24/09.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
THANKFUL
THANKFUL
Peggy Noonan, A Wall Street Journal essayist, wrote a provocative column in the November 21-22 issue of the Journal. (“Still Here After a Rough Year.”) She described responses, she received from friends - “for what are you thankful? The responses to her were varied and quite diverse. After reading her column, I started reflecting on my thankfulness. Only then, did I realize how much I took for granted!
---- I am thankful for reaching the age of 91, and in relatively good health. It has permitted me to spend time in support of my dementia tormented wife, and to reflect on 65 years of our happy marriage. While Marie’s quality of life is poor, she has made my life much richer. When I hold her warm hand, and kiss her soft-warm lips - many good memories flow. All is well.
---- I am thankful for my family. They have been very understanding and supportive. They are my most valuable asset!
---- I am thankful for my exposure to the Western National Parks and Monuments The great uplifting experience put me in touch with my spiritual being. My eyes and heart wee opened to forgotten beauty. I was so fortunate to be part of such a spiritual environment.
---- I am thankful that my mind can still recall so many emotions and memories from my long-ago past. I was able to re-live these experiences as I recalled them in writing my Blogs.
---- I am thankful to have been invited to participate in my oldest grand daughter’s wedding.
Have you reviewed your “gratitude” on this 389th Thanksgiving Day?
RCL - 11/22/09.
Peggy Noonan, A Wall Street Journal essayist, wrote a provocative column in the November 21-22 issue of the Journal. (“Still Here After a Rough Year.”) She described responses, she received from friends - “for what are you thankful? The responses to her were varied and quite diverse. After reading her column, I started reflecting on my thankfulness. Only then, did I realize how much I took for granted!
---- I am thankful for reaching the age of 91, and in relatively good health. It has permitted me to spend time in support of my dementia tormented wife, and to reflect on 65 years of our happy marriage. While Marie’s quality of life is poor, she has made my life much richer. When I hold her warm hand, and kiss her soft-warm lips - many good memories flow. All is well.
---- I am thankful for my family. They have been very understanding and supportive. They are my most valuable asset!
---- I am thankful for my exposure to the Western National Parks and Monuments The great uplifting experience put me in touch with my spiritual being. My eyes and heart wee opened to forgotten beauty. I was so fortunate to be part of such a spiritual environment.
---- I am thankful that my mind can still recall so many emotions and memories from my long-ago past. I was able to re-live these experiences as I recalled them in writing my Blogs.
---- I am thankful to have been invited to participate in my oldest grand daughter’s wedding.
Have you reviewed your “gratitude” on this 389th Thanksgiving Day?
RCL - 11/22/09.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
SULLY
SULLY
My daughter Mary, and her husband Greg, gave me “Sully ” Sullenberger’s new book (“Highest Duty”) for my birthday. You may think that I am being presumptuous, in using the famous pilot’s nickname. But, when you consider his first name is “Chesley”, it makes sense. I didn’t realize that he had written a book (in conjunction with Jeffrey Zaslow). My first thought was, “another famous person getting on the bandwagon, and writing a book. (See Sarah Palin’s “Going Rogue”.) These days, it’s just a foregone conclusion. Too, there’s no equivalent to the exposure that one gets on Oprah’s Show. (Can the movies be far behind?).
I started to read Sully’s book, and it was so interesting, that I have a hard time putting it down. I am really impressed. It is very well written. (I am not sure whose words they are). Too, I can relate to a lot of Sully’s descriptions of his experiences and emotions. I am wondering why, when there is a 33 year -age difference between us. His Dad, and I, are cohorts! A lot of my identification with Sully’s writing can be explained, because we were both former military pilots. I can relate to a lot of his flying emotions and experiences - even though I had only a small percentage of his nearly 20,000 flying hours. We both have been exposed to similar theory of flight, and emergency procedures. I relate, too, to his life experiences - not because “I’ve been there - done that”, but because we both have been exposed to similar life experiences. After reading the book, I would classify Sully as a complicated and dedicated person, and a very skilled flyer.
I can still remember an event I had in the Army Air Corps - as if it had happened yesterday - rather than 65 years ago. We were flying dual, during my Primary flight training. I was fortunate to have John Langdon, as my instructor, riding in the rear seat. John had seen, and done it all. He was older - or a synonym - “more experienced.” John had flown the U.S. Mail. He had crop dusted. He had barn stormed with Tex Rankin (picked up a handkerchief from the ground - flying upside down - with a hook imbedded at the top of the vertical stabilizer! Now, that is about as skillful as you can fly - even compared to the precision formation -flying of the “Blue Angels”.)
One day we were flying near Rankin Field in the Tulare area. At about 3,000 feet, John, from his rear seat, chopped the throttle, and I lost the power of the engine. This was a common practice of Instructors, and it was a “signal” for me to start looking for the best place to put the Stearman down. In a simulated forced landing. I would pick the flattest - largest- field, free of obstacles like high voltage- power lines. Then, I would try and determine the direction of the wind ( from blowing smoke or such), and then set up my approach and landing plans. Remember, this is “dead stick” - no engine power. The prop is barely wind milling. It is very quiet. I am descending about 300 feet per minute to maintain our flying speed above “stalling”. All the time, I was very observant for other aircraft and obstacles in the vicinity, while descending. In his book, Sully calls it “situational awareness”. A lot of judgment is involved in knowing your altitude, by checking your altimeter, so that you can dissipate the height through your “downwind,” “base” and “final approach” legs.” You don’t want to land “long”, or “short” of the field. When I was about to touch down, John would advance the throttle, and the Lycoming radial engine would roar to life, once again. I was air-born, in a slow climb. Needless to say, the adrenalin was really flowing as if it were the real thing. I still remember John’s counseling, as I climbed out from the open field. John told me, through our inter-com tube, “Never stretch a glide! Maintain your flying speed, even if you have to plough into a stone wall. You will have a better chance for survival, than if you pull back on the stick to fly over the wall, and stall the aircraft. In a stall. You will head into the ground nose first (This is why we practiced “stalls” at higher altitudes. So, that we would recognize the feel of the “sloppy’ stick during the stall, and initial recovery.) Fortunately, I never had to apply John’s admonition. But, if I had, I know that I’d been prepared for the best outcome. This is why I remember John’s words, back in 1944, to this day. Again, “situational awareness.” I remembered my “dead stick“- landing training, when I heard about Captain Sullenberger landing his powerless Air Bus in the Hudson River, on January 15, 2009. His US Airways airliner hit a flock of geese shortly after the First Officer took-off from La Guardia. While my dead-stick landing -training and Sully’s water landing were far from being the same, the technique employed was similar, and there was his emotion, during the let-down, that I could relate to.
So much of Sully’s life seemed to parallel a lot of mine, even with our age difference. I could relate to his thoughts, sights and emotions. He and his wife Lorrie adopted two girls. I could even relate to this event. Marie and I didn’t have our first child until nearly seven years after we were married. In the meantime, we had given up on “coupling,” and placed our “request to adopt” with the “Children’s Home” in Oakland. The year was 1950. They accepted our request, and made visits to our home in Antioch. (I was working for U.S. Steel, as an Industrial Engineer, at the time). The Home’s approval of our adoption request seemed imminent. But, when the Home’s representative learned, during one of her visits to our home in the spring of 1951, that I had been recalled by the Air Force, as a pilot, during the Korean War, she “nixed” our adoption. She said that, “The Home couldn’t place a child in a potentially fatherless home!”. We were both very devastated by the bad news. At that very time, Marie was experiencing an upset stomach. We both thought that she was coming down with the flu. A friend of ours said, “Marie, do you think that you might be pregnant?” Our friend was very prophetic. Marie found out later, that she was indeed pregnant with Anne.
Back to Sully. Our backgrounds differ in that his Dad was a very good self-taught carpenter. He even built their home - with the help of his wife, daughter and Sully. My Dad didn’t have those same “hammer” skills so I never learned them . But, my Mother was good with the tool. Our daughter Mary is “hammer wise”, too. She must have inherited my Mother’s “hammer” genes.
Sully grew up in Texas, which is a long way from Michigan and Ohio, where I grew up. Still, we had similar experiences growing up. His parents instilled responsibility and accountability in Sully as my parents did in me. Sully’s parents gave him a rifle at a young age. They taught him gun safety and responsibility for his actions. My parents let me work at a very young age - 9 or 10 years old - selling magazines, door to door. In the winter, I would be delivering magazines in the dark. (This was before Daylight Saving Time.) In the summer, I would put a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in my pocket, and be gone all day. We would play a pickup game of baseball with kids on the other side of town, “skinny dip” in the deep, cold water in an abandoned sandstone quarry, in Berea, Ohio, or, we would just hang out at each others’ houses. (Our Mom’s were all home in those days.)
Sully spoke of “hazing” at the Air University, before he graduated. I could relate to that, having gone through the Aviation Cadet program twice during WWII - once for bombardier training and once for pilot training.
The author mentioned that his first airplane ride was out of Dallas in a Convair 440. This is an improved model of the military version, the T-29 - a twin-engine turbo prop. I flew this airplane out of Mather Field for two years, during the Korean War. It was easy to fly, and very forgiving of pilot errors.
Sully also mentioned a few times in his book that the flying schedule of an airline pilot is not conducive to a normal family relationship. As a pilot you are gone a lot. Sully mentioned being gone for four days flying different legs on the East Coast. Too, he was commuting to his hub in Charlotte, from San Francisco.
I can verify his conundrum of trying to balance career and family life. While flying out of Mather field, I was gone just a couple of nights. Because of the heavy tule fog in the Sacramento area, the base was closed to air traffic. One time, they diverted me to Travis, and another time to Merced AFB. Just being gone was very traumatic for Anne - a year old. When I did return home she would cry! - a “stranger” in the house! So, when my 21 month recall was over, I wanted to stay in the Air Force as a career - primarily, because I enjoyed flying. (And the pay was good). But, Anne’s pediatrician suggested that I leave the Service because such a life was too traumatic for our daughter. His suggestion was enough for me to resign my commission and return to civilian life. I complained later to Marie about my decision. She told me that I made a good decision. If I had signed on for an extension of my active duty, I would have gone to Korea and been “killed in action”. She was probably right. I no longer second guessed my decision. I had peace of mind.
“Highest Duty” really illustrates how one person can make a difference. The book also depicts how many lives Sully touched. My parents apparently instilled his same philosophy of life in me. I have tried to live by the very same credo, I truly believe that it is our duty to use our God-given talents, and ingenuity, and make our best effort to help our fellow man, in order to help make the world a better place than it was, when we entered.
I have flown in a few flights on US Airways and PSA (absorbed by US Airways). I wonder if Sully piloted any of those flights?
I heartily recommend your reading “Highest Duty”. Parts of your life, and philosophy, will resonate with Sully’s, I’m sure. Your spirit will be lifted up, and you will never look at “Life” the same way again!
RCL - 11/20/09.
My daughter Mary, and her husband Greg, gave me “Sully ” Sullenberger’s new book (“Highest Duty”) for my birthday. You may think that I am being presumptuous, in using the famous pilot’s nickname. But, when you consider his first name is “Chesley”, it makes sense. I didn’t realize that he had written a book (in conjunction with Jeffrey Zaslow). My first thought was, “another famous person getting on the bandwagon, and writing a book. (See Sarah Palin’s “Going Rogue”.) These days, it’s just a foregone conclusion. Too, there’s no equivalent to the exposure that one gets on Oprah’s Show. (Can the movies be far behind?).
I started to read Sully’s book, and it was so interesting, that I have a hard time putting it down. I am really impressed. It is very well written. (I am not sure whose words they are). Too, I can relate to a lot of Sully’s descriptions of his experiences and emotions. I am wondering why, when there is a 33 year -age difference between us. His Dad, and I, are cohorts! A lot of my identification with Sully’s writing can be explained, because we were both former military pilots. I can relate to a lot of his flying emotions and experiences - even though I had only a small percentage of his nearly 20,000 flying hours. We both have been exposed to similar theory of flight, and emergency procedures. I relate, too, to his life experiences - not because “I’ve been there - done that”, but because we both have been exposed to similar life experiences. After reading the book, I would classify Sully as a complicated and dedicated person, and a very skilled flyer.
I can still remember an event I had in the Army Air Corps - as if it had happened yesterday - rather than 65 years ago. We were flying dual, during my Primary flight training. I was fortunate to have John Langdon, as my instructor, riding in the rear seat. John had seen, and done it all. He was older - or a synonym - “more experienced.” John had flown the U.S. Mail. He had crop dusted. He had barn stormed with Tex Rankin (picked up a handkerchief from the ground - flying upside down - with a hook imbedded at the top of the vertical stabilizer! Now, that is about as skillful as you can fly - even compared to the precision formation -flying of the “Blue Angels”.)
One day we were flying near Rankin Field in the Tulare area. At about 3,000 feet, John, from his rear seat, chopped the throttle, and I lost the power of the engine. This was a common practice of Instructors, and it was a “signal” for me to start looking for the best place to put the Stearman down. In a simulated forced landing. I would pick the flattest - largest- field, free of obstacles like high voltage- power lines. Then, I would try and determine the direction of the wind ( from blowing smoke or such), and then set up my approach and landing plans. Remember, this is “dead stick” - no engine power. The prop is barely wind milling. It is very quiet. I am descending about 300 feet per minute to maintain our flying speed above “stalling”. All the time, I was very observant for other aircraft and obstacles in the vicinity, while descending. In his book, Sully calls it “situational awareness”. A lot of judgment is involved in knowing your altitude, by checking your altimeter, so that you can dissipate the height through your “downwind,” “base” and “final approach” legs.” You don’t want to land “long”, or “short” of the field. When I was about to touch down, John would advance the throttle, and the Lycoming radial engine would roar to life, once again. I was air-born, in a slow climb. Needless to say, the adrenalin was really flowing as if it were the real thing. I still remember John’s counseling, as I climbed out from the open field. John told me, through our inter-com tube, “Never stretch a glide! Maintain your flying speed, even if you have to plough into a stone wall. You will have a better chance for survival, than if you pull back on the stick to fly over the wall, and stall the aircraft. In a stall. You will head into the ground nose first (This is why we practiced “stalls” at higher altitudes. So, that we would recognize the feel of the “sloppy’ stick during the stall, and initial recovery.) Fortunately, I never had to apply John’s admonition. But, if I had, I know that I’d been prepared for the best outcome. This is why I remember John’s words, back in 1944, to this day. Again, “situational awareness.” I remembered my “dead stick“- landing training, when I heard about Captain Sullenberger landing his powerless Air Bus in the Hudson River, on January 15, 2009. His US Airways airliner hit a flock of geese shortly after the First Officer took-off from La Guardia. While my dead-stick landing -training and Sully’s water landing were far from being the same, the technique employed was similar, and there was his emotion, during the let-down, that I could relate to.
So much of Sully’s life seemed to parallel a lot of mine, even with our age difference. I could relate to his thoughts, sights and emotions. He and his wife Lorrie adopted two girls. I could even relate to this event. Marie and I didn’t have our first child until nearly seven years after we were married. In the meantime, we had given up on “coupling,” and placed our “request to adopt” with the “Children’s Home” in Oakland. The year was 1950. They accepted our request, and made visits to our home in Antioch. (I was working for U.S. Steel, as an Industrial Engineer, at the time). The Home’s approval of our adoption request seemed imminent. But, when the Home’s representative learned, during one of her visits to our home in the spring of 1951, that I had been recalled by the Air Force, as a pilot, during the Korean War, she “nixed” our adoption. She said that, “The Home couldn’t place a child in a potentially fatherless home!”. We were both very devastated by the bad news. At that very time, Marie was experiencing an upset stomach. We both thought that she was coming down with the flu. A friend of ours said, “Marie, do you think that you might be pregnant?” Our friend was very prophetic. Marie found out later, that she was indeed pregnant with Anne.
Back to Sully. Our backgrounds differ in that his Dad was a very good self-taught carpenter. He even built their home - with the help of his wife, daughter and Sully. My Dad didn’t have those same “hammer” skills so I never learned them . But, my Mother was good with the tool. Our daughter Mary is “hammer wise”, too. She must have inherited my Mother’s “hammer” genes.
Sully grew up in Texas, which is a long way from Michigan and Ohio, where I grew up. Still, we had similar experiences growing up. His parents instilled responsibility and accountability in Sully as my parents did in me. Sully’s parents gave him a rifle at a young age. They taught him gun safety and responsibility for his actions. My parents let me work at a very young age - 9 or 10 years old - selling magazines, door to door. In the winter, I would be delivering magazines in the dark. (This was before Daylight Saving Time.) In the summer, I would put a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in my pocket, and be gone all day. We would play a pickup game of baseball with kids on the other side of town, “skinny dip” in the deep, cold water in an abandoned sandstone quarry, in Berea, Ohio, or, we would just hang out at each others’ houses. (Our Mom’s were all home in those days.)
Sully spoke of “hazing” at the Air University, before he graduated. I could relate to that, having gone through the Aviation Cadet program twice during WWII - once for bombardier training and once for pilot training.
The author mentioned that his first airplane ride was out of Dallas in a Convair 440. This is an improved model of the military version, the T-29 - a twin-engine turbo prop. I flew this airplane out of Mather Field for two years, during the Korean War. It was easy to fly, and very forgiving of pilot errors.
Sully also mentioned a few times in his book that the flying schedule of an airline pilot is not conducive to a normal family relationship. As a pilot you are gone a lot. Sully mentioned being gone for four days flying different legs on the East Coast. Too, he was commuting to his hub in Charlotte, from San Francisco.
I can verify his conundrum of trying to balance career and family life. While flying out of Mather field, I was gone just a couple of nights. Because of the heavy tule fog in the Sacramento area, the base was closed to air traffic. One time, they diverted me to Travis, and another time to Merced AFB. Just being gone was very traumatic for Anne - a year old. When I did return home she would cry! - a “stranger” in the house! So, when my 21 month recall was over, I wanted to stay in the Air Force as a career - primarily, because I enjoyed flying. (And the pay was good). But, Anne’s pediatrician suggested that I leave the Service because such a life was too traumatic for our daughter. His suggestion was enough for me to resign my commission and return to civilian life. I complained later to Marie about my decision. She told me that I made a good decision. If I had signed on for an extension of my active duty, I would have gone to Korea and been “killed in action”. She was probably right. I no longer second guessed my decision. I had peace of mind.
“Highest Duty” really illustrates how one person can make a difference. The book also depicts how many lives Sully touched. My parents apparently instilled his same philosophy of life in me. I have tried to live by the very same credo, I truly believe that it is our duty to use our God-given talents, and ingenuity, and make our best effort to help our fellow man, in order to help make the world a better place than it was, when we entered.
I have flown in a few flights on US Airways and PSA (absorbed by US Airways). I wonder if Sully piloted any of those flights?
I heartily recommend your reading “Highest Duty”. Parts of your life, and philosophy, will resonate with Sully’s, I’m sure. Your spirit will be lifted up, and you will never look at “Life” the same way again!
RCL - 11/20/09.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
SHORT SUBJECTS
SHORT SUBJECTS
Well, our six week- extended schedule for Bocce Ball is over. I am already looking forward to next Spring, when we are due to start up again. I really enjoyed the game. I not only learned a new sport (sort of ), but I met a lot of nice people, that I wouldn’t otherwise have known.
I played bridge yesterday, We had a good turnout - four tables. I got better cards and bid, and played them, fairly well. Virginia (our Leader) gave me my $1 entrance fee from a previous session. This was one of the prizes - one you don’t want to get. It was for “Low” score!
Mary took me to Target recently to make my annual Christmas card run. That was a start. You say that I am “early”? This project is labor intensive - as you all know. With about 120 names on my list, the project is overwhelming. So. In the interest of good “time management” (it’s a good thing that I am retired) I have started the process early, and have broken it down to “stages” - Write Christmas Letter; Address envelopes; Sign cards; Stuff envelopes with cards, and letter, and seal; Stamp and “address label” cards; sort into “Local” and “Out of town”, and Mail.
So, when I spread these tasks over the next month - a little each day - it will be manageable and I won’t have that “Holiday Blues” feeling and can relax and enjoy the Season. I hope that you will, too.
RCL - 11/19/09.
Well, our six week- extended schedule for Bocce Ball is over. I am already looking forward to next Spring, when we are due to start up again. I really enjoyed the game. I not only learned a new sport (sort of ), but I met a lot of nice people, that I wouldn’t otherwise have known.
I played bridge yesterday, We had a good turnout - four tables. I got better cards and bid, and played them, fairly well. Virginia (our Leader) gave me my $1 entrance fee from a previous session. This was one of the prizes - one you don’t want to get. It was for “Low” score!
Mary took me to Target recently to make my annual Christmas card run. That was a start. You say that I am “early”? This project is labor intensive - as you all know. With about 120 names on my list, the project is overwhelming. So. In the interest of good “time management” (it’s a good thing that I am retired) I have started the process early, and have broken it down to “stages” - Write Christmas Letter; Address envelopes; Sign cards; Stuff envelopes with cards, and letter, and seal; Stamp and “address label” cards; sort into “Local” and “Out of town”, and Mail.
So, when I spread these tasks over the next month - a little each day - it will be manageable and I won’t have that “Holiday Blues” feeling and can relax and enjoy the Season. I hope that you will, too.
RCL - 11/19/09.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
VETERANS' DAY
ARMISTICE DAY!
Today is “Veterans Day.” It is an off-shoot from “Armistice Day.” The first such Armistice Day, was on November 11, 1918. The day was also known as “Remembrance Day” The day was very significant! Not because I was born on that day, but because it commemorated the signing of the document calling for the halt of all fighting between the Allies (the U.S., France; Great Britain; Canada and other friendly countries) and Germany - the Western Front. The “Armistice” was signed at 11 A.M. (Paris time) “the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month”, in Compiegne, France, ending World war I. I was born 20 minutes later (0620 local time)) in Hillsdale, Michigan.
Armistice Day was re-named “Veterans Day on November 8, 1954.
Today, my family treated me to a day in San Francisco for my 91st birthday. Sue picked me up here at Quail Creek at 8;15, and drove over to Mary’s where we met Mary, Joan, Manny and Brittney. Mary drove her car, and Manny his to Vallejo. We got to the Ferry building about 9 o’clock. This meant an hour wait before our scheduled 10 o’clock departure. By the time they purchased the tickets, and grabbed a mini-breakfast at the café’, it was time to line up to board.
Baylink Ferries has four vessels - “Vallejo”; “Mare Island”, “Intintoli”, and “Solano”. (Our boat was the “Solano”). “Vallejo” was the first boat in the fleet, purchased about 20 years ago. It is much smaller and slower than the other three. It was a case of the old Army game, “Hurry up and wait”. Instead of leaving on -time, the Captain delayed departure for five minutes - to allow “always- late runners” to board. Their time was more important than ours. I was grousing, and Joan commented “Dad, what if that were you running?’ Good point! But, I could never picture that happening. (I missed a plane connection once on a business trip. I promised myself that it would never happen again!) The Captain reversed the engines at 10:05 and we started to back out of the slip.
We headed South down the Mare Island Channel. We poked along, at 5mph for ten minutes, to prevent bank erosion from the wake at a faster speed. The threat of shoreline damage wouldn’t be so critical if there weren’t homes and industrial development at the waters edge. We passed the former Sperry Flour Mill. A developer had planned on converting the building to apartment units, but I think that his project has stalled, due to the slow -down in the economy.
As we reach the mouth of the channel, the Captain “pours on the coal”. Soon, the catamaran vessel’s hulls are on the step, and we are barreling along at about 34 knots (40 mph). The water is calm, and provides a smooth ride. It was cool and overcast when we left, but the weather is improving as we move southbound. We pass Angel Island, and I can see Mt. Tamalpaius in the background. We pass under the Richmond -San Rafael Bridge, and soon I can see the outline of the Golden Gate Bridge off to the right.
We pulled in to the Ferry Building dock at 11:03. While waiting, during our 10 minute stop, I checked out the skyline in front of me. I saw the U.S. Bank building. I worked on the 19th floor there for 14 years, before retiring from California and Hawaiian Sugar Company (C & H Sugar Co.) To the right was the four Embarcadero buildings. Across from the Ferry Building - and next to the Bank building was the Hyatt Regency Hotel - with the revolving restaurant on top. A little beyond was the unique design of the Transamerica Building (the Pyramid). I last saw it on my thrilling helicopter ride six weeks ago. I saw a lot of these buildings being constructed, from my office window. Very distracting!
We backed out of the dock at 11:13 and headed northwest along the picturesque waterfront. The piers were empty - no cruise ships or military vessels docked. A 17 minute ride and we pulled in to Pier 41 at 11:30.
Joan had made reservations at Scoma’s for 12:15. So we slowly started our four block walk to the restaurant, The scenery on the streets in the area are not only very interesting, but some are real attention grabbers! For example: We walked by a guy sitting with a beer stein in front of him. His hand printed sign said “I won’t lie, I need a beer”. Not too far beyond him was another guy - smiling and younger. He was standing holding his sign for all to see - “I’m bored. My nuts itch. I need a shower. Please help.” His “collection container” was at his feet.
We passed Boudin Bakery. This is a landmark at Fisherman’s Wharf. It has been here for as long as I can remember (65 years!). The bakery is known for it’s Sour Dough French Bread. The bakery was opened in 1849 by Isidore Boudin, whose family came from France, as did mine - on my Dad’s side. Mary and I were wondering if Boudin still had to use the original sour dough -starter. Mary checked it out at Wikipedia and found our answer: The bakery still uses the same yeast-bacteria culture it developed during the California Gold Rush of 1849. If you haven’t tasted their delicious French Bread, it should be on your “to-do” list. Your experience will be well worth the trip to San Francisco’s Fisherman’s Wharf.
My sister Jeanne, and husband Bob, would visit us quite often in Vallejo. When I asked them what they would like to do, it was always “Fisherman’s Wharf and Ghirardelli Square.” At Fisherman’s Wharf, we would head for the Baudin Bakery. There, Bob would get his clam chowder “fix”. I think the novel hollowed-out loaf of French bread, filled with soup, was what he liked. Afterwards, we would head over to Ghirardelli Square for Jeanne to have her hot fudge sundae, at the Ghirardelli Soda Fountain & Chocolate Shop. Of course Marie and I enjoyed their “favorites” along with them.
In 1893, Domingo Ghirardelli bought the city block to make it into a headquarters for his chocolate company. In the early 60’s, Golden Grain Macaroni bought the complex, and moved the candy company’s headquarters to another location, and sold the property. The property was developed into a center of retail shops and restaurants. It opened as Ghirardelli Square in 1964. There have been many changes since, and Jeanne and Bob (nor we) would recognize the area. It is listed on the National Register of Historical Places.
Back to Wednesday. We continued walking past the large vats boiling crab on the corner, and past many fishing boats docked below the sidewalk. Scoma’s has it’s own street, and sits way in the back adjacent to the water on Pier 47. If you didn’t know that it was there, you would miss it. I had been there a couple of times before. They were very nice experiences. This is why I wanted to return. At the end of our very nice lunch, our personable waiter brought us dessert. In my piece of the chocolate tart was a lone lighted candle. He led the singing of “Happy Birthday” to me. I experienced a very warm feeling. I had no trouble blowing out the candle.
Later, I was reading Scoma’s brochure. It described their Fish Receiving Station. I wish that we had known about it. The write-up sounded interesting. I would have liked to have seen the Station. Maybe next time!
A slow stroll back to Pier 41. The biggest attractions were a fellow (Stephen Dreyfuss) playing his alto saxophone and singing. He was quite good. So good, that Mary and Joan bought his CD’s. Just beyond him, was the “Skeleton Man.” He looked grotesque in his spooky outfit. Many would tip him, and then pose with him in many different configurations - while friends and/or family snapped their pictures with camera phones.
We had a little time before our ferry arrived. Some of us sat watching people feed the gulls and pigeons. Others walked over to Pier 39 to see the lounging seals, lying on their floating platform. There were more of them than usual, and their over-crowding is presenting a “thinning” problem.
Our “Intintoli” ferry came in around three o’clock, and we loaded and left the Pier at 3:12. A ten minute run down to the Ferry Building where we picked up some early commuters. We backed away from the dock at 3:32. The Captain spun the boat around on a dime, with the boats side thrusters, and we headed North to Vallejo.
We got a good view of the new East Span that they are constructing next to the Bay Bridge. Then, a good view of Treasure Island. It was man-made - especially for the Golden Gate Expositions of 1939 and 1940. I took a trip out from Ypsilanti, to see the Fair in the summer of 1940, and I was really impressed. I spent a week in San Francisco, spending all of my time at the Fair. I stayed at the YMCA Hotel on Turk Street, and as I remember, I paid 50 cents a day! I walked back and forth to the Ferry building to catch the ferry. It ran from the Ferry Building the short distance, (probably a couple miles), over to Treasure Island. The price of the ferry included the admission to the Fair, I can’t remember the amount - probably 50 cents.
There was another small group on our return trip on the ferry. They were celebrating an older lady’s 90th birthday. So, I wished her a “Happy Birthday”. We both flashed our nonagenarian smiles (“Been there, done that”.) As the ferry was about to enter the Mare Island Channel, I could see the C & H Sugar Refinery below the Carquinez Bridges, at Crockett. I spent seven years there, working in the Methods and Standards Department.
As we started to slow down I spotted the Maritime Academy’s training ship - the Golden Bear - off to the right.
We tied up at the Vallejo dock at 4:30 - right on time! What a glorious day! What a day to celebrate my 91st birthday! RCL - 11/13/06.
Today is “Veterans Day.” It is an off-shoot from “Armistice Day.” The first such Armistice Day, was on November 11, 1918. The day was also known as “Remembrance Day” The day was very significant! Not because I was born on that day, but because it commemorated the signing of the document calling for the halt of all fighting between the Allies (the U.S., France; Great Britain; Canada and other friendly countries) and Germany - the Western Front. The “Armistice” was signed at 11 A.M. (Paris time) “the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month”, in Compiegne, France, ending World war I. I was born 20 minutes later (0620 local time)) in Hillsdale, Michigan.
Armistice Day was re-named “Veterans Day on November 8, 1954.
Today, my family treated me to a day in San Francisco for my 91st birthday. Sue picked me up here at Quail Creek at 8;15, and drove over to Mary’s where we met Mary, Joan, Manny and Brittney. Mary drove her car, and Manny his to Vallejo. We got to the Ferry building about 9 o’clock. This meant an hour wait before our scheduled 10 o’clock departure. By the time they purchased the tickets, and grabbed a mini-breakfast at the café’, it was time to line up to board.
Baylink Ferries has four vessels - “Vallejo”; “Mare Island”, “Intintoli”, and “Solano”. (Our boat was the “Solano”). “Vallejo” was the first boat in the fleet, purchased about 20 years ago. It is much smaller and slower than the other three. It was a case of the old Army game, “Hurry up and wait”. Instead of leaving on -time, the Captain delayed departure for five minutes - to allow “always- late runners” to board. Their time was more important than ours. I was grousing, and Joan commented “Dad, what if that were you running?’ Good point! But, I could never picture that happening. (I missed a plane connection once on a business trip. I promised myself that it would never happen again!) The Captain reversed the engines at 10:05 and we started to back out of the slip.
We headed South down the Mare Island Channel. We poked along, at 5mph for ten minutes, to prevent bank erosion from the wake at a faster speed. The threat of shoreline damage wouldn’t be so critical if there weren’t homes and industrial development at the waters edge. We passed the former Sperry Flour Mill. A developer had planned on converting the building to apartment units, but I think that his project has stalled, due to the slow -down in the economy.
As we reach the mouth of the channel, the Captain “pours on the coal”. Soon, the catamaran vessel’s hulls are on the step, and we are barreling along at about 34 knots (40 mph). The water is calm, and provides a smooth ride. It was cool and overcast when we left, but the weather is improving as we move southbound. We pass Angel Island, and I can see Mt. Tamalpaius in the background. We pass under the Richmond -San Rafael Bridge, and soon I can see the outline of the Golden Gate Bridge off to the right.
We pulled in to the Ferry Building dock at 11:03. While waiting, during our 10 minute stop, I checked out the skyline in front of me. I saw the U.S. Bank building. I worked on the 19th floor there for 14 years, before retiring from California and Hawaiian Sugar Company (C & H Sugar Co.) To the right was the four Embarcadero buildings. Across from the Ferry Building - and next to the Bank building was the Hyatt Regency Hotel - with the revolving restaurant on top. A little beyond was the unique design of the Transamerica Building (the Pyramid). I last saw it on my thrilling helicopter ride six weeks ago. I saw a lot of these buildings being constructed, from my office window. Very distracting!
We backed out of the dock at 11:13 and headed northwest along the picturesque waterfront. The piers were empty - no cruise ships or military vessels docked. A 17 minute ride and we pulled in to Pier 41 at 11:30.
Joan had made reservations at Scoma’s for 12:15. So we slowly started our four block walk to the restaurant, The scenery on the streets in the area are not only very interesting, but some are real attention grabbers! For example: We walked by a guy sitting with a beer stein in front of him. His hand printed sign said “I won’t lie, I need a beer”. Not too far beyond him was another guy - smiling and younger. He was standing holding his sign for all to see - “I’m bored. My nuts itch. I need a shower. Please help.” His “collection container” was at his feet.
We passed Boudin Bakery. This is a landmark at Fisherman’s Wharf. It has been here for as long as I can remember (65 years!). The bakery is known for it’s Sour Dough French Bread. The bakery was opened in 1849 by Isidore Boudin, whose family came from France, as did mine - on my Dad’s side. Mary and I were wondering if Boudin still had to use the original sour dough -starter. Mary checked it out at Wikipedia and found our answer: The bakery still uses the same yeast-bacteria culture it developed during the California Gold Rush of 1849. If you haven’t tasted their delicious French Bread, it should be on your “to-do” list. Your experience will be well worth the trip to San Francisco’s Fisherman’s Wharf.
My sister Jeanne, and husband Bob, would visit us quite often in Vallejo. When I asked them what they would like to do, it was always “Fisherman’s Wharf and Ghirardelli Square.” At Fisherman’s Wharf, we would head for the Baudin Bakery. There, Bob would get his clam chowder “fix”. I think the novel hollowed-out loaf of French bread, filled with soup, was what he liked. Afterwards, we would head over to Ghirardelli Square for Jeanne to have her hot fudge sundae, at the Ghirardelli Soda Fountain & Chocolate Shop. Of course Marie and I enjoyed their “favorites” along with them.
In 1893, Domingo Ghirardelli bought the city block to make it into a headquarters for his chocolate company. In the early 60’s, Golden Grain Macaroni bought the complex, and moved the candy company’s headquarters to another location, and sold the property. The property was developed into a center of retail shops and restaurants. It opened as Ghirardelli Square in 1964. There have been many changes since, and Jeanne and Bob (nor we) would recognize the area. It is listed on the National Register of Historical Places.
Back to Wednesday. We continued walking past the large vats boiling crab on the corner, and past many fishing boats docked below the sidewalk. Scoma’s has it’s own street, and sits way in the back adjacent to the water on Pier 47. If you didn’t know that it was there, you would miss it. I had been there a couple of times before. They were very nice experiences. This is why I wanted to return. At the end of our very nice lunch, our personable waiter brought us dessert. In my piece of the chocolate tart was a lone lighted candle. He led the singing of “Happy Birthday” to me. I experienced a very warm feeling. I had no trouble blowing out the candle.
Later, I was reading Scoma’s brochure. It described their Fish Receiving Station. I wish that we had known about it. The write-up sounded interesting. I would have liked to have seen the Station. Maybe next time!
A slow stroll back to Pier 41. The biggest attractions were a fellow (Stephen Dreyfuss) playing his alto saxophone and singing. He was quite good. So good, that Mary and Joan bought his CD’s. Just beyond him, was the “Skeleton Man.” He looked grotesque in his spooky outfit. Many would tip him, and then pose with him in many different configurations - while friends and/or family snapped their pictures with camera phones.
We had a little time before our ferry arrived. Some of us sat watching people feed the gulls and pigeons. Others walked over to Pier 39 to see the lounging seals, lying on their floating platform. There were more of them than usual, and their over-crowding is presenting a “thinning” problem.
Our “Intintoli” ferry came in around three o’clock, and we loaded and left the Pier at 3:12. A ten minute run down to the Ferry Building where we picked up some early commuters. We backed away from the dock at 3:32. The Captain spun the boat around on a dime, with the boats side thrusters, and we headed North to Vallejo.
We got a good view of the new East Span that they are constructing next to the Bay Bridge. Then, a good view of Treasure Island. It was man-made - especially for the Golden Gate Expositions of 1939 and 1940. I took a trip out from Ypsilanti, to see the Fair in the summer of 1940, and I was really impressed. I spent a week in San Francisco, spending all of my time at the Fair. I stayed at the YMCA Hotel on Turk Street, and as I remember, I paid 50 cents a day! I walked back and forth to the Ferry building to catch the ferry. It ran from the Ferry Building the short distance, (probably a couple miles), over to Treasure Island. The price of the ferry included the admission to the Fair, I can’t remember the amount - probably 50 cents.
There was another small group on our return trip on the ferry. They were celebrating an older lady’s 90th birthday. So, I wished her a “Happy Birthday”. We both flashed our nonagenarian smiles (“Been there, done that”.) As the ferry was about to enter the Mare Island Channel, I could see the C & H Sugar Refinery below the Carquinez Bridges, at Crockett. I spent seven years there, working in the Methods and Standards Department.
As we started to slow down I spotted the Maritime Academy’s training ship - the Golden Bear - off to the right.
We tied up at the Vallejo dock at 4:30 - right on time! What a glorious day! What a day to celebrate my 91st birthday! RCL - 11/13/06.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
RHUBARB PIE
RHUBARB PIE
Strawberry-Rhubarb pie was on the menu for dessert this noon. While I didn’t have any, (I will have it for dinner - if there is any left), I can still recall the taste of my Mother’s delicious rhubarb pie. It is always interesting to me, how my five senses, words or events trigger my brain to recall old memories.
While living at home in Ypsilanti before WWII, our Mother would send us across Osborn Street (along side of our home at 715 Oak Street) to the “woods” to cut wild rhubarb. She would use it right away to make a pie or maybe just a sauce. Either one was a delicacy! Her flakey pie crusts would melt in my mouth. Of course she used lard as one of the ingredients. No one would dare to use this shortening- ingredient today, with all the well known cardiovascular taboos. She didn’t refer to it as “rhubarb“, she called it “pie plant.” I didn’t taste strawberry-rhubarb pie until I moved to California. Speaking of the “Woods”, Mom would also send us over to cut wild asparagus. People would not stoop to do this today, but during the Great Depression, those two items supplemented our diet. Too, they were fresh! After WWII, they chopped down all those beautiful trees, and filled the area with concrete and houses. That was “progress”, I guess.
Again, speaking of pies, my favorites are Boston crème; Key lime; chocolate crème and lemon meringue. Come to think of it, I like all pies - except raisin and mince meat.
I used to make apple pies, after I retired in 1983. I got interested in this because we had a golden delicious- apple tree behind our home in Vallejo. I also made a lot of applesauce, as did my Mother. I tried to use all those apples from our tree. The birds, and the worms helped me, but I did my part!
I read about a Clara Chalmers from Bedford, New Hampshire winning a State contest for “Best Apple Pie.” I wrote and asked her if she would share her prize winning recipe pie with me? I was ready to accept her refusal - for whatever reason. She graciously mailed me her recipe. I thought she was a pretty classy lady to share her prize-winning recipe with a stranger.(She was about 80 at the time, and I was 70). Her recipe was included in the glossy magazine she sent. We became friends, and shared phone calls, letters and Christmas cards. This correspondence went on for over ten years, even after her husband George died. It wasn’t long after that, her daughter phoned me and told me that Clara had died. Even though Clara and I never met (I have often regretted that I didn’t make the effort to go and visit them), I was very sad, and actually experienced an emotion of “Loss”. What strange ways we reach out to other people and touch their life, as well as ours. Our life-experience was that much richer for our chance “meeting.”
RCL - 11/8/09.
Strawberry-Rhubarb pie was on the menu for dessert this noon. While I didn’t have any, (I will have it for dinner - if there is any left), I can still recall the taste of my Mother’s delicious rhubarb pie. It is always interesting to me, how my five senses, words or events trigger my brain to recall old memories.
While living at home in Ypsilanti before WWII, our Mother would send us across Osborn Street (along side of our home at 715 Oak Street) to the “woods” to cut wild rhubarb. She would use it right away to make a pie or maybe just a sauce. Either one was a delicacy! Her flakey pie crusts would melt in my mouth. Of course she used lard as one of the ingredients. No one would dare to use this shortening- ingredient today, with all the well known cardiovascular taboos. She didn’t refer to it as “rhubarb“, she called it “pie plant.” I didn’t taste strawberry-rhubarb pie until I moved to California. Speaking of the “Woods”, Mom would also send us over to cut wild asparagus. People would not stoop to do this today, but during the Great Depression, those two items supplemented our diet. Too, they were fresh! After WWII, they chopped down all those beautiful trees, and filled the area with concrete and houses. That was “progress”, I guess.
Again, speaking of pies, my favorites are Boston crème; Key lime; chocolate crème and lemon meringue. Come to think of it, I like all pies - except raisin and mince meat.
I used to make apple pies, after I retired in 1983. I got interested in this because we had a golden delicious- apple tree behind our home in Vallejo. I also made a lot of applesauce, as did my Mother. I tried to use all those apples from our tree. The birds, and the worms helped me, but I did my part!
I read about a Clara Chalmers from Bedford, New Hampshire winning a State contest for “Best Apple Pie.” I wrote and asked her if she would share her prize winning recipe pie with me? I was ready to accept her refusal - for whatever reason. She graciously mailed me her recipe. I thought she was a pretty classy lady to share her prize-winning recipe with a stranger.(She was about 80 at the time, and I was 70). Her recipe was included in the glossy magazine she sent. We became friends, and shared phone calls, letters and Christmas cards. This correspondence went on for over ten years, even after her husband George died. It wasn’t long after that, her daughter phoned me and told me that Clara had died. Even though Clara and I never met (I have often regretted that I didn’t make the effort to go and visit them), I was very sad, and actually experienced an emotion of “Loss”. What strange ways we reach out to other people and touch their life, as well as ours. Our life-experience was that much richer for our chance “meeting.”
RCL - 11/8/09.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
THE PACKARD
NAPA
Mary called and asked me if I would like to take a ride to Napa? We could go to Target, and I could get my Christmas cards while she shopped. Then, we could have lunch. Now, that’s an offer I couldn’t refuse.
She picked me up at 10, and we were off to the beautiful Napa Valley. It was a cool (probably in the 60’s), overcast and dreary day. Rain wasn’t forecast, but being a pessimist, I carried my “brollie”.
After we finished at Target, Mary still had a few things to get at nearby Trader Joe’s. Then, we headed up the Napa Valley. She left
Highway 29 and exited at Yountville. Besides the “Vintage 1870” shopping complex, there are many interesting shops, hotels and restaurants along the frontage road. Then, back on 29 heading north.
Mary stopped between Yountville and St. Helena at the Brix restaurant. There were only a few diners, at noon, when we entered. It was packed when we left the restaurant, an hour and a half later, after having a very tasty lunch. We noticed this beautiful vintage car in the parking lot. Mary asked me what make it was and I told her I thought it was a Rolls Royce (the head lamps- mountings flowed into the front fenders. This was my clue.) Mary drove up next to it, so we could get a closer look, and identify it. A man was sitting in the driver’s seat. (Would you believe that he was on his cell phone?) We didn’t know whether he was the owner, “car sitter”, the chauffeur, a by-stander or a car thief. The man rolled down his window and Mary asked him about the make and vintage (this is a good word to use in the middle of the Napa Valley!). He said that it was a 1947 Packard. I don’t remember ever having seen one just like it. It certainly was a beauty, and worth far more than it cost new, over 60 years ago!
I was reading the Wall Street Journal last night. I came across a front page -story about a dump truck, being pushed out the fourth floor window of an abandoned Packard auto plant- building in Detroit, by a bunch of idiots! I was startled! I had been in that very same building, a few times, seventy years ago! It was located on East Grand Boulevard. It was an old plant when I visited it in 1939. (The brick plant was constructed in 1907, Packard closed it in 1956.) I was in the plant, to trouble -shoot, and repair, some convertible-top assemblies that didn’t properly fit the Packard convertibles. In Ypsilanti, I worked for Motor State Products Company. We assembled the slat-iron frameworks for automatic tops for many different makes of convertibles. These assemblies included the header bars and the hydraulic cylinder, lines and control units. When I started to work there in 1939, I was earning 25 cents an hour. A little later, the UAW organized the plant, and my wage doubled to 50 cents an hour. The owner was a German engineer, who designed the automatic convertible top system. I can’t recall his name, but I think it started with a “G” or a “K”.
Of course, I had to have a convertible. I bought a maroon Chevrolet - red leather seats; black top; white sidewalls and rear-fender skirts. It was a beauty, too. Price $995!
Well back to reality. We returned to Fairfield. It was a routine trip to end a very nice outing.
RCL - 11/07/09.
Mary called and asked me if I would like to take a ride to Napa? We could go to Target, and I could get my Christmas cards while she shopped. Then, we could have lunch. Now, that’s an offer I couldn’t refuse.
She picked me up at 10, and we were off to the beautiful Napa Valley. It was a cool (probably in the 60’s), overcast and dreary day. Rain wasn’t forecast, but being a pessimist, I carried my “brollie”.
After we finished at Target, Mary still had a few things to get at nearby Trader Joe’s. Then, we headed up the Napa Valley. She left
Highway 29 and exited at Yountville. Besides the “Vintage 1870” shopping complex, there are many interesting shops, hotels and restaurants along the frontage road. Then, back on 29 heading north.
Mary stopped between Yountville and St. Helena at the Brix restaurant. There were only a few diners, at noon, when we entered. It was packed when we left the restaurant, an hour and a half later, after having a very tasty lunch. We noticed this beautiful vintage car in the parking lot. Mary asked me what make it was and I told her I thought it was a Rolls Royce (the head lamps- mountings flowed into the front fenders. This was my clue.) Mary drove up next to it, so we could get a closer look, and identify it. A man was sitting in the driver’s seat. (Would you believe that he was on his cell phone?) We didn’t know whether he was the owner, “car sitter”, the chauffeur, a by-stander or a car thief. The man rolled down his window and Mary asked him about the make and vintage (this is a good word to use in the middle of the Napa Valley!). He said that it was a 1947 Packard. I don’t remember ever having seen one just like it. It certainly was a beauty, and worth far more than it cost new, over 60 years ago!
I was reading the Wall Street Journal last night. I came across a front page -story about a dump truck, being pushed out the fourth floor window of an abandoned Packard auto plant- building in Detroit, by a bunch of idiots! I was startled! I had been in that very same building, a few times, seventy years ago! It was located on East Grand Boulevard. It was an old plant when I visited it in 1939. (The brick plant was constructed in 1907, Packard closed it in 1956.) I was in the plant, to trouble -shoot, and repair, some convertible-top assemblies that didn’t properly fit the Packard convertibles. In Ypsilanti, I worked for Motor State Products Company. We assembled the slat-iron frameworks for automatic tops for many different makes of convertibles. These assemblies included the header bars and the hydraulic cylinder, lines and control units. When I started to work there in 1939, I was earning 25 cents an hour. A little later, the UAW organized the plant, and my wage doubled to 50 cents an hour. The owner was a German engineer, who designed the automatic convertible top system. I can’t recall his name, but I think it started with a “G” or a “K”.
Of course, I had to have a convertible. I bought a maroon Chevrolet - red leather seats; black top; white sidewalls and rear-fender skirts. It was a beauty, too. Price $995!
Well back to reality. We returned to Fairfield. It was a routine trip to end a very nice outing.
RCL - 11/07/09.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
WILD WEST SNOW
WILD WEST SNOW!
I toured through Colorado, Wyoming, South Dakota and Utah, a little over two months ago. We lucked out and had very nice weather. It was hard for me to visualize the treacherous weather that they experienced in those areas last week.
I flew into Denver in August, in nice weather, to catch the Tour. I couldn’t believe that the beautiful airport was closed last week, due to snow. Transportation officials also closed Interstate 25 (which we traveled) from Wellington, Colorado to Cheyenne - a stretch of 35 miles. That section re-opened later in the week, We took Highway 85, north of Cheyenne, on our way to Rapid City, It remained closed at week end. No snow in sight when our bus drove through this area!
Gusts of 50 mph blew through our tour area, and it received 3 feet of snow, with higher drifts across the whole area. The wind and snow reduced visibility to zero. When I was there, I could see forever across those prairies. Many main routes through the area were closed, they were too treacherous to drive on. Apparently, those miles and miles of snow fences that I saw, were overwhelmed by the blizzard.
Deadwood, S.D. (where Kevin Costner owns the “Costner Poker Parlor”) got about 15 inches of snow! Officials shut down nearby Mount Rushmore National Memorial. I am thankful that it was “Open’ when I was there. At last week -end, winter-weather advisories remained in effect for southeast Wyoming.
When you are on vacation, you are at the mercy of Mother Nature. Luck and timing are critical.
RCL - 11/3/09.
I toured through Colorado, Wyoming, South Dakota and Utah, a little over two months ago. We lucked out and had very nice weather. It was hard for me to visualize the treacherous weather that they experienced in those areas last week.
I flew into Denver in August, in nice weather, to catch the Tour. I couldn’t believe that the beautiful airport was closed last week, due to snow. Transportation officials also closed Interstate 25 (which we traveled) from Wellington, Colorado to Cheyenne - a stretch of 35 miles. That section re-opened later in the week, We took Highway 85, north of Cheyenne, on our way to Rapid City, It remained closed at week end. No snow in sight when our bus drove through this area!
Gusts of 50 mph blew through our tour area, and it received 3 feet of snow, with higher drifts across the whole area. The wind and snow reduced visibility to zero. When I was there, I could see forever across those prairies. Many main routes through the area were closed, they were too treacherous to drive on. Apparently, those miles and miles of snow fences that I saw, were overwhelmed by the blizzard.
Deadwood, S.D. (where Kevin Costner owns the “Costner Poker Parlor”) got about 15 inches of snow! Officials shut down nearby Mount Rushmore National Memorial. I am thankful that it was “Open’ when I was there. At last week -end, winter-weather advisories remained in effect for southeast Wyoming.
When you are on vacation, you are at the mercy of Mother Nature. Luck and timing are critical.
RCL - 11/3/09.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
BILL
BILL
Wishing you a “Spooky’’ Halloween. This morning, at breakfast, I saw a couple salute each other with raised glasses of prune juice. This must have been an omen for an interesting day.
Just after lunch, I received a phone call. I debated whether to answer, figuring that it was another recorded political spiel - before Tuesday’s election. I did answer, and was pleasantly surprised. Calling, was Bill Foley. He said that he was approaching the gate to our Paradise Valley Estates complex, and would like to visit with me. I had never met Bill, but I had communicated with him via e-mail. After I recovered from my surprise call, I called Security at the Gate to let him in.
The reason I was surprised is that Bill lives in Cowgill, Missouri - 2000 miles away! We crash -landed our B-17, near Braymer, Missouri, (near Cowgill) on February 25, 1943. During our few days “layover’, I met and dated his Aunt Ruby Foley a few times. Bill said that he was three years old at the time. He also said, that he heard his grandmother mention “Junior L’Amoreaux” many times when he was growing up So many times, that he decided he wanted to meet me during his lifetime. An aside - My fellow officers (pilot Ken, co-pilot Doug and navigator Ray) gave me my nickname because I was the youngest of the four of us.
Bill said that he and his wife were out this way to visit a long-time friend of hers in Turlock - a two hour drive from here. I was surprised how familiar he was with the local area, until he told me that he had been stationed at Travis Air Force Base nearby. Too, the GPS system in his van-motor home was a big help.
During our conversation, he said that he lived about a mile from Bill Pollard in Cowgill, and they are both members of the American Legion in Braymer. I have communicated with the latter Bill through the years - by e-mail and telephone - even though we haven’t met either. Bill P. was on his way to school that morning, passing by our wheels- up B-17 in a local cornfield!
Two screenwriters (John and Bill) are working on writing up our “landing” - and the interaction of our crew with the people of Braymer - during the five days we were their “guests”. John and Bill have interviewed all the people that I have mentioned above, about their recollection of that fateful morning.
So, we all should pay attention. When we plan our days, no telling what surprise we may not have included in those plans. RCL - 10/31/09.
Wishing you a “Spooky’’ Halloween. This morning, at breakfast, I saw a couple salute each other with raised glasses of prune juice. This must have been an omen for an interesting day.
Just after lunch, I received a phone call. I debated whether to answer, figuring that it was another recorded political spiel - before Tuesday’s election. I did answer, and was pleasantly surprised. Calling, was Bill Foley. He said that he was approaching the gate to our Paradise Valley Estates complex, and would like to visit with me. I had never met Bill, but I had communicated with him via e-mail. After I recovered from my surprise call, I called Security at the Gate to let him in.
The reason I was surprised is that Bill lives in Cowgill, Missouri - 2000 miles away! We crash -landed our B-17, near Braymer, Missouri, (near Cowgill) on February 25, 1943. During our few days “layover’, I met and dated his Aunt Ruby Foley a few times. Bill said that he was three years old at the time. He also said, that he heard his grandmother mention “Junior L’Amoreaux” many times when he was growing up So many times, that he decided he wanted to meet me during his lifetime. An aside - My fellow officers (pilot Ken, co-pilot Doug and navigator Ray) gave me my nickname because I was the youngest of the four of us.
Bill said that he and his wife were out this way to visit a long-time friend of hers in Turlock - a two hour drive from here. I was surprised how familiar he was with the local area, until he told me that he had been stationed at Travis Air Force Base nearby. Too, the GPS system in his van-motor home was a big help.
During our conversation, he said that he lived about a mile from Bill Pollard in Cowgill, and they are both members of the American Legion in Braymer. I have communicated with the latter Bill through the years - by e-mail and telephone - even though we haven’t met either. Bill P. was on his way to school that morning, passing by our wheels- up B-17 in a local cornfield!
Two screenwriters (John and Bill) are working on writing up our “landing” - and the interaction of our crew with the people of Braymer - during the five days we were their “guests”. John and Bill have interviewed all the people that I have mentioned above, about their recollection of that fateful morning.
So, we all should pay attention. When we plan our days, no telling what surprise we may not have included in those plans. RCL - 10/31/09.
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