Christmas Past touches us still

Christmas is truly a time for reflection.

This year, we took a nostalgic journey by revisiting all our old holiday videos. I started filming Christmas morning in 1977, the year our daughter was born in Alaska. At first, I used Super 8mm Kodak silent films. Then, in 1983, we transitioned to videotape, allowing us to finally hear the laughter and joy of our family celebrations. One memorable moment was captured when my sister decorated the tree alongside our daughters, while my mother and aunt looked on.  This scene takes us back in time; all of them gone nearly a quarter of a century. The quality of those early recordings is not great; our first camera struggled with low light and produced somewhat ghostly images.  Yet, they are filled with warmth and the spirit of the season.

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Christmas 1979 Air Force Academy

In 1987, we made a significant upgrade to a better video camera (the old one had died). A few years ago, I started condensing our Christmas videos into about 15 minutes of highlights. Now on DVDs, these highlights take us on a journey through the years from 1977 to 2002. Watching them is an emotional experience. We see our daughters grow from toddlers into teenagers and, ultimately, confident women at William Smith. It’s like witnessing a time-lapse of our lives, illustrating how we transitioned from newlyweds to a couple with over 40 years of cherished memories. This journey captures the essence of our evolution into what we now smilingly call “older” folks.

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Christmas 2012 Canandaigua – Rear Obie, Mel’s husband, Bob Amy’s husband, Front Melissa, Bonnie, me, and Amy

We also read some of our annual Christmas letters to family and friends.  These often began with “nothing much happened this year.” It’s a sentiment many folks can relate to. These letters capture small yet meaningful moments in our lives. They provide a comforting sense of continuity, reminding us that, despite the ups and downs of the year, there is strength in our everyday experiences. It is these little moments that emphasize the special connections that bind us together.

We had one additional holiday tradition for many years. It all started in 1971 when I received a 12-inch stand-up Santa Claus Christmas card from friends I met while serving in the Air Force. Although the card was meant as a joke, it was for a 5-year-old, it made me smile.  Inspired by this, I decided to continue the tradition each year, sending Santa back to his sender.  From 1972 onwards, as my military service took me from combat to different places, Santa visited and witnessed all the changes in our lives.  Each year he carried a new message, until there was hardly any space left to write.

Unfortunately, 10 years ago, Santa didn’t come.  My friend, the original sender, had passed away. However, I managed to locate his former wife and sons, and one of them had the original card. So, Santa made one last trip to us in 2016, 45 years after he first came. He was faded and wrinkled but brought back his messages and memories. Although my friend is gone, looking at Santa reminds me of him and how a joke became a precious tradition. Every Christmas was special when Santa arrived.

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Looking back, our holidays were filled with thoughtful gifts and the excitement of children (and adults) in beautifully decorated spaces. We treasure these memories and are thankful for the wonderful people and events they represent. This blend of nostalgia and gratitude underscores their significance. No matter how challenging a year may be, Christmas brings hope. The rich tapestry of holiday memories reminds us that we were blessed.

Posted in American History, Christmas, Christmas Card traditions, Christmas Cards sent back and forth, Christmas letter | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

The Strangest Thanksgiving Ever!

Cornucopia

Everyone has a mental image of Thanksgiving that is right out of a Norman Rockwell painting: the family around the table, Dad carving the turkey, the children beautifully dressed and smiling.

Well not all Thanksgivings are like that.

I have spent Thanksgiving in Thailand eating gummy fondue and bagels heated on a hotplate, Thanksgiving in Alaska on alert, and Thanksgiving with folks who were mad at each other and not speaking – that was pretty weird– and Thanksgivings with family members who were always eager to share their opinions on my life and how it was going.  But the absolutely strangest Thanksgiving was in California in 1972.

My wife and I had just been married and it was our first Thanksgiving. I was in training to fly the F4 in Arizona and we decided to go to California to visit a captain and his wife who were at an Air Force Base, down near Yosemite National Park.  They were people I had known in flying training. We had a nice visit and since we were close to Yosemite, our friend said that we should drive over to the park and sightsee. It was decided that we would do it on Thanksgiving day and his wife would stay home and prepare the meal, as she didn’t want to go. We set off in the morning with the plan that we would be back at 5 p.m for dinner. It was a beautiful day and we spent it surrounded by the magnificence of Yosemite.

At about 5 p.m. we returned to their quarters on base, expecting that dinner was ready – WRONG.

She had not even started the meal. Not only that– she hadn’t even put the bird in the oven. Don’t ask me why, I have no clue – the story was not clear then and it is not clear now, something about shopping etc, and then waiting until we got home. It didn’t make sense then and it certainly doesn’t 42 years later.  We even took their two year old child with us so she could have the day free to herself.

Well, as any adult knows, you do not cook a turkey in 1 hour or 2 hours or even 3 hours, usually it takes about 5 hours. Let’s see 5 p.m. plus 5 hours brings us to 10 p.m. And that is when dinner was finally served after my wife pitched in and helped.

Now we hadn’t eaten anything since about noon at Yosemite and it was 10 p.m. We were famished.

Did I mention there were no snacks to munch on while we waited for FIVE HOURS FOR DINNER.

We loaded our plates and literally inhaled it, no time for pleasantries, no comments about the food, no comments period.

I have never, never before or after, seen people eat so fast.

We shoveled it in –I think it was now about 10:07 at this point, or maybe 10:05, (as I said I have never seen people eat so fast).

And then it was time for refills.

Eating at so fast a pace meant that the “we were full signal” had not quite reached our brains.   As we tucked into that second big plate, it hit our stomachs.   I don’t remember much after that as we sat in a food-induced stupor.  And then it was time for bed.

We left the next day.

Oh well at least Yosemite was beautiful.

PS:  The couple we visited later divorced and we now think that the wife had a special Thanksgiving guest while we were away and it wasn’t the Turkey.  

Posted in Air Force, American History, American holidays, Family History, Norvell Family History, Thanksgiving, Yosemite | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Mr. and Mrs. Halloween

If you’ve known me for a while, you know Halloween is my favorite holiday.  My Halloween memories began when I was about five years old. I can still vividly picture my dad carrying what seemed like a gigantic pumpkin. We sat together at the table while he carved it into a Jack-o’-Lantern. The soft, golden light of a late fall afternoon streamed through the kitchen windows, creating an atmosphere that only October can offer. It was a beautiful moment, clearly in my mind. My dad, an Army Master Sergeant who fought in World War II, was preparing to head overseas again during the Korean War, which made this moment even more poignant. As the years  passed, Halloween transformed from the simple act of carving pumpkins into something much more.

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Like many childhood memories, this transformation began in elementary school. Growing up in the 1950s in Hannibal, a small town near Oswego, I found Halloween to be the most significant holiday of the year. The streets, cloaked in darkness and lined with age-worn gravestones from the nearby cemetery, created an eerie backdrop for the celebration. At school, we celebrated with parties and games, and our teachers surprised us by donning costumes that added to the special atmosphere of the day.

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As evening fell, small groups of children gathered, eagerly anticipating the highlight of the night: trick-or-treating. Some of the younger kids engaged in harmless pranks, like soaping windows. Meanwhile, the teenagers hoisted an old wagon high up the town flagpole, a sight that greeted us the next day as we passed by on the school bus. Caught up in the spirit of the night, my friend and I crafted a makeshift scarecrow using tattered clothes and hay, hanging it from a gnarled tree branch in hopes of startling unsuspecting drivers. Halloween nights were a perfect blend of creativity and harmless mischief in our small town.

As adults, my wife Bonnie and I fully embraced Halloween. Each year, we host an open house, and our guests are always amazed by the extensive collection of Halloween items we’ve gathered or received over the past 53 years. When I say “received,” I really mean it. I’ve even gotten Halloween decorations as gifts for my birthday and Christmas. Sometimes friends drop by and say, “We saw this and thought of you.” They often bring us new items during our Halloween open house as well. What can I say? Our home has rightfully earned the nickname “The Halloween House.” When we meet new people and mention that we live in the “Halloween House”, they usually smile, aware of our reputation. 

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We love creating elaborate displays in our yard that get everyone into the holiday spirit. Before the pandemic, we set up a spooky graveyard in our front yard, complete with homemade gravestones. In 2008, Channel 13 in Rochester featured our display on the morning news just before Halloween. These days, we’ve replaced the gravestones with a cheerful pumpkin patch, featuring a friendly ghost with a Jack-o’-Lantern head. During their visit, the Channel 13 host aptly called us “Mr. and Mrs. Halloween.” 

So, if you’re in Canandaigua on Halloween night and wondering where to find us, just ask —  everyone will know.

Posted in American History, Halloween, New York, New York State History | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Dancing with the Devil

During our F-4 upgrade training, our Instructor Pilots (IPs) warned us about the dangers of complacency. Taking things for granted could lead to serious accidents. But complaceny was not the only issue.

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In the fall of 1972 at Luke Air Force Base, a German F-104 student pilot crashed during a practice bombing mission. The investigation found that he experienced target fixation, where he focused on the target to the exclusion of everything else. Target fixation occured when someone concentrated on a singular, often distracting or dangerous element, driven by the expectation of success. The student likely became complacent after flying the mission multiple times, which ultimately led to disaster. We referred to such outcomes as “Buying the Farm,” meaning to crash or die. This was certainly not our goal.

When I think about the dangers of flying, I remember the line, “Ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?” This is a famous quote from The Joker, played by Jack Nicholson, in the 1989 movie Batman. It asks whether someone has ever taken a dangerous risk or flirted with evil. I, like many others who flew in the Phantom, have “danced with the devil.” I was fortunate; others were not.

SEA sorties witnessed many incidents of danger. In my own squadron, the 13 TFS, as if to prove the point about “buying the farm”, a crew ferrying an F-4 from Ubon had to bail out when the plane came apart. The aircraft crashed into a Thai village.

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I had a different experience that could have resulted in disaster. On July 22, 1973, we began our bombing mission like usual. I was flying with an experienced pilot. Our aircraft, an F-4E 237, received clearance, and we started the takeoff. This was a combat mission and we had about 18,000 pounds of Mark 82s hanging from the bird. We climbed into the sky, flew over the klong, and turned. Everything felt normal as we reached 1,000 feet and continued to climb. Suddenly, our plane lurched violently to the right. At that point, we were around 7,000 feet, but we quickly dropped, losing about 1,000 feet instantly. Our wingman, who was catching up to us, held back to see what was happening.

We had two options: either get the aircraft over an uninhabited area and eject, or try to stabilize the aircraft and fly it for about an hour to burn off fuel before jettisoning the bombs. The AC decided that we would remain with the bird for now. The next 40 minutes felt long, but fortunately, nothing serious happened. We dumped the fuel, jettisoned the bombs, and landed safely. That was my first close call in the air, but I knew the risk was always present on any flight.

While I was in Alaska, several accidents involved F-4 aircraft. On February 18, 1971, an F-4E crew crashed while approaching Elmendorf Air Force Base. They ejected safely and were rescued from Cook Inlet, but the cause of the crash is unknown. In December 1973, an F-4 on a routine training mission turned into a cloud and simply disappeared. It was never found. On May 1, 1974, another F-4 crashed during its approach to Eielson Air Force Base. Then, on January 24, 1976, two F-4s flew through a cloud of volcanic ash from Mount St. Augustine, which had erupted the day before. The ash damaged the aircraft, making it impossible to see out of the front windscreen. In February 1977, an F-4 crashed while approaching Elmendorf. The crew ejected and was rescued from the icy waters of Cook Inlet, but the cause of this accident was also undetermined.

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In early spring 1977, while returning from a training mission near King Salmon, we encountered a fuel problem. The AC noticed the problem, but there were no fumes or signs of fuel venting from the wing. Possible explanations included internal fuel not transferring from the wings to the main tank or fuel flowing back into the wing tanks. The cold weather in Alaska affected the F-4 in ways that weren’t obvious during pre-flight checks, unlike the hot climates of Luke or Thailand. Looking out from the rear cockpit, I saw we were over a desolate area, about 150 miles from Elmendorf. We worked the problem using our checklists and other emergency procedures and in the end, the situation seemed to resolve itself.

The incidents illustrate that flying inherently involves risks, often likened in my mind to “Dancing with the Devil.” Minor events can escalate into significant problems, and an excessive focus on a single target can lead to a catastrophic outcome. Complacency was a real threat. While flying in a jet offered opportunities that most Americans may never experience, it is important to recognize that these experiences can also carry substantial consequences.

Posted in 13 TFS, 43 TFS, Air Force lingo, Alaska, Alaskan Air Command, American History, F-4 Phantom II, F4 emergency, F4 Phantom II, F4 PhantomII, Fighter Aircraft, Fighter pilot lingo, Fighter pilot slang, Udorn RTAFB, Vietnam War | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Back in the Pit

Don’t it always seem to go
That you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone…

Joni Mitchell “Big Yellow Taxi” 1970

Last weekend, I had the chance to revisit a place where I spent six years—over 1,000 hours—in the backseat, also known as “The Pit,” of the F-4 Phantom II. I attended the annual open house hosted by David Garbe, who has reconstructed the cockpit of the F4D 720. This aircraft was stationed at Udorn RTAFB around the same time I flew combat missions with the 13th TFS over Cambodia. David is a highly talented individual who has dedicated about eight years to rebuilding this cockpit from a salvaged airframe. With over 30 years of experience in video production, David is also an aviation enthusiast with a particular fondness for the F-4 Phantom.

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This year, David had a good group to check out his bird. One of the people there was Tom, a former RF4-C backseater. Even though we had different missions, we had a lot of the same stories to share. I met Tom three years ago at David’s open house when his son surprised him by taking him there. This time, Tom’s son and his two grandsons were with him. I enjoyed chatting with his son while watching Tom laugh and tell stories about his flying days to the boys.

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As things progressed, I moved to the front seat while Tom went to “The Pit” to talk with the boys. He explained all the instruments and equipment. Occasionally, they asked questions, and I added some information to cover anything they might have missed, such as the speed or altitude.

As I sat in the front, my mind drifted back to the years I too was in the bird, remembering some things from the past.

My first flight: Military flying was a mystery to me. The training I received at Mather did not prepare me for the real experience of flight. I faced turbulence, the aircraft’s movement through the air, the tight space in the cabin, and the stress that came with it. Flying a the Phantom fighter for the first time was similar to having your first sexual experience. You can see it in movies and watch others, but you don’t really understand it until you try it yourself. In the back seat of the Phantom, I finally felt the joy of flying a fighter. I understood why our instructors loved the aircraft and everything it could do. Being a GIB (Guy In Back) was thrilling. The experience in the Phantom was incredible and life-changing. This past weekend, I felt the same way; I was where I was meant to be.

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Crew Chiefs: As we sat there, Tom asked if the height of the trailer-mounted bird was about the same as an actual Phantom. I replied that it was, and I added that I half-expected to see a Crew Chief underneath. During my time at Luke, I had very little interaction with the ground crews who maintained the Phantoms. However, as my combat experience continued, I got to know them better. They were out on the line in the heat and high humidity; they loved their aircraft and took great care of us. Notably, they would salute as we taxied out on a combat mission. For us, this gesture connected us to the F-4 aircrews who had flown combat so many times in the past. Later, I asked a former crew chief about this salute, and he explained, “It was pride in what we did, but more importantly, it was a signal of our connection, our bond, and our respect for you.” He remembered it as an act and gesture like no other, and indeed, it was. We respected their hard work, and the chiefs returned that respect in kind.

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Being a WSO: In recent years, I have come to truly appreciate the immense trust my nation placed in me by allowing me to fly in the back seat of the F-4. It was not just about being a good GIB and fulfilling my duties; this trust demanded that I act without hesitation, even if it meant risking my life. When people ask what it was like to fly in the back seat, I tell them it was the highest honor a man could ever receive. At that time, I didn’t fully understand the significance, as many of my peers were also flying in the F-4. Now, I realize just how extraordinary that experience was.

As Joni Mitchell wrote so long ago

“ Don’t it always seem to go –That you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone…”

Posted in 43 TFS, Air Force, aircraft restoration, American History, F-4 Phantom II, F4 emergency, F4 Phantom II, F4 PhantomII, Veterans, Vietnam War | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Becoming a “Lifer”

Veterans and active-duty military members are well-acquainted with the term “lifer,” although it often carries a negative connotation. When I embarked on my active duty journey nearly 60 years ago, we could easily classify the military into three distinct groups:

  1. The older “lifers” who had served in World War II.
  2. The middle-aged “lifers” who were shaped by the Korea conflict.
  3. The younger recruits who entered service in the 1960s, adapting to a rapidly changing world.

Some younger members acted like old lifers, sticking to strict rules and avoiding fraternization with enlisted personnel. Our younger group, however, didn’t take those traditions seriously. The lifers enjoyed parades and following protocol, while the rest of us were less enthusiastic. I viewed lifers as old and out of touch.

Yet, in the end I became a “lifer.”

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When I started my active duty in 1968, the Air Force assigned me to a tedious and repetitive job in a command post, where my main tasks involved writing operations plans. My days were spent sitting at my desk, reading plans, and managing paperwork. It wasn’t the exciting future in the Air Force that I had hoped for. I had hoped to become a pilot after passing my flight physical and being on track to enter flight training upon graduating in 1966. However, I decided to take a different path first. I applied for permission to pursue a graduate degree in American history, which delayed my entry into active duty until 1968. While in graduate school, I had to undergo another physical examination. Whether it was due to all the reading or the genetic predisposition from my parents, both of whom wore glasses, I did not pass the vision tests this time. As a result, flying was no longer an option for me.

Yet, the idea of flying never went away. I knew that if I wanted a career, I had to get into flying training. I read the Air Force Times every week, went to the personnel office, and checked about getting into the navigator training school. My vision was still too bad to pass the pilot flight physical, but almost close enough for a navigator. For a while, this seemed to be a lost cause, but I never gave up. I desperately wanted to fly. By 1970, as the Vietnam War escalated, the Air Force was rapidly depleting its aircrews. Consequently, flying training was accelerated. It was during this time that I learned the vision requirements for navigator training had changed. I applied for navigator school and took another flight physical. This time, I passed. I was finally on my way to flying.

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This was the defining journey that led me to become a “lifer” in the Air Force. If I hadn’t pursued flight training, I would have left after my four-year commitment. However, my decision to attend navigator training ultimately placed me in the backseat of the F-4, a two-seat fighter that had emerged in the 1960s and was still relatively new when I started flying in 1972.

Going through navigator training was one of the most challenging experiences of my life. When I arrived at Mather in the fall of 1971, I was unprepared for what lay ahead. Although I had always excelled academically, nav school required a level of dedication I had never encountered before. Unlike college, it demanded extensive study and continuous practice, pushing me to commit more than I ever had in the Air Force or during my college years.

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This experience transformed me into a “lifer.”

I became truly committed to the service and realized that perhaps being a lifer was not the negative term I once thought it was.

Being a lifer meant embracing a life built on the three core concepts of the military: Duty, Honor, and Country.

Posted in Air Force, American History, F4 Phantom II, Navigator, Navigator Training, Veterans, World War Ii | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

Remembrances of Preacher

2025 is the 50th anniversary of the end of the Vietnam War.

It was not the war that killed Preacher; it was the years after the war.

I had known Preacher for two years before we became roommates during the war. Preacher and I had gone to Undergraduate Navigation Training together and worked as a team during the trek at Survival School. The trek was exhausting. Thankfully, I teamed up with him. He encouraged me and always shared some motivation when I felt low. That was the purpose of our training: we had to rely on each other. We were a team.

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We both ended up at Udorn RTAFB flying combat missions. After my first roommate, Fast Eddy, moved out, Preacher became my new roommate. He was a good guy, and we liked sharing a room. Of course at this point he wasn’t yet, The Preacher.

In the summer of 1973, he picked up the nickname. It’s funny how nicknames come about sometimes. Some make sense, while others are just random. For example, this captain always wore sunglasses indoors, so everyone called him “Hollywood.” There was also a captain named Upp who got stuck with the nickname “Tits.” And then there was my roommate who became “The Preacher” and because he had graduated from a Bible college.

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Preacher and I would hang out with his friend. We’d head to the Thai Golden Palm restaurant on base. I had never tried Thai food, so my first meal was quite adventurous. The waitress told me it was spicy. I figured “spicy” for Thais couldn’t be too bad, probably like the “hottish” heat from Tex-Mex I had in Arizona, so I went for it. Let me tell you that the soup was intense! It burned my mouth, it burned going down, it burned in my stomach, it burned in my intestines, and yes, it even burned coming out.

In November 1973, Preacher got some rough news. His wife didn’t winterize their car before driving it, and without snow tires, the vehicle slid off the road and rolled down an embankment, getting wrecked. I saw that he was distraught. This was precisely the kind of news I had told my wife not to write to me about. I was glad we had that deal; no news like this was good news for me.

When combat ended, we had a lot of time on our hands; it was unsurprising that Preacher and I began to get on each other’s nerves. We saw each other perhaps one or two hours a day when we were flying combat, and now we were always together. By Christmas, we were no longer bickering at each other. Looking back, I realize that most of our tension came from being bored and having nothing to do. He had been in combat, and I think he felt a bit lost, too. We had started a little feud, but luckily it didn’t last long. From then on, we got along well for the rest of my time in Thailand.

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I had a fulfilling career in the Air Force, but I can’t help but feel for Preacher, who faced a much more challenging path.

After returning home from his deployment in Thailand, he and his wife went through a painful divorce. It’s possible that the strain of his remote tour took a toll on their relationship. Preacher later remarried, but that new marriage also ended in heartbreak. It’s deeply saddening to see how his career, which started so promisingly, ultimately stalled, leading him to retire as a captain after 20 years of dedicated service.

One can only imagine the lasting effects of combat on a person’s life. Preacher likely carried some heavy burdens from his time at Udorn. With his background in Bible college and his deep faith, one wonders if those harrowing months of bombing were more than he could bear. My heart goes out to him for his struggles during and after his service. Was it Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder? I may never find the answer.

Among fighter pilots, there’s a saying: “When the silver bullet is going to get you, the silver bullet is going to get you.” It’s heartbreaking to think that Preacher carried that weight in his mind for over 20 years.

One night, he took a gun and blew out his brains.

Posted in American History, F-4 Phantom II, F4 Phantom II, PTSD, Thailand, Vietnam War | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Complacency Can Kill

When you fly for a living, as I did for nearly 15 years, you learn to always remain vigilant while in the air. However, vigilance is not the fundamental principle of flying. Flying isn’t solely about skill levels, air traffic control, or aircraft maintenance. The key rule is to avoid complacency.

Complacency is a trap, and I fell into that trap even before I began flying. My first assignment was at Bolling Air Force Base in Washington, DC. If this sounds familiar, it is across the Potomac River from Reagan National Airport. Recently, a Blackhawk helicopter collided with an American Airlines passenger aircraft near Bolling. 

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I was stationed at Bolling from 1968 to 1971. At that time, the base had no active runways, they were closed in 1962 when air traffic at Reagan National became too heavy. During my assignment, I was responsible for writing disaster response plans for aircraft crashes on base. Being young and inexperienced, I dismissed the idea of a potential crash as preposterous since we had no operational runways or aircraft. I was complacent in this belief. It never occurred to me that one of the aircraft flying over the base could end up crashing on approach to Reagan National across the river.

After leaving Bolling, I completed navigator training and flew 42 combat missions in Southeast Asia. I had my share of close calls, including a near crash during takeoff in an F-4 jet loaded with 18,000 pounds of bombs.  I witnessed the tragic loss of friends and fellow aviators in air crashes, which deepened my respect for the risks we faced. Through these experiences, I understood that complacency can be a dangerous trap for anyone in our line of work.

In 1974, I was stationed at Elmendorf Air Force Base in Anchorage, Alaska. Shortly before my arrival, an air crew was lost over the Alaskan interior when an F-4 disappeared during a training mission. The wingman later reported that the other aircraft had vanished into a cloud bank. Despite extensive search efforts by civilian and Air Force crews over the next two weeks, no trace of the aircraft was ever found. The crew was highly skilled, the aircraft was in good condition, and it was a routine flight when something unexpectedly went wrong.

In another incident in Alaska, a crew crashed during routine touch-and-go practice due to a fuel problem, forcing the pilot to execute a dead-stick landing. The backseater ejected safely, and although the pilot managed to land the aircraft, he encountered difficulties during the crash. The front seat ejected before the canopy blew off, and tragically, the pilot later died from his injuries.  Later, I experienced a close call during a routine training mission in one of the most desolate regions of Alaska when our aircraft had a fuel problem. These incidents occurred during routine missions, making it easy to become complacent. After all, what could possibly go wrong?

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When reflecting on the DC events this week, it’s essential to consider the many routine factors that contributed to the crash. Some have blamed the helicopter pilot as the primary source of the problem, but it’s essential to acknowledge the broader context.  Many have argued that Reagan National Airport should have been closed years ago.  The high traffic there is frequently challenging, particularly during peak times.  Even if the pilot was highly skilled, visibility from a helicopter can be tough at night.  Air traffic control worked to ensure safety by notifying the aircrews of potential concerns. However, once these alerts were communicated, controllers typically shifted their focus to other essential tasks as part of their routine operations.  

It is essential to recognize, then, that everyone possesses a high skill level in performing their responsibilities. Yet, flying encompasses more than just skill levels, air traffic control, or even aircraft maintenance.   High performance of tasks and routines, while vital for efficiency, can sometimes lead to complacency.  This must be avoided at all costs. 

Complacency can kill.

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A version of this story appeared in the Finger Lakes Times, Geneva NY, OpEd section February 1, 2025

Posted in Air crashes, American History, Bolling AFB, F-4 Phantom II, Thailand | Tagged , , , , | 3 Comments

Snap Shots of Christmas

Writing our annual holiday letter this year was a challenge. At age 80, not many things have happened in our lives. In the past, we often had exciting or interesting news. In 2021, I had a large section of my colon removed as it was leaking; this provided a great deal of material for our letter. The pandemic, of course, allowed us to discuss how we were coping. Then things settled down for us, and the news mostly dried up. We have been here in the Finger Lakes area of New York for 31 years.   This year, we are celebrating our 52nd Christmas since we got married (we took one year off while I was in Thailand during the Vietnam War). We have decorated trees in Arizona, Alaska, Colorado, Alabama, California, Virginia, and Canandaigua, New York. Those places bring back sweet memories, many captured in photos. Some show a formal frozen pose of the family–a snapshot of time passed.

Other holiday photos give insights into the times in different ways. 

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  Several from the 1980s centered around our two daughters in Christmas outfits their mother made. They bring a smile to our faces. One early grandson’s photo shows them wearing Pittsburgh Penguins team jerseys. That photo confirmed they will ultimately go to Penn State and not be Hobart grads. 20 years ago, in 2004, our cat Max joined the family–our best cat; he left us in 2018.  Thirty years ago, in 1994, we celebrated our second Christmas here. That year, we decorated the front yard with luminaries. However, we stopped doing this in 2010 due to the heavy snowfall in New York.   New York was not Virginia, where we did the luminaries without weather worries.  

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Some Christmas photos evoke bittersweet memories, reminding me how challenging the holiday season can be. In 1989, when we lived in Virginia, the family photo included my newly widowed mother.  She came to stay with us for two long months during the holidays.

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It was an undeniably difficult time for her as she grappled with her loss. While we were grateful for her presence, other challenges soon became evident. Our family car broke down just days before Christmas, leaving us stranded and stressed. Then came a harrowing moment during dinner in a restaurant when our daughter choked on her food — my heart raced as I rushed to assist her with a Heimlich maneuver. To cap it all, the power cut out just as we geared up to ring in the New Year, plunging us into darkness when friends were due to come to our home. Throughout it all, my mother had her unique coping mechanisms, which required immense patience on our part.

When you combine traditional holiday stress with unexpected hurdles, the overwhelming weight of the season indeed reveals itself. Yet, despite the chaos, I can’t help but recall a line from Chevy Chase in “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation,” that we were in this…Christmas together (I’ve omitted the expletive to keep it family-friendly). This reminded us that we share powerful bonds even in the most challenging times.

A small photo takes me back to 1973 in Thailand, at the end of the Vietnam War. It shows a small Christmas tree with a picture of my wife beside it.  That year, Christmas arrived, but it felt like just another day as we wandered around the base, searching for something to occupy our time. Bob Hope had visited the previous year, but there was no show for us that year. With the “war” over, it seemed no one cared that we were still in Southeast Asia. It didn’t matter that we had spent eight months flying combat missions; Americans were eager to move on and leave the Vietnam War behind.  We walked around the base on Christmas day, feeling restless and disconnected. In Thailand, the poinsettia trees were in bloom, reminding us of the holiday, but we didn’t feel like celebrating. Though the calendar said it was December 25, the day felt empty. To celebrate in my small way, I had a tree, presents, and homemade cookies from my wife. I also received care packages from my family, including an audiotape of a family gathering earlier that year.  I sat in my room, listening to the tape, eating those special cookies, and looking at the tree my wife had sent and her photo. For a few moments, I felt almost at home.

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These photos convey a powerful lesson: every moment, whether joyful or challenging, reflects our shared journey. Christmas unites us all, transcending age and distance. This is the true magic of the holiday—the comfort and promise it brings.

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A version of this story appeared also in the Finger Lakes Times, Dec 21,2024

Posted in American History, Christmas gifts, Christmas Trees, Combat, Holidays, Norvell Family History, NY History, Ontario Co, Vietnam War, Washington DC | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Citizen Soldiers are the bedrock of the Nation

I come from a long line of American veterans who served our nation. My earliest ancestor was a captain in the Virginia Colonial military, and the family line of service has carried in every war with my father serving in the Army in World War II and Korea and me in the Vietnam Air War. We are good examples of citizen soldiers.

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The concept of the citizen soldier became deeply rooted in American culture as a reminder that in a democracy, the privileges of citizenship and the responsibility of military service were interconnected. All veterans, both past and present, are considered citizen soldiers. This means that even if they pursued a military career, it was only a part of their life. They later returned to their local communities for a second career. Their duty as citizens was to serve the country that had given them so much. This idea is timeless: If one receives much, one should give back.

If we were to travel back to America’s past, we would find a society that was quite different from today. Most Americans lived in rural areas and focused on farming and home life with little year-to-year change. Men rarely left their homes, leading to a demanding and somewhat monotonous life. The first citizen soldiers served in the militias and returned home to tell of their service. These stories created a romanticized view of war as an adventure and noble cause, which continued through various wars. However, World War II veterans rarely spoke about their combat experiences, and the Vietnam War posed significant challenges for returning veterans.

In the years following Vietnam, though, there has been a positive shift in attitudes toward veterans, with increasing recognition and gratitude for their service. It has become customary to publicly express heartfelt gratitude to our veterans, and programs like Honor Flight go above and beyond to provide special trips that honor their invaluable contributions. Locally, we have the New York State Veterans Cemetery-Finger Lakes. This hallowed site holds deep historical significance as the former Sampson Naval Training Station and Sampson Air Force Base, where countless received training during World War II and the Korean War.

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Despite the change in attitudes toward veterans, many people are still unaware of the sacrifices and experiences of those who have served in the military. Veterans often express that they have given our nation a blank check. This commitment is also shared in the civilian world by first responders, such as firefighters and police, who understand the special bond forged through mutual trust. Over the years, we have heard countless stories of bravery and courage under fire in every armed forces branch. We have also heard reports of service members who have gone above and beyond the call of duty. It is expected that those who serve are willing to sacrifice everything to protect their fellow citizens, and this level of commitment has been expected since the birth of our country.

My friend, a retired Lt. Colonel, wrote this about our service and what it meant to him long ago:

“We’ve danced together … on the silver tops of a cloud-carpeted sky. This dance, with pride, will be tearfully missed. To those who know what it is to care about brothers to the degree that you would die with them, nothing more can be said.”

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Posted in Air Force, American History, Battlefields, Civil War, F-4 Phantom II, F4 Phantom II, F4 PhantomII, Family History, Fighter Aircraft, Holidays, Mather AFB, Military history, Norvell Family History, NY, NY History, U Dorn RTAFB, Udorn RTAFB, Veterans, Veterans Day, Vietnam War, World War Ii, WWI | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment