November 2019

There are 3 significant events in November for me and my family; Thanksgiving, Veterans Day and my father's birthday and while it will soon be 18 years since he passed, my life is directed daily by the things he taught me and lived in front of me, not the least of which was how proud he was to be an American and of his career in USAF. He loved this country and being in the service. 

Not long after Pearl Harbor, like many young men of that period, he dropped out of high school to join the Army. He loved flying and in time the Army Air Corps became the U.S. Air Force. During WWII he served as part of a B-17 crew and manned every position except pilot. 

When the war was over he decided to stay in, he completed high school and spent 7 years going to night school to obtain an engineering degree, as well as qualifying as an "all engines" mechanic. He could work on anything from a lawnmower to a jet engine.

During his 20 years he served in WWII, Korea and the Berlin Crisis doing his time in combat zones and from that he had a lot of firsthand experience with rockets. When he retired he obtained a job with a local NASA subcontractor. Part of that time was spent between Redstone and the Cape and his job allowed for me (at age 10) to meet Von Braun (for about 30 seconds) on a short trip to Redstone.

In his 79 years my father lived a very full life and he credited much of his personal success to the lessons he learned while in the military, so indirectly, my siblings and I learned the same lessons from him, i.e. hard work, dedication, commitment to excellence and being grateful for all the opportunities of being an American.

After he retired the second time, he and I became general contractors and spent 22+ years traveling the southeast and working together. Not long after I finally convinced him it was time to actually retire, at age 78, he found out he had stage 4 stomach cancer. In late August of 2001 he had the tumor removed and was home trying to regain his strength when again our country was the victim of a cowardly attack. The morning of 9-11 Verna & I were preparing to go to work as the local news began reporting on the attack. As distressing as it was for us I knew I needed to go to my parents home to check on my dad and I was hoping I would get there before he heard about it on TV. I was concerned about how he would handle the news in his weakened state.

When I arrived about 30 minutes after the first reports of the attack, my mother was in the kitchen making his breakfast and as I started down the long hallway that leads to their bedroom I heard what sounded like a tornado. As I opened the door I could see the newscast on the TV and then I saw my dad rapidly rummaging through his closet as he threw clothes everywhere. Just the day before, he needed help to get out of bed and to the kitchen for breakfast, but not this day. The long incision in his abdomen that was only halfway healed was not even a thought. He was mad, adrenaline was flowing, along with his thoughts on the cowardly bastard's who had just attacked us and what this country should do in its response to them.

As he struggled with his pants, I ask him what he was doing and he said he knew I would be coming to check on him and he needed me to help him get his uniform on while my mother was in the kitchen. His coat was already laid out on the bed next to his shirt. I asked him where he thought he was going and he said to the 117th, which is here in Birmingham. He had retired from the 117th in 1962, almost 40 years earlier and it was his intent to be reactivated there that day.

My first reaction was to try and reason with him, that the Air Force already had all the people they would need when the time came to fight, and to remember his age and that it had only been 3 weeks since his operation. And at that moment, I figured his reaction was a result of shock over the attack and his pain meds, since his mind was as sharp at 79 as anyone I have ever known at any age. He told me he knew he only had 6 months to live since he was going to forgo the chemo and if he could go and help, then that might mean one young airman or soldier might not die. He sincerely considered himself expendable and perhaps it would be a better end to a life well lived, than dying in a hospital bed.

Of course there was no way I was going to let him leave the house but after a few minutes we established that his dress coat and ribbons were still ok, even the hash marks that ran down the sleeve seemed in good shape. But his pants must have shrunk from 40 years of hanging in the closet, or he might have gained 5 or 6 pounds in the last 40 years, we weren't sure. I finally managed to get him to sit in his easy chair to rest for a minute or two and we listened to the reports for a few more minutes. 

Before too long he started to tell me about how he felt after Pearl Harbor and for about an hour he told me everything he could remember, much of it he had never talked about since that time and the attack on New York had reminded him of many things he had forgotten.

At some point my mother came to get him to breakfast and together we convinced him that going to the 117th would have to wait until he was stronger and a few weeks later I drove him to the base to fill up his car. We spent about an hour roaming around and he told me how much things had changed there and how their mission had changed over the years from a recon wing to a refueling wing. When I was only 5 he took our family there to watch the F-86's take off at night, then later the Phantoms that replaced them and as we stood there on a cold December morning we watched a KC-135 roll down the runway and lift into the sun. The last thing he mentioned and remembered was that when Desert Shield began a few years earlier, he and I went to the north end of the main runway and stood there at the fence as the entire Wing of Phantoms took off in pairs just  a few seconds apart and flew directly over us at about 200 feet with afterburners blazing. My ears are still ringing.��

Where Have All The Rocketry Photos Gone?

Has anyone seen Peter, Paul or Mary? I'd like to ask them: where have all the photos gone? Do you have any idea?

There was a time when the internet was young when most people had little or no option for posting their rocketry photos. A few flyers were aware of Usenet and could post small size files to a binaries group or if you had a friend with a website they might put up a good shot for a few days.

Eventually, most rocketry clubs put up a website where flyers could post monthly launch pics and for about 15 years or so that was the way to go; lots of photos, almost unlimited file space and they pretty much became permanent for all to enjoy for years to follow. Then something called Facebook came along, clubs moved their notices there and not long after, pic posts began to fall off. I still see people taking photos at launches but very few actually get posted and it's not just my own local club it's pretty much across the board.

Even though many clubs mainly use Facebook they still maintain but rarely use their old websites and most almost never post photos to them. Even the national launches don't post photos like they have in the past and that causes me to wonder, why?

Everything is so convenient and inexpensive today. Digital cameras, computers and phones make it so easy to share pics and even stream a launch for free, yet the number of photos grows smaller and smaller.

Perhaps things are too easy now. Maybe people are too busy flying to take 10 seconds to get a shot or maybe they don't want to share, I'm not really sure what it is but I do wonder.

If you know or have any ideas, please let us know.