Going Out of Business

Never heard of them.


Ohhhhhhhhh, maybe that was their problem all along.

One September Morning

    It was just before one o’clock in the afternoon on September 11th (a sad commentary: we don’t even need to identify the year anymore) when my maintenance supervisor stuck his head into my room to wake me.

    “Sir, someone just flew a plane into the World Trade Center.”

    Minutes later, I watched, horrified, as a second plane struck the South tower.  And then, as both of the monstrously huge structures tumbled to the ground as if kicked by a petulant child.

    My Willow Grove unit and I were participating in a multi-nation exercise at the Naval Air Station in Keflavik, Iceland (this explains why it was the afternoon).  A round-the-clock operation, the Keflavik Tactical Exchange gave us a unique chance to evaluate each other’s capabilities should we ever needed to flex our respective militaries.  Little did we know that we were preparing for a type of war which belonged to the past.

    Because the 21st Century came roaring into each of our lives on that late summer day.

    Naturally, the exercise was immediately cancelled.  Foreign aircrews (funny that I call them “foreign’” since we were actually foreigners, too) beat hasty returns to their home bases.  We were told that American airspace was closed for an indefinite time.

    Station security forces went into their highest readiness posture.  Watch teams at the main gate beefed up, rings of barbed wire cordoned off perceived sensitive areas, and armed patrols roamed the perimeter.

    My watch teams and I, on the other hand, remained at our billeting.  Only in Iceland for the exercise, we were considered non-essential personnel who’d only get in the way.

    And so we spent the next few days.

    I received a worried phone call from my wife during this time.  She fretted over my safety.  I assured her that I was fine, but omitted the fact that I was more concerned for her and the kids.

    You see, my family lives in Hilltown.  Which is only a couple hours from New York and only a few from Washington.

    The ensuing few days was a frantic search for whatever updates we could glean from the news and how in the world we’d get ourselves and thousands of pounds of equipment back home.

    Most importantly, we desperately wanted to know how we could get into the fight.  Whatever the fight was.

    Four days later, U.S. airspace was opened to military traffic.  As I glanced through the window of the Navy P-3 patrol plane which took us home, I was struck at how empty the sky was-with the exception of the one plane which approached us as we crossed into the United States.  It came no closer than a few miles before it disappeared.

    I think it was a fighter aircraft.

    What’s more, the radio circuits, normally full of the cacophony of countless air traffic controllers, were eerily silent.  The only ones “on the air” were the handful which guided us home.  All else were hushed into silence.

    Our route of flight took us just south of Manhattan, well out of sight of land.  At that distance, even at the altitude at which we were flying, it was impossible to see any of the city skyline.

    But, we did see a huge pall of gray-brown smoke lingering in the air like the death shroud that it was.

    As we touched down at NAS-JRB Willow Grove, there was nobody to greet us.  There was really not much of anything by way of an acknowledgment that we were back.  Somehow, it seemed fitting.

    After all, we all had something much more important to do.

    Go home to our families.

In memory of:

Commander Bill Donovan, USN

AW2 (NAC/AW) Joseph Pycior, USN

and the thousands whose only crime was going to work that day. 

Take Me Out to the Ballgame

    The Delaware Valley freaked out this week after an earthquake sent a few tremors its way.  Despite all the hysteria, it packed about as much destructive force as a fart in a gym sock.

    In other words, don’t expect any sympathy cards from Southern California or anyone in Japan.

    Hurricane Irene came barreling through this weekend, toppling trees, swelling rivers, and adding even more rain to an already record amount for August.  It was a much more significant natural event than the ground-shaking “cataclysm” earlier this week.

    So, even though I heard more than a couple hand-wringers speak ominously of the coming apocalypse, I refused to get caught up in the hype.  Instead of fretting about the quake or heading for the hills before Irene hit, I did what, to me, seemed logical:

    I went to a ballgame.

    Sensing that all was right with the world if I could watch some baseball, I took my daughter along with one of her friends to a Trenton Thunder game on Friday night.

    I’ve been a baseball fan since the Nixon Administration and took in quite a few games growing up.  Most of the time I went to either Yankee Stadium or Shea Stadium (whenever I couldn’t watch a good team). 

    Munching hot dogs and drinking soda under a crystal blue sky while watching eighteen guys chase a little white ball around an emerald field was heaven (in my adolescence I discovered girls, which opened up my definition of heaven somewhat).

    Once I moved here, I made a point to go to Veterans Stadium (later, Citizens Bank Park) to watch the Phillies get mauled and then eventually do the mauling.  It was every bit as exciting as going to watch the Yankees (with the added benefit of not being shot at two blocks from the stadium).

    As time went on, I began to realize that feeding my baseball “jones” was an expensive proposition. 

    Between decent seats, concessions, parking, and assorted fan paraphernalia for me and my kids, I could easily drop $500.  Add to that the frustration of getting there and dealing with the omnipresent drunks (to say nothing of relentless chants of “Yankees suck!”-even when the Phillies were playing the Braves), and I began to feel that my days of going to the “bigs” were nearing their close.

    Refusing to succumb to weekends spent doing chores, I decided to give our abundant minor league teams a shot.  Scoffing that I would be watching something like Little League, I wasn’t expecting much.

    From my first game watching the Reading Phillies, though, I was hooked.  Instead of considering myself lucky that I grabbed high-priced, nosebleed tickets which placed my head in peril from a jet’s landing gear, I paid a whopping $18.00 for two seats.

    Two rows behind homeplate!

    Add to that the price of lunch, and I still paid less than one ticket at Yankee Stadium (which, by the way, now sells a bottle of water-water!-for $5.00).

    Oh, yeah, did I mention parking?  Parking was free.

    In the years since, I’ve also gone to an Iron Pigs game in Allentown and, like I’ve already said, a Trenton Thunder game.  Each experience has been as pleasant as my first time in Reading. Imagine that.  Watching ballplayers who are playing to impress, not for million dollar sneaker deals.

    I can only assume the teams in Camden and Wilmington are just as worthwhile.

    I’ll always have a special place in my heart for the likes of Yankee Stadium, Citizens Bank Park, and Camden Yards.  Still, I don’t want to subsidize Alex Rodriguez’s and Cliff Lee’s salaries anymore.

    So, the next time you have a few dollars to spend and want to enjoy a great time for a reasonable price, by all means take in a minor league game.

    Oh, the game?  The Trenton Thunder lost, 4-2, when they couldn’t hold a 2-1 lead in the 9th inning.

    My daughter and I won, though. 

    And even got a couple of bobbleheads.            

Sign On the Ladies Room Door

Boy, when 'Borders' says "Everything Must Go"....

They're not kidding around.

Welcome Back to School

  Soon, school bells will be ringing (do they even have those anymore?) and summer-weary parents will once again not have to endure whines of "I'm bored!!" from kids who don't want to walk 15 feet away from their X-Box 360 to jump in the pool.
  As I've driven past some of the District's schools, I've noticed a growing sense of manic preparation in eager anticipation of newly-arriving students next week.
  I've also noticed the following sign and have to wonder:

  Is there any other kind?


Enjoy that readin', writin', and 'rithmatic.

Dare To Compare??

  I'm thinking The Home Depot is overstating the perils of comparison shopping for wood flooring just a tad.
  
  If, on the other hand, this is your version of "daring," you lead a pretty sweet life.

Urkel Goes For a Bike Ride

While Putin goes hunting.....

"Comrade, please to tell us how we lost Cold War."