What Would Jimmy Do?

In the late 50s, early 60s, I worked for the Federal Aviation Agency, located at Will Rogers Airport in Oklahoma City. I was also going to school at the time. The FAA facility in Oklahoma City was best known for its school (later known as the “Academy”) that trained Air Traffic Controllers and engineers and technicians that built and maintained the nations air routes. Also located on the same site, next to the training facilities, was a huge warehouse that stocked all the parts for FAA’s navigation and communications equipment. In addition, it housed spare parts for the Agency’s fleet of aircraft. The aircraft were used to check, and ensure the accuracy of, electronic navigation sites all over the United States.

I worked at the school and because of my own schedule of college courses, I often worked non-conventional hours. One day I arrived at work about mid-afternoon. It happened to be one of those times that the FAA school was between courses and there wasn’t too much to do except update some of the material and prepare lesson plans, etc. When I arrived that afternoon I stopped by the warehouse to pick up some parts for some of the schools training equipment. One of the pilots that I knew was there and asked if I’d like to take a trip. I asked him how long a trip because I had a class before noon the next day. He said, “Oh, no problem, we’ll be back in plenty of time.” I asked him where we were going…he said, “Montana.”

It turns out that one of the aircraft had cracked a windshield while on a calibration flight and was stranded in Billings, Montana. So we loaded a new windshield and an aircraft maintenance man into a 707 jet — at the time it was the only big jet in the FAA fleet. And off we went to Montana. We unloaded the windshield and the maintenance tech stayed to replace the windshield and returned on the repaired aircraft.

We were back in Oklahoma City fairly early the next morning. I got to be co-pilot both going and coming. It turns out that I was to be “co-pilot” on a lot of airplanes over the next couple of decades… but that’s the subject for another blog.

I arrived in plenty of time for my class, and one of the guys I usually sat by, asked me what I did last night. I replied (truthfully) “went to Montana.”
— 30 —

To finish what has turned out to be the Vietnamese Trilogy series, I’m reminded of another story about my time in Vietnam. I traveled fairly regularly from Saigon to various other locations outside of Vietnam but within the region.
Often, trips included a stop in Hong Kong. As many of you may know, Hong Kong was, at the time, a shoppers paradise (even more so than today.) It was a duty free port and all sorts of things could be purchased about as cheap as they could be found anywhere in the world. The US Navy had a large presence there and the China Fleet Club was well known, pretty much world wide. It was (among other things) a huge duty-free PX.
If anyone from Saigon was going to (or through) Hong Kong they always left with a huge shopping list from people that wanted things like stereos, sewing machines, china, crystal, silverware and even furniture as well as lots of other stuff. Hold that thought for a moment…

I mentioned before that I lived downtown Saigon and one of the restaurants I frequented, usually several times a week, was the Tài Nam. I became friends with the owner and his wife whom were extremely nice and obviously good business people. The owner’s brother owned and operated a tailor shop in Saigon and specialized in making men’s and women’s clothes. It turns out that the Tài Nam owner’s uncle owned a clothing making business in Hong Kong. One of the items that was apparently hard to come by in Vietnam was zippers. So… one night while having dinner at the Tài Nam I mentioned my upcoming trip to Hong Kong. The owner asked if it would be possible to pick up some zippers from his uncle for use in his brother’s shop. (During the war, things couldn’t just be shipped into and out of Vietnam via international mail because they’d be stolen and sold on the black market.) I agreed that it’d be no problem to pick up the zippers and send them to myself, via FPO, at the embassy.

Okay… now back to the story. My boss in the embassy had asked me to pick up a new stereo receiver/amplifier for him at the China Fleet Club — again, I said it wouldn’t be a problem because I didn’t anticipate being pressed for time in the few days I’d be in Hong Kong.

I met the Tài Nam owner’s uncle one evening in Hong Kong and he and his wife took me to dinner and a couple of clubs and drove me back to my hotel. When we arrived at the hotel, he handed me a box filled with zippers — a big box filled with zippers. There must have been hundreds of various sizes and colors of zippers. The next day I took the box of zippers with me to the China Fleet Club and purchased the stereo for my boss and a few more things for other people back in Saigon. I wrapped them all, addressed them to myself at the American Embassy in Saigon and took them downstairs to the Fleet Post Office and mailed them. It turned out that the stereo receiver and the box of zippers were just about the same size and the largest two packages — all the other packages were noticeably smaller.

I left Hong Kong the next morning for stops in a couple more countries and didn’t return to Saigon until a little over a week later.
I returned to Saigon on an evening flight and didn’t go into the office until the following morning. As soon as I walked through the door, my boss was standing there, and said, “What’s with the zippers?” Not, “Welcome back” or “How was your trip?” But, “What’s with the zippers?” Apparently what had happened is that the packages that I had mailed arrived in the mail room at the embassy over a couple of days time and the “zipper box” arrived a day or so before the stereo receiver. My boss saw it and it was just about the right size, so he opened it thinking it was his receiver/amplifier — but — it was a box full of zippers. (“His” package arrived a day or so later, so he was happy about that.)  He kept asking me about the zippers until he finally realized he wasn’t going to get a straight answer from me.

I delivered the zippers to the Tài Nam shortly after I returned to be passed along to the tailor and everyone was happy.

My boss kept asking be about the zippers every so often until he finally decided it was useless. But he apparently took one of the zippers and kept it in his disk drawer and periodically, until the day he left Vietnam, I’d see him take it out of the drawer and look at it. I kind of feel bad that I never told him the true story…..
— 30 —

Another item that I ran across in addition the the Curfew Pass mentioned in my last post, was an “appreciation” gift. In Vietnam, one of my primary duties was to work with the Vietnamese military to establish a country-wide VHF radio network. Actually that isn’t what we were really working on, but that was supposedly our mission. I spent a lot of time in the Presidential Palace in Saigon working with a communication group headed by an ARVIN Colonel by the name of Phói (I think that was his real name, but the American pronunciation sounded like Lung and he always insisted that I call him by that name and even spell it as “Lung”.) Col. Lung went to college in California (Stanford) and returned to Vietnam in the early sixties, just about the time the war with the North was gaining momentum. 

I could not have picked a nicer (and more knowledgeable) guy to work with. While the project never achieved the magnitude originally intended, it was by all accounts a success and given a different set of circumstances, I’m pretty sure all the original objectives would have been met.

Col. Lung was aware of who I really worked for and the sensitivity of the program we were implementing. Before I left Vietnam, he presented me with a plaque that displayed the American and Vietnamese flags crossed above an inscription that read

Jimmy
Thank you for doing you know what,
for you know who, you know where, you know when.
Col. Lung

I thought that was very clever, but at the bottom was the graphic shown above… a subtle reminder that we should never take ourselves too seriously.
— 30 —

A couple of days ago, while looking for something else, I ran across a couple of items from the past that I’d forgotten about. One was a curfew pass from Vietnam.
During the war there was a curfew — depending on the “state of the war” the curfew was essentially “all the time” or it varied up until about midnight.

Anyhow, I lived in an apartment in downtown in Saigon — right across the street from City Hall. Since we usually worked fairly late, I was almost always out after curfew. Most of the curfew “checkpoints” were on the outskirts of Saigon, not downtown on the main streets. There was a  military and civilian curfew. Again, depending on the situation, the (American) military curfew was generally a little earlier than for the civilian population.

Since I was technically a “military” employee, I was often stopped by the American Military Police (MPs) for being out after curfew. They usually “wrote me up” for violating curfew and I didn’t think much about it until I was called into our office at the embassy.
I apparently had been written up more times than I thought — there was a “stack” of offenses against me.

After some discussion, it was agreed that I was probably going to continue to violate curfew and in order to counteract the situation, my superiors came up with a plan — they issued me a Curfew Pass. I guess they made it up in the office and it looked pretty official to me… had my picture on it and everything. The words on the pass said something like “…. the person whose photograph and signature appear below is an official of the United States Government and is authorized to travel and conduct official business during curfew.” It was printed in both English and Vietnamese with both my signature and that of the MACV Provost Marshal.

There was just one problem — it apparently didn’t work… it seems that none of the MPs had ever seen (or even heard of) a “Curfew Pass.” It also turned out that the serial number of the pass was 001. A few MPs asked how many people had curfew passes and if this was the only one (it was.)

The “offenses” against me kept piling up and after another meeting I was issued a new pass — with a different serial number, but it also had a stamp prominently displayed that read “OFFICIAL” in both English and Vietnamese. That seemed to do the trick…. I received very few, if any, violations after that. So I guess if you’re going to carry documentation, it should clearly state that it is “official.” Or…. maybe they just got tired of writing me up.
— 30 —

Today is Be a Dork Day. That got me to thinking about the word Dork. I remember dork, nerd, geek, and terms like those at one time being insults or certainly not something you’d call your best friend. The terms geek and nerd are no longer used as insults… when people are referred to as a nerd or geek, people don’t “look down” on them — while the may be “quirky” they’re usually held to a normal “level of esteem”

Not so, with dorks, though. A dictionary definition of dork is, “a socially inept, unfashionable, harmless person.” Naturally I did some extensive research on the term and was surprised to find that many, many Internet sources claim that the word “dork” is derived from a part of the whale’s anatomy. However, I couldn’t find any reliable source that indicated that the word is in any way associated with whales. I did discover that apparently the earliest known use of the word in print occurs in a novel published in 1961 — “Valhalla,” written by Jere Peacock. A character in that book says, “You satisfy many women with that dorque?” The context appears to refer to a male sexual organ, but the spelling is different, so I’m not sure dork derived from dorque — but, I suppose it could be.

So once again my extensive research has failed to produce a definitive answer… but no matter. Today is Be a Dork Day, so if you happen to be one, I guess you should be proud of it and bask in the glory of the day. And I guess if your secret desire is to become a dork, today might be a good chance to go for it.
To all dorks and wannabe dorks, enjoy your day along with all it has to offer….
— 30 —

The World Cup is in full swing and the excitement around here is almost unbearable. Is that sarcasm, you ask? Yes, yes it is. When I was growing up in Oklahoma, I never even heard of soccer. By the time I was a teenager, I’d heard of it, but never saw it being played until I moved to the Washington area where it was played frequently on the National Mall. Both our kids (and at least one grandkid) played soccer, so I attended a lot of games, but I just never got into the game. A few days ago I watched one of the World Cup matches on TV… nothing has changed for me — I just can’t generate much interest for the game.

When our kids played, all the games (to me) seemed to be about mobs of kids chaotically running around in circles. Unlike football, baseball, basketball, etc. the gamed doesn’t seem to have any “plot.”

I’ve been told that soccer is gaining momentum and becoming more and more popular in the United States. That may be true, but unless I missed something, the United States national team lost enough games to be knocked out of qualifying for the World Cup tournament and I don’t hear a lot of talk about the tournament around here.

A lot of Americans, including me, are more partial to the type of football in which players are allowed to pick up the ball and run with it. As long as I can remember, Americans have bought into the romance of baseball and football. Basketball also has a fairly large fan base and for a number of years, you could add boxing to the list.

Sometime in the late 1960s, I think the North American soccer league was formed. Since the sport didn’t “take off” at that time, the league signed a number of international soccer stars who’d passed their prime. I remember when supposedly the best soccer player in the world, Pelé, came to the United States to introduce us to the true greatness of soccer. Although I never saw him play, Pelé succeeded in attracting huge crowds to watch soccer.
There was a problem, though… the crowds showed up to see Pelé — not to watch soccer and by 1984 the North American soccer league was kaput.

About the time we moved to West Virginia, the famous British soccer player David Beckham was signed to play for the Los Angeles soccer team and paid a lot of money I’m not sure it’s true, but I read somewhere that during the time Beckham played for the Los Angeles team, he scored just about one goal for every $2 million dollars of his salary.

It seems to me that the more people that play a sport would be more likely to be interested in watching it. But a high percentage of kids in our area, at one time or another, played soccer and few follow the sport as adults. Soccer is by far the most popular sport globally, but only 2% of Americans list it as their favorite sport.

In my opinion, soccer is boring — a lot of running, but nothing happens and the rules seem to be subjective, giving the referees a lot of power to influence the outcome of the game.
Now all that said, I’m sure soccer can be dramatic and entertaining… probably more people watch the World Cup than any other sporting event. I’m also aware that soccer continues to be the world’s most popular sport and the world doesn’t care what I think about it…. but like a true American, I can’t keep my opinions to myself.
— 30 —

Those of you who check this blog annually know what’s coming today…. of course I wish America a happy 242nd birthday, but more importantly I want to remind everyone that the annual Porta Potty has arrived and that we’ll only be able to appreciate it for a few more days — by next week, it’ll be gone until (maybe) next July.

I’ve learned over the years that we should be thankful for what we have… thankful may not be exactly the right word, but I suppose there could be worse things than having a Porta Potty almost in your front yard — and it does serve as a reminder of our country’s birthday and how lucky we are to live here.
So as you celebrate the 4th in your own special or traditional way, remember only those of us here on Field Crest Court are enjoying the view of that great American symbol of the 4th, the Porta Potty.
Happy Birthday America. Hope everyone has a safe and fun day…..
— 30 —

Got an e-mail this morning urging me to attend a flea market being held to raise money for some charity. Wonder why these things are called “flea” markets? They don’t sell fleas. Of course you could make the same argument for farmers markets, slave markets, etc. You can’t buy farmers or slaves at these places.
But other “markets” make a little more sense to me… farmers markets sell things produced by farmers and slave markets, while at one time probably did sell slaves, the term came to mean a place to buy things made by, or produced by slaves.

But flea market seems to be a strange name — so — it calls for some extensive research on my part. Unfortunately, like a lot of other subjects of my extensive research, the origin of the term flea market doesn’t have one clear-cut answer.

The flea market term is usually applied to a type of bazar that rents or provides space to people who want to sell or barter merchandise. Some are seasonal and they may be held indoors in places like a warehouse or school gymnasium or maybe outdoors in a field or parking lot. People usually sell used “stuff,” cheap items, collectibles or antiques, etc. – you can often find baked goods and fresh produce.
The most popular theory for the flea market moniker is that it comes from the French marchė aux puces, a name originally given to a market in Paris which specialized in shabby second-hand goods of the kind that might contain fleas.

Anyhow lots of these types of events are popular today… while garage sales or yard sales usually only involve one, or just a few, sellers, a flea market usually has a fairly large number of “vendors” and one can find pretty much anything for sale. Seems like people are becoming obsessed about buying things either on-line or at some sort of a craft fair, yard sale, or flea market… Someone said it doesn’t matter to criminals if the event is called a gun show or a flea market — if they can buy guns.
Not that I’d want to, but if I did, I have no idea where I would go to buy fleas. And if I did find a place, how do they sell them? Individually? By weight? By the dozen? I suppose that if I bought 144 fleas and put them in a box that would be “gross.”
— 30 —

A few days ago I saw a recent model mini-van with a hood ornament. Obviously the ornament had been added and looked a little our of place on the vehicle. That got me to thinking about hood ornaments and after a bit of my extensive research on the subject, it seems that hood ornaments were most prominent on American cars from about 1930 to the early 1950s. Very few cars today have a hood ornament — the one exception that comes to mind is Mercedes… I think they may still put their distinctive three-point star on some of their models.

Ornaments have pretty much always adorned various modes of transportation — a Lady Luck caving of some sort has been on a lot of ships for years and horses that pulled carriages and chariots often wore ornate spires on their foreheads.

I remember when I was young, some of the cars on the road had external radiator caps, and some had temperature gauges incorporated into the caps. The first hood ornaments came about as car designers, looking for ways dress up the exposed radiator caps, used symbols that embodied the car’s identity.

Probably sometime in the 1920s, the practical need for a hood ornament was gone, because radiator caps were located under the hood and temperature gauges were moved to the dashboard. But by then, the hood ornament had become part of the car’s design and most American cars had some kind of ornament on the hood until the early 1950s.

When I was growing up one of the more popular “pranks” was ripping hood ornaments off cars — if it happened to be one of our teacher’s cars… so much the better. Of course nowadays that would be considered vandalism, but rarely did anyone get into serious trouble for the act of roughly removing a hood ornament.

Probably two things primarily led to the demise of these hood-mounted leaping cats, ram heads, crosshairs, etc. One obviously was the design changes of the cars as they all became more aerodynamic. But another reason was the implementation of the European pedestrian safety regulations concerned that projecting decorative designs on the hood might increase the risk of pedestrians in the case of an accident. I suppose that’s true, but if you get hit by a car you probably have more to worry about than the hood ornament embedded in your forehead. Similar regulations were introduced in the United States in 1968.

So may the great old hood ornaments like the Cadillac wreath, the Dodge ram and the Mercury goddess RIP.
Style comes and goes and the hood ornament fell out of style — kind of a shame, it gave the cars character. Nowadays everything is aerodynamic and boring. Maybe that’s what’s happening to all of us — we’re just getting boring as time marches on….
— 30 —

Well, here it is Father’s Day again… The first known Father’s Day service occurred at the Williams Memorial Methodist Episcopal Church South in Fairmont, West Virginia on July 5, 1908. (Another “first” for West Virginia.) Grace Golden Clayton had asked her pastor, Dr. R. Thomas Webb, if a Sunday service could be held to honor fathers.
The Fairmont service was the first known to honor fathers, but it didn’t turn into an annual event and the idea wasn’t promoted with any enthusiasm.

A number of other people across the nation had similar ideas throughout the years, but most didn’t gain much momentum. Father’s Day was celebrated mostly in local communities for many years — and didn’t become a permanent national holiday until much later. The first “Father’s Day bill”was introduced in Congress in 1913, but in spite of encouragement by President Woodrow Wilson, it didn’t pass. In 1966, Lyndon Johnson issued a proclamation designating the third Sunday in June as a day to honor fathers. Finally, in 1972, President Richard Nixon signed a law declaring that Father’s day be celebrated annually on the third Sunday in June.

A fellow Okie, Will Rogers, once said, “His heritage to his children wasn’t words or possessions, but an unspoken treasure — the treasure of his example as a man and a father.”
I think these words almost perfectly describe the two best dads I know…Happy father’s day, Dave and Chris!!
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