Category: Family

The Cross of Iron

Books, Family, Genealogy

One of the best finds so far in my parent’s library isn’t a rare or particularly valuable book (as far as I know). It’s a great find because of the inscription which reads

Bill –

Best wishes for happiness always –

As Ever –

Jeanne 10/9/56 (2yr.)

The book my future Mother was gifting to my future Father was a war novel called The Cross of Iron, written by Willi Heinrich, himself a veteran of the German army in WWII.

And I have MANY QUESTIONS! And only my ability to deduce and guess to answer them.

The first question is, what did the parenthetical ‘2yr.’ in her signing mean? My best guess is that it was an anniversary of them going steady? I originally assumed this gift was given while they were college students together at the University of Illinois. But math is magical, and calendars are steady… my father was 17 years, 8 months, and 19 days old when he received this gift. They were still students at Morton High School in Cicero, Illinois when Mom gave Dad this book. And they had been a couple for two years. Coincidentally, the first of their four children, a son named Sean, would be born exactly four years later on 10/9/1960.

My next question is, who gives a war novel about retreating Nazis as an anniversary gift? The book is a first edition, first published in english in the same year of 1956. My parents would have talked about books. So I have no doubt that Mom knew this was a book Dad was interested in, and that knowledge was what made it a suitable ‘anniversary’ gift for him.

My final questions are grammatical. I’ve long known that Mom had a phase when she spelled her own name with an extra ‘n’, turning Jean into Jeanne, because it was posh or something. I don’t know exactly when the extra ‘n’ appeared or when it went away. And what’s with all the hyphens Mom??

So I found the book, and now I’ve read the book. Holding in my hands, and turning the same pages that my 17 year old father turned. It was a good war novel. I dove deep into Wikipedia to learn more about the Caucus operations of the Soviet’s pushing German invaders back through Crimea in WWII. The current war in Ukraine adds some sad currency to the story.

As it turned out, 21 years later, the book was turned into a movie, starring James Coburn and directed by Sam Peckinpah. So naturally, when I finished reading the book, I called up the movie online and watched it, using some of today’s tech voodoo that those high school kids in 1956 could never have imagined.

I watched a lot of movies with my Dad. I’d say that enjoying a good flick together was among our favorite pastimes. Once, when he and my Mom were visiting my family in Virginia, and enjoying their too few opportunities to grandparent, Dad and I pulled an all-nighter watching all of the Rambo movies. But, I have no memory of ever watching or discussing Cross of Iron with him.

Hollywood did what Hollywood does, and took many liberties with the source material. But the basic story remains intact. And James Coburn leads an impressive cast in an explosive overloaded war flick.

Anyway, I loved finding this book that Mom gifted to Dad. It was a wonderful reminder of the amazing value of adding an inscription to gift books. As I turned every page, I knew my younger Dad had done the same. Thanks Mom, for gifting a book your future son would read 68 years after you gave it to my Dad.

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Dad & The Harrier

Family, Genealogy, Photos

Across my father’s long career as an Experimental Test Pilot, first in the U.S. Navy, and then for the McDonnell Douglas Aircraft Corporation, he flew many different planes that read like random numbers and letters; XV-6A Kestrel, SC-142A, X-22A, and later YC-15 and C-17 among many many others… but one that stands out in my memory I knew of more by it’s name than a number… The Harrier. The Harrier’s unique characteristic is it’s vertical/short takeoff and landing operations (V/STOL). The Harrier has the ability to direct the thrust from it’s jet engines downward, and as a result can take off and land vertically, like a helicopter. Pause to think about how cool that is and was, a supersonic jet fighter that could come to a dead stop and lower itself gently to the ground with little or no runway!

As we continue the work of sorting through his belongings, I recently came across a small spiral bound album of black and white photos, a gift to my Dad from the British Hawker Siddeley Company, and there among the photos were a few that included my father, William Casey.

But none of the photos were dated, and even his resume’s mention of being a part of the ‘Navy Preliminary Eval Team’ for the AV-8A Harrier, came with no dates. Dad graduated from the USAF Aerospace Research Pilot School in 1967, and you can see that patch on his right shoulder in these photos. I recently read his wartime diary of his combat cruise on the USS Hancock, flying F-8 Crusaders in Vietnam. And from that I know he left in August 1969 and returned eight months later in April 1970. But where did this time flying the Harrier fit in?

Where else to turn but the Google?! And very early in my searching, I came across the below video. I had not heard John Farley’s name before seeing this, but I did quickly note how closely this presenter looked like the gentleman in the photos I had found. Well it turned out, it’s because he IS the guy in the photos, and that John Farley was a well known and highly regarded British test pilot, who worked to sell the Harrier to the US.

You don’t need to watch his whole hourlong presentation in this video, but click the ‘play’ button and it will start just where it gets good. He picks up here describing just having convinced two USMC pilots that the Harrier would be a good match for the US Marine Corp, but how there were more hoops yet ahead, including training a team of US Navy Test pilots, one of which was my Dad. Watch 5 minutes and I’ll meet you on the other side…

There’s been a small trove of other Harrier related finds that help complete the story…

But… yeah Internet!! I didn’t just find the time span that I had been looking for,.. this was in February 1969, just six months before he departed for his Vietnam cruise, but I found the story, straight from the mouth of the British test pilot in the picture. Very cool.

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Goodbye Tree

Family, Guide to Life, Home

We lost a tree today. It’s actually been dead for some time now, but unlike dead people, dead trees often manage to stay standing for quite a long time. But today it came down with a chainsaw induced crash. I’m struck by some emotion over this (it’s not my first such nostalgic goodbye), it had to go, but it’s always been there.

We’ve lived in our home for 27 years, and the tree was here first. So that’s how long we were acquainted. It was a pine tree of some sort. I don’t know enough about trees to specify a particular sort of pine tree. But it had needles, and cones, and sap, and smelled like pine. That was good enough.

Years ago, we were visited by a young man who lived in our house before us during his childhood, his family was the original owners (we’re the third – did any of us really ‘own’ the home? – but I digress). This young man told me that for their first Christmas in this home, they had a live Christmas tree that they planted in the yard after the holidays. This was our pine tree. I wrote about it at the time.

Pine tree saw our three kids grow up, providing sturdy and evenly spaced limbs for young climbers, and plenty of sap to sticky them up to mark their efforts. Tree’s branches supported piñatas at birthday parties, and bird feeders that were quickly emptied by acrobatic squirrels. Tree’s shade was of a superior quality. Yet each year tree dispersed piles of brown needles which covered our roof, filled our rain gutters, and took out one hot tub pump after sneaking past the filters.

In tree’s shadow is a younger dogwood tree that I planted 12 years ago on an inspired arbor day. I wrote about it at the time. Dogwood has done well in Pine’s shadow, and will now enjoy much greater light, now that Pine’s not there to cast a shadow any longer. I’m glad that Dogwood will inherit the legacy of being the tree planted by one of this home’s rotating owners.

Pine tree fell victim to some sort of boring beetle (I’ve yet to ever meet an engaging beetle). Goodbye Tree. You will be missed, and remembered as your remains will be cremated in many driveway fires for years to come.

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Poetry by Will

Family

My son Will is a college sophomore, and while away at school he accepted an offer from my wife and I to help clean out his room which was half full of empty gatorade bottles, old college mail, long neglected toys, and returned homework. The upside for Will is our plan is to buy him a larger bed, yet we have an alterior motive (two words: guest room).

Today while sorting papers, my wife found the below gem from a class that Will does not recall. The obvious assignment Will was faced with, was to write some poetry in various styles. Reading them brought me tears of laughter and pride, and with Will’s permission, I offer them here for your own poetic pleasure.  So, no offense intended to poets or poetry lovers, I offer Will’s homework assignment:

Part 2: My Own Wonderful Words

Lyric 

I Can’t Write Poetry

Poetry is pretty black and white

You can either do it or you can’t.

I’m pretty sure I’m one of those who can’t.

Poetry is garbage; it’s not even tight.

I hate poetry really bad

So I’m gonna go cry to my dad.

Symbolic 

Poetry Kills

One time, I got hit by a train.

The impact caused me severe pain.

I’m pretty sure my leg fell off

And that my lung collapsed, so I coughed.

But I blacked out, I don’t remember.

I’m not sure if I was dismembered.

And when I came to,

I realized I couldn’t move.

There, all messed up on pain pills

I realized, poetry kills.

Onomatopoeia 

I Hate Poetry

Cows say, “Moo!”

Pigs say, “Oink!”

Dogs say, “Bark!”

I say, “I hate poetry!”

Sonnet 

Poetry Isn’t Fun

Today, I find myself writing a poem

And it has put me in the worst mood ever.

Will I ever need poetry in life? No, never.

So why are we wasting this paper?

Poetry makes me want to kick a puppy

And also to set fire to a forest

The whole poetry system I protest.

I think poetry is more useless then a guppy.

I think the clear purpose of poetry

Is to make kids feel terrible.

And it’s working, I fell like fresh poultry

But another could be to make kids cry

And if that were the true reason for poetry

Then it’s working, I want to die.

Narrative 

Poetry is Diseased

One day, I was writing a poem

And then my mouth started to foam.

I realized that I have rabies

And I had a desire to eat babies.

I went to the nearest hospital

When I found I doctor with a monocle.

He was a very old man

Who told me his name was Dan.

He told me my ailment was caused

By a common virus found in poetry.

Free Verse

Poetry is Pointless

Free verse poetry is kind of pointless.

It has no rhyme, rhythm, or purpose.

So it’s pretty much some random words

Thrown together, like this project.

Free verse poets and I have some common ground

We both have no idea how to write real poetry.

But at least I don’t waste my time.

Someone needs to tell them soon

That poetry is a waste, get a real job.

 

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