On the Road Again

Mid-month, just before my 68th birthday, Mary-Ann and I loaded up the BMW and headed for the central California coastal city of Morro Bay. This is an annual trek that we take with my two oldest (long-term) friends, Jim Roberts and Dan Haggerty, and their wives, Janet and Elaine. The Northern and Southern California chapters of the Oldsmobile Club of America have a joint event at this time each year. We usually arrive on Friday, attend the car show and awards dinner on Saturday, and leave for home on Sunday. This year the Roberts stayed home because one of their dogs is unable to travel due to age. But we soldiered on anyway because this year Dan is the President of the Northern California Chapter.



We have been doing this as couples now for about five years, but I first started going with Jim and Dan almost twenty years ago. Dan has a 1949 Olds 88 with a super modified Mondello race engine. Back in 1958, while still in high school, Dan owned a similar, but much tamer, car. Back in the late 70's Jim, retired former owner of a collision (autobody repair) company, remodeled a 1956 Oldsmobile 88. Dan then acquired and modified the 1949. They then started going to local car events, such as the "Beach Street Revival" in Santa Cruz and the "Graffitti Night" event in Modesto. I began joining them in 1989.

On our first evening in town we try to have dinner at a top line restaurant. We dined this year at the Windows on the Water restaurant in the heart of Morro Bay. Next year I think we'll try the Papillon Bistro in Los Osos.

During the morning and afternoon we fellows stroll around the grounds of the Morro Bay Inn admiring the pristine visages and modifications of the classic automobiles. We drink our coffee (decaf) or beer (lite) and reminisce about the old days when those cars were new and we were young. The highlight of our day is a gourmet picnic on the terrace balcony overlooking Morro Bay. Jim and I usually take turns planning the menu and collecting the treats. This year it was my turn, even though the feast was attended only by Dan and I. The ladies, as is their custom, took off for the day on a shopping trip. This time they hit Cambria, East and West, and San Louis Obispo (SLO).

Ordinarily the Oldsmobiles are the only marque on display. However, this year, the Packard Club of California also chose the Inn at Morro Bay as a meeting place. While they did not have a "car show" per se, they were on display and were magnificent. Two things stand out about those cars. First, is how BIG they are, especially when compared to something like a Honda civic. Second, is the stunning craftsmanship that went into their manufacture. That craftsmanship used to be a hallmark of the American worker. Will we ever see its like again?

Well, I would share more, but what happens in Morro Bay, stays in Morro Bay!

VF-114 Executioners

I served in the U.S. Navy from July 1957 to March 1961. I enlisted right out of high school at the age of 17. After 9-10 weeks of "boot camp" in San Diego, I went to Airman school in Norman Oklahoma. That was an old Naval Air Station converted into a training center for all aviation ratings. It was the first "screening" process. Graduates, such as myself, went on to a technical training school. Anyone who failed two successive tests was sent directly to the fleet. I went next to Aviation Electronics School in Memphis, Tennessee. This was still 1957 and my first trip to the south. Raised in the egalitarian atmosphere of California, I was not at all prepared for what I witnessed there. Remember, while this was after Brown vs. Board of Education it was before the Civil Rights Act of 1965. Jim Crow was still very much alive in Memphis. Integration was only possible on the Naval Base and many of my "negro" shipmates preferred to stay on base rather than suffer the indignities heaped upon them by the local "citizens" they were sworn to protect.

After the first 6 weeks we were sorted into specialties. I went for Aviation Fire Control. No, I was not a fireman or fire fighter. I was a technician trained to maintain the highly complex, and classified electronic equipment that helped the fighter pilot put his aircraft on target, i.e., to control the armaments (guns, missles, rockets) "fired" by the pilot. Primarily search and tracking radar and related items.

Upon graduation in May, 1958, I was assigned to FITRON 114, Fighter Squadron 114 (VF-114) at Miramar Naval Air Station, just north of San Diego. Before joining my squadron, which was at that time deployed on the Shangri-La (CVA-38), I was temporarily assigned to the Replacement Air Group (RAG) in Fitron 121 (VF-121). Two of us AQAN's showed up on the same day, Dave Fly (yep, his real name) and I. Dave and I became close friends through the rest of our tour in the Navy. Since they didn't know what to do with us at first, they sent us over to North Island to a radar school. It turned out that it was on the same equipment that was taught in the AQ school in Memphis. We coasted through and really enjoyed ourselves, with several side trips to Tiajuana. After the school they sent us back to VF-121 and I went on night shift. This was where I saw the aircraft I would maintain for the next 3 years for the first time and was introduced to squadron life, including flight line duties. As airmen (E3) non-rated pukes, we got a lot of shit details. Fortunately we had taken the 3rd class exam before leaving Memphis and got our promotions to PO3 before the squadron returned in October.

All the veterans went on leave as soon as the ship hit port, leaving the unloading to the new guys. By then there were probably 30 of us, all new to the fleet Navy, the squadron and each other. All different ratings, too. Mechanics, metalsmiths, electricians, ordnancemen (BB stackers), radio men, parachute riggers, etc. A squadron is a self-contained operational unit, so we even had our own medics, cooks, yeomen (secretaries), personnelmen, etc. Of course at that time it was all MEN.

Carrier PBS

I watched all 10 episodes of the recent PBS Special "Carrier." I enjoyed it on so many different levels. As a former "airdale," an appellation attached to anyone in an aviation rating, I identified personally with many of the activities - from manning the rail, to provisioning, to moving and tying down aircraft on the flight deck, "liberty" in foreign ports, etc. I could not, however, relate at all to the presence of women on board, in the ratings and flying the aircraft. Not that they haven't earned that right, just that it didn't happen in my day.

I also enjoyed the human interest angle and the continuous stories of the individuals. This was obviously NOT a Navy PR film, as they would not have shown the negative aspects, such as the sailor who consciously and intentionally played out being a racist so he could get sent home. The story of the young sailor who was expecting his first child with a girl he hardly knew, was particularly poignant. He wanted to do the right thing, and in the end, she wanted someone else to help her raise their child. I would be interested in seeing how that worked out for him eventually.

I enjoyed the points of view expressed by officers and enlisted regarding the U.S. presence in Iraq. Personally, I was opposed to the INVASION in the first place and abhor the OCCUPATION even more. But I respect the maturity with which both proponents and opponents serving in the Navy expressed their views.

Worthwhile viewing.

Oldies But Goodies

Once a month my best friend, Jim Roberts, and I go off on a four-day camping/fishing trip. We began this routine about 3 years ago when Jim retired from the daily grind of running a collision repair (Body Shop) business. While we always have a good time setting up camp, planning and preparing our gourmet meals, and reminiscing about old times, our pescartory success has not always been remarkable. Our most recent trip, this past weekend, was to the Lake Nacimiento Resort, near Paso Robles.

We arrived about 9:30 a.m. and set up camp. After lunch we took our obligatory naps and later went out on the lake to test the fishing. Despite the fact that we didn't even get a nibble, we had grilled salmon steaks, palenta with meatless marinara sauce, and tossed salad for dinner. We generally consume a 36 pack of light beer over the 4 days and a box (yep!) of white wine. Usually switching from beer to wine in the evening.

We used to pitch a tent and sleep on a large air mattress, which invariably would be flat by morning. We now have portable cots that are custom made to fit in the camper shell, which makes getting into and out of bed much easier - and we are less likely to disturb each other when we have to get up in the evening, which invariably we have to do.

Lake Nacimiento is primarily a bass lake, and from all accounts one of the better bass fisheries in the State. Unfortunately, we are trout fisherman (or wannabes) and did not have either the right equipment or the right technique to entice those critters. We did, however, meet some great people, which we invariably do on these trips, and got tips and suggestions and even some lures guaranteed to knock the bass dead. Nope, didn't happen.

On Saturday we didn't even bother going out at all. Sunday we fished in the morning, but it was way too hot in the afternoon. A slight aside. Every year we take Jim's daughter and her two teen-aged sons, along with two of their friends on one of these trips. This year we were planning to take them to Nacimiento. So one purpose of this trip was to check out the camp site, bike trails, recreational facilities, etc. We were not impressed. In fact we almost immediately resolved to find another location. They failed to tell us at the time we made the group reservation that the group camp site was "remote." Remote, as in 2 miles from all the amenities, including the store and swimming pool. Remote, as in a canyon with a road so steep we could barely drive up it and which I doubt Lance Armstrong could have ridden up on a bike. The clincher was when our camping neighbors told us the summer temperatures are in the 100-105 degree range. We are now planning to go to Lake Don Pedro in the lower Sierras on the approach to Yosemite.

A fellow came by our campsite on Sunday night and asked when we were leaving. We told him we were going home the next day. Turns out he camps there during the week and we had the best site for TV reception! The next morning, when we arose at 5:30am, there he was, with his motor home, his boat and his wife waiting for us to leave! All the while we were packing up he was moving his stuff into the campsite and keeping up a running soliloquy about viagra, his prostate, and as many stupid jokes as he could remember. We meet some strange people fishing.