The SandGram

Legends

Famous guys I knew and didn’t know it.
The sign of a great pilot is that he won’t tell you how great he is. Back in Dec of 1992, the FDO (flight duty officer) called me up and asked if I wanted to fly to Hawaii to pick up a refueling job for a week. What a dream trip, one week in Waikiki and all we had to do was refuel two F-4 Phantoms on Tuesday and Thursday. Since the trip was leaving December 4th, it went to all of the single guys who didn’t care if the plane broke there and missed Christmas since it was a two week deal. The flight over was a blast as we talked about what we planned on doing while staying at the OutRigger hotel on the beach.

On Sunday, we met the two pilots flying the F-4’s. They belonged to “TriCorp” a company that flew vintage jets and did contract work for the Navy. This week, the two Vietnam work horses would be carrying one large drone missile under their belly that would be released at fifty thousand feet to attack an Aegis cruiser down below. Dick Lawyer was the head test guy there and after he briefed with us I went up to him “Hey Dick” that always makes me shudder saying that to a guy, “Any chance I could get a ride in the back of your jet?” He smiled and said “Naw, I’m not sure if the insurance department would approve that request.”

Well, I’m a firm believer in that the answer is no unless you ask, so I just had to ask. The F-4 was out of service for the military, especially the Marines, so the opportunity to get a backseat hop was just too great to pass up. On Tuesday, we took off with a full bag of gas and climbed up to twenty-five thousand feet. I was flying in the right seat, “Paulie” was in the left seat with “Hairy Larry” standing over my shoulder. The two jets joined up with us over Barking Sands missile range near the island of Kauai. Dick was in a blue F-4 and his partner was flying the white one. Both pilots were retired Air Force Col’s who had spent many hours in the front seat of this jet, bombing the crap out of the VC during Vietnam. They handled their jets with fingertip finesse, plugging into our baskets with ease. After Dick topped off on his gas, he flew under the right wing of our KC-130 and pulled up right next to our plane. We were all a bit freaked out by this show of airmanship but he was planted right there, not moving. Perfect formation flying. When “Paulie” asked him if he could move a bit closer (being factitious of course), Dick chuckled and said “You guys haven’t seen anything yet, man I wish I could show what we did to the Russian Bears we intercepted in Alaska.” Then he toggled the mike and said “Hey Taco is that you?” Of course, I replied to the man I could touch next to me. He then asked “I thought you wanted to go fly with us, what happened?” man I was all over him with questions about going up and he just told me to show up on Thursday two hours prior to the brief and bring another Marine along for a ride on the hop that day. I was ecstatic at the chance to go up with him. Since I flew on Tuesday, ole “Hairy Larry” had to go fly on Thursday and wouldn’t be able to go. Now it was down to a couple of the enlisted guys in the back as to who wanted to go.

There was a Staff Sergeant back there who flat out was a bully to young co-pilots, so as much as he bragged that the seat was his, I had other plans. There was a young Mech back there named Aldrich and this Lance Corporal was a hard working great guy. I pulled him aside after the flight and told him my plan. On Thursday I basically ditched the Staff Sergeant and grabbed Mike for the trip over to Barbers Point, a Navy Base an hour away. Dick briefed us on the hop, suited us up and took us out to the planes. We climbed in back of these monster machines and strapped in. Let me tell you that there is no sound like that of those J79 engines as they fired up. We taxied out to the main runway as a section, conducting our before take off checks. I had a VHS camcorder on taping as Dick keyed the mic to the other ship. “Last one off the deck, buys the first round at the monkey bar when we get back” with that statement, game on, the throttles went forward and I was pressed into the back of the ejection seat as we went from zero to two hundred miles an hour in a mere matter of seconds.

The F-4 burns a lot of gas and now I know why they had to tank off of us after full afterburner takeoff. We climbed up to 25k to our tanker that was orbiting off the edge of the training area. The hoses came out as we pulled up into the contact position. I could see the face of “The Bully” pressed up into the window of the paratroop door. He wasn’t happy with me, but oh well. Watching this operation from the other end, gave me a greater understanding on the art of plugging into a tiny 27 inch basket that is floating around out there in space. Dick hit the basket in the first try and we started taking gas for our next segment of the climb. We went into full burners, climbing up to fifty thousand feet. From there, you can see the curvature of the earth; the sky is no longer blue, but black. We were trucking along at Mach 1.5 the speed of sound when the drone was released climbing up to eighty thousand feet before it started it’s attack run on the USS Shenandoah. I remember Dick making comment about how pretty it was up here and if we lost our engines to a flameout, not to worry because we’d be dead in seconds as our blood started to boil. “What was that part about blood boiling???” I asked, my voice about ten octaves higher. He expanded his statement as we were now fifty three thousand feet in Altitude. “Well, we’re so high that without a space suit, pressure suit, the oxygen in our blood would expand so fast that it would cause it to boil above fifty thousand feet.” I wasn’t happy about that small facttoid and kept looking at my fingers for signs of hypoxia. He remained up there for a long time till dash two reminded him that we needed to get gas. His visor was up and I could see him staring up into space with the look of a dreaming child.

As it turns out, I googled “Dick Lawyer pilot” and found out that Dick had passed away. What I read though was incredible. Here is his obit, what a man. As I drink a glass of red wine with my dinner tonight, I will toast Dick, a great American and so humble that you would never know it.
Semper Fi,
Taco

Former test pilot Lawyer dies at 73 This story appeared in the Antelope Valley Press on Thursday, November 24, 2005. By ALLISON GATLIN Courtesy of the Valley Press
Former test pilot, astronaut-select and flight instructor Richard Lawyer, 73, died November 12, 2005, at his home in Palmdale, Californi
a, of a suspected blood clot.

The retired Air Force colonel’s flying career spanned more than 50 years, beginning with his Air Force pilot training in 1955 to his most recent occupation as an instructor at the National Test Pilot School in Mojave, a position he had at the time of his death.

“He led a charmed life,” flying from the moment he first fell in love with flight, said Gayle , his wife of 23 years. “His wings were never clipped.”
Lawyer had assured her years ago he would walk away from airplanes at the very first indication that his flying was not up to his high standards, she said, a promise he thankfully never had to fulfill. Lawyer was in the cockpit three days before his death and was scheduled to fly for the test pilot school November 14, 2005.

Born November 8, 1932, in Los Angeles, the University of California graduate entered the Air Force in 1955. His flight test career began three years later when his fighter squadron was selected to test the F-105B.
He was a distinguished graduate of the Air Force Fighter Weapons School and of the Air Force Aerospace Research Pilot School (now the Air Force Test Pilot School at Edwards Air Force Base).
His Air Force career included two combat tours during the Vietnam War, as well as a time as chief of fighters at Edwards.
One little-known facet of Lawyer’s career was his selection in 1965 as one of the first astronauts to the Air Force’s classified Manned Orbiting Laboratory program. This program, later canceled without sending any astronauts into space, was to man a military space station with Air Force astronauts using a modified Gemini spacecraft.
Even after the program was canceled, Lawyer did not discuss it, still feeling the obligation to honor its secrecy.
“They made a vow; they never were released from that,” Gayle said. “That was huge. He was a man of honor.”
After his Air Force retirement in 1982, Lawyer served as flight test manager for Martin Marietta (now Lockheed Martin Corp.) at Edwards.
He then went on to join the National Test Pilot School and later another Mojave Airport business, Flight Systems Inc. There, he served as chief test pilot, piloting the first flight of the QF-4 drone.
Lawyer retired from Flight Systems in 1998 but continued at the test pilot school and as a self-employed consultant and test pilot. He most recently flew the F-100 for Flight Test Associates’ tests of Northrop Grumman Corp.’s Guardian airliner defense system.
Lawyer was a fixture at the Mojave Airport, known for driving his truck around the airport to visit friends after work at the test pilot school.
“Dick Lawyer has known a lot of big names in aviation history,” said friend and Mojave Airport tenant Cathy Hansen . “He was a big name himself, but he just didn’t know it.”
“He was very humble, quiet and soft-spoken,” she said. “He had a dry sense of humor which I thought was just hilarious.”
Hansen’s husband, Al, credits his license to fly his F-86 jet to Lawyer’s cockpit checkout.
“Dick was one of two people Al let fly” the F-86, she said.
In addition to flying, Lawyer had a passion for hunting and fishing, his other life-long love.
“When the day came flying was over, he was going to do even more hunting and fishing,” Gayle said.
Lawyer had just returned from an elk-hunting trip to Colorado when he died. He had also already begun planning his annual Alaskan fishing trip.
His other great joy – one he found unexpectedly later in life – was his nine grandchildren, ages 18 months to 11 years old.
“He adored his grandchildren,” Gayle said, introducing the older ones to fishing and flying. They were a “joy in his life he knew would be there when the day came that he might no longer be able to do the things that filled his life with joy.”
In addition to Gayle and the nine grandchildren, Lawyer is survived by sons Tim Lawyer of San Luis Obispo and James Lawyer of College Station, Texas; daughter Lisa Burr of Austin, Texas; stepdaughters Casey Hinds of Lexington, Ky., and Halya Mugglebee of Sherman Oaks.
“He was very much a family guy,” Cathy Hansen said.
Cathy sent Lawyer an e-mail, apparently one of the last he read, that talked about living life to the fullest.
“He had. He was living proof of that,” she said.
Lawyer will be remembered by family and friends in a memorial service at the National Test Pilot School on Dec. 17. For aviators like Lawyer, the date holds special significance as the anniversary of the Wright brothers’ first flight.
He will also be paid tribute with full military honors in a burial at Arlington National Cemetery on January 5, 2006.
It was Lawyer’s wish that, in lieu of flowers, donations be made to the Society of Experimental Test Pilots Scholarship Foundation or to the Air Warrior Courage Foundation of the Red River Valley Fighter Pilots Association.
Colonel Richard E. Lawyer, United States Air Force, was born on 8 November 1932 in Los Angeles, California; he is married with three children. He received a bachelor of science degree in aeronautical engineering from the University of California in 1955 and was chosen for the MOL (Manned Orbiting Laboratory) programm on 12 November 1965 (Group 1).
Following the cancellation of the MOL programme he remained with the Air Force and returned to active flight duty. He is currently Deputy Commander, Test Evaluation Directorate, Air Weapons Center, Tyndall Air Force Base, Florida.

Monday, 21 November 2005: Courtesy of Aero-News Network
Richard E. Lawyer, 73, passed away on November 12, 2005, the day after Veteran’s Day. The apparent cause of his death was a deep vein blood clot. His death was peaceful but completely unexpected; he was sitting at his desk at home. Dick Lawyer was born November 8, 1932 in Los Angeles and served his country as a test pilot, as a designated astronaut who never flew in space due to circumstances beyond his control, and as a senior officer in the Air Force.
The retired Air Force Colonel still taught at the National Test Pilot School at the Civilian Flight Test Center in Mojave, California, still conducted flight tests, and was scheduled to fly this week, according to the Society of Experimental Test Pilots.
Lawyer remained healthy and active, holding a Class 1 medical certificate till the day he died. Indeed, the F-100F pictures, taken earlier in 2005, show Col. Lawyer (below, front seat, blue helmet) and a flight test engineer conducting calibration test flights at Mojave earlier this year. The purpose was to get valid data up to Mach 0.90 in support of a Boeing 737 flight test program, so the intrepid duo passed by the Mojave tower at 70 feet AGL at speeds up to M0.90 which is 560 kts. Not many septuagenarians are doing that, but then, there was only one Dick Lawyer.

As well as the F-100, Dick Lawyer was actively flying T-33s, F-86s, and QF-4s for a variety of contractors at Mojave Airport. During his Air Force career he’d flown F-80, -86, -100, -101, -102, -104, 105, and -106 fighters, T-6, T-33 and T-39 (Sabreliner) trainers, and U-2 and B-57 reconnaissance aircraft.
Colonel Lawyer first came to the attention of Aero-News in June, when we ran an article on the discovery of a spacesuit with his name on it at Cape Canaveral. His relatives sent him that article, which upset him, because it mentioned that we tracked him down to the NTPS and they didn’t respond to our email (it turns out we used an old address that isn’t monitored). That article is here. (“NASA Finds 1960s Spacesuits,” 17 June 05). He was upset at the idea that people would think him unresponsive, which illustrates a little something of his character — the humble, friendly test pilot — not exactly a stereotype.
When he did get in touch with us, he was very complimentary about the article, and a little bit bemused that anyone even cared about the Manned Orbiting Laborat
ory, forty years later. “While it contains a few minor errors, is the most accurate and detailed article of all those that have appeared,” he said. To us, that comment was worth more than a Pulitzer Prize.
The Manned Orbiting Laboratory, announced in 1963, had some of the features of a space station. A crew of two would launch in a modified Gemini capsule, the Gemini-B, and on reaching the desired orbit, would be able to go through a hatch in the back of the Gemini into the MOL’s work and accommodation spaces.
After spending thirty days in space, the crew would climb back into the Gemini-B capsule and deorbit. At a relatively low altitude, under 100 miles, the orbit of the MOL would decay and it would soon be destroyed by re-entry.
Then-Captain Richard E. Lawyer was selected for the MOL in its first group of pilots — they avoided the word, “Astronaut” — selected. That group was announced on November 12, 1965 — forty years to the day before Lawyer would pass away. The original MOL pilots were all USAF Test Pilot School or Naval Test Pilot School graduates. Lawyer mentioned to us with some pride that he graduated the USAF TPS, but he — characteristically — never got around to mentioning that he was distinguished graduate of his class, we had to learn that elsewhere. It probably helped him that he started his Air Force career with an Aero Engineering degree from USC — but he never mentioned that to us, either.
When the program was cancelled, officers under 35 years old were permitted to sign on as NASA astronauts. All did, and all went on to fly in the Shuttle program — one went on to be NASA Administrator. But then-Major Dick Lawyer was a few months too old. He, like the other “overage” pilots (except for one who took a non-astronaut position with NASA), returned to the USAF where he served in numerous assignments with distinction before retiring in the early 1980s as a Colonel. His last assignment was deputy commander of Eglin Air Force Base, at the time a significant test center.
Characteristically, Colonel Lawyer expressed no bitterness at the cancellation of the MOL, or the bureaucratic rule that would have let him go into NASA had he only been born in 1933, not ’32. When we pressed him, he admitted being “disappointed.” And after that disappointment he, again characteristically, bounced back.

Tags: The SandGram v1.0

I like young girls…

Back in Okinawa in 1994, Jim Adams, my faithful side kick, got me involved in a group called Okinawa plus 50. It was going to be the reunion of Marines and Soldiers from WWII and their Japanese counterparts. A good will gesture as the fiftieth anniversary was coming up. Being part of this committee was very interesting since some of the old guys had no desire to bury the hatchet with the Japanese. That’s a different story.

In the course of attending a few of these meetings, a LtCol, with a real zest for history, invited Jim and me to attend a special dinner. The guest was Arocki Toboson or something like that, and he had been a Kamikaze pilot in the tail end of WWII. Well, he obviously wasn’t a successful Kamikaze pilot if we were having dinner with him, but I thought it couldn’t hurt to drive down for the visit. Mind you, this was in the All Hands Club at Camp Kinser, which, in traffic, would be about a forty-minute drive.

Jim and I dressed up in our green Alpha’s and off we went. There were many officers there when we arrived, and only being Captains, we were seated down the table from this older Japanese man who occupied the head seat with his twenty-five-year-old interpreter. LtCol History boy occupied most of the conversation during the night with his vast knowledge of what the Japanese were doing during those last days of the war. It went like this—you would ask a question to the young girl, and she would ask Arockison and he would answer in soft Japanese, after which she would then reply. We found out that his mother was an American who married his father in 1925, and moved back to Japan with him. Even though she had assimilated into the culture, during the war they had her under house arrest, and she didn’t leave her house for almost five years.

Arockison talked about his early flight training, or lack there of, and how the war ended before they could strap a plane on him. So what does an out of work Kamikaze pilot do after the war? He becomes a dentist, one of the most successful dentists in Southern Japan. I guess he would dive into those mouths screaming “BONZI!” Old Arockison took a liking to Jim and me, especially since I was a pilot, and he thought Jim was too with his gold parajump wings on his left chest. At the conclusion of the dinner Q and A, his interpreter asked if Jim and I could drop them off at their hotel in downtown Naha. I think the Colonel was rebuffed that he didn’t get asked, but volunteered us to do this task. That was about to add another hour of driving in the crappy gridlock traffic that Okinawa enjoys.

As we get settled into Jim’s van, Arockison exhaled loudly and said in slightly accented English, “Oh man, am I glad to get away from that suck butt Colonel.” I just about had a heart attack when I realized that he spoke English. Holy crap, what did we talk about back there that he could have heard? We both spin around with a total look of disbelief. He smiles and says, “Don’t look that way, I told you all that my mother was American so, of course she taught me to speak English.” I spewed out, “What gives with the interpreter and not speaking English tonight? We wanted to ask more questions, but it was tough to get in line for the Q and A.” He patted his “Interpreter” on the leg. “See, first of all, isn’t she beautiful? I just love looking at her. Second, if she wasn’t there, then guys like that Colonel who think they know it all about the war would never let me get a bite of dinner. She and I chatted, and I made her do all the hard work while I was able to eat. See, very smart no?”

I had to agree with his method and got a chuckle when he made us promise to never tell his secret or the LtCol would lose face. We promised and exchanged cards that night, a big deal in their society, and said goodnight. He told us that he may call us up some time on his next visit to the island.

A month later, my phone rang and it was Arockison. “Tacoson, I want you and Jimson to be my guest on a boat cruise next Saturday. Are you available?” I said, “yes” for both Jim and I and got directions on where to meet him. In closing he said, “Also, please wear your Dress Blues; it’s a bit formal.” My enthusiasm for the boat trip dropped, as it was August, and thick Dress Blues didn’t mesh well with the 100-degree heat and the 100% humidity on the Island. You could hard-boil an egg inside your uniform with that kind of heat.

That Saturday, we piled into Jim’s van and took off for the Japanese Naval base on the other side of the Island by the Sea of Japan. As we approached the dock where the Japanese Cruiser was located, the sentry on duty checked our names against his list and waved us through to the VIP parking close to the ship. Leaving the comfortable air conditioning of the van, we put on our Dress Blue blouse and donned our white covers. The sweat started to pour out of our tightly shaven heads as we walked up the gangway to the ship. A whistle started blowing as we reached the top; both of us smartly saluted the back of the ship where the Japanese Flag was hanging before saluting the Officer on duty. In front of us was a long line of Japanese Officers from the ships’ Captain to an Admiral and standing at the end of the Congo line was Arockison. After a million bows and card exchanges, Arockison takes us down to the Officer’s wardroom for refreshments.

“So, how do you like this ship?” We were now cooling off a bit from the heat as he handed us a shot of sake. The first shot was a bit rough, but as they kept coming, I didn’t notice the heat of the uniform as much. He explained that the Admiral was the son of one his best friends from Kamikaze school, and this little trip out in the Sea of Japan was to celebrate the fortieth anniversary of the Japanese Self defense force. Jim and I noticed that we were the only Americans on board and it made me wonder how we managed this coup. After two hours of steaming out to sea, they put on a show of the different weapon systems and their capabilities while we stood in the wind on the bridge of the ship. Leaning over me, Arockison shouts in my ear, “I like young girls” as he pats his chest with a big smile on his face. I reply that I like my girls to be young, but not under the age of 21. He shakes his head fiercely and a bit tipsy like me says, “NO! You don’t understand, I LIKE YOUNG GIRLS!” I understood him the first time and then it dawned on me; he must be some pervert who thought Jim and I could hook him up or something. “I’m sorry Arockison, I like young girls too, but I don’t know any young girls for you.” I’m convinced he wants some dependant daughter with blonde hair. Great, we were trapped on a Jap cruiser with a drunken 70-year-old Kamikaze pervert.
He sways a bit and comes back in close again, “No, you don’t understand, I want you and Jim to meet my young girlfriend when we get back. We will go to my club in Naha; there you will see my young girlfriend.” Folks, don’t ask me what this guy was up to, but he took a shine to two Marines and we were being invited to hang out and experience the culture. “Oh by the way, do you have a nice suit to wear?”

Later that night, we met Arockison at the Suntory Whiskey building in downtown Naha. True to his word, there was a young twenty-five-year-old girl in the full kimono dress standing next to him in his fresh suit. We entered the elevator and with his special key, went to the top floor of the swankiest Gishi girl establishment you’ve ever seen with the Momma son standing there waiting for us as the doors opened. Now, all sorts of things were going through my mind as to what a Gishi girl’s job was. Whorehouse, Cat-house? Wow, we were really dressed up for that. Well, fear not, turns out that the Japanese Ego is about as thin as OJ Simpson’s murder defense and requires lots of boosting. All they do is talk. Jim and I both had a girl on each arm that escorted us into the main room. There were little booths
all around, filled with older gentlemen sipping their whiskey and talking to their girls. Our gals asked what we wanted to drink and then prepared our Vodka Tonic. I was feeling like a stud as this girl who spoke great English, pumped my ego up to where I might not get my head through the door. “Oh you must be berry berry smart to be a peelot” “Oh feel those big muscles in your arms, I like strong men.” Comments like that all night.

They had a gent playing the piano in a suit and tie not far from us. Turns out, you would go up there and pick a song and sing with him as he played the piano. Piano Karaoke, crazy Japs really know how to have fun. I got up and sang Elvis, Blue Suede shoes. Hard to keep time with a guy banging away on the piano and be in tune, but I guess I did a great job because all the old guys would come up afterwards and tell me, “You Sing Elvis, berry guot, next time pease sing All Hooked up.”
My young girl told me later that Arockison considered Jim and I his Gaijin pilot sons. “Wow, I’m really honored, how cool.” Thinking that having a rich old pervert Japanese dad wasn’t such a bad thing. She then told me that we must be special because in the three years she had worked there, this was the first time she had ever seen a military person in the house. I asked her why and she said, “Well, it’s very expensive here, each girl cost $200 dollars an hour plus the liquor. I about spit my drink out when she told me this. Arockison was paying $600.00 dollars an hour to have some young girl pump his ego up plus take care of his two Marine sons the same way…talk, talk, talk. For Six hundred dollars an hour, I should have more then my ego pumped up, but hey, that is their culture and I was just a guest. I didn’t even get a phone number from my gal.

We ended up going with him a couple more times before we transferred back to the states. I heard that he passed away a few years ago, and I’ll relish those interesting memories of a culture that will always fascinate me. Who says that you can’t dress a Marine up and take him out? Just learn to sing Elvis and the world is your Oyster.
S/F
Taco

Tags: The SandGram v1.0

Shhhhh, guess whose birthday is coming up!

Hi everyone!
This is Taco’s Mama, and I wanted to alert you that Taco’s birthday is this Friday so swamp him with greetings in the comment section! He doesn’t know I’m posting this so don’t be surprised to hear the hollering all the way from Texas to Virginia when he finds out what I’ve done (at the urging of the Church Ladies, of course!!). Let’s have some fun!!

Hugs to all!
Taco’s Mama

PS
He hasn’t changed much since he was four and eight years old–mischievous as usual!!!

Hey Guys,
I want to thank you all for the awesome Birthday wishes and also thanks to my Momma Taco for the nice surprise! I’ve been in the simulators battling flaming engines and thunderstorms as part of the nine month check that all airline pilots must undergo to continue to fly.

It’s funny though, I was thinking back to my tenth birthday, when we lived in Little Creek Virginia on the Naval Amphibious Base next to lake Bradford. My Dad was out to sea on the U.S.S. San Diego, a supply ship plying the Atlantic Ocean, so he missed the party where we terrorized our neighborhood for a few hours. When we had my birthday party, my uncle Bruce who flew F-14’s at the time and took after my Grandfather, six foot seven, joined us. His call sign was “Big Bird” due to his size and I was always bugging him to take me flying in his Cherokee 140 that he ended up selling to me years later. Bruce went down to his boys in the Flight Riggers shop and grabbed a bunch of stuff that they had “Surveyed” a term in the military that means it’s trash and would be chucked. So after we blew out the candles on the cake, Bruce starts pulling out all sorts of cool stuff. Mind you, we lived on a military base and played Army in the woods every chance we had so when he gave me all this survival equipment that a jet pilot would wear, I was in seventh heaven!!

The SV-2, survival vest contained a compass, the standard survival knife (very cool) a signal mirror, sea dye markers, shark repellant, and survival flares. This was going to elevate me to the top of being super cool with my friends when they saw all of this. Bruce then took me outside to demonstrate the flares. They were about the size of a soda can, a bit thinner though, and he showed me that if it was night time and you were splashing around in the ocean, you could tell which end was the night flare because of the bumps around the edge. He pulls the tab fires up these flares. Now when these things ignite up, they spew out a flame about three feet long. It lit up my backyard and probably made the neighbors wonder what the hell was going on over there…

After about four of these burned out we flipped them over to do the day portion. When he pulled the tabs on these, orange smoke started pouring out. I mean the whole backyard filled up with smoke and it began to spread out from the back side of the house to the street. By the third and fourth flare, our whole section of the neighborhood was cloaked in an orange mist that would make Steven King proud. What was neat for a ten year old, but didn’t impress the local cops or MP’s who were driving around with their search lights on looking for the source of this smoke. My Uncle ushered me back inside the house as he tossed the spent flares into the trash. Then he giggled like a school girl as he drank beer and watched the keystone cops frantically drive around outside. We never got in trouble for that one, but the following summer when I let the sea dye markers out into the ocean at the Officers beach and all the kids and their parents came out of the water stained bright red, well that was a different story.

Those are some great birthday memories which made a lasting impression in my minds eye. Thanks again for the birthday wishes you guys, you made my day! If any of you are flying from DFW to LAX the next three nights and returning at five in the morning (LA all nighter) look up front and say hello.

Semper Fi, Taco

Tags: The SandGram v1.0

Turkey time, Amen

Hey Guys,
I just wanted to wish you all a wonderful Thanksgiving! I have been blessed with a wonderful family and a wife who is willing to raise our children and put her dreams of nursing aside till the children are older. My parents who are there at our beck and call to help us out when they come visit and my In-laws who treat me as their own son. I can say that life is good here. I have a friend,Jim Adams, who has gone over for another tour in Iraq. I started to put his message up about how things are but I’m going to wait because he has promised to write a longer piece and be my guest writer/eyes there.

As you all sit down for dinner this Thanksgiving, please remember our troops in Harm’s way and say a prayer for them. If you are flying this vacation and on a big silver 737-800, look for me up in the cockpit, for I will be in my office the next four days. Take care and I have a couple of posts in the works for your entertainment. Until then if you are new to the Sandgram, go back and read the older posts, they might bring a smile to your face.
Semper Fi,
Taco

Tags: The SandGram v1.0

Happy Birthday Marines!

Hey Guys,
November tenth is the birthday of our beloved Corps. So far I have attended a ball, (minus the wife but able to take my Dad and Uncle-both Navy) and some other smaller celebrations that included hearing a speech by former CMC Hagee and a few beers hoisted up over a nice cigar with a few buddies named “Chuck the Asst. D.A.,” “Fred the Fed,” “Steve the Cop,” “Perry the Diver” and “Simon the Retired.” All have ties with the Corps and it was an awesome time as we told lies and sat in our overstuffed leather chairs smoking a ten-dollar cigar. They always say that if you have two Marines together, they will celebrate the birth of their Corps with as much gusto as former President Clinton when he found he had a new intern (or that his wife was taking a trip to NYC for the weekend). Either way, we have a good time.

It’s a hard date to forget after so many balls and pageants over the years. Funny though, the true litmus test for a person claiming to be a Marine is to ask them what is the actual day of the Marine Corps Birthday. We were having lunch for the second time at a new local Italian place in Fort Worth, and had the same waitress, a young gal named Lynn who claimed that she, too, was a Marine. The first time I talked to her, I didn’t press the issue since we were about to leave. The next time was last Sunday, after the ball. She proudly stated again that she was a Marine who got out after three years when she heard us talking about the Military. My Uncle, 6’ 5” and a former RIO in the F-14, asks across the table, “Hey when is the Marine Corps Birthday?” she just shrugged her shoulders and said, “I don’t remember that little stuff.” Now I was pretty sure that this semi-cute young thing was lying through her teeth. Not sure if she thought it would bring a better tip, I asked her, “Where did you go to boot camp?” She beamed and said, “Pendleton, of course.”

I didn’t want to bust her in front of my in-laws and family (plus we didn’t have our food yet) so I waited until I was driving home from one of the cake-cutting ceremonies in my Dress Blues and decided to stop by the restaurant. I flagged her down and asked her to come over. “Lynn, while I appreciate you wanting to be a Marine, if you are going to lie about it, first Google the Corps and find out the date of it’s inception, because EVERY Marine knows that. Second, women only attend Boot Camp in Paris Island.” You could see the shame in her eyes, and she started to explain something, but I just said goodbye and turned around to leave.

Now this Saturday, November tenth will be a different story. I am flying to San Antonio with a good buddy named Paulie, in our Government-issued KC 130T. Our mission is to pick up six young Marines who were wounded in Iraq, and fly them to a football game up here in North Texas. Ross Perot and his son are helping organize this through the Wounded Warrior group. They are going to watch the University of North Texas play the Naval Academy. I think it’s an awesome thing, and it’s one of those flights that I can’t wait to make happen. I can bet you a million dollars, that these heroes know the meaning of the tenth of November!
To all of you Marines out there, I wish you a very Happy Birthday, for you are looking good for being 232 years…
Semper Fi,
Taco

Tags: The SandGram v1.0

The Skipper

I have to say that out of all of my jobs in the Marine Corps, I look back at my time with MWSS 274 as the Air Ops OIC in Cherry Point as my favorite one hands down. I was an old hand at VMGR 252 and a boot Captain which made me ripe for a FAP billet. The Fleet Assistant Program is when the base or units in your Wing need extra bodies to fill certain Officer and Enlisted billets. Basically it can mean not flying for a year or so while you go play with the Grunts down at Camp Lejeune most of the time.

Reporting to Sunshine, our XO after lunch, he informs the three most senior copilots that there are two FAC (forward air controllers) jobs down at Camp Lejeune and one FAP job on base at Cherry Point with MWSS 274. We all knew that Zeke, the Assistant S-3 Officer, never flew and he hated his job there. Nobody wanted to replace him and we all hoped that the job would just go away. My two buddies jumped on the FAC jobs like a hobo on a ham sandwich before I had a chance to say boo. We all walked out and shook hands to say goodbye. They would be gone from Cherry Point for 15 months or so and I was only going to be away for a year. You would think that my option was the best, but you have to understand the pain a pilot feels when you are chained to a desk while your buds all flew to Rota Spain, Germany, England, Iceland and all the cool places in the world. They like to rub salt in your wounds at the O’Club about it too. At least if you were gone on a ship, you don’t have to see the planes flying over head taunting you.

I checked out of my Squadron, put on my green dress Alpha’s to go report in for my new job. I stuck my head into the Adjutants office, a young second Lieutenant and asked if the boss was around. Nodding, he made a phone call and announced my presence. The C.O. was a LtCol and proud of his school that was located in some small town in Maryland called Annapolis, you could tell by all the blue and gold stuff on the wall.

He proceeded to tell me that while the KC130 pilot normally fills the S-3a job there at HQ, he was short an Officer to fill the Air Ops OIC position that is a Captain/Major’s job because the ECMO from VMAQ 2 (backseater guy in the jammer sqd) was stuck on the boat and two months late returning. So I would take that job and he would get the S-3a when he returned. I thanked the CO for the chance to work for him and excused myself to check out my new diggs.

The Air Ops was located right down the street from my Squadron and next to our simulator building. It was a large brick warehouse that housed all the stuff you needed to outfit an airfield during wartime in some far off country. I had seventy Marines under my charge, a salty Warrant Officer and a slew of Staff NCO’s. For the first time in my career as a Marine I really felt like an Officer. Over at the Sqd, you worked with older senior enlisted Marines for the most part and here I had the whole range of guys from brand new out of boot camp,to ready to retire to one SSgt who was on the ROAD program (retired on active duty) which all made for some interesting times.

That week, I snapped in and toured all of my “Assets” which ranged from guys at the PMO-military police, EOD-bomb guys, ATC-air traffic control, gas trucks etc. They set up a demo in the field located next to my warehouse and filled these big rubber bladders with gas to show me what my boys did and how they did it. The Gunny from my gas section escorted Gene my Warrant Officer and I over to this big 18 wheeler for the brief on gas. I walked up to introduce myself to PFC Geddy who was from West Virginia. Now Geddy had that sort of Pig Pen look about him, not that he was really dirty, but you could say he had a layer of dust on him, smudges of oil and grime on his face giving him a weathered darker complexion that made his really blue eyes stand out.

“OK Geddy, lets pretend that my KC-130 pulls up and you are going to give him some gas, how do you do this operation?”
Geddy gets very excited and turns around pointing to a set of valves on the side of the truck. “Weeeeell Siiiiir,” in a long slow Hillbilly accent “If I’s want to pass some gas to you, well I open the H valve here then turn on the L valve and You should be getting gas lickety split Sirrrrrrrrr.”

I’m looking at him impressed that he knew the names of the valves inside his truck. They made us memorize all the valves in the wing of the KC 130 too (like it would make a difference in flight) looking over his shoulder, I notice that the valves letters are stenciled on top of the piping, so I tap him on the arm so that he turned around. “OK Geddy, without looking, what happens if your sphincter valve is clogged, how do you bypass that so you can let your gas out?”

Geddy’s eyes sort of bulged out of their sockets and then proceeded to blink in a rapid motion. Sweat starts to glisten on the side of his head and he lowers his eyes and sways from foot to foot. I wink at the Gunny and Gene who are trying not to laugh. Geddy looks back up to me and says in a panicked look “Siiirr the SPINKTER valve?” I nod yes, he pauses for a second and then says “Sir, this Marine doesn’t know the answer but I will find out.”
I thank him for a great demo and walk off to the next piece of equipment set up. As we walking away, I can hear the Gunny chewing old Geddy “What do you mean you don’t how to bypass the Sphincter valve Geddy??? Take this truck back to the barn and pull out the manual for it. Don’t come out of the office till you find the Captains answer.”
Poor kid was in that office for the rest of the day trying to find that bypass valve so that he could fart.

They held inspections every morning and I loved this part the most. I would go around and ask current event questions each day, stuff that I had read in USA TODAY that morning over my cup of coffee. Simple stuff, “Who is the President of Russia?” What country just had a coup? How many feet in a mile? All sorts of off the wall stuff. It became a big game for the guys. I had two Marines cut out current articles from my paper in the morning and post them on the wall next to the bathroom. Then they would post the sports over the urinal. They figured out that I would ask questions relating to what was posted on the wall.

That first week was a blast and on Friday I dropped the bomb on them. After chow, I told the MasterSgt to have the guys and gals form up in the PT field at 1500 (three O’clock for you Air Force readers) for a nice six mile run. You could hear the bitching and moaning all the way into my office about the new Skipper making them run at 1500 on Friday (this guy was suppose to be laid back, he was a pilot for Christ sakes). We formed up and took off for our run down the side road to a nice wooded area about a mile from the warehouse. There was my Warrant Officer with my pickup truck parked in the shade of a tree. In the bed of my truck was a keg of beer and a ton of cups. I told the Marines to grab a brew and form a school circle around the truck.

“Ok Marines, here is the deal just so you know what I’m all about. I believe in work hard, play hard, but there are also things that we need to do to run smoothly. First of all, when you go out in town, you will have a designated driver. I kid you not about this. Draw straws, hook up with a Mormon, do whatever it takes to have one sober driver in your group. If that person screws up and drinks, then you take a cab home to the base. If you have spent all of your money down at “Honey’s” the local strip joint, then you will call the Gunny, then the MasterSgt or the Warrant Officer and finally me for a pick up. I would rather drive down fr
om New Bern to the Beach to pickup my drunk Marines then to grab your sorry drunk butt out of jail. It’s all about taking care of one another. We might have you waxing our cars during lunch hour for the ride, but that is a small price to pay for being alive and not in jail. I’m not worried about the beer here because I plan on sweating it out of you on the way back to the hooch. If you have any problems, bring them up the chain of command. I’m all about hearing first hand about a problem rather then getting a call from my boss the Col about it later. Accountability is another biggie. Always let someone know where you are going over the weekend and give them a recall number in case we have to get a hold of you. We are Marines and if we have to fly out for some action somewhere, I’d hate for you to be U.A. and miss all the fun. Finally, I believe in taking care of my guys. You take care of me and I take of you. Don’t break my rules about drinking and we’ll have a great time this year. That’s all, enjoy the beer.” We smoked and joked about being a pilot then headed back to the barn after a couple of beers.

I never had a problem during my time there. Every Monday morning at the CO’s brief, we would go around the table and my peers would have to explain how a couple of their boys were in jail for drinking or fighting. They would ask me and I answered, “Nothing to pass Sir.” I would love to attribute this to my outstanding leadership, but really it was a case of being lucky and I would rather be lucky then good anyday…
More to come on this job later.
Semper Fi,
Taco

Tags: The SandGram v1.0

New Marine on Deck

Hey guys,
Sure wish I could concentrate and write something funny for you all, but I am sitting in the Hospital looking at the newest Marine Corps Aviator that arrived today. We are naming our newest addition Jacob “Jake” and he is a small baby, tipping the scales at a little over 10lbs 2oz’s. Tee my wife is recovering well from the C-Section. You know, after watching that for the third time, I don’t think that I can look at a big Rib eye steak the same. The Doc made the first cut which made my knee’s buckle. Tee, gave me grief “Gosh, tell me how this makes you woozy and yet when you help cut off that insurgents leg in Iraq and you were all smiles.”

Ok, I forgot to tell you how to have fun with your prego wife at the hospital. I bought one of those remote control fart machines years ago. As she is laying in bed holding the baby with guests in the room, I hit the button causing a huge fart from the machine under her bed. Sounds perfect. There is that pause when folks look at her and the baby trying to figure out which one did it. I of course, am sitting on the other side of the room, so it can’t be me… Then Tee jumps my crap about having fun with her.

Well, hope you guys have a great day and thanks for all of your support over the last year!! Also I forgot, if you have time, please go over to this site and pop a vote for my buddy Marty Horn. Micro soft is putting this on and I cant’t think of a more deserving guy/family.
http://www.microsoft.com/industry/government/federal/AboveandBeyondAwards.mspx

Semper Fi,
Taco

Tags: The SandGram v1.0

Phone Colonel

You know I have to laugh when I think about Rank sometimes. When I was younger, a Major was old as dirt and a LtCol, hell forget it, that guy farted dust. A General would be close to using a walker and that is because they are soooo old. Now I am a LtCol and although I feel about 25 and act like a first Lieutenant on the inside, the gray hair is harder and harder to cut out of my head and the run time on my PFT goes down hill each year.

This flashback came to me as I was walking today in Tampa Florida. I remember sitting in the office over in Al Taquddam Iraq, while the “Colonel” was working on the desk finishing up his email. The phone rang and here is how the conversation went.

“Good Afternoon, Colonel Cassius, Airboss, may I help you?”

Phone: “Hey this is Col. Dover from the 187 airwing in Diewabuabbee, calling to find out why it’s so dangerous at your base. Every time one of my C-130’s fly’s into your airfield they are taking fire about a half mile off the end of the runway.”

Col Cassius “I’m sorry; who did you say this is?”

Phone: “Colonel Dover”

Col Cassius “Is this like… a full bird Colonel, or an Air Force Phone Colonel?”

Phone: “Ahhhhh, I’m Lieutenant Colonel Dover, aren’t you the same?”

Col Cassius “Well no LtCol Dover, in the Marine Corps, we answer the phone as either LtCol smuckatelly or if you are an O-6, Colonel Smuckatelly. In this case you are speaking to the big cheese, COLONEL CASSIUS. As to your birds getting shot at, first of all, I think they are just picking up the intense heat from the burn dump about a half mile off the field. Second, I think your boys are a bit over reactive and maybe embellish their combat reports so they get more points for their air medals or bronze stars or what ever they are putting in for. But that’s just my opinion since OUR KC 130’s land here five times a day and they have never reported being shot at on final. Second of all if they were getting shot at, then they DO rate those medals and all I can say is…Hey it’s a WAR ZONE.

Phone: OOOOhhhh UUUUMMMMM, Well, huh

Col. Cassius “Ok Dover, if that’s it, have a great day and tell your boys to keep braving all that fire as they yank and bank into our airfield. Goodbye.”

He hung up the phone and turned to me saying “We use to call these guys Pentagon Phone Colonels because they would never say Lieutenant in front of their rank when I was stationed there, so I would be calling these pukes “Sir” when we were the same rank. That always bugged the crap out of me.”

Hey you Air Force guys, sorry, we aren’t normally this hard on the phone but Damn, Marines are just hard sometimes…
Semper Fi,
Taco

Tags: The SandGram v1.0

You’ve Got Mail…

You’ve Got Mail…

Electronic mail is a curse in the most simplistic manner speaking. Where are all the old handwritten letters that we use to send? Remember that special emotion we felt when a letter arrived in the mailbox instead of all the junk mail and bills? I have copies of all the old love letters and correspondence between my Grandfather, then Navy Lt. Bruce R. McCampbell, and his bride during WWII while he was stationed in the Pacific on the U.S.S. Mugford DD389. They pass on a tale of what life was like for them during that time and in their own handwriting. These letters continue through his service as Chief of Surgery on the hospital ship USS Consolation in the Korean Police Action. It’s actually a very special treasure that I enjoy going back through and reading from time to time. [Editor’s note: our letters from Vietnam and from my husband’s Naval deployments fill a storage box, but they haven’t been made public—yet!]

While Stationed in Iraq, I was able to email back and forth to my wife almost every day that became banter of some sorts. The longer letters were a testament to some of the things I experienced while there, and her side was a picture of life at home. It allowed me a chance to be there when the kids were sick, or share her last minute thoughts before she went to bed that night. It always amazes me that these letters were zipping across time and space in fractions of a second, arriving in my “Inbox” only minutes later, often accompanied by a picture of something that happened that day.

We saved all these letters in a folder on our home computer, but as with most computers, the program failed, and we lost that folder and all the memories contained within. It was kind of depressing to think that my grandkids would have no written exchanges between us to read through to see what our lives were like in the year 2005. The bitterness towards MSN lasted for months, but truly, I had no one to blame except for myself. Why didn’t I print off those letters as soon as I got home? Well, you just don’t expect to lose the data deep down in your hard drive. Just like you never expect that you will be the one to die in a car wreck, thus the “What If” file I wrote about last week.

If you are one of those people, who like me, expected that one day I would retrieve the data and print off all the letters, well—get to it fast!! I was lucky, for about two months ago, I stumbled across a PST file that one of my data dinks had saved on my thumb drive before we cleaned my profile off of the office laptop top in Iraq. It contained all the letters from my wife that I had put in a folder in my mail program. When I opened it up, there they were. All of them!! It was like finding that lost ring that had been missing for months and you had given up on it.

I took advantage of it right away. I made a Word document and cut and pasted seven months worth of emails into it. (Believe me when I acknowledge that this is a lot of time and effort). Then I ran the entire 200 pages through a free program my Mom sent me called “Email stripper” which removes all those carrots and crap out of a forward or reply. When I was done, I had one hundred and eighty-eight pages of our email back and forth that was as pretty as any book you pick up.

Now my wife, “Tee,” has an October birthday, and I was thinking of what to get her. This was the perfect present, something that she said she missed as well and was very special to her. I looked at my project and realized that I had cut and pasted them in reverse order Feb 06 to Aug of 05, so I had to go back and cut and paste everything so that is was in chronological order. Then I put all of my digital photos in a collage pattern of seven pictures per page. Took the thumb drive down to Office Depot where they printed off my Word document, front and back, and all the picture pages on a great heavy-duty color laser printer. I then went next door to Hobby Lobby and bought a hard back expandable photo album book to hold it all. I had to come up with longer bolts to go through it, but it looked like a hardbound book now.

I gave it to “Tee” for her birthday and she loved it. Hours of manual labor produced something that my kids and their children will now be able to go back and read to see what our lives were like during that year. If you need a project to work on, I suggest you make one of these books too! If you have a loved one over in the war, this is something you could do for them as well. Hell, it is just something you should do because, like it or not, we live in a electronic age where documents like “letters” will be non-existent and our ancestors will have no insight to our thoughts or lives. Better do it now than lose all that data later and regret never having printed them out. The only thing I wished I had done was having them printed on acid-free paper.

Semper Fi,
Taco

Tags: The SandGram v1.0

Death on Dying

During the Vietnam War, when a young Marine reported into his unit (true today as well), they went through all your paperwork to make sure you were up to date on your rifle range and gas chamber training, health physical, dental, and also your SGLI (Service Group Life Insurance) to determine if you had designated a beneficiary. I think back then if you died you would get 25K, but you could opt to increase to 75 or 100K for an extra five dollars a month. I guess a lot of young Marines opted for the free amount to save money for the Friday beer night.

In one unit (as the story goes), they put a young, motivated Corporal in charge of some of these classes, and they noticed that his sign-up rate for the higher insurance amount was around 100%. The S-1 Admin Officer was curious how this kid was able to convince these other young Marines to spend more money when they hardly made enough to live on in the first place. Mind you, this was during the war as well, so the Officer snuck in the back of the building to hear his pitch.

The Corporal went through the whole presentation, and at the end, when he explained about opting for the higher insurance, he said, “So Marines, think about this. If you opt for the extra insurance and you go over to Vietnam, who do you think they are going to put on the front lines? The guy that is going to cost the Government $25,000 dollars if he dies or the guy that is worth $100,000?”

Of course this isn’t true, but it does bring up a point that I want you to read, then re-read and pass on to everyone. This isn’t just for the Marine or Soldier going over to the War, it’s for everyone, guy or gal. We all believe that we’ll live forever! I mean it. When you are young, you are bullet proof and as you get older, you just never expect that you will die. Well, I am speaking as a guy who lost his sister while in college, his college roommate fifteen months later, and about a dozen guys in plane crashes over my adult life. With this in mind, I came up with a “What if” file.

The “What if” file is a complete folder for my next of kin on what to do if I get whacked by a drunk driver in the morning on the way to work. This is to ensure that my wife and parents would not have to search through old papers, files, boxes in the closet etc to track down my investments, mortgages, car info, work info, passwords etc. Now mind you, the “what if” file is a VERY important document, and should be placed in your fire proof home safety deposit box or gun safe, or with your folks and/or your wife in a safe, secure place. It would be bad news falling into the wrong hands with all that info in one place.

Here is what I did when I married my beautiful wife. I wrote a letter to her, very personal and with the intent that it would my last words to her. I also told her what needed to be done and in what order.
Within the folder, you should have:
-Copies of all bank statements
-All online passwords
-Account numbers
(these are required to cancel credit cards and find out what bills have to be paid)
-Copies of all life insurance policies
-POC’s (point of contact) and correct phone numbers
-Copies of your investments and assets
-POC within the state to get copies of your death certificates, how many copies and who to send them to in order to collect insurance and notify Social Security
-POC (supervisor) at work to notify so they don’t call wondering where you are
-Passwords for email accounts, so that your family can send out an email using your address book to notify all your contacts about your death or serious injury. Otherwise your family will have to provide AOL or MSN with death certificates to get into the mail accounts
-An envelope with $1,000 in cash to cover immediate and unforeseen needs
-Instructions for how you want to be buried, where, what etc.
-Copy of your current (valid) will (if you don’t have one, you can get from your legal department or online for a nominal fee. Legalzoom.com will do it)
-Copies of your Living Will/Advance Directive/and Power of Attorney (if needed)
-List the value of certain items in your estate that might be worth some money (you don’t want them sold for pennies on a dollar at an estate sale)

This is just a start, a basic roadmap for you. There are many more things you can add to it. I’m death on Marines who don’t have this set up, and so is my Dad who has an extensive “what if” file. I’ve seen too many cases where a Marine has died, and he didn’t switch over his life insurance from his EX-wife who he hates, and she now has won the lotto with a tax-free check while his present wife gets nothing. That is pure laziness and I despise it. Just remember that dying is the easy part of life; it’s the loved ones you leave behind that suffer. If you have your life tied together in a “What If” folder, when that unexpected time comes, it will make life so much easier for the ones left behind. If you care about your spouse/kids and folks, take the time today to start putting one of these together, and store it in your home fireproof safety deposit box(but watch out if you use a banks they will close those up tight till the probate of the will if you don’t clean it out fast).

I hope this post helps. Please copy it, and send it to your friends and family. I would be willing to bet you a beer that if polled, only about one out of ten will have anything remotely set up like a “What If” file.

Semper Fi,
Taco

Tags: The SandGram v1.0