A sample of some obscure – and maybe not obscure – tunes from my strange and off-the-wall collection.
Today’s selection: Planet P – “Why Me?” 1983
In acknowledgement of the current moon mission.
Planet P was a project by Tony Carey, the former keyboardist for Ritchie Blackmore’s “Rainbow“; Blackmore being the former Deep Purple guitarist. The name Planet P was taken from Heinlein’s “Starship Troopers“
from azlibertarian via comments in reply to Snakepit Kansas
Too good a reminiscence to be buried in comments
Hello, Snakepit,
Your mention of the PI, Marines, and my old life on the C-130, in the context of the adventure in Iran of last weekend, had me flash back to this old anecdote…..
In late 1984 I had completed my C130 training in Little Rock and made my way to Clark AB in the Philippines (which is outside Angeles City….about 50 miles northeast of Manila). We lived off base for a year, but for the last 2 years, we lived in this house, then referred to as a “Barn” (as in “Big as a Barn”) on the parade grounds. It was awesome. Zoom out a bit and you can see that what used to be called Clark Air Base is now called “Air Force City” and the airport itself is called “Clark International Airport”. But I digress.
You’d think that when you complete your training as a C-130 pilot (or anything else) that when you arrive at your next station, then you’re Good-to-Go. Not so. In my squadron at Clark, you first went through what was called “Theater Indoctrination”….aka, “TI”, because of course the AF didn’t have enough acronyms. While in TI, you’d learn how to fill out a customs form, how to turn on and effectively operate the HF radio, how to fly exactly-where-you’re-supposed-to-fly while in South Korea because they’re not kidding and will shoot you down….that sort of thing.
On my first trip “off the island”, we went to Kadena AB which is on the Japanese island of Okinawa. At the time, one out of seven Marines in the Marine Corps were stationed on Okinawa. The mission of the Marine Corps is to pack up their stuff quickly and then go somewhere and get angry and shoot at stuff. We were at Kadena so frequently, picking up or delivering Marines and their shit, that I often wondered why we were stationed in the PI. Anyway, that first trip off the island was to pick up a plane-load of Marine stuff.
The destination? Back to the PI, in this case, to a small dirt runway that the Air Force operated at a place called Crow Valley*. At the time (mid-80’s), the AF ran a continual series of exercises called “Cope Thunder“.
Cope Thunder was the Pacific’s version of Red Flag, which itself is very similar to the Navy’s Top Gun. For each Cope Thunder exercise (maybe 3 weeks long), they’d bring in both US and Allied fighter squadrons from all over the Pacific, give them a scenario to achieve and then put them up against opposing forces….Aggressors….to see how well they’d do. For the fighters’ purposes, Crow Valley was an enemy airfield, and they’d try to (simulated) crater the runway, strike simulated fuel depots, command posts, etc, all while these assets were being defended by the Aggressors and simulated ground threats. The ground-pounder Marines were doing their thing near Crow Valley while their flying brethren were supporting them.
*That Google Map image of Crow Valley today does not bring any memories of the place that I remember back then. However, in 1991, Mt. Pinatubo, south of that pin, erupted catastrophically. I believe that the washes that you see running south-to-north-and-northeast are where the ash and mud came down off Mt Pinatubo and wiped out what used to be at Crow Valley….the dirt runway included. There is a small hint of what might be a former runway–just 2 parallel lines— just a couple dozen yards north of that pin.
However, the C130 is not a fighter, and for our purposes, the runway at Crow Valley was a friendly field. Our job was to fly in, remain unseen by the Aggressors, and bring in supplies…..Marine supplies, in this case…and then get out again.
The C130 has 5 pallet positions on the floor and one pallet can be held on the ramp. Normally the cargo is loaded and unloaded with a forklift or what amounts to a large belt loader called a K-Loader. Well, as you might imagine, the Marine Corps ain’t go no time for any Air Force K-loaders, and so we had an alternate procedure to get the cargo offloaded.
And Wow, my eyes were like saucers throughout this whole thing. I was a copilot flying a full load of Marine shit to the PI, and as we approached the island, we dropped down to a low-level route. We were down in the canyons, sneaky-peaking our way towards Crow Valley, knowing that there were “Red” fighters out there somewhere looking for us, and “Blue” fighters sweeping out ahead of us whose job it was to protect us from the Aggressors. We landed on a dirt runway, and then unloaded via a “Combat Offload”.
The Combat Offload was fun. After landing, we rolled to the end of the runway into a lolly-pop shaped turn-around. We lowered the ramp all the way to the ground, and the loadmasters pushed the pallet on the ramp onto the ground as we drove out from underneath it. The loadmasters unlocked the remaining 5 pallets–the heaviest part of the load. We stood up on the brakes, ran the engines up to full power, “popped” off the brakes and drove out from under those 5 pallets. Dropped ’em right there on the dirt. The whole evolution from landing to takeoff was 11 minutes.
So, you might wonder, why was Crow Valley at Crow Valley? Good question. Crow Valley is just west of what was then (as well as now) a place called Camp O’Donnell. Today, Camp O’Donnell is the location of the Philippine Army’s Officer Candidate School.
But back in WWII, what we now call Camp O’Donnell was the destination of the Bataan Death March. The Japanese had pushed the Americans and Filipinos down the Bataan Peninsula until finally MacArthur was forced to flee to Australia from Corregidor, an island at the mouth of Manila Bay. When MacArthur said “I came through and I shall return”, it was the Philippines that he was referring to. 78,000 Filipino and American POWs died on that march to Camp O’Donnell.
FWIW, my house at Clark….the “Barn”….had been occupied by Japanese officers during the war.
Most of what brought this all to mind was the incredible story we’ve been hearing today of the F-15 WSO’s evasion and rescue deep inside Iran. As I understand things today (the 48 Hour Rule and my 60% Rule both apply), the C-130s (an H version and possibly a M version, where “H” signifies “Rescue” and the “M” signifies “Special Ops”….Blackbirds) landed on an agricultural dirt strip. Once on the ground, the 130’s sunk into the sand and found themselves trapped. To bring everyone out, the AF then sent in 3 CASA C295s, smaller and less likely to get themselves trapped by the sand. To finish things off, the Air Force brought in 2 B-1s who dropped 40 1000# bombs on the 2 C-130s and at least one MH-6 Little Bird. Not much left there except some wreckage, some big holes and one guy’s boxer shorts.
Built in 1871, the Pigeon Point lighthouse is still an active navigation station. Located between Santa Cruz and San Francisco and is considered endangered because of “global warming” sea-level rise.
Perhaps the Californians can look to Plymouth Rock for guidance …
The lamp room was originally equipped with a 1-ton, 1st-order Fresnel lens of 24 panels first lit in 1872. A 1000W electric bulb replaced the kerosene lamp in 1926. The Fresnel lens was retired in 1972 and had been occasionally lit for annual demonstrations. The lens was removed in 2011.
I had lived in Santa Cruz in the mid-80s – left not long before the Loma Prieta earthquake, I’d likely have been a casualty of that event – but I didn’t live there anymore and it’s a different story anyway.
The story is that I happened to be visiting friends sometime in the 90s and took a ride up the coast. To my surprise, it was a special event evening at the lighthouse and they fired the old lens up.
I stopped and stared in awe. It was like being in the middle of a disco ball – the only way I can describe it. Times I wish I had a poetic streak – Jean could probably do a better job of describing the sight – had she been there. A spectacular sight I’ll likely never see again; certainly not at Pigeon Point. Another of those accidental one-time events that can’t and shouldn’t be planned or “prepared” for.
My grandfather’s world must have had its own unique charms, now lost forever like our times will be in our grandchildren’s lives. But being the contrarian I am, I’d rather go visit 1900 than 2100.
I wouldn’t live in California again; I’m not likely to visit either except the eastern fringes (Death Valley region) – I’d probably be arrested for something – Idaho plates for example – but there were some wonderful places there. I’d live in Boulder Creek in the Santa Cruz Mountains or up above Nevada City in the Sierra … in a different time and world.
I was thinking of something to say on this Easter Sunday: “He has Risen” has been taken …
The Hallelujah Chorus is played quite a bit …
But this year seems different for some reason. He may have Risen but, promises aside, He’s not come back … yet.
So some believe.
Yet some want to speed up and force the process … on both sides … and this tune crossed my ears as I was contemplating filling this white space with pixels of darkness.
Maybe it’s most appropriate for this particular Sunday.
Christ or Muhammad al-Mahdi?
From 1970: “Thank Christ For The Bomb“
Or maybe – probably – Monday will come as usual …
Oh, look! Let’s get pizza. Less than a tank away.
originally posted by Jean April 24, 2009
When I was in grade school, we had one choice for
our beverage during lunch. Milk.
White milk in a glass bottle with a cardboard disk
pressed into the neck of the bottle to seal it.
The seal had a half-moon perforation that had to be
pried up in order to insert the paper straw in the bottle.
When I was in first grade the milk cost 2 cents a day.
A dime for the week.
By the time I got to eighth grade (this was before Junior High
and Middle School were invented) the milk cost 5 cents a day.
Highway robbery, wouldn’t you say?
Friday lunch was always special because we had two choices
that day. Plain old white milk or CHOCOLATE milk.
Need I say which one was the choice for most of us?
The food they served in the cafeteria on Friday was different, too.
This was a public school but, they didn’t serve meat on Friday.
This made Mom happy because she raised us Catholic and, back
then, Catholics didn’t eat meat on Friday. Ever.
So, one Friday we might get a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl
of tomato soup. Another Friday might be tuna casserole or a
tuna salad sandwich. Dessert was usually fruit or pudding.
To this day, if I get a craving for any of those foods listed above,
I automatically think of chocolate milk.
Today, in the grocery store, I decided I wanted the fixins for a
good tuna salad tomorrow. Friday. I also made sure to grab a
bottle of chocolate milk. Plastic bottle, unfortunately. Oh, well.
I think I remember Thursday was spaghetti day.
Submitted by ghost via comments
At least, I hope he’s OK with me turning a comment into a post. He writes a good story and lets us enjoy his writings every once in a while.
Commented April 1
Welp, today my next younger brother would have turned 70. He died 15 years ago or so. I don’t remember. He and I had been on and off again most of the time since we were both teens. Mostly off. His choice.
I mentioned this brother awhile back. A kid was beating his ass one time and I came to his rescue by putting the kid in the emergency room, when I was 10. In another year or so me and this brother started drifting apart.
Though he and I were only 14 months apart in age the school system had us 2 grades apart. Grades 1-6 he and I saw each other day but in 7th and 8th grade I went to another school and that’s where the gap started, and it never closed up.
When I turned 19 I went in the army and it was 10+ years before I saw this brother again. I was married with a kid on the way and he had been in and out of jail many times. Never violent, he just couldn’t keep his hands off other peoples stuff.
In our early 30’s his lifestyle was such that it effected his appearance and not for the good. He looked like a down on his luck criminal. We spoke kindly to each other, but he looked so diff from the last time I had seen him that I was very wary of him. I had been a soldier and he had been a thief.
I wanted to help him. Lacking much cash at the moment, (1986) I wrote him a check for $100. He pulled out a lighter and set it on fire and dropped it in an ashtray. Then left. My wife and I just looked at each other.
It was about another 10 years when I saw him again. Our son was a young teen, my wife and I had been married about 14 years and I had been running my architecture business for 10 years.
It was in the evening and I was out in our garage doing something and an old van pulled into the driveway and my brother got out. I didn’t recognize him at first. He was looking rough. Real rough. We chatted in the driveway and I felt uncomfortable and he did too. He left and I never seen him again. This was in the late 90’s.
Over the years I heard about him now and then, from my sisters, other brother, and my mother who lived in San Diego. He kept doing drugs, stealing stuff, getting caught, doing a little bit of time in the can, over and over.
He would bounce around the country, Fort Myers, FL, a place in ARK, and San Diego. Working shitty jobs, getting fired or quitting, petty theft, shoplifting, drugs, jail, release, living with cheap women….over and over, never getting any real traction.
I had a sister, 2 years younger than this brother (she’s now dead too) that was married with 2 daughters and sometimes this brother would stay at her house until he wore his welcome out. Then he’d move in with my mother and her husband (not my dad – he died in 1980), until he got throwed out of there too. Back n forth, no traction.
Somewhere in the early 00’s, don’t remember when, I got a call from my San Diego (really Lemon Grove) sister telling me our brother had died, on her front door step. She was at work at the time and found him when she came home. The best they could tell is he died from a massive heart attack from drug use. I can’t remember the drug right now as I write this, I think it starts with an M. I never tried it nor knew anyone that had.
A few weeks later my mother cut my brothers obituary out of the paper and sent it to me. It’s in a small lockbox I have with such things in it. My Dad’s obit is in there. As well as my mothers, my other brother’s, and my youngest sisters. Of our immediate fambly the only obits that aren’t in that lockbox are my oldest sister’s (3 years younger than me) and mine.
Like my brother was most of my life, I don’t know where that lockbox is right now.
There’s still one more chapter in this story.
Throughout the years, starting in the mid 70’s my bother had an on again off again with a woman named Lorie. She was a lowly person and I didn’t care for her. My brother was always going back and forth with her. When he went to jail she’d hook up with another dood, sometimes marrying, and a couple years later she’d take back up with my brother when he got out. Over and over. Turns out that my brother and Lorie had spawned 2 little girls and put them up for adoption. Both girls were adopted by a very wealthy and childless couple.
10 years ago I got an email from a young woman in Chicago that told me she was one of those adopted girls and wanted me to tell her about her father. She had learned he was dead and knew almost nothing about him. She wanted to have a family relationship with his family.
I didn’t reply for 3 days, I didn’t know what to say. It took me that long to find and install my “Hat of Diplomacy”. I needed to carefully carve a set of words that conveyed my thoughts to her in such a way that I gave her some meaningful information without lying or hiding the truth, but not going too far.
Having any sort of meaningful relationship with this young woman who was in her early 20 and married with a daughter seemed like it would be awkward and strained, and what would be the point? Our only connection was her father and my brother and neither one us knew him very well, or, in her case, at all. I told her that and I never heard from her again.
On this day every year I think of this stuff. Then tomorrow I put everything back in that lockbox, until next year….
As the fall of Petersburg, VA became imminent, on Evacuation Sunday (April 2), President Davis, his Cabinet, and the Confederate defenders abandoned Richmond and fled south on the last open railroad line, the Richmond and Danville. Those that could left by way of the Mayo bridge before it too fell to the flames. By the morning of April 3, Richmond lay in ruins and the Yankees had come visiting.
The Mayo Bridge – or its ancestors – is the oldest bridge in Richmond. The granddaddy was built in 1788. Floods and ice flows on the river kept destroying the bridge – with an exception to the norm in 1865; the bridge was rebuilt in 1814, 1816, 1823, 1865, 1870, 1877, 1882, and 1899. The current bridge was built in 1913 and is the only bridge in Richmond still subject to flooding. It is now known as the Mayo bridge, the 14th St bridge and US360.
I’m glad I got to visit Richmond before the woke ruined it.
and the sooner, the better.
“Trump’s Jan. 6 Speech Not Covered By Immunity: Judge“
“President Trump has not shown that the Speech reasonably can be understood as falling within the outer perimeter of his Presidential duties,” U.S. District Judge Amit Mehta ruled.
(of course, there used to be that little thing called “Freedom of Speech” from that antiquated and obsolete piece of parchment called the Constitution)
Getting real tired hearing about all these judges – especially foreign-born – making law.
Appointed by Obama, preceded by Boasberg.
I just now received this notice that this horse is headed east this year.
My guess is it might be more or less following I-70 or I-80.
In the meantime, it’s headed to Sacramento this week and next.
Another excuse to head to Nevada … if the timing works out, maybe I’ll get to watch it (again) when I head back east this summer.
Such things tickle my fancy …. 🙂
https://www.up.com/about-us/history/steam/schedule
This poster coming from Springfield, Ohio
Y’all saw this video not that long ago … that’s no reason to not watch it again.