Lovin' Cuba

It’s time to normalize relations with our neighbor, Cuba. I don’t think we’ve been very good neighbors. Of course, Imperial Cuba under Castro in earlier years wasn’t such a good neighbor either. But Cuba is on shaky ground – why not attack them with kindness? We believe a communist system of government is not an effective or even a valid way to run a country – why not show them just how much better our system is? Smother them with it. Let’s trade with them, let’s help Cuban kids get enough to eat, let’s relax the rules on tourism. I have no desire to strangle my neighbors – and if they are happy, well fed and content, perhaps they will be less likely to want to upset the status quo and foment trouble in our backyard. It’s just a thought.

Plainly stated, if we want to foster change in Cuba – positive change that benefits Cubans and Americans -- then let’s quit being so damned afraid of the boogeyman and work with them where we can to foster peace, mutual survival and self-government – even if they DO cling to their extreme socialist beliefs (no negative context of that term intended). Let's do it with genuine friendship, not economic war. 

I really don't like that my nation is involved in the literal starving of the citizens of a neighboring land. It's against my religion. The citizens of Cuba may find that while they want to continue to be a socialist nation, some elements of the non-communist world can be adopted that will help make things better for them. I think Americans have an irrational fear of communism. It isn’t good enough to take over and control the world; why should we be so afraid of it. A huge nation with considerable resources couldn't even make it work. I think there is an opportunity right now for altering the path of the last 50 years in Cuban-American relations – and I think we're bozos if we don’t try it. Let's forgive them their past transgressions -- and see if we can get them to forgive ours.  Let’s love ‘em to death!  Besides, I want to go there before I die; I want to smoke a Cuban cigar on a Cuban beach; yeah, I'm an ugly American!

Two Things...

First, burning the Koran is a BAD idea. If an American citizen commits a crime, and then says “God told me to do it,” assuming the person is a “Christian,” we don’t go out and burn bibles, or blame the religion, because it wasn’t the religion that committed the crime. In a case like that, we ALL recognize that the crime does not represent Christianity.

No, we call the person a criminal and wonder just how insane they are. We prosecute the criminal. Al Qaeda is a group of criminals -- and Al Qaeda does not represent mainstream Islam. Their view of Islam is just as twisted as any wacko American mass-murderer that kills children in the name of "their" supposedly Christian God.

It is essential that we discern this fundamental difference. Burning the Koran is insulting in the extreme to 1.57 billion people* who adhere to Islamic tenets and an inflammatory act directed toward these people who mostly have no animosity toward us (not in any extreme fashion, anyway). There is nothing smart in doing that. I'm no rosy-lensed optimist -- I do recognize that there are resentments and mistrusts. And to date, we've done very little to lessen those resentments and mistrusts.

Second, planning to place an Islamic cultural center at the site of the World Trade Center would be inflammatory and stupid, when you consider the extreme sensitivity of the American people concerning the events of September 11, 2001. Do they have the right to place their mosque anywhere they choose? Sure. Should they place it anywhere near the WTC site? Not in a million years.

But... I checked on my map, and the proposed site of the Islamic Center is almost 1/2 mile from the nearest part of the WTC site -- in one of the most densely packed city centers in the United States. Just how far away would it have to be before it would be OK?

That said, if they truly want to build bridges of understanding and friendship, they will change their minds about this. If they continue with plans to put that center near the site of what may ultimately be the worst terrorist attack in the history of this country, I think you could almost guarantee there will be attacks on it. It will be a festering wound for some of the unwashed ignorant that will not go away. I’m not saying that’s right – I’m just saying that given the mental capacity and uneducated thought processes that are common in this nation, attacks on this place would be inevitable. Americans have their self-righteous "blood" up and not all of us are stable or even have functioning grey matter.

Update: The Imam says he hardly thinks the site of his Islamic Cultural Center would be anywhere close to being "hallowed" ground -- given the nature of other businesses in the area including a couple of dens of iniquity (my description, not his). Coupled with the physical separation I've already noted, which might as well be 100 miles when you are talking about the urban environment in question, I'd have to say I agree with him. I think perhaps the protests are ridiculous.

*Wikipedia, on 9/10/10, reports 1.57 billion people who profess Islamic beliefs; as a contrast, there are reportedly 2.2 billion Christians on our planet. These numbers are about 23% and 25% of the world's population, respectively. Uh... the Islamists are no more a fringe group than the Christians are. I'm just saying.

I Like Chick Flicks

Bob the Movie Guy

I like chick flicks… Maybe that makes me not such a manly man. I don’t know. Couple that with the fact that I do not care at all, not one bit, for tractor pulls and WWF wrestling and I think maybe that says something. I do like John Wayne and Clint Eastwood though so maybe I am not totally lacking in testosterone. And I yell at other drivers in traffic when they are acting stupid. I guess it kind of balances out.

I watched the film “27 Dresses” the other day and found it totally likeable. Every time I see beautiful, wondrous Katherine Heigl I think that every man who meets her has to be totally smitten – smart, funny, a knack for great physical comedy, and gorgeous in a funny-face sort-of-way. That’s what she is. And she’s not even my favorite! What about Kristen Bell? Or Jennifer Aniston? Or Emma Thompson, Kelly McDonald and SELMA BLAIR! Wow! Guys aren’t supposed to like those movies, but how could we not, really? I think maybe guys just don’t want to admit they like those chick movies. What’s so bad about looking at beautiful women for ninety minutes? Oh, there are some that aren’t worth the effort it would take to blow the master copies to hell – Prince of Tides comes to mind (what drivel) – or anything soap opera-ish that isn’t poking fun at itself (like that stupid Magnolia or Eyes Wide Shut – what was that all about?). But a well-done romantic comedy just makes me realize what I am missing in my own sorry-ass life! Of course, there are advantages to having my life…

I was thinking about my favorite movies, and I could never select just one. Or even ten. There are so many. One thing I hate about Hollywood these days is they seem to have run out of ideas – all these sequels and remakes – what a waste of time (for the most part). If they can’t take an old idea and make it fresh and NEW, then don’t bother. But I have seen formulaic films, the same story that has been told a thousand times before, made with a twist or a wrinkle that turns the story on its head. Those I can like. I cannot wait to see the Coen Brothers take on True Grit. So I guess I like SOME remakes...

Jeff Bridges' grittier Rooster

Anyway… my top twenty film favorites, as it stands today; I’ll try to pick just twenty, mostly sticking to those I have collected; just twenty. (OK, so I finally picked 37. So I have an honorable mentions category following the twenty!) Sorry, some are chick flicks. Others are not great art, but that is not always my criterion for a favorite movie. My favorites will always be about love, about adventure, or maybe the triumph of good over evil! They’ll be fun to watch or keep you on the edge of your seat. So without further ado, my top twenty….

#20

Phenomenon: Among my favorite John Travolta roles (along with Michael). I like John much better as a lover of humanity and life than I ever did as an “action” star – but he is an actor who almost always convinces in his roles. I think he’s underrated. And he was great in “Get Shorty” too!

#19

The Englishman Who Went Up a Hill and Came Down a Mountain: The story has been said to be true – and others say it isn’t. If it isn’t, it ought to be. I suppose the truth is in the middle? I like this for the performances of Colm Meaney and Tara Fitzgerald and the warmth of the villagers for each other was heartwarming. Their sly conniving to keep the British in town made the movie. I wish I knew someone named Morgan the Goat!  About as close as I can come would be my friend Molina the Dog!

#18

Waking Ned Devine: Comedic films from the lands of the United Kingdom are among my favorites and this one is near the top of the list. The humor in “Waking Ned Devine” is at once subtle and uproarious. The denouement with Lizzie and the phone booth was both evil and immensely satisfying; this is a film of contrasts!  I cannot help but laugh when I think of Michael buzzing along starkers on that ridiculous motorbike!

#17

Patton: Possibly the best character study I have ever seen on film and historically accurate enough to satisfy even my critical tastes. I cannot see a photo of George C. Scott without thinking of this film. What a great job the filmmakers did in re-creating both the grandeur and the misery of the stage that Patton strode across for those film-compressed three long years. I doubt that it was a simple task to succinctly capture the thoughts and actions of the greatest American military leader of all time but they succeeded. The one "error" is that Scott's voice is nothing like that of the character he played.  General Patton reportedly had a wheezy high-pitched voice, I guess maybe something like Andy Devine?  So George C. Scott has to be an improvement in that regard.

#16

Hunt for Red October: How could anyone hate Russians after seeing the story of Red October? We can hate the evilness of governments, we can hate the imperialist aspirations of individual men and the abuse of civil rights – but people are just people in the end. I doubt we’ll ever learn that completely. Some folks get it – but many more never will. What I like about the film – I love the sea and ships – I love the actors in the film whose parts show the good side of men – how they tried to give the positive possibilities the chance to prove themselves – the Admiral, the Defense Secretary, the American sub captain on the USS Dallas and of course the Harrison Ford character. One of my favorite scenes is right at the end of the film as the Red October sails slowly up the Penobscot River in the dark.  This is very romantic and reminiscent of any journey conducted in the dim light of night -- very much like the atmosphere surrounding Tom and Huck as they drift on the Mississippi; the darkness surrounds the conversation, makes it more intimate and focused.

#15

The Electric Horseman: I love cowboys. I love the west and western people. Americans love stories about doing what’s right and going against the grain to do that. We want to see the frauds and the hypocrisy of big business and hucksterism take the Big Fall. We want to see the “sell outs” get it right. This film touches all those soft spots, and we get to hear Willy’s wonderful, sentimental songs and see the majesty of the western landscape all at the same time. Perfection. Seeing a near-perfect horse strolling across a stage full of half-naked show-girls is pretty good too.

#14

Doc Hollywood: I want to live in a town where this David Ogden Stiers is the mayor. I want to be in the Grady Squash Festival and see fireworks over the town lake… I want to walk my pet pig all over town and I want Bridget Fonda to plant a big one right on me. This film made me want to find a small town like Grady and live there. It’s everything about the idea of the small town we love – and even made the negatives look pretty good (everybody being in your business). Too bad life really doesn't imitate art... I doubt there's a real town anywhere that is like Grady.  The film has a pretty good demonstration of effective fishing technique too -- although it is an old joke, that alone was worth the price of admission.

#13

A League of Their Own: One of the best sports films ever – I never tire of seeing Tom Hanks’ masterful and hilarious portrayal of roguish coach Jimmy Dugan as he slowly comes to terms with being forced to coach (sneer!) women. And who says Madonna can’t act? The friendship portrayed by her character and that of Rosie O’Donnell (whom I do not care for at all but who was a perfect fit in this role) is a triumph of talent and directorial art (Bravo, Penny Marshall!). Seeing this film makes me wish we still had women’s baseball… maybe it would be a more authentic game than what major league ball has become.

#12

Gettysburg: This was a great film, I think because it showed the humanity of the combatants so well. You could not help but wish both “sides” could have won. The music is magnificent, heart-swelling, noble and beautiful. The battle scenes are horribly authentic. If the human species ever gives up war it will be because we finally realize how horrible and devastating it truly is. This film portrays that – but also the love and friendship of the men on both sides. The peaceful glow of the evening camps, contrasting with the stark horror of the daytime battles, this film is a masterpiece of its genre. One small criticism; I can’t quite see Martin Sheen, great actor though he is, as Robert E. Lee. It’s the voice. Lee could not have sounded quite so effeminate.

#11

Fried Green Tomatoes: What a great story of friendship and community this one was, from every angle. It sucked me in from the beginning and held me until the very end and left me wanting to hear more of the story. I will never look at barbecue quite the same way again – at least not without a chuckle. Life changes though; people and even places come and go, even though we wish they wouldn’t. In a perfect world, we’d still be able to visit with Ruth and Idgie at the Whistle Stop café; we’d still be able to visit the family farm and see the old folks and our home town the way they “always” were. In this film, for just a few moments, we can.

#10

A River Runs Through It: Norman Maclean’s story of his boyhood and life in and around Missoula, Montana and the death of his brother would move the heart of any stone-man. It is fly-fishing the great rivers of the west as a metaphor for life – or getting through life. This one is more drama than comedy – but the script shows the nature of a good American family, their ideas of morality and right and wrong, in a time now passed. In the time of the story, the decisions of “good” people were not made as pragmatically as they might be today, things seemed more black and white to them. In addition to showing the struggles (and joys) of the Maclean men, the film is a poignant look back at the stock from which many of us came.

#09

The Unforgiven: Clint Eastwood doesn’t get the respect he deserves. He probably has more movies on my favorites list than any other director or actor. I love Pale Rider, Pink Cadillac, the “every which way” films, and others I’m forgetting right now – like Gran Torino and Heartbreak Ridge. Unforgiven is near the top – its gritty portrayal of violence for what it really was (and is) is sobering and thought-provoking. No glamour here. Through Eastwood’s lens we see the everyday humor of life, plus a thorough debunking and transformation of time-worn romantic “old-west” myths. We see the everyday mundane (like the sadly-lacking skills of the great gunman-marshal "Little Bill" as he "roofs" his house) superimposed on the great “glory” of those old west themes and gunfighters. This was one of Gene Hackman’s best roles, in my opinion. In the end, violence, whether perceived to be necessary or not, is just meanness, and life is just "ordinary."

#08

Second Hand Lions: Did I say I love Robert Duvall? I will go see anything he’s in. I feel this way about very few – even Morgan Freeman -- I haven’t seen all of Freeman's (although I might some day) – but Duvall, he’s my actor-hero. Michael Caine is not too shabby either. This is a manly man’s film – a swashbuckler sans pirate ship. How these two knights of the world choose to shuffle off this mortal coil is classic – especially as we get to see some of the fun they have in the red biplane prior to that exit… and they give salesmen their just desserts, so that’s a plus.

#07

Mystery, Alaska: This film is notable for Burt Reynolds’ wonderful job as the town judge, the bonking of an indiscreet hockey player with a frying pan, and “Bailey Pruitt.” You have to love Bailey Pruitt. Colm Meaney does a great job as the Mayor and Mary McCormack has one of the best lines I’ve ever had the good fortune to hear in a film.

#06

Love Actually: Several magically interwoven and related stories about the triumph of love – of them I doubt I could pick an absolute favorite – although the writer and the Portuguese housekeeper story line is probably that one that I liked most. “Thunder-thighs and the Prime Minister” is pretty good too… this film is an exercise in optimism and human warmth.  We do get it right occasionally.

#05

The Simple Life of Noah Dearborn: Sidney Poitier is one of the great actors of our time. The touching triumph of simple and good over the manipulative bastards in this film, of innocence over the world, is the way it ought to be in real life, but seldom is. That’s what Hollywood is all about though, isn’t it? At its best, it’s life as we want it to be. This film was my introduction to the wonders of Mary Louise Parker (or maybe it was Fried Green Tomatoes, I’m not sure); if she will just come to the house I would make her an apple pie and spoon feed it to her, just one American to another. Brenda Blethyn is also wonderful here, and Mr. Poitier is marvelous in the lead role.

#04

Lilies of the Field: I started this black and white film off near the bottom of my list, but it kept creeping toward the top. This warm, funny film completely endears itself to me each time I see it – the way Mother Superior bullies poor Homer (Sidney Poitier) and makes him her slave in spite of his righteous resistance. Slowly, we grow to respect her perseverance as we learn of her hard past, what she came through and what she and the other sisters accomplished. We know almost from the beginning that Homer Smith is a good, even a great man (in a normal, everyday way) – and as the film makes that plainly clear, we can feel good about ourselves for "knowing" that right up front. As the chorus of “Amen” fades away in the end while Homer drives away… well, never a chick flick moved me more!

#03

Lonesome Dove: I’m not sure there has ever been a buddy film that ever captured the wonderful nature of guy-friendship as well as Larry McMurtry did in Lonesome Dove. His story was also a showcase for hard American morality – the propensity of our fathers to do what they thought was right even if it was personally distasteful to them – what was “right” had to be done, no matter the cost. Men were more likely to stick to their word and didn’t need contracts to bind them. There was good in that – and evil as well. It is good that we remember that. The film was true to McMurtry’s novels in this regard – and the story is a masterpiece, both as written and as filmed.

#02

The Milagro Beanfield War: Robert Redford has made more than one of my favorites. This one is near the top. The love and care of a people in danger for each other and for their land is on display. Like we all want it to, but know it doesn’t always in the REAL world, it wins in the end. Throw in the help of ancient men, angels and maybe Kokopelli himself, and some great humor driven by the confrontation between developers, their supporters and the other resisting locals, and you have a film that will always be at the top of my list. We don't call New Mexico the Land of Enchantment for nothing.

Sheriff John T. Chance

#01

Rio Bravo: Howard Hawks’ definitive 1959 western… John Wayne, Dean Martin and Rick Nelson rock and stand off the bad guys against all odds. The interplay between the characters like Carlos and Chance, Stumpy and the jailed Burdette, and the sly humor that twists and turns between Chance and Angie Dickinson’s saloon girl Dallas… I can watch this one again and again. I never get tired of it. Many films like this one will be on this list – films with heart and humor.  But this one is Number One. The old west as film created it is best represented when Chance and Dude go out in the evening once more to patrol the town!

The Honorable Mentions… (not ranked)

Hitch: Will Smith is another of my favorites… and Eva Mendez totally disarms as the cynical sweetheart. This twist on the romantic comedy formula was a delight to watch.

Silverado: Another favorite – from the opening gunfight, to the loyalty of the four buddies for each other, the treachery of the bad guys and the culmination of the action in the final showdown – the storyline makes this a quintessential western – as it was intended to be. I love all the main characters – and especially Linda Hunt as the Evening Star.

The Sure Thing: Probably my favorite of all the Rom Coms ever! Daphne Zuniga is girl-next-door perfection, and while at this age she hadn’t yet learned to act very well, she was fairly convincing as an OCD nerdy-klutz! While predictable, the story is fun to watch. I love the performance of the college professor.

Bull Durham: This one I liked I think because of the charisma of Kevin Costner – and his mentor relationship with the young pitcher and the team. And I love the camaraderie of the team and baseball in general. Highlights for me were the attack on the clown prince and Millie. Kevin’s soliloquy was great too.  As a lover of both beisbol and roadtrips, I wish I could always be with the team on a baseball roadtrip -- riding along in the bus!

Shawshank Redemption: I think Morgan Freeman walking down the Mexican beach at the end, free and in friendship is one of my greatest-ever moments in film. All through the film, you wish and hope for these two friends to conquer in freedom and dignity – and when they do, the moment is sublime.

Starman: Hey, who doesn’t like a good alien film and this one didn’t come to eat us! We probably ought to be careful about inviting them to come here though – some others of them might not be so nice in the real world. Karen Allen had the prettiest freckled face in 80s films!

The Right Stuff: This is a film about America, in all its 60’s space program glory. I saw some of these people -- not the famous ones of course (and avidly watched every Space program launch that I could) -- but my Dad and his working peers at White Sands Missile Range were part of this. Our entire country was caught up in the excitement. And the flavor captured by the film is exactly the way it was (or at least the way it was presented to us). That’s why I like this one – it is large scale – it is magnificent – and it captured the spirit and heroism of those heroic and competent Americans in one of the most exciting decades in American history (despite the tragedies). The only negative is the false portrayal of Gus Grissom – nothing I have ever read about him shows him to be the simpering, bumbling wimp pictured in the film. His characterization in this film was in NO way factual.

Casablanca: The only Bogart film I currently own – and I watch it from time to time just for the glory of it. The filmmaking is dated – but I cannot help watching it again and again just to hear the classic words of the screenplay.  If you want to see just how far SFX has come in 70 years, watch the departing airplane sequences in this film. 

The Final Countdown: A nonsense film that is every schoolboy’s dream – go back in time and change (or try to change) the outcome of a major battle! Fight a civil war fight with M-16s… show up in King Arthur’s court with some hand-grenades or something… I’ve always been a sucker for the time travel flicks – like Timerider, or reincarnation films like Dead Again. Anyway, who could possibly resist Katherine Ross and Kirk Douglas. In this film, the USN cooperated with the film-makers and mixed up supersonic F-14s with actual WWII-era aircraft (AT-6's and SNJ's made up to look like Zeros and Vals).  It was a treat to see these marvelous machines flying together in the same airspace.

Paper Moon: My favorite Bogdanovich film – you pull for Addie from beginning to end.

Roxanne: I never felt like there could be any real love match between the two main characters – it just doesn’t work – but the humor of the film is second to none. Michael J. Pollard is fantastic – and the physical comedy never fails to make me laugh. That's not to say that Steve Martin and Daryl Hannah aren't good in their roles -- they are -- I just didn't think the romance was plausible.  Oh wait, now that I think about it that was kind of the whole point, wasn't it? 

Where the Heart Is: A sweet film that is stolen by Sister Husband (Stockard Channing). Pretty hard to do when your scene-stealing competition is Ashley Judd and Joan Cusack…

Nobody’s Fool: Paul Newman carries this film with help from Bruce Willis, Melanie Griffith and Jessica Tandy. All are believable in their roles, but Newman shines. You almost wish he had run away with Melanie at the end – or at least got the snow-blower for keeps.  This is the Newman film I love the most -- although I also own Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. I just don't like the ending of that one...  In thinking about this, I wonder if "Cool Hand Luke" should be on this list...

The Princess Bride: The whole story is great, but the highlight for me is the transparent love of the Grandfather for his grandson shown at the end. Billy Crystal and Carol Kane are a hoot -- I've never had an MLT and I probably won't.  I'm just not much for mutton, no matter how highly it is recommended.

The Original True Grit: Back when this one came out, I probably saw it 20 times.  To this day, I can recite the script along with the actors as they were filmed.  The cinematography was magnificent, the characterizations perfect, the humor uproarious. I like the Coen Brothers remake as well, and it may be truer to the author's intent and the tone of the original story, but John Wayne's film will always be one I go back and watch again and again. (Although I now own both films).

Swashbuckler: The best pirate movie of my generation – and is there anyone as physically magnificent as was James Earl Jones in his youth, or Geoffrey Holder, for that matter. Robert Shaw looks like he could have BEEN a pirate – and most people would never have dreamed that Peter Boyle could perform a role like this – if all they had ever seen of him was his “Raymond” role. This one is just pure, unadulterated fun!

Most of my favorites are not among the greatest films of their time – but they tell uplifting stories, warm the heart – or entertain. And that’s what I want to see on film – entertainment.  It has occurred to me that many of these are not chick flicks at all... I think I will go watch a movie!

Updated October 11, 2014

Kid Stuff

Ruthie and Scotty

I don’t know what the kids of today would do if they had to manage as WE did back in the 50s and 60s! We actually had to go outside…

There were no computers, video games, CDs, to name a few things. And life was simpler then – today there is so much for parents to worry about – at least in places like this. Back then, it was safe for us to be out running around, as long as we stayed out of the traffic. Where I live, though, there really wasn’t much traffic back then. That got to be a bigger problem as I grew up, but when I was very small, 30th Place and Cactus Road wasn’t too far removed from unpaved roads.

So, what did we do for fun? I think life was pretty darn good for poor kids around here…

When it would rain, as it often did in the late summer, we’d sometimes get to play outside IN it. One pleasure was the smell of the rain – we had an evaporative cooler and it would draw in the smell of the wet dust. Just like today, our summer thunderstorms were often preceded by a dust storm “squall line.” The wet dirt actually smelled kind of good. And the desert around here, our neighborhood was surrounded by open desert – the creosote bushes have a particular and peculiar smell when they get rained on. That smell is still a warm fuzzy today – whenever I happen to be out on the desert during or after a rain. Which is not often enough!

After the rain, water (run-off) would flow down the street in front of the house. Our road was crowned and where our sidewalk is today there was a glorious ditch. After the rain, it was a ditch-river, a river on which one could float a small piece of lumber, a nail pounded into it for a “mast” – an impromptu toy boat. I'm still a mud-puddle splasher today.

Once in a while, in the summer, we’d go to the drive-in movie theater. The movie would be something really tame by today’s standards – there was no graphic violence, and certainly no sex. The only naked thing you’d see at the drive-in would've probably have been John Wayne's horse. It would be hot, and we’d roll down the windows, or maybe take lawn chairs and sit in front of the car outside. It would always be a double feature, and a highlight of the evening was the trip to the snack bar at intermission, with maybe enough change for popcorn or something. Sometimes the price was only $1 a carload! There was a lot of anticipation involved -- we had to wait for it to get dark -- you'd get there early to get a good spot, and then you had to wait what seemed like HOURS (to a kid anyway) for it to get dark enough to see the screen.

That reminds me of 4th of July fireworks too -- in the early days about the only show around here close by was at Turf Paradise. We would drive fairly close and park alongside a road -- maybe Bell Road -- and watch from there. We'd always be impatient as we waited for the darkness to fall so they'd start the show!

Later on in the evening, we’d get sleepy. One good thing -- it would be cooler for the ride home. Our car never had air conditioning in those days – we couldn’t afford it -- except what came in through the windows, of course. So we enjoyed it a lot when the weather (or the evening) was cooler. Unlike today, it actually did tend to cool off overnight, even in high summer. I think it is because there wasn’t so much concrete and asphalt then – it’s like going out away from the city these days – once you get out there a ways where it's mostly dirt or fields or trees -- it is cooler.

There were several drive-ins that we frequented for movie nights – one on Cave Creek Road at Sweetwater called the Cactus Drive-In – and there was the Northern, the Cinema Park, the Thunderbird (out in Glendale) and the Indian (at Indian School Rd and what is now I-17). There were lots of others too but these are the ones we usually went to. The most fun was when we got to take our friends with us.

In the summer, we were sometimes allowed to “sleep out.” We’d throw our sleeping bags down on the grass – we had grass in the front and back (yard) then – and we’d talk and watch the stars come out. Sometimes we'd see a shooting star. It was normal to wake up early – in the dawn when it was really cool. We’d either go in the house to finish our sleep or sometimes we’d even get up and play. One of my favorite activities in the early morning cool was to practice my “pitching” with a tennis ball against the north side of the house. I would aim for a specific brick. It would bounce back to me, unless "the pitch" was really wild...so I didn't need a catcher. I don’t think my mother appreciated that activity much. I got yelled at a LOT.

My first dog was Pete -- he used to chase cars and fight any other dog that came around. Sometimes he'd even go out LOOKING for a good fight. I can remember him coming home from a fight, all beat up and so tired he'd lean up against the house to rest. He was a black and white mongrel -- part collie and part some other thing, maybe bear. Later we got a dachshund that we named Prince Maynard von Wiggles. He was also a fighter, although he often bit off more than he could chew. He'd beg at the table. He'd proceed from one chair to the next, and sit upright on his hind legs begging. I once gave him a pickle. He skipped my chair while begging for weeks after that. We always had cats, too, although they never humiliated themselves by begging for anything, and occasionally some other critter (guinea pigs, for one).

We rarely ate “out.” I remember a little hamburger stand at Cave Creek and Dunlap – where the Jack in the Box is now – and they sold little McDonald’s-type hamburgers 7 for $1. (Later, they reduced it to 5 for a $1). So we could afford that once in a while. I never had pizza in a pizza parlor until I was a teen. We made “pizza” out of a box-mix sold at the store – by Chef Boy-Ar-Di! It was horrible – but we liked it I think. I know we kept eating it anyway… Other “treats” were an occasional dinner out, sometimes with my grandparents, at a little café on Cave Creek Road south of Greenway, called Juno’s. The building is still there. My Grandparents liked that place. Mom would bring home (she worked as an RN downtown) a Payday candy bar occasionally, or sometimes glazed donuts. I still like both of those – especially glazed donuts just dripping with confectioner’s icing…

In the early years, there were no grocery stores out here. The nearest one was at 7th Avenue and Glendale -- an A.J. Bayless store. So we'd drive across Northern Avenue through the Dreamy Draw to get there, and it was an island of desert. This is the area that SR51 follows through now. Down at the point where Northern Avenue splits off and SR51 curves southward into Phoenix today, we hit a skunk in the road, with all the nasty implications of that crime. This occurred right beside or near a particular road sign. The skunk appropriately expressed his defiance just before death. You know all those remedies for getting "stink" off stuff? Yeah, well, none of them work. That old Mercury (my Mom's first car) smelled for several weeks. To this very day, I cannot see a 45 mph "curve ahead" sign without thinking of that skunk "encounter."

Ours was green...

My Mom learned to drive in that old Mercury. My Dad painted it green, along with his TR-3 and all our bicycles and tricycles. Must've gotten quite a deal on that horrible bright green paint. Mom couldn't master the coordination of shifting a standard transmission -- so when Dad found that Mercury and it had an automatic -- well, the rest was inevitable. She drove that car up and down the alley behind the house -- and when she finally got comfortable with it, hit Cactus Road in a shower of gravel and we haven't seen her since. Well, maybe a little more lately now that, at 90, she has given up driving...

My earliest memory of outside “play” was riding my tricycle. I was always going somewhere. My route was normally out the back and down the alley to Cactus, along the north side of Fuquay’s house (31st and Cactus) and into the desert area on the east side of our neighborhood (between 31st St and 32nd Street). There were worn paths through that little strip of desert, and they were fun to ride. There were rattlesnakes in the area, and coyotes, certainly, but I never encountered any out there. We had more snakes right here in the yard than I ever saw in the deserts around here. Maybe because they came around looking for the shade - and the water...

Later years (after age 7) when I had learned to ride a bicycle, my horizons opened up wide. I would ride down to Paradise Hills Shopping Center for a Coke at the Ryan Evans Drug Store soda fountain (there was an “older” woman working there whom I was sweet on - she was 16, I was probably 10). The area around our neighborhood was open desert when we moved here in 1955, and it slowly grew up (and developed) over the next 30 years. As a kid, I would ride over to the mountains (west of here) and climb them. I would ride fast up the street and out into the desert, pretending to be flying a bomber, trying to pop a wheelie for the take off, or driving a semi. The street in front of the house was my runway. I haven’t changed much. But we didn't have to ride on streets much -- we could get to just about anywhere by riding through the neighborhoods or the desert. There were paths everywhere.

Kite flying in the spring was another favorite activity. I spent dozens of hours trying to fly, and flying, kites. You could buy one for about 15¢ and about all you had to do to get it aloft was spread it out, secure it with the string attached and hang a tail on it. I never quite got the knack of starting them – old Mr. Kerns could sit on his porch, and just by manipulating the kite with his wrist, get the sucker into the air and flying high. Me, I’d run up and down the street, dragging the kite behind me, and only because I got lucky actually get the damned thing to fly. Mr. Kerns would sit on his porch and just laugh at me. He was one of my best friends and I must have been a source of great entertainment for him. I got the kites tangled up in power lines and trees occasionally and this year’s kite rarely survived the season. No matter, they were pretty cheap. I have to tell you though, when it came to kite-flying skills, Charlie Brown had nothing on me.

When we were very small, Tina, Ruth and I would invent games to play – we’d make little “books” out of scrap paper, with pictures drawn inside on the little tiny pages of monsters we imagined. Then we’d sneak around outside and “spot” them, using the tiny "manual" for identification purposes. Look! There's a Great-Horned Skagelkrook! We better run!

In the evenings particularly, we’d play games outside with other neighbor kids – hide and seek, Red Rover, kick-ball, tag… We were usually allowed to play outside until it was almost dark. Inside, during the daytime when it was hot outside, we could play board games (we had a few) or card games. But we didn’t always stay in just because it was hot… we were tougher than nails! We played baseball outside, and rode our bikes all over the place. We’d play ball in the street in front of the houses – or in side-yards when we got yelled at for it. But if we tried to stay inside, Mom would throw our butts OUT. "Go outside and PLAY, don't think for one minute you're going to stay in here and bother ME all day!"

When we couldn't go to a public pool, we'd run through the sprinklers on the lawn. Sometimes this resulted in a bee sting or two. We'd also go to the library and get books to read -- we had a very large Mulberry tree in the back yard, and we could climb up into the leaves, sit there in the shade and read where it was cooler. Life in the Arizona desert had its plusses.

An early B/W television

We had TV! It was broadcast television -- from antennas high on South Mountain. It was black and white of course -- and our TV was actually made by (or at least branded by) CBS. There were 4 or 5 channels -- ABC (KTVK), CBS (KOOL) and NBC (KTAR). There was a local independent station (KPHO) which is now the CBS affiliate here (KTSP, Channel 5). KPHO had a great children's program in the afternoon -- Wallace and Ladmo. It's still one of the best things about Phoenix, ever.

One of my preferred activities was to stay up late with a bowl of popcorn, and watch the 10:30 pm movie on Saturday night -- the Million Dollar Movie -- and I saw lots of old classic films that way. At the end of the movie, the station would always shut down for the night -- there was no such thing as 24-hour programming in the 1960s -- not in Phoenix anyway. They'd "sign off" with Air Force jets flying and a recitation of "High Flight," a poem by John Gillespie McGee, Jr, and then the national anthem. The poem's author, a fighter pilot in the RAF, was killed in WWII but he will live immortal in the minds of pilots everywhere, because of that poem.

Channel 10's general manager was Mr. Homer Lane -- and he was a pilot and an aviation enthusiast. He would do short editorials occasionally and he reminded me of a librarian, or an English teacher: very stiff, very formal, and always wearing a bow tie. I met him once later -- we were both trying to land our planes at Prescott and he screwed up and almost ran over me in the traffic pattern. I was about to call him a few choice names, when he came over and profusely apologized. Mr. Lane was a decent guy and a class act.

Our news anchors held their jobs for years -- Dave Nichols, Art Brock, Ray Thompson... It wasn't "musical chairs" for the next pretty face like it is today. You saw the same faces every day, and they reported the news -- they didn't consider themselves the news. We trusted them. I think the concept they adhered to was that they were providing a public service -- unbiased news reporting -- instead of always trying to spin things or over-dramatize things. They had integrity. Personally, I think today's broadcast media are a profession teetering very close to the edge of a certain kind of prostitution and they do occasionally fall in.

Gila Monster

Every once in awhile, we’d go on a picnic. Mom would drive us up north along Scottsdale Road and then east along a power-line road – at least until there was a murder or two out there and a suicide… then we’d go up off Cave Creek Road on Tapekim Road and have hot dogs over a fire and roast marshmallows. We’ve still got those sticks here – and the grandkids using them today have no idea about their history! Once when I was really small, Dad and Mom took us up north of Bell on 32nd Street, until we were way out north of Campo Bello (a neighborhood), and we had a picnic out there. I’ve only ever seen a Gila Monster live in the wild twice – once on that picnic, and once a few years back out west of Wickenburg on the highway in the middle of the night.

Ours was black...

I loved listening to music -- we had a table radio that sat in the hallway. I wasn't allowed to play it loud, so I'd lay my head on the table in front of that little radio and listen to the Top 40 on KRUX or KRIZ radio. At night, we could get WLS in Chicago or KOMA in Oklahoma City via the "skip." AM radio waves literally bounce off the stratosphere, and can travel hundreds and hundreds of miles where even a little cheap radio set could pick them up. This only happened at night.

Halloween was pretty neat -- not like now. We'd go out at dusk and hit every house we could get to -- and come home with bags and bags of candy. There'd be hundreds of kids on the street. The older kids weren't as mean then either -- instead of stealing your candy and rubbing your face in the dirt --- they'd more likely be looking out for you. Usually. You really didn't have to worry about your kids too much -- there was definitely less meanness in the world. At least around here.

Once in a while, we’d get to go camping. Normally, we’d go east of Payson – Woods Canyon Lake was one place we camped. In those days you camped right beside the lake, next to the water. Another time we went to Mt Graham (we heard a mountain lion scream and had bears in camp). So we cowered in the tent, and Mom wondered what the hell she was thinking by taking us out there to be eaten alive! That same trip we also camped near Alpine at Luna Lake.

C580 at old Terminal 1 - Phoenix

From the time I was knee-high, and even today, one of MY favorite activities is going to the airport to watch the airliners. Another surprise, I’m sure. Originally, there was one terminal (now torn down). It had an observation deck on top and we’d stand up there and watch old propliners take off on the one runway. In about 1962, they built Terminal 2, and it also had a long observation deck on the roof, and a ground-level outside promenade crossing the south end like a “T.”

I learned of my Grandfather’s death on a Phoenix-bound flight in 1965 in a little back room in Terminal 2 – behind what was then the TWA ticket counter. I have heard that his plane was over Missouri somewhere when he passed away – and very nearly over the town where he was born. When the pilot radioed in that he had a death on board, he supposedly reported his position as over that town. I can still show you right where that little back-room is or was. The airline staff took us in and very gently informed us of that sad news.

While at the airport, I would collect every airline timetable I could get my hands on (wish I still had them). Then I would pore over them, wishing and planning to GO -- and I could identify the outbound and inbound flights that passed over the house. I still do this today! Of course there weren't as many then as there are today -- a few regulars each day was all. Bonanza Airlines flew Fairchild F-27 "Friendships" -- north out of Phoenix to Las Vegas mostly and their bright orange tails made them easy to spot (along with their screeching Rolls Royce "Dart" turbine engines). At least once every day in the late afternoon, Frontier Airlines employed a DC-3 whose drone I could hear five minutes before it ever got here, heading due north. The under-view profile of a DC-3 is still as familiar to me today as is the shape of my own hand.

Pampaw's was probably older ...

Some of my best memories (this one will be a surprise) were of road trips to see the relatives in Indiana and Missouri. We went in 1957 in Dad’s TR-3, ’59 at Christmas (and broke down in Anson, Texas!), 1961, 1966, ’68 and ’70. By the 1970 trip, I was driving and I got to drive most of the way. Woo HOO! I installed an 8-Track tape player in the car for the trip… that was cool! In 1961, we pulled up in the farm yard near Alamo, Indiana and Dad lit off a string of firecrackers to announce our arrival. On that trip, we got to ride on Pampaw’s Allis-Chalmers tractor all the way from the farm to Alamo!

If you’ve ever seen the movie American Graffiti, you’ve seen teenagers “cruising.” We used to do that too – Central Avenue between about Camelback south to Thomas! We’d drive slowly downtown, then turn around and cruise back. Back and forth, back and forth. We never ever hooked up, but we were always hopeful! Sometimes we’d stop in at Christown (now Spectrum) Mall and watch the girls shop and walk, or give the organ grinder’s monkey hot pennies…

That is some of what my childhood and young adulthood was like. We were poor, dirt-poor really, but it didn't feel like it. Aside from not having much extra I don’t think Tina or I ever felt deprived (that I know of, anyway). I don’t know about Ruthie because she was a bit older and left here when Tina and I were still little. I know she's said she was not allowed to do as much as me.

Things are so much different now – but kids are just kids; so I wonder what this generation will look back on – what will be the good things they'll remember from their childhoods. I hope theirs are as good as ours were! Kids are the same, for sure – but it is a different world, isn’t it? I can’t help but feel like we’ve lost something.

Puddle Jumpin'



Grumman AA1C "Lynx"

In December 1977, right after Christmas, I was sent by my employer to Savannah, Georgia to pick up and ferry a new airplane to the flight school at Deer Valley Airport. It was a new Grumman American AA1C (a factory demonstrator), complete with pretty wheel fairings (later removed by the flight school) and a yellow and orange paint job. An AA1C is a tiny little airplane, two seats almost – with a 24 ft wingspan and a little 115 hp 4-cylinder engine. It cruises along at about 100 mph or a little faster if you don't care about fuel economy much -- and has a short range of only a couple hours of flight time – or maybe three. So this was a trip that took a little time…

I left Phoenix and flew to Indianapolis. I routed my trip in that direction deliberately – I wanted to see my Grandfather who was fighting cancer – and we all knew by then it was a fight he would not win. We visited in the airport for a few moments while I waited on my connecting flight.  It was the last time I ever saw him.

My second leg was to Atlanta and then to Savannah – both flights were memorable for one reason or another. The first was on an Eastern Airlines jet and it was the first time I ever bought first class fare. I have only ever paid for first class (air) once since. But I was expecting a first class experience and to me that mostly means “what’s for lunch.” Imagine my bitter disappointment when I discovered I was only getting a wine and cheese plate. I don’t drink wine, period, and I don’t care for cheese that much. And the folks in coach? They were getting something hot and savory, I could smell it. What the hell is wrong with this picture! I wanted to change seats…

On arrival in Atlanta, I had only a short hop remaining down to Savannah. That was my first and only flight in a DC-8, and this one was a stretch model, so I was thrilled. We climbed up and out of Atlanta like a rocket! The whole journey would have been worth it just for that one flight on the big Douglas.

 

Arriving in Savannah, I got over to the Grumman plant– I believe it was simply on another part of the airfield. I stayed the night nearby and got to Grumman to take delivery of N9603U the next morning. Most of the paperwork was already done, since Lem (my boss and mentor) had purchased many other aircraft from them before – delivery was simply a formality of me inspecting the product and signing for delivery.
Unfortunately, after taxiing all the way out to the departure end of the field to do a test flight, the magneto check was no-go. So I taxied all the way back to the Grumman facility where they “fixed” the problem by replacing some of the ignition leads (or so I thought). Their poor ethics and shoddy workmanship caused me trouble again later.


This delay cost me most of the morning and I got underway westbound at about noon. The day was sunny and while there was a little bit of haze, the visibility wasn’t too bad and I got a great view of the middle south as I plodded along. I had never been to the Deep South before, and what I saw was a rolling landscape and a few farm fields here and there. I don’t remember it as all that spectacular, but who cares, I was flying on someone else’s dollar!

I landed at Americus, Georgia for fuel, and flew on to Montgomery Alabama where I stopped for the night. Americus is Jimmy Carter’s “home airport.” They used to land Air Force One there when he was president – Plains is nearby but they have no large airport there. At any rate, President Carter wasn't visiting Plains that day anyway.


My route the first day was about 308 miles, west and then slightly northwest from Savannah. I passed south of Columbus and the airport in Montgomery (Dannelly Field) is southwest of the city. This was about 2.5 hours flying time in the little Grumman, mostly at fairly low altitude so I had a great view of the countryside. That’s part of the joy of flying in light aircraft – you are part of your surroundings, not whooshing along in a sterile environment high above them. You can smell the rivers at 3,000 feet, you can see the creeks and the fishermen, you can smell the fresh-plowed earth baking in the sun. It’s good, and pilots have a hard time explaining it sometimes -- there is a sense of freedom in flying, of exhilaration; of being more in control of your destiny than is warranted, really.


I should have pushed on that day, probably, but then again it would have been a bad idea for other reasons of which I yet had no clue. So things worked out. The next morning, I headed out to the field to get an early start. I did my planning in the airport’s pilot lounge, preflighted the airplane and started the long taxi out to the runway. This taxiway was a mile or two in length, or maybe 50. Once out there in South Bumfuzzle, I set the brakes and did my run-up… and the mags were bad again.

A light aircraft with piston engines has magnetos – these take the place of distributors and coils like automobiles of that era had – and since an airplane has redundant systems, there are two mags. The idea of course is that if one quits, you still have a second one (although at somewhat reduced efficiency) to keep you afloat. So as part of your pre-take-off routine, you make sure that both are working by switching one off and observing a small drop in engine RPMs while the other one is providing your spark. You check the left one, then both again, then the right one. The engine should run smoothly, but a little bit slower. But if a mag is bad, you get missing, coughing, sputtering, rough, unevenness, this is not good, @!*t. *&%@! This was exactly the same problem I had the day before in Savannah.

So I taxied all the way back to the hangar, shut her down and called Lem in Phoenix, who seemed to be a bit put out that I was having a problem – and acting like it was my fault somehow. But I stood my ground – I never took an aircraft aloft that I didn’t think was airworthy, and this one clearly was not. This is the difference between an unseasoned airplane driver and a pilot... With experience, lots of experience, you learn that many small problems aren't really going to kill you (unless of course they happen all at once), that you can still fly the airplane, get there, and actually walk away from the airplane. I have in many years of flying learned that with a calm, thoughtful approach, a remembrance of lessons learned and an unswerving focus on flying the airplane, even seemingly insurmountable problems can be overcome - sometimes you can accomplish the "impossible." The problem with this is that this knowledge can lead to fatal complacency occasionally (and the real trick is knowing the difference). Some of the very best aviators get caught by this mistake and crushed into bio-aluminum. Lem Cook was a consummate aviator - and my timidity as a young pilot was, I am sure, frustrating to him.  It WAS his own fault though - he was one of the aviators who taught me how to be a careful pilot -- and a perfectionist in that pursuit.

Some think I am overly-cautious and I am sure Lem Cook was thinking exactly that – but it was my neck, not his. His reaction said more about him, in my opinion, than it did me. I never cut corners (of which I was aware) when it came to safety.  Bob the Flight Instructor says… that was one reason I survived aviation when many others I have known did not; getting there was never as important as surviving the day. Even so, I recognize that a certain amount of that was luck. On those occasions when I made mistakes, luck and circumstance was ever as present as skill in getting it down shiny side up - and I tried to learn from those lessons so they were not repeated. 


Lem had me call a warranty station at a nearby field (Wetumpka Aerodrome), about 25 miles northeast of Dannelly Field. The FBO there offered to come down and get the plane, if I would fly his back (a similar AA-1C).

The fact that he was willing to fly 9603U when it was not functioning properly should have made me wonder about the airworthiness of his plane – but I went along with the plan – he flew down, and I followed him in his little buzzer as he flew mine to Wetumpka for repairs. I should note that I did inspect his aircraft very carefully before I flew it. Anyway, the repair work took the rest of the morning – and I didn’t get out of Wetumpka, Alabama until after lunch.


It turned out that the repair shop at Grumman had simply "glued" the partially disintegrated ignition leads back together and re-installed them, rather than replace them with new ones. It wasn't long (about three hours, actually) before the little Lycoming engine shook them apart again. Their neglect and incompetence was unforgivable, especially since my life depended on their work. I rarely ever encountered that kind of behavior in many years of dealing with aviation people - most of them take their jobs very seriously. Fortunately, this time things fell apart on the ground instead of in the air - so I didn't have to struggle to make it to an airport on reduced power, or land it without power in a ditch somewhere in east Mississippi. The Wetumpka hero got me back in the air with new ignition leads in about 3 hours.

By now, with a half day missed the first day, and a half day missed the 2nd day, I was an entire flying day behind where I could have been… and that made all the difference in getting home quickly or not, because weather was brewing around Dallas, as it often does that time of year. There is a perpetual low pressure area over DFW. The little plane I was flying was not an all-weather machine – it was not set up for instrument flight and neither was I (I had no instrument rating in those days). I flew from Wetumpka to Jackson, Mississippi where I stopped for fuel. To the west, storms were encroaching on my path. My plan "B" was an attempt to fly to the northwest toward Oklahoma in an end run around the north side of the rain and the low clouds involved. But I ran out of daylight before I could get the job done, landed at Texarkana and overnight things closed in on me and buttoned it down tight for visual flying (VFR, to those in the know). I spent the next three days in lovely, socked-in, wet Texarkana. Sigh.


The time in Texarkana wasn’t entirely wasted. There is a town nearby, where the legend of Bigfoot lives. I had seen a movie at a cheap drive-in called "The Legend of Boggy Creek," based on a book by a man named Smokey Crabtree (I kid you not!), who claimed to have seen a Bigfoot creature in the swamps around Fouke, Arkansas. So I rented a car and moseyed on down there. I stopped at Crabtree’s store, bought his book (sucker!) and hung around for a little while, sightseeing, looking behind bushes, etc. I never did see the “Fouke Monster.” He was probably there though – my eyesight is not that good - only 20/15 in those days. But sometimes you can’t see the trees for the forest, you know?


After three days, the weather finally threatened to leave town. I was just waiting my chance. On New Year’s Day, 1978, I stepped out the door of my deluxe room at the Motel 6 and there was a little tiny hole in the clouds above my head. I grabbed my bag, hoo-rah’d the motel’s driver, and had my big balooka and satchel delivered to the AIRPORT, whipping the horses all the way, or the driver I can’t remember which. I preflighted, planned, all in about 45 seconds and pointed the nose of that Grumman at that little itty bitty hole. I got myself about 500 feet on top of that cloud layer (or 1000, or whatever the FAA required…) and I stayed there until I was somewhere west of Wichita Falls. I don’t recommend anyone ever do what I did that day. 


I think I must’ve stopped for fuel at Wichita Falls but I cannot remember that particular stop. The rest of that day was perfect flying weather and I went all the way home in clear skies. My route for a good while was along the Red River, and there was drama unfolding beneath me somewhere. Some folks had been out hunting or fishing along the river and they had disappeared -- and I think the river was in flood stage because of the rains. The search parties, coordinated by the local sheriff, were having trouble communicating by radio because the rolling terrain was causing interference. They were smart enough (probably they had done this before) to use passing airplanes as relay stations. The Flight Service Station contacted me (I was the only one around at the time, I suppose) and I acted as a go-between for radio communications between the search parties as long as I was in range. I don’t remember even the nature of the conversations but I do remember being pretty excited about it at the time. It felt good to help. I think I even offered to circle around for a while but they apparently didn't need me further.

West of Wichita Falls, it is west Texas with all that west Texas entails. It’s long, brown, dry, kind of flat, or maybe gradually rolling Great Plains. No one much has ever settled there - in old movies they call it the Staked Plains and the "West Texas badlands." Any day flying is a good day, but that was a long afternoon… I stopped for fuel at Lubbock and then my next fuel stop was Sunland Airport on the west side of El Paso. I skirted the southeastern corner of New Mexico and flew along the face of the Guadalupe Mountains. A direct flight from Lubbock to Phoenix was not possible because of the restricted airspace over Holloman AFB and the White Sands Missile Range. You have to go around, either to the south or to the north via Albuquerque. I arrived over El Paso in late afternoon, passed by the huge fuel tanks brimming with 80/87 octane at El Paso International and landed at Sunland, where… everything including the baño was closed up tighter than Dick’s hatband. Oi!  It was New Year's Day after all and the airport folks were taking a holiday, I guess.


Probably the smart thing to do at that point would have been to back-track to El Paso’s BIG airport and buy fuel there. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to pay for the same air twice… so I went on toward Las Cruces. It’s only 50 more miles, right? The little Grumman doesn’t have fuel gauges – it has sight gauges. There is a clear plastic gravity tube that shows you exactly how much fuel you have left in each tank (left and right, the fuel is stored in the wing spars) – so there’s no guesswork. It isn’t an electronic measurement (or “guess”) of how much go-juice remains, it is simply a view of what is actually IN the tank. Pretty simple. And that afternoon, for that last 50 miles, it kept getting lower and lower as I watched in anxious alarm. By the time I made it to Las Cruces’ airport, west of the city along I-10, I was sweating and wishing I hadn’t pushed it quite so far. That was nearly 400 miles from my last fuel stop at Lubbock, and way farther than I ever should have tried to go in an airplane with such small fuel tanks. Occasional flawed judgment can even afflict a genius like me.

By now, it was getting late, but I had decided that this was the day I would be getting home. No more overnight stops. Flying west along I-10, I passed by Deming and Lordsburg; a direct route crosses I-10 several times along the way. I crossed I-10 for the last time at Willcox (except once more over Tucson) and flew directly west across the Rincon Mountains, skirting Davis-Monthan AFB and landing at Tucson International for my last fuel stop just after dark. I got to watch the sunset over the mountains of southern Arizona! Up to that point I hadn't done any night flying over terrain that was strange to me -- but my last couple of hours was over my own neighborhood, so to speak, so I continued on in the dark.

I remember being treated like a king at the Tucson airport. They gave me a ride to the terminal on an airport cart so I could eat, they fueled my plane and even cleaned the canopy. They were definitely a first class operation. I left Tucson and headed north along the direct route to Deer Valley airport, flying along in the dark and following the lights below on the highway that paralleled my flight path. My family all turned out to greet my arrival. I suspect they all had thought they would never see me again when I left home. Personally, I don’t see anything in cross-country light plane flight that is even as risky as an automobile road trip – but sometimes people are afraid of things they don’t understand. Like most things, flight is as safe as you make it. For sure though, it is a thinking person's game.

Overall, this was the longest light-plane flight I ever completed, about 2,000 miles, and it was a great experience. That last day out of Texarkana was the longest flight in one stretch I ever completed as a private pilot - about 11 hours of flying and 1200 miles, just about 1/3 of the time and distance Lindbergh flew when he soloed the Atlantic! This makes me appreciate what he accomplished - hell, I slept for three days after I got home! I saw our country almost coast to coast the same way Wiley Post or Amelia saw it fifty years before. My only regret is that I didn’t take my wife along to enjoy the experience. Perhaps we felt we couldn’t afford it, but we should’ve done it anyway. It would have been even better shared and that low-speed, low-altitude cross country flight, for me, was a once in a life-time experience.

The little Grumman became a workhorse trainer at Deer Valley with Professional Aviation and was finally sold to one of my former flight instructors (Ed Pierson) who rebuilt it with a 150 hp engine – this transformed it into a genuine fighter plane, a real barn-burner. While it was still at Professional, it was one of my favorites. I used to buzz around town for fun with my two-year old daughter as my companion - and it is the airplane I usually used when I flew as a traffic watch pilot for KTAR radio. I always considered it "mine." Zero-Three-Uniform and I had a lot of history together.