I lived in the SFO area and worked in the travel business from 1964 to 1978. I remember well both PSA and Air California. My mom lived in Orange County so I had multiple trips “down south” on both carriers. Was thrilled to death when Orange County Airport opened!
I was at Oakland airport when some boys came home and the entitled hippies of Berkeley met them with spit and nasty name calling.
But, mostly what I remember were those days in the fall of 1967 or Spring 1968. The days were crisp and clear–the light was so beautiful! I remember going up and down Knob Hill and seeing all those young men dressed in new uniforms. I remember mostly the sun shining off of those metal parts of their hats or coats. Stars and bars shimmered like gold. Us young travel professionals often had to be in the downtown Union square area for business. We would then take a quick run up to the “Top of the Mark” bar as would many of the higher ranking soldiers. You know the kids who had gotten some education and some rank from the military. OMG–how I remember that sunlight, those uncertain eyes, and tentative smiles of not real bravado! There were so many new uniforms in that city on those days!
In 2004 I posted this on the newspaper, Fort Myers News Press in Fort Myers, FL, as my alias at that time was “Bob Black” and I was instantly banned for life.
As you read this keep in mind it is 22 years old. (9 out of 10 will not understand, or believe, these words)
===============
*Now* is a shadow of *was*, hollow and without form or substance, intangible.
Truth has been replaced by falsehood, honor removed by cowardice, selflessness succumbs to selfishness.
A random flash of media during the recent past highlights OJ, apathy, Menendez, aggression, Michael, deficit, Martha, deception, Kobe, revenge, Saddam, restriction, Osama.
The blue pill was easily gulped with a smile by all.
That you are a slave, like everyone else, you were born into bondage; born into a prison that you cannot smell or taste or touch; a prison for your mind.
The governing powers need things from us, not the least of which is our consent. To obtain our consent we are fed all manner of benefits. We are programmed from an early age to believe that such benefits are necessary. To obtain these benefits, a number of conduits are attached to each of us. Adhesion contracts like Social Security, a driver’s license; voter registration for a pretended choice of social masters, bank accounts where credit is manufactured for our use and other memberships, registrations, licenses, deeds and permits to insure the conduct of our affairs will be confined within the corporate governance.
We are given our own numbered *cube*, a social net provided by the gov’t. Educated according to mandates of the state, our belief system is further cultured by corporate media.
There are various forms of *welfare* should we succumb to poverty or disease. If we are threatened or in danger we can call 911. Govt’s job of *securing* us is made easier by the massive database tracking our movements, our finances, the location of our homes and businesses and our tax records. When old age creeps up, we can rely on gov’t to take care of us.
The corporate/gov’t/financial interface combines to create a massive illusion of benefits — the American dream. For the price of a promise to indebt our future labors, pay our taxes and play within the system, there are seemingly limitless toys, castles, comforts and consumables for those who believe in this system. For half our productivity taken in taxes (the other half in payments) and the deeds and title to whatever we think we own, gov’t and its private affiliates will take care of us.
To live in this environment, all we have to surrender is any genuine sense of independence, personal responsibility and our right to live freely and actually own the fruits of our labors.
A contingent of agents are deployed to combat any renegade humans who have a will for freedom from the world which surrounds us.
The system is the enemy, look around, what do you see? Businessmen, teachers, lawyers, carpenters. These people are part of that system and that makes them our enemies. They are not ready to see the truth and many are so hopelessly dependent on the system, they’ll fight to protect it.
Why will these people fight to protect a system that enslaves them? It’s all they know. And all their toys, castles, comforts and consumables will be gone without this holographic image. Their whole illusionary existence will evaporate, leaving them naked and alone.
What won’t these folx look at? They refuse to acknowledge they are funding their enslavement to a socialist homeland police state. Awhile back a few *truth seekers* traveled to D.C. for an eloquent conclusion to Freedom Drive 2002, exposing the fraud of the l6th Amendment, the IRS, and the federal income tax. But the *braindead* people remained comfortably in their coma, ever willing to pay a tax they do not owe. They fund Congress and the Nazi/moron president’s implementation of America’s new Third Reich, so they can feel *secure*.
Hidden away on the 6th floor of the Department of Justice building is the secret FISA Court. U. S. attorneys have been going there for years to get secret search warrants from in-house, rubberstamp judges under the guise of *national security*. This parallel *legal* system can order clandestine searches of citizens’ and non-citizens’ homes. From the *evidence* gathered, we can be secretly declared *enemy combatants* and held indefinitely at U. S. military bases.
Remember the detainment camps those paranoid conspiracy theorists told you about years ago?
U.S. officials claim they can detain and interrogate enemy combatants until the executive branch declares an end to the war on terrorism. This includes no access to lawyers or family members; investigations, interrogations, trials and punishments can be held without the protections secured by the Constitution. The Nazi/moron president’s administration says there is ample precedent for what it is doing. Are we following the *ample precedent* of a man named Hitler?
Meanwile, the Congress has passed the American Gestapo Authorization (Homeland Security) Act which defines a terrorist as:
*The term *terrorism* means any activity that — involves an act that is dangerous to human life or potentially destructive of critical infrastructure or key resources; and is a violation of the criminal laws of the United States or of any State or other subdivision of the United States; and appears to be intended to intimidate or coerce a civilian population; to influence the policy of a government by intimidation or coercion; or to affect the conduct of a government by mass destruction, assassination, or kidnapping.”
As a test for social compliance, 838 of the braindead recently passed blissfully through an unconstitutional random roadblock in Pittsburgh without *seeing* the real *terrorists* in Homeland Security’s new America — the police state. Is our present police state *dangerous to human life* and *destructive of critical infrastructure* like the Bill of Rights? Is it *against the laws* (18 USC 241; 242) to deprive a citizen of their right to travel and be secure in their persons, houses, papers and effects? Do random roadblocks, by design, *intimidate or coerce a civilian population*? What happens if you don’t comply with the roadblock?
The next test for braindead compliance will be mass inoculations for smallpox. Will the braindead population literally trample all over each other to get their shots as some officials predict? Has the vaccination imagery been so well entrenched in the braindeads’ minds that they will actually let mercury, monkey puss and aborted fetal tissue be injected under their skin based on an unproven theory that such things promote health and prevent disease?
And what greater system is there, than our current *fiat* financial system? We believe that a piece of paper with the picture of a dead president has the value of the number printed on it and that one dead president is more valuable than another. We don’t even consider that the use of this dead president paper is the direct cause of our own enslavement.
Have you ever seen your bank account? It’s not there. Only the slight-of-hand practiced by the teller and the accountant behind the scenes makes this illusion look real to the blue pill people.
Everything that built this great land, that drew from the largess, is gone, eroding from day one. It is now a rusted out hulk, dissolving into the sanddrifts of time. Memories of what once was and what will never be again dissipate as vapor, pried from your begging nostrils while you scream……..
... on public transportation, an airliner in my case, but my story ran a different course.
Pacific Southwest Airlines (PSA) was a regional airline that flew in California and was later engulfed by USAir in the 1980’s. And PSA stewardesses were legendary for being extremely attractive, remarkably so even back in the day when all stewardesses had to be attractive to get hired. This before stews were rebranded as “flight attendants” and, well, you know what happened to norms and standards after that.
I only got to fly PSA twice.
Home on leave going to Veet Nom and upon arrival at the airport to fly to California to catch the plane over, I missed my flight, and Ozark had no options that would get me there on time and oh fudge. But Frontier (the old Frontier, mind you) came through and got me to Oakland just in time to catch a cab to Travis AFB and arrive 5 minutes before AWOL time. Whew, that was cutting it too close! But, upon reflection, I shouldn’t have worried. After all, what were they gonna do, send me to Viet Nam?
Anyway. I was way back of the bus LAX to Oakland and standing waiting for the aisle to clear so I could go face my destiny when one of those drop-dead gorgeous PSA stews said hello, all friendly like. She was a stunning brunette about three inches shorter than I was putting her about 5’10 and she had big brown eyes like deep, dark pools. They sparkled. I was gob-smacked but managed to say hi and then she said, we hope you’ll fly with us again real soon.
Me too, I said, but it’ll be about a year.
Her face darkened and her smile vanished. Obviously, she knew what that meant. Oh, she said. You’re going over. That was not a question.
Yes, I said, and she gave me about a five-count look and then flashed me with a huge smile and said, well then, I hope you’ll fly with us again when you get back!
I freely admit to being scared shitless about “going over” and that big smile was exactly what I needed at that exact instant. But the aisle cleared and all I could say was, I’ll make a point of it and like the dumb hick kid I was, headed for the door without thinking GET HER ADDRESS AND PHONE NUMBER YOU BLITHERING IDIOT!
But I was all a-tither about the process of going off to present myself before The Great Abyss, and that did not occur to me until afterwards.
I did keep my promise, though. Upon return from SE Asia, our planeload was bused to Oakland Army Reception Station from Travis and after several hours of hurry-up and wait, do this, don’t do that, can’t you read the sign Army bullshit, turned us loose. Four of us shared a cab to SFO and despite a direct flight to Dallas being available, I caught a flight to LAX on PSA just on the off chance, you know, but that was not meant to be either. I might never have gone home if it had.
I’ve often wondered whatever became of her. I hope she found some wretchedly rich Capitalist who took her away from all that and kept her safe and warm and well taken care of and they lived charmed lives happily ever after THE END.
Submitted by ghostsniper in response to Jean's "Microscopic Welder"
Funny, I did work for Lockheed briefly in 1980 when I worked for Martin-Marietta in Torrance Calif making more money than a single dood should be allowed.
It wasn’t microscopic though, quite the opposite. Using a gantry I loaded 72′ long aluminum wing spars into a 750 ton stretcher and stretched them about 6 inches longer then they were. The explanation given to me was, that when aluminum molecules are stretched they become oval shaped and fit tighter together making them stronger.
An inked benchmark was applied to the surface of the spar and after it was stretched it was measured with a big micrometer and the increased length had to be within a certain range. Sometimes 2 or 3 stretches were required.
After the stretch the spas were loaded into huge train box cars and the cars were pushed into huge ovens and baked at 1440 degrees for 2-3 weeks constant. Supposedly stretching the aluminum makes the spars stronger but also makes them brittle and susceptible to cracking under stress, like when wings “wave” (flex) during flight. When the spars are baked it is similar to ageing and ageing makes aluminum more flexible. Thus, over time (ageing) the aluminum will become such (stressed) that it is not safe to be flown.
At the time I was in a probationary period of 3 months with the steelworkers union and they stipulate you cannot miss work without prior approval. You can’t just call in beforehand and say you’re not coming in. You have to have advanced approval. Well, on the evening of 09Jul80, 2 hours before my graveyard shift was going to start, my mother called and told me my dad in Fort Myers, FL had died and the funeral was in 3 days….
I called my job and explained the situation and that I was going to get a flight out that night. I was told that my message would be passed to my supervisor but I was not given “permission” to leave on the spot.
I skied out of LAX at 1:05am to FM, FL not knowing if I would have a job when I came back. I came back 5 days later and I had been fired. I bummed around for a couple months and tried to find another job but I got down to my last $100 and bought a ticket on the “dog” for 5 days of fun and adventure, back to FM, FL.
It wasn’t all dark shadows bounced off lunar eclipses. Just south of Tampa in a little place named Nokomis a beautiful blonde girl named Rose got on the bus and her and me hit it off immediately. I was going to Fort Myers and she was going 50 miles south to Naples. When the bus stopped at FM I didn’t get off. Her and me lived together for the next 6 months and then tragedy set in. I never heard from her again. Every Nov 5th I think about her cause that was her birthday.
She was a blinding ray of sunlight on a colorless dark night and I never really got over her. I looked her up on the web a few years ago and found out she died in a car crash in 2002.
I read the title of this post and cringe. Where was my brain the day I wrote that in my profile??
Yes, I am a welder. NO... I am not microscopic. Sheesh. I will leave it as written in the hope that it will keep me humble.
Some folks have asked that I include some personal info on my blog, so I thought this might be a good place to start... what I do for a living.
I work for a manufacturing company in Florida. I weld... under a microscope. The engineers also call this type of welding metal fusion. GTAW. It isn't like the type of welding you see done in a body shop, although I wouldn't mind knowing how to do that too.
One department makes bellows and seals for companies that make machines that make computer chips. However, the department I work for primarily makes bellows and seals for the aerospace industry. I take great pride in the jobs that I work on. Why? Because most of the aerospace jobs are critical components in assemblies that can affect the life and safety of the people who use them.
Examples:
We make fuel drains for Lockheed and other customers. Needed for in-flight fueling of military jets. We make components that are part of the pilot ejection system. Yet another, a bellow for the PAC-3. Fluid accumulators for NASA shuttles... they change urine into potable water. Then, there is part of the assembly that controls the wing flaps on commercial jets. Another assembly that is part of the fire detection system in the cargo areas of commercial jets. One of our newest customers is a major oil rig manufacturer.
The job I work on most often is part of the system that signals when the oxygen mask drops out of the ceiling of a jet and dangles in front of your face. It's called an air breather valve. This bellow assembly is made of stainless steel. The parts I weld... under a microscope... are a mere .0015" thick. The inside diameter is less than half an inch across, the outside diameter is less than one inch across. Thus... the need for the microscope. And, precision and dexterity.
The thickest material we weld is a mere .009" thick. Other than the hardware, which might be from 1/8" to 1/4" thick, that gets welded to the bellows. Did I mention that paper is about .003" thick?
I've been doing this job for eleven years.
I've had other jobs in other areas of manufacturing, to include... metal stamping, plastic injection molding, quality control, emergency first aid (because my first college major was nursing), CNC operator for the bolt carrier for the M-16, and tester of electronic detectors. Four different companies over a twenty-three year period.
I also spent nine years working for the local chapter of the National Safety Council. I started as a part-time instructor (because my major ended up being education). I taught five different driver improvement classes. Oh, yeah... the ones everyone loves to attend when their license is suspended or, right after getting a traffic ticket or a DUI... and a special class for senior citizens so they can get an insurance discount. After four years of teaching, I was hired as a department manager for traffic and occupational safety. I got to hire and train other instructors, among a gazillion other things.
I've also waitressed, tended bar, worked at a country club and... one year of subbing at a high school. The one job in my life that I liked the least? I wrote obituaries for the local newspaper. It wasn't the job itself that I disliked. It was the people working at the paper. Some of the most cold-hearted and egotistical humans with whom I've ever had to associate.
I was working there the day the first shuttle blew up. I was on the beachside that day and witnessed it. A horrible sight. When I got to work that afternoon... a mere two hours after the tragedy... people at the paper were already making jokes! I don't think I stayed more than another month after that.
Manufacturing has been a major component of the economy of this country... forever. Unfortunately, that has been changing drastically. It has been a major economic component of almost half my life. My father was a machinist for Goodyear for 31 years. He wanted me to go to college so I wouldn't spend my life in a factory, like he did. I graduated from college in 1974, and still ended up in manufacturing. I'm not sorry.
Not too many heard of this band even in 1967. Out of Phoenix, they released one album. It flopped, the band broke up.
"Superfine Dandelion drew from a lot of fine inspirations on their sole album: Jefferson Airplane, the Lovin' Spoonful, and Buffalo Springfield foremost among them. Good taste, however, does not guarantee a good record. Superfine Dandelion isn't lousy; it's just average and unmemorable. ... the album is still fun. And that's the most important thing, isn't it? Enjoy."
Mike McFadden formed the band with Ed Black and Rick Anderson with Mike Collins at the drummer. McFadden and Black went on to the Goose Creek Symphony - best known for their cover of "Mercedes Benz" - while Anderson (died 2022 age 75) was one of the founding members of The Tubes. Collins went on to not be the Mike Collins that piloted Apollo 11.
Being a 45 junkie at the time, I found this demo 45 and picked it up. Then spilled styrene cement on it :( To my knowledge, the 45 was never formally released.
But most everything can be found on Utube ... I'm hard pressed to find something from the 60s and later not on Utube.
It took several years; I was formally "retired" in 2020; I collect a modest stipend but I left myself open to consulting work. My skill set is highly specialized but overall, has faded from importance in the field. Lately, however, I've noticed a resurgence - probably because my work is involved with fundamentals and the industry moved away ... and discovered that those fundamentals were important but the talent pool had faded away in the interim.
I enjoy my work. I miss the profession. It was a hobby long before it became a profession, and it became a hobby again once I "retired". A hobby is an activity with negative cash flow ...
I recently saw a job posting on LinkedIn. I couldn't have written a better job description for myself: my specific specialty, remote work, pay far above and beyond what I'd ask for in my position here in Idaho (but in line with the last corporate job I held), small start-up, interesting ideas.
Keep in mind many if not most job postings on LinkedIn are ... shall we say ... suitable for questioning.
I pulled out my resume. I looked at it, I thought of the "cost" of returning to the formal work world. 60-80 hour work weeks, air travel between Boise and San Jose, corporate meetings, dressing the part ... dealing with California.
I swore to myself long ago I wouldn't work for a start-up unless I was a principal - my name on the corporate papers. They pay me thousands so they can make millions off my work. I put my resume back into its folder.
But funny thing - as I write this, I look again at the posting, I look again at my resume ... and I ask myself "Should I submit it just to see what happens?"; let them tell me No? What do I do if they say Yes?
That kind of income would certainly help build resources for the coming "adventures". I sure do enjoy the work. I've got patents in the field. I've done the Silicon Valley start-ups before. And ... I'm in my 70s and don't really have the desire to work 10 hour days for a mid-30s boss.
Stay tuned. Wishy-washy is my middle name.
*
I delayed posting this until the wishy-washy faded away. I did not submit my resume ... I'm now officially a "has-been; once-was" in my own mind. It was a good run, ended sooner than I expected.
But gives me time for a new adventure. Doing what ghost does ... sort of ... in miniature.
"Oh my pretty girl." he whispered. "You wore the garter belt I like so much."
He almost regretted killing her quite yet.
Married five years. They both wanted children. Or, so he thought.
Her first mistake was leaving the birth control pills in her lingerie drawer. With a bracelet he'd never seen before. People get careless when their deceit goes on too long.
That was six months ago and he'd been collecting evidence and plotting ever since. His original plan did not include killing. He wanted to catch her in the act, beat the shit out of whichever prick was there and, spend some months making her life miserable.
In the end, though, the idea of long, drawn out drama was not appealing. Better to end it quickly and move on.
When his job necessitated traveling, he called her every morning and she called him every evening. Turned out that schedule left her evenings free for other things.
When he saw this week's schedule had him working two separate projects, he decided it would be the best scenario for covering his tracks. He wasn't due to come home for two more days. That would explain why the vase of roses was still on the dresser with a card that said, "Can't wait to see you tomorrow. Love, Joe."
The dead, naked guy beside her on the bed was Sam.
Sam's neck was twisted in a most unnatural angle. As was hers. No blood. No mess. He reached up to close her eyes and pull her skirt down a bit. He couldn't help but leave her, his wife, with a tiny bit of dignity.
Living in a heavily treed area with distant neighbors made it easy to hide his car and walk unnoticed to the house. With several hours of moonless dark still in the evening, he'd have no trouble going back the way he came. He'd be back at the hotel in plenty of time to make his morning call to her. And leave a loving message.
Perhaps Joe, the bouquet-guy, would be the one to find this scene. If not, he'd make another call tomorrow night, leave another message and then call her sister to ask if she'd seen his wife. Either way, he would be the broken-hearted, grieving husband however he got the tragic news.
He walked to the bedroom doorway and looked back to say, "It was fun while it lasted, wasn't it?"
I have a teeny story about this I’ll relate at the bottom.
Henry Gross, a tremendous vocalist “Simone” from 1973.
Henry Gross - Simone 1973
Simone though I know How you’ve tried not to show That you’ll leave me on my own some day Here in my heart I can say
Simone we’ve begun And darling you’re the one I’ve been saying up these words to say All my life, for today
Oh my darlin’, come and heal me ‘Cause I need to be your loving man Oh my darling can you feel me ‘Said I’m giving you the best I can Oh darling, take my hand
Simone I believe In a while you will see How very fine our love can be Come build your dreams, next to me
Oh my darling, come and heal me ‘Cause I need to be your loving man Oh my darling can you feel me ‘Said I’m giving you the best I can
==================
It was a Friday night and I didn’t have a date so I was driving around in my 66 Mustang convertible with the top down and the radio playing. There was a 6 pak of Bud on the seat and I was throwing the empties over my head and I was 18 years old.
The radio just played Henry Gross’s “SkinKing” song, which I never heard before but liked it, and then they came on with the question, “Who was the singer on the song “Nantucket Sleigh Ride”?*, which I happened to know. If you were the 3rd person to call in with the correct answer you’d win Henry Gross’s “Yellow” album.
I was driving down Highway 41 and was passing the Villa’s and lo and behold there was a phone booth out in the middle of know where. I dropped that dime and was the 3rd caller and got the answer correct. 53 years later I still have that album.
