daily scratchpad

(4)

The color in the preceeding post might have been, 'yellow.' No matter: I was 'scared shitless' by the circumstances. The Roach disappeared from the Littleton Airport within the week and we never saw it again. I suppose they sold it, sans 'recent history.'

4304Z (tap) ended life tragically (boom): The owner, my student, had achieved his Private Pilot License (several wall bangs as I wrote that) and was flying passengers. One evening I saw on the local evening news what appeared to be a red and white airplane which had crashed. It looked so much like 04Z that I got into the car and drove to the site. There I confirmed that it was indeed 04Z. They said that both pilot and passenger had been killed. Apparently, they were flying close to the 'hogback' depicted in a previous photo. I presume they were (boom) observing the geology. They flew into the powerlines just east of the hogback, going east. They hit the top wire, which was a grounded steel cable above the three main high voltage cables. The impact cut the steel cable but reduced the forward speed of the airplane to near zero. The airplane crashed into the middle of the concrete highway just below. Both were killed. There was no fire.

Later I got a call (boom) from my friend's wife. She was frantic. Did I know of the accident? Was it her husband? I couldn't bear to tell her. I bullshitted her. As I droned on and on I got the sense that she saw through my bullshit, and realized that her husband was gone.

(3)

One of our trainers, an 'Aeronca Champ,' was nicknamed, 'The Roach.' I don't know why. Possible the name referred to the color. The Roach had the nose painted in the style of WWII P-40s: shark's teeth with eyes. It was a tandem seating (front and back) 65 hp airplane. The Roach had a reputation for burning (or losing) oil. You never flew The Roach (or any other airplane) without first checking the oil level. The photo shows me just after 'propping' The Roach, which did not have an electric starter. Hopefully there is somebody in the rear seat with his or her (tap) feet on the brakes.

I have 'propped' an airplane with nobody inside. Here is the procedure: throttle closed, mags off. Pull the prop through a few revolutions in order to get gas into the cylinders. Turn on the mags (the magnetos) and crack the throttle. Prop the airplane, ready to head immediately for the cockpit in case the engine becomes 'adventurous.' (More than one erstwhile pilot has suffered the unfortunate experience of having his airplane take off without him. It's very embarrassing.)

I made my only 'forced landing' in The Roach. I was flying along in the general vicinity of the Littleton-Columbine area when I noticed that the oil pressure was in the red. I closed the throttle and the oil pressure went immediately to zero. I had visions of a fried engine bursting into flame, and although I was almost midway between Columbine and Littleton, I looked around for a place to land. I spotted a 'runway-looking' farmer's field well within gliding range and began an approach. I was way high, but I had only one shot at it. I kicked in full right rudder and full left aileron, skidding the airplane so as to present as much drag as possible in order to slow the airplane and kill altitude.

The maneuver worked quite well and I was able to plant The Roach about 100 feet from the farmer's house. The local fire department arrived soon after. I called Littleton Airport and described the situation to them. Dale Ruoff and wife, and John Hurd arrived soon after with supplies of oil.

(3)

My 'predelection' for turning off engines at altitude no doubt sprang from an encounter with gliders at the 'Black Forest Gliderport.' John Hurd and I had flown down there one day in 87Xray for the purpose of experiencing gliders. It was glorious! I got to ride in the front seat and do most of the flying (being a commercial pilot/flight instructor). We were towed into the air by a 'tug' (possibly a 180 Super Cub) to about 2000 feet AGL then we released. We flew around for a while but that was too boring. I asked if we could do a loop. The instructor agreed. I dove the glider until we had achieved the recommended airspeed, then pulled up and through for a most interesting experience. The instructor apparently liked my taste in flying and, when we eventually came to the end of the flight time he asked me whether I was game to 'buzz the field.' I said, 'You can buzz the field in a glider?!' He said, 'Of course!'

He coached me as I made the approach. At a certain point I began a shallow dive, building airspeed. We continued diving 'til we were about ten feet off the ground, going about 110 knots. We flew the entire length of the runway, then pulled up into the left traffic pattern at about 400 or so feet (thump), then entered downwind. I was amazed. We flew the remaining pattern and still had more than enough altitude for final approach. In fact we had way too much altitude, and this became obvious as we turned final. I said, 'We're gonna overshoot.' He said, 'Try the Spoilers.' I pulled the spoiler control on the left side. The airplane began losing altitude but maintained about the same speed. It became immediately obvious that, using spoilers, I would be able to plant that airplane literally on a dime anywhere on the long grass runway. Wow!

We landed where we wanted and 'taxied to the gate,' so to say. I recommend gliders.

I would later fly gliders in Phoenix, Arizona, solo.

(2)

This series was taken (probably by Kootch) during a sightseeing ride in 4304Z, one of the several Super Cubs I have flown. Oh four zulu was a 'leaseback' owned by one of my students. He was a geologist who worked (tap) for 'King Resources.' I have forgot his name. He came to me as a person who knew a lot about flying, (tap) but wanted to acquire a private pilot's license. He claimed to have a lot of time in airplanes as an observer while doing his job of geologist. He was a good student and a very likable guy. We had a lot of fun together. I think he gave me a special break on the price of flying his airplane. I remember one glorious summer day when we (tap) turned off the engine about three thousand feet above what is now a populated area south of I-270. We were just below a huge growing mass of cumulus and the updrafts were tremendous. We gained at least 1000 feet as we circled under the cloud. He flew most of it of course, being the student. I thought of that lesson as 'icing on the cake.' No doubt it was illegal, strictly speaking, but he had immediately agreed to do it. It wasn't the first time I had turned off the engine with a student.

Interesting, now that I think about it, that I was not so 'brave' when my airplane was gathering ice.

(1)

Rereading the previous post relatively sober, I see that corrections are in order. First, I do not remember the instructor's name. Maybe it was 'Dave,' maybe not. He was Cole's Chief Pilot at the time. Regarding the weather, it was way below minimums for a VOR Approach. We didn't have a prayer of finding the runway in those conditions at night. We were doing the approach for training purposes only, and, yes, I was infuriated by 'Dave's' apparent willingness to risk our lives on a training flight. Suppose we had iced up so much that the airplane was unable to climb above the icing altitude? Suppose the 'carburator heat' control failed and the engine lost power? We would have been faced with landing the ice-covered airplane in darkness on unknown terrain in near-zero visibility. (By the way, I did experience 'carb heat' failure in another airplane during instrument conditions: the mechanical linkage broke, leaving carb heat in the 'on' position. The result was a slight decrease in engine power, nothing serious.)

We lucked out, of course. The carb heat worked as advertized, the wing ice had not reached a critical lift-destroying level yet, and we were able to climb above the freezing level and make our way back to Denver.

I flew for the entire flight, of course. By the time we got back to the Denver area, Columbine was below VFR minimums. We then requested and received an ILS approach clearance to Stapleton runway 35. I did the ILS approach in good style. I remember 'Dave's' comment on my flying the approach: 'Doesn't this just make you sick?' His remark was a back-handed compliment addressed to our German passenger in the rear seat. The passenger never said a word the entire flight.

We had got the bad news about Columbine soon enough to have them call for transportation, and soon after we tied the airplane down at Stapleton we were on our way back to Columbine by automobile.

(5)

We did not land at Goodland. We went through the motions. I flew the airplane (a Cherokee 180) through the the approach. We aborted the approach when the runway was not in sight at the appointed time. (And I just now realized that 4247J was a C-140, not a C-180. I have no idea what the tail number of the C-180 actually was but it was definitely a C-180, not 4247J, a C-140. Furthermore our 'student' in the back seat was a German student, come to America to learn how to fly for the airlines. I swear it.)

As I was flying us down into the soup during the approach, Dave called my attention to the ice which was crawling its way up the windscreen. I looked up and was horrified by the sheer volume of ice. This was much more ice than anything I had witnessed flying VFR. Huge chunks of it were literally moving slowly up and out, across the windshield.

Dave turned on my flashlight (I was required to provide a fully charged flashlight for this occasion) and shined it on the wings. The leading edges of the wings were covered in ice. I said something like, 'Let's get the fuck outa here!' Dave said something like, 'Fifteen seconds.'

I was infuriated. Dave was referring to our 'missed approach' time: if the runway lights were not visible in 15 seconds we were obliged to abandon the approach and climb to a safe altitude.

I felt that Dave - insane idiot that he was - was risking our lives. I decided at that point that if it became obvious that we were going to crash as a result of Dave's stupidity I would get in one last objection: a smash to Dave's face. I envisioned me smashing my fist into Dave's face just before we hit the ground.

Strange what you think about just before you think you might die.

(4)

Much later, as I was preparing for my Instrument Rating, I would have cause to regret my insolence concerning ice. I was a flight instructor at Columbine and was taking the instrument curriculum. My instructor was 'Dave.' I think Dave was Jewish. It would be some time before it dawned on me that 'Vaughn Cole' himself was Jewish and that several other of my co-workers were Jewish, including pretty much everybody I had been associated with in aviation. Dale Ruoff, who was my boss at Littleton and who had formerly (tap) worked as Chief Pilot at Columbine, was probably also Jewish. I was an innocent Irish Catholic Atheist who was literally surrounded by Jews, and I didn't have a clue. Not a clue!

Anyway, there came the flight to Goodland, Kansas. We took off in the afternoon. We had one illegal passenger in the rear compartment (4247 Juliet, our instrument trainer, had only front seats). He was there to 'learn something.'

My voice eventually failed me (thump) during the flight as I attempted to communicate via radio with ATC, and Dave took over. I was content to simply fly the airplane. As the sun went down the weather got nasty. I loved the time when we were 'between layers,' but my joy disappeared with sunset.

We approached Goodland in total darkness. We were advised by ATC to do an approach from roughly east to west (I have forgot the Goodland runway numbers). The advice was really advice - not a recommendation, because Goodland was way below minimums for a VOR Approach, and we only had the VOR. Everybody, including me, knew that this approach was a simulation: we were not crazy enough to actually try to land there.

(3)

This is a photograph of the terrain just WNW of Columbine (being gassed here). I took this photo in remembrance (I think) of 'Fun, ice, and eagles,' which was an unforgettable notation in my pilot logbook. I had been working at Littleton Airport as a part-time instructor and had flown several high-wing airplanes (Citabrias and Super Cubs) very close (tap) to the 'hogbacks' depicted here. In fact, I liked harrassing the eagles I found there (another tap). I would fly just above the nests, buzzing the eagles. They would take off and fly above their nests in (I suppose) defense. Then I would make further passes at them in the air just to be mean. I was not alone in this: My friend (John Hurd) would also do this. We loved harrassing the eagles.

I felt a kinship with those glorious birds. On the occasion of, 'fun, ice, and eagles' I flew the Super Cub (or possibly a Citabria) from Columbine to Littleton. The weather was perfect for ice formation. The ceiling was about 500 feet. Approximately 1/3 of the way there my windshield froze over and I could see ice on the leading edge of the wings. I loved it! The weather deteriorated the closer I got to Littleton, and I eventually made a straight-in approach to Littleton runway 16 (I think). After landing at Littleton I taxied excitedly to parking, jumped out of the airplane, and bragged, 'Look at the ice on my airplane!'

I did the eagle thing later after the weather cleared.

(2)

Score one for duplicitous foresight.

I took some film at Salina (which I still have) as I preflighted the airplane. The fun thing about that flight is that somewhere over western Kansas I faked an engine failure. My friend was flying the airplane (from the right seat, of course). He was not a pilot, but he knew a little something about flying. He was doing ok, when I reached down between the seats and shut off the fuel valve (I would later use this trick in the Twin Commanche). The engine ran for a while then quit suddenly. We were several thousand feet above the terrain at the time. He looked over at me in panic, his mouth wide open.

I said, 'Emergency procedures!' (By the way, 'emergency procedures' included full power, rich mixture, electric fuel pumps, carburator heat, max props.) He did the procedures. Nothing worked. I suggested that we had plenty of altitude and could pick and choose an emergency landing site. He seemed to be at a loss, apparently wanting me to take over. I then revealed the joke by turning on the fuel switch. He was not amused.

(1)

This picture was taken from a Citabria (I think). I am in the front seat flying the airplane. The scene is an approach to Columbine Airport runway 12 (opposite to 30). You can see the road to which I referred previously.

During my training for the rating of 'Commercial Pilot' I flew to Salina, Kansas as part of the (government paid) training. I flew a 'Commanche 180,' a retractable-gear, low-wing Piper with room for four people. While in Salina I picked up a (tap) friend of mine. We flew back to Denver together (tap). This was forbidden: although I was a 'Private Pilot' at the time I was not allowed to fly passengers on a cross-country training flight. I willingly violated the terms of my government 'agreement,' but I figured I could get away with it. I did indeed.

My filed VFR flight plan documented two souls aboard. I figured that in case of disaster 'they' should know. I also figured that possibly the folks at Columbine might check that flight plan. If they did indeed check the flight plan (and they did indeed) I had planned a maneuver which would outwit them.

We landed at Columbine slightly after dark. We used runway 30. I landed long enough to claim the entire runway, and as I made the left turn at the end I stopped and let my passenger out with instructions to wait for me on the road.

When I taxied the airplane to its parking space I was met by what seemed to me to be a 'triumphant delegation.' They gathered around me as I positioned the airplane in front of the parking spot and let it roll back. They stared expectantly as I cut the engine and got out alone. They drifted away as I tied the airplane down.

(1)

Excessive religious belief influences culture in a negative way? Apparently. The reason seems to be related to the 'ancientness' of the religious ideas: 'Ancient Morality' pretty much sucks, at least in the Judeo-Christian-Muslim tradition. Interesting that ancient Buddhist morality is so much less offensive and so adaptable to 'modernity.' For example one of my recent Seed Magazines included an interview with the Dalai Lamma regarding the nature of consciousness. The DL is willing to go along with the eventual scientific definition! Pretty good for a 2000+ year old religion based solidly in the study of 'self-psychology.'

Fun little 'personality tests' here.

The Color Quiz.

Chicken Poop for the Soul. I suppose only certain Jews and Nazis would be interested in this sort of thing. I was amazed to see this on a 'science' blog, but I suppose the blogger is Jewish, along with the author.

(6)

Hmm. I thought I had jumped to Non Serviam, but obviously not.

----------
Carlton Pearson is a preacher who came to the conclusion that Jesus saved the entire world from His Father's Eternal Wrath, and that you did not have to believe in order to be saved. He taught the doctrine that one should not worry about the 'afterlife.' He was declared a heretic, and lost his church, which is to say, his building and his donors (tithers). He later discovered followers who agreed with him. Pearson declared that after he became convinced that Jesus' death on the cross had saved everybody, he began to actually like God! Apparently, Pearson loved God but never really liked Him until his revelation. This suggests that a large part of the Christian anticipation of the joy of heaven involves the idea that Christians in Heaven will be able to view the suffering in Hell: Christian Joy partially equals Witnessing The Suffering of The Other.

The music box dance song refers to the Thursday Today Show. I rarely like their musical extravaganzas but I liked this one by The Wiggles. It is a modern adaptation of an old piano ballet piece. I don't know the title or the composer, but I love it. I saved the entire show. I will have to delete it, of course, in the near future, because I need the space.

----------

But one last time while I'm buzzing... Glorious stuff. I won't delete it, I'll let it expire. I am still smarting from my unfortunate decision to delete 'The Raftman's Razor.' What a disaster that was. Goto Non Serviam.

(5)

I have more airplane pictures with which I intend to bore you next week.

And the six pack of Mickeys was fun, but way too fast for this kind of writing. I am convinced that a 12 pack of 3.2 beer, amplified by an occasional shot of whiskey, is the best approach.

At this point maybe I should just list some of the notes in my 'weekly subject tablet:'
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Should Murtha get booted from congress?
Mutual reparations.
Is your kid your experiment?
Messiah denyers.
Ending the war with Islam before it gets too serious.
Carlton Pearson: the gospel of inclusion.
The music box dance song.
----------

I am a Murtha fan. It was a mistake to remove the lid on Pandorah's box by deposing Saddam. The Iraqis had the government they needed and deserved and we fucked it up. Shame on us.

'Mutual reparations' refers to the recently ended war in Lebanon. The war destroyed many lives and much property. Who should pay? I say that the Israelis should pay for what they destroyed, and the Lebanese should pay for what they destroyed.

Your kid is certainly your experiment. But your kid is certainly not the experiment of some other adult. For example, my kids were my (and Kootch's) moral experiment, but were not the moral experiment of outside interests like, for example, the Jewish queer Walter Gerash.

Messiah deniers are, of course, Jews. If Christians are ever moved to create a special sin in the manner of 'Antisemitism' they could use the term, 'Messiah deniers' as one such subcategory.

This war with Islam is already way too serious. We need to end it. We should defeat Islam (and Christianity and Judaism) with modernity. Modern Science has made this primitive world too dangerous. Ancient Religion is the enemy, and needs to be exterminated. Modern Religion should be encouraged instead. What is Modern Religion?

(4)

The only other panicky woman I remember was the wife of one of my Honeywell friends who wanted to experience 'aerobatics.' Her husband was very interested in flying and later became a pilot himself. She wanted me to take her up and do some aerobatics. I was working as a part time flight instructor at that time, at 'Littleton Airport,' a dirt runway near Sedalia. The photograph was taken by me from the front seat of 5087X, our aerobatic trainer (a Citabria).

So I loaded the adventurous young lady into the back seat of 87Xray and we climbed to about three thousand feet above the airport (about 9000 feet ASL). I told her that first we would to a 'hammerhead turn.' Then I dived the airplane at a shallow angle until we reached 140 kts, then pulled the nose straight up and applied full power. We went straight up for a while. As the airspeed passed through forty on the way to zero, I kicked in full left rudder. The airplane pivoted to the left around the left wingtip, and we headed straight back down. The airport was exactly below us and filled the forward view as I closed the throttle. At that point she screamed, 'Stop!'

The urgency in her voice convinced me, and I pulled out of the dive as soon as aerodynamically possible, and began a gentle 'power-off' descent back to the airport. It was the end of her aerobatic adventures.

(3)

Anyway, just after liftoff, at about five feet altitude (we were out of runway) I hit the gear-up switch and the horn sounded and the yellow light blinked and the poor woman panicked. She recovered slowly after the airspeed reached the 'no sweat' value, but it was clear that the takeoff had ruined her experience. I don't think she sued. I also don't think she wet her pants, but being too much of a gentleman back in those days I didn't check.

This photograph was taken from the right seat of a Cherokee 140 on approach to runway 30. A road runs along the gully at the far end of the runway. Both ends of the runway ended in a huge drop-off. You definitely did not want to land short at Columbine airport. Two quick memories of panicky woman:

I was teaching a woman how to fly. Her husband had bought an airplane and wanted his wife to be able to take over in case he had a heart attack. He insisted she learn how to fly. She was afraid of airplanes, and very reluctant to learn. I was selected to be her flight instructor. We went through the curriculum slowly, lazily, and I considered this woman to be a real 'bread and butter client' given that I could take all the time I needed with her. But there came the fateful day when the lesson plan was, 'unusual attitudes.' The student needed to be able to recover to normal straight and level flight from an unusual attitude. So, I coached her into a 'departure stall:' full power, left climbing skidding turn, nose higher and higher, airspeed lower and lower until... suddenly the left wing stalls and the airplane rolls to the left and becomes inverted. Now what do you do?

If you are close to the ground you pray. But if you are high enough to recover, you close the throttle, allow airspeed to build to a managable level (say 70kts), then pull out of the dive. But this woman panicked when the airplane rolled inverted. She abandoned the controls and began to hug my left leg with both arms. I recovered the airplane, of course, but that was the end of her flying lessons.

(2)

As I reread the 'I Was Glorious' post I see that it was somewhat misleading. I do indeed have many photographs from my flying days, only none of me doing my flight instructor job. Also, most of the photos are of poor quality. This one was probably taken by Kootch. I am inside the airplane doing the 'pre-start checklist.' One of my friends from Honeywell (I am still working for Honeywell) stands behind the right wing. His first name was, 'Don.' Kootch and I and the kids used to go over to Don's house and fly kites - 'controllable kites.' The airplane tail number is 9666W. We called it, 'nine-triple-six-risky' for some reason, probably related to the '666' in the tail number and the fact that it had rear seats. Most of the trainers had only seats for the instructor and student, and weight was less a problem with them. But it was possible to overload 666Whiskey with full fuel and heavy passengers on a hot day at Denver's altitude. More than one airplane ended up in the gully at the far end of runway 30 after having taken off overloaded on a hot day. Passengers aren't usually aware of such dangers.

I recall one incident of possible over-awareness: It was some sort of national holiday related to airplanes. Cole's Aviation was offering short airplane rides to the general public, and I was flying the Arrow, which is a retractable-gear version of the cherokee. I think it had a 200 hp engine. My passengers were a woman and her two children. It was a hot day. Before takeoff I explained to her that one of the safety features of this airplane was the 'gear warning' horn: if you got too slow the airplane assumed you were about to land, and if the gear was still retracted a loud horn sounded in the cockpit and a bright yellow light began blinking on the instrument panel. I further explained that shortly after takeoff I would retract the gear so that we could gain speed and altitude faster, and that the horn would sound and the yellow light would blink, but not to worry. She nodded as if she had understood.

(1)

More 'Blogging the Bible.'

Good news for The Mormons... I think.

Myths about Atheists. Atheisis, of course, don't worry about the above problems.

Atheists are so free! They have only one worry: death. They worry about the process, not the result. Atheists know that death is the end. Why worry? Christians, on the other hand, must worry about what happens after death, forever. Forever! Is it any wonder they are scared shitless? Is it any wonder they believe the veriest nonsense about 'what happens after death?'

And what about Muslims!? Muslims are as scared-shitless as Christians. Muslims are so scared, in fact, that they hope their children will become suicide bombers (martys) because a martyr can pick ten people to take with him to the heaven. Naturally, family will come first.

Most Jews are cynical, after the Holocaust, after 4000 years of history, after sexual mutilation. Jews tend to suspect the worst after death. Being a jew is no relief either.

Agnostics have the best of all possible worlds: they can hope for a fortuitous afterlife and they can hope for eternal oblivion, depending on their state of personal optimism.

Buddhists have to do it all over again. Darn.

(2)

Well, after that rant on Non Serviam, I feel obliged to offer the interested reader something which fits nicely with Jesus' teachings. I subscribe to the view that Jesus was a 'partial product of alien culture.' That is to say that Jesus introduced Eastern Religion into traditional Judaism in a very big way.

My conjecture is this: Jesus was a Jew who was interested in 'all religion.' Contemporary information regarding Eastern Religion was introduced into Jewish culture by traders who had visited the ancient Eastern cultures (in India, for example). Those traders had brought back strange new ideas in regard to religion, and Jesus was an avid student. Jesus was, in effect, a 'scientist of religion.' He was able to learn new Eastern Ideas and formulate those ideas into a new religious paradigm.

My conjecture is that Christianity was ultimately the melding of Judaism and Buddhism, and that Jesus represented at the time the primary social impulse in that regard.

I offer as proof the inability of modern fundamentalist preachers to exposit in any coherent way Jesus' teachings. They have no clue. 'Compassion,' for example, escapes them. They preach 'compassion' only in the context of tithing to an organization (like The 700 Club) which supports their particular ministry. 'Compassion in general' is only mentioned as an afterthought. The major emphasis in on what I call, 'save my ass religion.' That is to say that the prospective convert is attracted by the idea that this new religion will save his sorry ass from whatever it is that afflicts him, including the prospect of Hellfire after he dies.

(1)

The Flying Spaghetti Monster appears in the sky off Charleston, SC. See also this spoof of The Wik.

At least we beat Turkey...

Scary information about American elections.

Looks like I'm making it a practice to do these blogs twice a week. Tonight's 'lubrication' is a six pack of Mickeys. I am slightly amazed that I have learned to like writing while boozing.

(5)

Continuing with the historical theme of my 'education,' I am obliged to revisit my brief career as a 'pilot and Flight Instructor.' After attaining my Flight Instructor rating (CFI 1782428) I quit my Honeywell job and went to work as a flight instructor for 'Cole's (boom) Aviation,' the outfit which had trained me from scratch. I loved that job (tap). The money was problematic: much less than Honeywell paid. But Kootch's job at K-Mart was solid, allowing us to get by. As an instructor, my 'pilot- in (tap) - command' time eventually increased to approximately 1400 hours. Most of that time was spent in the right seat (thump) teaching students. My actual time at the controls was actually more like 400 hours, total. But I was a pro. I was good. I was glorious.

I don't think I have any photos from those times as a 'Cole's Aviation Flight Instructor.' It was mostly 'business.' But my memory still contains many images in that regard. One such memory is...

Me relaxing at the pool, pulling on a cigarrette. Kootch tells me that this photo is one of her favorites. I don't like it. I look like a Nazi.

(4)

Mel Gibson attacks. After the 'headline' you may have to click the go button to hear the rest of the brief report.

The End is Near. Let's all hope that Jesus arrives soon.

Games. Speaking of games I've been playing a lot of Sudoku lately. I also rediscovered online chess the other day. Got an email from Comcast about their games and decided to check whether chess was among the offerings. It was and it was free, so I 'signed up' (created a screen name), and began to play. Most of the folks I played were in the 'beginner' class, but one guy whose screen name was, 'walkswithgod' (I may have missed a capital or two) was pretty good. I am wondering whether his screen name refers to his religious predelections or his level of play, or both. My screen name is 'Daruma.' If you see me in the playing room then by all means sit down and play a game.

Only one of the beginners wanted to play me a second game, 'gottagotta.' After his first loss he chatted, 'Sorry about that. Distracted.' He was apparently apologizing for his poor play. Just as he was about to be checkmated in the second game I got the message, 'connection lost,' and that was the end of that game. I thought, 'Hmm. Could it have been Walter Gerash?' The name does imply a compulsion. Also, Gerash controlled the phone line and could pull the plug at will, back when I was using msn dialup. Have his 'technicals' figured out a way for him to 'pull the plug' on my cable connection? Could well be...

It took me a while to figure out the 'chat' feature, and so friendly greetings went unanswered. Also, after losing the first two games by forfiet I figured out that there is a one minute time limit on moves. There may also be a game limit (as, for example, in 5-minute chess). My advice would be to sign in as a 'guest' until you have figured how things work.

(3)

1967 was the year I started pilot training. Incredibly, I met my old First Sergeant (from Schilling AFB) in Denver not long after we arrived (in Denver). He had retired from the USAF and had become an insurance salesman. He reminded me that we had been paying monthly payments on a life insurance policy he had sold me many years ago in Salina, and that I could cash it in. I cashed that sucker and used the money to pay for my private pilot license, with the intention of using my GI Bill to pay for my commercial license. All went well. I got the private license, then used the GI Bill to get my commercial, multi-engine, and flight instructor certificates. My records indicate the last two ratings were obtained in 1969, so I presume that the commercial rating was obtained in 1968. My pilot logbooks were later (tap) stolen in Florida, but I still have the 'Cole's Aviation Pilot's progress Flight (boom) Logs for for everything but the commercial.

Meanwhile Kootch got a job at K-MART. She would keep that job for the next 34 years, (!) rising through the ranks. She retired as the 'office manager' in AD 2000. She is still retired. VERY retired. K-Mart was located just actoss the street from us and she could walk to work in just a few minutes. The photograph was taken by Kootch from the right front seat of a 'Cherokee 140.' The large white thing is the leading edge of the wing. Notice the swimming pool. Our apartment was on the third floor overlooking the pool. There was no apartment above us from which some freaky old Jewish queer could harrass us. Those were the good ole days...

(2)

We arrived in Denver in early August of '66, and within two weeks I had a job with Honeywell and we had an apartment. Kootch apparently had not mentioned our 'problem' to the kids, who seemed oblivious, and we all got on with our lives as if nothing had happened. (Two taps so far, from mister tap-tap, above.) I love this picture of Jenny and Kathy which must have been taken some time in '67.

The Honeywell job turned out to be something of a nightmare: I was working on contract to Shell Chemical Company as an industrial instrumentation and control technician. Apparently their own instrument technicians thought the job was too hazardous, so Shell got Honeywell to do it, and Honeywell got me and a few other techs to do it. After a few months on the job I developed rashes on my hands and forearms which would not go away, and finally told Honeywell that either they take me off the Shell contract or I would quit. The other techs went along with me. Honeywell cancelled the contract.

Years later I would learn about 'Agent Orange' as the the herbicide which was used to de-forest much of Vietnam, and suspected that this was the thing they were making at Shell. Ironic, given that one of my reasons for leaving military life was the Vietnam War.

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An interesting 'exchange' between the press and the prez. I stumbled across this in The Wik several days ago:

"On August 2nd, 2006, during what would be the last White House Press conference in the briefing room before it underwent major renovations, Sam Donaldson shouted, "Mr. President, should Mel Gibson be forgiven?" – referencing reports of the actor/producer's alleged anti-Semitic remarks. Mr. Bush laughed and looked up to see who had asked the question. Bush joked, "Is that Sam Donaldson? Forget it...you're a has been! We don't have to answer has beens' questions." To which the famously outspoken and aggressive reporter retorted: "Better to have been a has-been than a never was."

Ever heard the expression, 'freak magnet?' I are one...

A video worth watching. Part of its charm is the music.

"Why I am no longer a Christian." I read an entire book on the subject many years ago (by Bertrand Russell).