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H/T Old NFO@Nobody Asked Me.

 

Tired of the BS in the news, so you get humor… 🙂

The following is not intended to offend fans of tennis, basketball, football, or baseball.  It is, rather, an attempt to put everything in its proper perspective.  Ever wonder why golf is growing in popularity and why people who don’t even play go to tournaments or watch it on TV?  The following truisms may shed some light:

Golfers don’t have some of their players in jail every week.

Golfers don’t kick dirt on, or throw bottles at other people.

Professional golfers are paid in diret proportion to how well they play.

Golfers don’t hold out for more money, or demand new contracts, because of another player’s deal.

Professional golfers don’t demand that the taxpayers pay for the courses on which they play.

When golfers make a mistake, nobody is there to cover for them or back them.

The PGA raises more money for charity in one year than the NFL does in two years.

You can watch the best golfers in the world up close, at any tournament, including the majors, all day every day for $25-$35.

Even in the nose-bleed section, a ticket to the Super Bowl will cost you over $300—or $1000 from a scalper.

Golfers keep their clothes on while they are being interviewed.

Golf doesn’t have free agency.  In their prime, Palmer, Norman, and other stars would shake your hand and say they were happy to meet you.  In his prime, Jose Canseco wore T-shirts that read “Leave Me Alone”.

You can hear birds chirping on the golf course during a tournament.

At a golf tournament (unlike at taxpayer-funded sports stadia and arenas), you won’t hear a steady stream of four letter words and nasty name calling while you’re hoping that no one spills beer on you.

Golf courses don’t ruin the neighborhood.

 ++++++++++++++++

     Here’s a little slice of golf history that you might enjoy.  Why do golf courses have 18 holes, not 20 or 10 or an even dozen?

     During discussion among the club’s membership board at St. Andrews in 1858, a senior member pointed out that it takes exactly 18 shots to polish off a fifth of Scotch.  By limiting himself to only one shot of Scotch per hole, the Scot figured a round of golf was finished when the Scotch ran out!

+++++++++++++++++

      During his physical, the doctor asked the patient about his daily activity level.  He described a typical day: “Well, yesterday afternoon, I waded along the edge of a lake, drank eight beers, escaped from wild dogs in the heavy brush, jumped away from an aggressive rattlesnake, marched up and down several rocky hills, stood in a patch of poison ivy, crawled out of quicksand, and took four leaks behind big trees.”

     Inspired by the story, the doctor said, “You sound like one heck of an outdoors man!”

     ”Nah, he replied, I’m just a $#!++y golfer.”

+++++++++++++++

      My boss phoned me today. He said, “Is everything okay at the office?”

     I said, “It is all under control.  It’s been a very busy day. I haven’t stopped to take a break all day.”

     “Can you do me a favor?” he asked.

     I said, “Of course, what is it?”

     “Pick up the pace a little. I’m in the foursome behind you.”

Enjoy!!! Spring is just around the corner (and down the street, and…)

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Thoughts…

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H/T Old NFO@Nobody Asked Me.

To Democrat Friends:

Please accept with no obligation, implied or implicit, my best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low-stress, non-addictive, gender-neutral celebration of the winter solstice holiday, practiced within the most enjoyable traditions of the religious persuasion of your choice, or secular practices of your choice, with respect for the religious/secular persuasion and/or traditions of others, or their choice not to practice religious or secular traditions at all.

I also wish you a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2018, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make America great. Not to imply that America is necessarily greater than any other countries nor the only “America” in the Western Hemisphere. Also, this wish is made without regard to the race, creed, color, age, physical ability, religious faith or sexual preference of the wishes.

To Republican Friends:

A very Merry Christmas AND a Safe, Prosperous and Happy New Year!! 

And a follow-on…

NEVER FORGET YOUR FRIENDS

A newlywed young man was sitting on the porch on a humid day, sipping ice tea with his Father.

As he talked about adult life, marriage, responsibilities, and obligations, the Father thoughtfully stirred the ice cubes in his glass and cast a clear, sober look on his Son.

“Never forget your friends,” he advised, “they will become more important as you get older. Regardless of how much you love your family and the children you happen to have, you will always need friends.  Remember to go out with them occasionally (if possible), but keep in contact with them somehow.”

“What strange advice!” thought the young man.  “I just entered the married world, I am an adult and surely my wife and the family that we will start will be everything I need to make sense of my life.”

Yet, he obeyed his Father; kept in touch with his friends and annually increased their number.  Over the years, he became aware that his Father knew what he was talking about….

Inasmuch as time and nature carry out their designs and mysteries on a person, friends are the bulwarks of our life.  After 60, 70, 80 years of life, here is what he (and you) will have learned:

Time passes.

Life goes on.

The distance separates.

Children grow up.

Children cease to be children and become independent.  And to the parents, it breaks their heart but the children are separated of the parents.

Jobs come and go.

Illusions, desires, attraction, sex….weakens.

People do not do what they should do.

The heart breaks.

The parents die.

Colleagues forget the favors.

The races are over.

But, true friends are always there, no matter how long or how many miles away they are. A friend is never more distant than the reach of a need, intervening in your favor, waiting for you with open arms or in some way blessing your life.

When we started this adventure called LIFE, we did not know of the incredible joys or sorrows that were ahead.  We did not know how much we would need from each other.  Love your parents, take care of your children, but keep a group of good friends.  Dialog with them but do not impose your criteria.

For all my friends (even those I seldom get to see) who have helped make sense of my life.    

 

One to think about…

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H/T Old NFO@Nobody Asked Me.

The old man sat in his gas station on a cold Christmas Eve. He hadn’t been anywhere in years since his wife had passed away.
It was just another day to him. He didn’t hate Christmas, just couldn’t find a reason to celebrate. He was sitting there looking at the snow that had been falling for the last hour and wondering what it was all about when the door opened and a homeless man stepped through.

Instead of throwing the man out, Old George as he was known by his customers, told the man to come and sit by the heater and warm up. “Thank you, but I don’t mean to intrude,” said the stranger.
“I see you’re busy, I’ll just go.”
“Not without something hot in your belly.” George said.
He turned and opened a wide mouth Thermos and handed it to the stranger. “It ain’t much, but it’s hot and tasty. Stew … Made it myself. When you’re done, there’s coffee and it’s fresh.”

Just at that moment he heard the “ding” of the driveway bell. “Excuse me, be right back,” George said. There in the driveway was an old ’53 Chevy. Steam was rolling out of the front.. The driver was panicked. “Mister can you help me!” said the driver, with a deep Spanish accent. “My wife is with child and my car is broken.” George opened the hood. It was bad. The block looked cracked from the cold, the car was dead.

“You ain’t going in this thing,” George said as he turned away.

“But Mister, please help …” The door of the office closed behind George as he went inside. He went to the office wall and got the keys to his old truck, and went back outside. He walked around the building, opened the garage, started the truck and drove it around to where the couple was waiting. “Here, take my truck,” he said. “She ain’t the best thing you ever looked at, but she runs real good.”

George helped put the woman in the truck and watched as it sped off into the night. He turned and walked back inside the office. “Glad I gave ’em the truck, their tires were shot too. That ‘ol truck has brand new ones .” George thought he was talking to the stranger, but the man had gone. The Thermos was on the desk, empty, with a used coffee cup beside it. “Well, at least he got something in his belly,” George thought.

George went back outside to see if the old Chevy would start. It cranked slowly, but it started. He pulled it into the garage where the truck had been. He thought he would tinker with it for something to do.. Christmas Eve meant no customers. He discovered that the block hadn’t cracked, it was just the bottom hose on the radiator. “Well, shoot, I can fix this,” he said to himself. So he put a new one on.

“Those tires ain’t gonna get ’em through the winter either.” He took the snow treads off of his wife’s old Lincoln . They were like new and he wasn’t going to drive the car anyway.

As he was working, he heard shots being fired. He ran outside and beside a police car an officer lay on the cold ground. Bleeding from the left shoulder, the officer moaned, “Please help me.”

George helped the officer inside as he remembered the training he had received in the Army as a medic. He knew the wound needed attention. “Pressure to stop the bleeding,” he thought. The uniform company had been there that morning and had left clean shop towels. He used those and duct tape to bind the wound. “Hey, they say duct tape can fix anythin’,” he said, trying to make the policeman feel at ease.

“Something for pain,” George thought. All he had was the pills he used for his back. “These ought to work.” He put some water in a cup and gave the policeman the pills. “You hang in there, I’m going to get you an ambulance.”

The phone was dead. “Maybe I can get one of your buddies on that there talk box out in your car.” He went out only to find that a bullet had gone into the dashboard destroying the two way radio.

He went back in to find the policeman sitting up. “Thanks,” said the officer. “You could have left me there. The guy that shot me is still in the area.”

George sat down beside him, “I would never leave an injured man in the Army and I ain’t gonna leave you.” George pulled back the bandage to check for bleeding. “Looks worse than what it is. Bullet passed right through ‘ya. Good thing it missed the important stuff though. I think with time your gonna be right as rain.”

George got up and poured a cup of coffee. “How do you take it?” he asked.

“None for me,” said the officer..

“Oh, yer gonna drink this. Best in the city. Too bad I ain’t got no donuts.” The officer laughed and winced at the same time.

The front door of the office flew open. In burst a young man with a gun. “Give me all your cash! Do it now!” the young man yelled. His hand was shaking and George could tell that he had never done anything like this before.

“That’s the guy that shot me!” exclaimed the officer.

“Son, why are you doing this?” asked George, “You need to put the cannon away. Somebody else might get hurt.”

The young man was confused. “Shut up old man, or I’ll shoot you, too. Now give me the cash!”

The cop reached for his gun. “Put that thing away,” George said to him, “we got 1 too many in here now.”

He turned his attention to the young man. “Son, it’s Christmas Eve. If you need money, well then, here. It ain’t much but it’s all I got. Now put that pea shooter away.”

George pulled $150 out of his pocket and handed it to the young man, reaching for the barrel of the gun at the same time. The young man released his grip on the gun, fell to his knees and began to cry. “I’m not very good at this am I? All I wanted was to buy something for my wife and son,” he went on. “I’ve lost my job, my rent is due, my car got repossessed last week.”

George handed the gun to the cop. “Son, we all get in a bit of squeeze now and then. The road gets hard sometimes, but we make it through the best we can.”

He got the young man to his feet, and sat him down on a chair across from the cop. “Sometimes we do stupid things.” George handed the young man a cup of coffee. “Bein’ stupid is one of the things that makes us human. Comin’ in here with a gun ain’t the answer. Now sit there and get warm and we’ll sort this thing out.”

The young man stopped crying, and looked at the cop “Sorry I shot you. It just went off. I’m sorry officer.” he said.

Shut up and drink your coffee ” the cop said.

George could hear the sounds of sirens outside. A police car and an ambulance skidded to a halt. Two cops came through the door, guns drawn. “Chuck! You ok?” one of the cops asked the wounded officer.

“Not bad for a guy who took a bullet. How did you find me?”

“GPS locator in the car. Best thing since sliced bread. Who did this?” the other cop asked as he approached the young man.

Chuck answered him, “I don’t know. The guy ran off into the dark. Just dropped his gun and ran.”

George and the young man both looked puzzled at each other. “That guy work here?” the wounded cop continued.

“Yep,” George said, “just hired him this morning. Boy lost his job.”

The paramedics came in and loaded Chuck onto the stretcher. The young man leaned over the wounded cop and whispered, “Why?”

Chuck just said, “Merry Christmas boy … and you too, George, and thanks for everything..”

“Well, looks like you got one doozy of a break there. That ought to solve some of your problems.”

George went into the back room and came out with a box. He pulled out a ring box. “Here you go, something for the little woman. I don’t think Martha would mind. She said it would come in handy some day.”

The young man looked inside to see the biggest diamond ring he ever saw. “I can’t take this,” said the young man. “It means something to you.”

“And now it means something to you,” replied George. “I got my memories. That’s all I need.”

George reached into the box again. An airplane, a car and a truck appeared next. They were toys that the oil company had left for him to sell. “Here’s something for that little man of yours.”

The young man began to cry again as he handed back the $150 that the old man had handed him earlier.

“And what are you supposed to buy Christmas dinner with? You keep that too,” George said. “Now git home to your family.”

The young man turned with tears streaming down his face. “I’ll be here in the morning for work, if that job offer is still good.”

“Nope. I’m closed Christmas day,” George said. “See ya the day after.”

George turned around & found the stranger had returned. “Where’d you come from? I thought you’d left?”

“I have been here. I have always been here,” said the stranger. “You say you don’t celebrate Christmas. Why?”

“Well, after my wife passed away, I just couldn’t see what all the bother was. Puttin’ up a tree and all seemed a waste of a good pine tree. Bakin’ cookies like I used to with Martha just wasn’t the same by myself and besides I was gettin’ a little chubby.”

The stranger put his hand on George’s shoulder. “But you do celebrate the holiday, George. You gave me food and drink and warmed me when I was cold and hungry. The woman with child will bear a son and he will become a great doctor.

The policeman you helped will go on to save 19 people from being killed by terrorists. The young man who tried to rob you will make you a rich man and not take any for himself. “That is the spirit of the season and you keep it as good as any man.”

George was taken aback by all this stranger had said. “And how do you know all this?” asked the old man.

“Trust me, George. I have the inside track on this sort of thing. And when your days are done you will be with Martha again.”

The stranger moved toward the door. “If you will excuse me, George, I have to go now. I have to go home where there is a big celebration planned.”

George watched as the old leather jacket and the torn pants that the stranger was wearing turned into a white robe. A golden light began to fill the room.

“You see, George … it’s My birthday. Merry Christmas.”

George fell to his knees and replied, “Happy Birthday, Lord Jesus”

This story is better than any greeting card, a reminder as to why we celebrate Christmas.

A little military Christmas humour:

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OPERATION ORDER 12-05:


An official staff visit by Lt Gen Claus is expected at this base on 25 Dec.

The following directives govern activities of all personnel during the visit: 

  • Not a creature will stir without permission. This includes Officers, Warrant Officers,Staff Non-commissioned Officers, Noncommissioned Officers, and mice. Marines may obtain special stirring permits for necessary tasks through the Battalion S-1 Office (See Company Office for PAR).
  • All personnel will settle their brains for a long winter nap no later than 2200 hours, 24 December. Uniform for the nap will be: pajamas: cotton, light-weight, general purpose, olive-green; and cap: battle-dress: utilities – Woodland pattern. Equipment will be drawn from supply prior to 1900 hours. While at supply, all personnel will review their personal hand receipts and sign a Cash Collection Voucher, DD Form 1131, for all missing items. Remember that this is the “season of giving.”
  • Personnel will utilize standard T-ration sugarplums for visions to dance in their heads.Sugarplums are available in T-ration sundry packs and should be eaten with egg loaf, chopped ham, and spice cake to ensure maximum visions are experienced.
  • T-ration sundry packs can be picked up at the Medina Dining Facility (MDFAC) from 0800-1800 24 Dec. The S-4 will coordinate the acquisition and distribution of the T-ration sugarplums and accompanying items.
  • Stockings – wool, cushion sole, olive-green – will be hung by the chimneys with care. Necessary safety precautions will be taken to avoid fires caused by carelessly hung stockings. Platoon commanders will submit stocking handling plans to the S-3T, Training Chief, prior to 0800 hours, 24 Dec.
  • All Platoon commanders will ensure their subordinate personnel attend mandatory stocking-hanging safety classes and are briefed on the safety aspects of stocking hanging by the Safety Officer.
  • Stocking Safety will be taught 18 Dec at 1900 in the conference room of Bldg 321. Stocking Licenses will be issued at that time. Stockings will be issued out of the pebble shack on a first come first serve basis from 1400 – 1600 on 19 December.
  • At first sound of clatter, all personnel will spring from their racks to investigate and evaluate the cause. Immediate action will be taken to tear open the shutters and throw up the window sashes.
  • On order, Operations Plan (OPLAN) 7-01 (North Pole Contingency), para 6-8-A9(3), dated 4 Mar, this office, takes effect to facilitate shutter-tearing and sash-throwing. Platoon Commanders, Platoon Sergeants, and all Marines of the Guard will be familiar with procedures and are responsible for seeing that no shutters are torn or sashes thrown in the barracks prior to the start of official clatter.
  • Prior to 0001 hours, date of visit, all personnel possessing Standard Target Acquisition and Night Observation (STANO) equipment will be assigned “wonderingeyeball” stations.
  • The Sergeant of the Guard will ensure that these stations are adequately manned even after shutters are torn and sashes are thrown.
  • The Company Training Chief, in coordination with the U.S. Transportation Command(CinC-Trans) and Motor T, will assign one each Sleigh, Miniature, M-24A3 and eight (8) reindeer, tiny, for use by LtGen Claus.
  • The assigned driver must have a current sleigh operator’s license with rooftop permit and evidence of attendance at the winter driving class stamped on his Department of Navy Form 348.
  • Driver must also be able to clearly shout “On, Dancer! On, Prancer!” etc.
  • Lt Gen Claus will initially enter Bldg 302 through the front entryway.
  • All buildings without chimneys will requisition Chimney Simulator, M6A1, for use during the visit.
  • Request chimney simulator on Department of Navy Form 2765-1, which will be submitted in four copies to the Company Gunnery Sergeant prior to 20 December.
  • Personnel will ensure that chimneys are properly cleaned before turn-in at the conclusion of visit.
  • Personnel will be rehearsed in the shouting of “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!” or “Merry Christmas to All and to all a Good Night!” This shout will be given upon termination of the visit.
  • Uniformity of shouting is the responsibility of the Senior Enlisted Marine.


(Signed)
For The Commander 

A letter…

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H/T Old NFO@Nobody Asked Me. 

 

This just in from a F8U Crusader Flyer, Dr. Dick Schaffert, (call sign “Brown Bear”).  He is famous for an extended solo dogfight with four Migs back in the Viet Nam conflict.  

Once a year he sends a letter (like the one below) to his Naval Aviator squadron mate who died aboard the USS Oriskany.

It’s a touching yet heartwarming story of the friendship developed between men who put their lives on the line for one another in combat.

His letter is too good to be overlooked.

===================================================

Memorial Day
Norm was killed on 26 October ’66. Exactly one year later, we were again back on Yankee Station. After flying my 4th mission against Hanoi in 3 days, I rose from a restless night to scribble a note to Norm. I folded it into a paper airplane; then walked back to the Oriskany’s fantail, lit the paper on fire, and launched it into the darkness above the ship’s wake. Norm and I would both have turned 80 this year … so, due to natural causes, this will be the last of the 47 annual letters I’ve written to him. With the help of friends and mutual acquaintances over the years, my original note has expanded into a perhaps “too lengthy” letter.  

To: Lieutenant Commander Norman Sidney Levy, US Navy Deceased (1934-1966)

Good morning, Norm. It’s Memorial Day 2014, 07:29 Tonkin Gulf time. Haven’t talked with you for a while. That magnificent lady on which we went through hell together, USS ORISKANY, has slipped away into the deep and now rests forever in silent waters off the Florida coast. Recall we shared a 6′ by 9′ stateroom aboard her during McNamara and Johnson’s ill-fated Rolling Thunder, while our Air Wing 16 suffered the highest loss rate of any naval aviation unit in the Vietnam conflict. Three combat deployments, between May ’65 and January ’68, resulted in 86 aircraft lost from the 64 assigned to us; while 59 of our aviators were killed and 13 captured or missing from Oriskany’s assignment of 74 combat pilots. Our statistical probability of surviving Rolling Thunder, where the tactics and targets were designated by combat-illiterate politicians, was less than 30%. The probability of a combat pilot being an atheist approached zero!

Seems like a good day to make contact again. I’ve written every year since I threw that “nickel on the grass” for you. For several years, it was only a handwritten note … which I ceremoniously burned to simulate your being “smoked.” With the advent of the internet, I shared annual emails to you with some of our colleagues. Unfortunately, the net’s now a cesspool of idiocy! Much of it generated by those 16 million draft dodgers who avoided Vietnam to occupy and unionize America’s academia; where they clearly succeeded in “dumbing down” an entire generation which now controls the heartless soul of a corrupt “Hollywoodized” media. This will be my last letter. I’m praying Gabriel will soon fly my wing once more, and I look forward to delivering it to you personally.

This is the 47th year since I last saw you, sitting on the edge of your bunk in our stateroom. You remember … it was the 26th of October 1966 and we were on the midnight-to-noon schedule. There was a wall of thunderstorms over North Vietnam, with tops to 50,000 feet, but McNamara’s civilian planners kept sending us on “critical” missions all night. At 04:00 they finally ran out of trucks to bomb, in that downpour, and we got a little sleep.

Our phone rang at seven; you were scheduled for the Alert Five. I’d bagged a little more rack time than you, so I said I’d take it. I went to shave in the restroom around the elevator pit, the one near the flare locker. The ordnance men were busy putting away the flares. They’d been taking them out and putting them back all night as McNamara’s “whiz kids” continually changed the targets. I had finished shaving and started back to our room when the guy on the ship’s loudspeaker screamed: “This is a drill, this is a drill, FIRE, FIRE, FIRE!” I smelled smoke and looked back at the door that separated the pilot’s quarters from the flare storage locker. Smoke was coming from underneath.

I ran the last few steps to our room and turned on the light. You sat up on the edge of your bunk and I shouted:  “Norm, this is no drill. Let’s get the hell out of here!” I went down the passage way around the elevator pit, banging on the sheet metal wall and shouting:  “It’s no drill. We’re on fire! We’re on fire!” I rounded the corner of that U-shaped passage when the flare locker exploded. There was a tremendous concussion effect that blew me out of the passage way and onto the hangar deck. A huge ball of fire was rolling along the top of the hangar bay.

You and forty-five other guys, mostly Air Wing pilots, didn’t make it, Norm. I’m sorry. Oh, dear God, I am sorry! But we went home together: Norm Levy, a Jewish boy from Miami, and Dick Schaffert, a Lutheran cornhusker from Nebraska.

I rode in the economy class of that Flying Tigers 707, along with the other few surviving pilots. You were in a flag-draped box in the cargo compartment. Unfortunately, the scum media had publicized the return of us “Baby Killers,” and Lindberg Field was packed with vile demonstrators enjoying the right to protest. The “right” you died for!

Our wives were waiting in a bus to meet our plane. There was a black hearse for you. The protestors threw rocks and eggs at our bus and your hearse; not a policeman in sight. When we finally got off the airport, they chased us to Fort Rosecrans. They tried interrupting your graveside service, until your honor guard of three brave young Marines with rifles convinced them to stay back.

I watched the TV news with my family that night, Norm. Sorry, the only clips of our homecoming were the “Baby Killer” banners and bombs exploding in the South Vietnam jungle … although our operations were up North, against heavily defended targets, where we were frequently shot down and captured or killed. It was tough to explain all that to my four pre-teen children.

You know the rest of the story: The vulgar demonstrators were the media’s heroes. They became the CEO’s, who steal from our companies … the lawyers, who prey off our misery … the doctors, whom we can’t afford … the elected politicians, who break the faith and the promises.

The only military recognized as “heroes” were the POW’s. They finally came home, not because of any politician’s self-aggrandized expertise, but because there were those of us who kept going back over Hanoi, again and again … dodging the SAM’s and the flak … attacking day and night … keeping the pressure on … all by ourselves! Absolutely no support from anyone! Many of us didn’t come home, Norm. You know; the guys who are up there with you now. But it was our “un-mentioned” efforts that brought the POW’s home. We kept the faith with them, and with you.

It never really ended. We seemed to go directly from combat into disabled retirement and poverty, ignored by those whose freedoms we insured by paying that bloody premium. Our salary, as highly educated-combat proven Naval officers and fighter pilots, was about the same as what the current administration bestows as a “minimum” wage upon the millions of today’s low-information, unmotivated, clueless graduates. Most of them lounge at home on unemployment rolls and feed off the taxes that we pay on our military retirements; which are 80% less than what the current All Volunteer Force receives and from which we have already lost 26% of our buying power to pencil-sharpening bureaucrats who “adjust” the economic data.

Do you remember, Norm? We got 55 bucks a month for flying combat; precisely $2.99 for each of the 276 missions I flew off Yankee Station. Can you believe America’s new All Volunteer Force, which recently fought a war with a casualty rate less than 10% of ours … and only 1% of WWII … , received more than $1,000 a month combat pay from a guilt-ridden Congress, which trusts paid mercenaries more than old-fashioned American patriotic courage. The families of those of us who were killed in Vietnam got $10,000 of life insurance. Today’s survivors get $100,000! Unfortunately, the gutless liberalism of today’s elected officials has created the worst of all possible situations: Our socially engineered, under-funded, military couldn’t presently fight its way out of a wet Chinese paper lantern!

The politically adjusted report, issued for the 100th Anniversary of U.S. Naval Aviation, confirmed that we and our brothers who flew in Korea have been written out of American history. Norm, I only hope that today’s over-paid bureaucratic “dudes” who cook the books, scramble the facts, and push the propaganda for their political puppet-masters, will not be able to scrub your name off the Wall. The Wall and our memories are the only things many of us have left. We hold those memories dear! We band together in groups like the Crusader Association, which is now holding its 27th “Last Annual” reunion. Some say the association has to do with flying a peculiar aircraft, I say it has to do with a peculiar bunch of guys. We’re damned few now! After 5,000 hours flying simulated and actual combat, and pulling at least 5 g’s more than 25,000 times, those who are still around have ultrasounds resembling haunted houses on Halloween; with nerve bundles sagging like cobwebs, leaking valves, and ruptured pipes. We’ll all be seeing you shortly, Norm. Put in a good word for us with the Man. Ask Him to think of us as His peacemakers, as His children. Have a restful Memorial Day. You earned it.

Very Respectfully,
Your Roommate Dick (Brown Bear) Schaffert

14 May 2014

Little known facts…

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H/T Old NFO@Nobody Asked Me. 

I added a song by The Statler Brothers “More than a name The Wall.

Dang dust storm around my computer.

A little history most people will never know about the wall.

vietnam-memorial

SOMETHING to think about – Most of the parents of these men are now deceased.

There are 58,267 names now listed on that polished black wall, including those added in 2010.

The names are arranged in the order in which they were taken from us by date and within each date the names are alphabetized. It is hard to believe it is 36 years since the last casualties.

Beginning at the apex on panel 1E and going out to the end of the East wall, appearing to recede into the earth (numbered 70E – May 25, 1968), then resuming at the end of the West wall, as the wall emerges from the earth (numbered 70W – continuing May 25, 1968) and ending with a date in 1975. Thus the war’s beginning and end meet. The war is complete, coming full circle, yet broken by the earth that bounds the angle’s open side and contained within the earth itself.

The first known casualty was Richard B. Fitzgibbon, of North Weymouth , Mass. Listed by the U.S. Department of Defense as having been killed on June 8, 1956. His name is listed on the Wall with that of his son, Marine Corps Lance Cpl. Richard B. Fitzgibbon III, who was killed on Sept. 7, 1965.

There are three sets of fathers and sons on the Wall.

39,996 on the Wall were just 22 or younger.

8,283 were just 19 years old.

The largest age group, 33,103 were 18 years old.

12 soldiers on the Wall were 17 years old.

5 soldiers on the Wall were 16 years old.

One soldier, PFC Dan Bullock was 15 years old.

997 soldiers were killed on their first day in Vietnam .

1,448 soldiers were killed on their last day in Vietnam .

31 sets of brothers are on the Wall.

Thirty one sets of parents lost two of their sons.

54 soldiers on the Wall attended Thomas Edison High School in Philadelphia . I wonder why so many from one school.

8 Women are on the Wall. Nursing the wounded.

244 soldiers were awarded the Medal of Honor during the Vietnam War; 153 of them are on the Wall.

Beallsville , Ohio with a population of 475 lost 6 of her sons.

West Virginia had the highest casualty rate per capita in the nation. There are 711 West Virginians on the Wall.

The Marines of Morenci – They led some of the scrappiest high school football and basketball teams that the little Arizona copper town of Morenci (pop. 5,058) had ever known and cheered. They enjoyed roaring beer busts. In quieter moments, they rode horses along the Coronado Trail, stalked deer in the Apache National Forest . And in the patriotic camaraderie typical of Morenci’s mining families, the nine graduates of Morenci High enlisted as a group in the Marine Corps. Their service began on Independence Day, 1966. Only 3 returned home.

The Buddies of Midvale – LeRoy Tafoya, Jimmy Martinez, Tom Gonzales were all boyhood friends and lived on three consecutive streets in Midvale, Utah on Fifth, Sixth and Seventh avenues. They lived only a few yards apart. They played ball at the adjacent sandlot ball field. And they all went to Vietnam . In a span of 16 dark days in late 1967, all three would be killed. LeRoy was killed on Wednesday, Nov. 22, the fourth anniversary of John F. Kennedy’s assassination. Jimmy died less than 24 hours later on Thanksgiving Day. Tom was shot dead assaulting the enemy on Dec. 7, Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day.

The most casualty deaths for a single day was on January 31, 1968 ~ 245 deaths.

The most casualty deaths for a single month was May 1968 – 2,415 casualties were incurred.

For most Americans who read this they will only see the numbers that the Vietnam War created. To those of us who survived the war, and to the families of those who did not, we see the faces, we feel the pain that these numbers created. We are, until we too pass away, haunted with these numbers, because they were our friends, fathers, husbands, wives, sons and daughters. There are no noble wars, just noble warriors.

h/t Frito

A little military Christmas humour:

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H/T to Old NFO.
OPERATION ORDER 12-05:


An official staff visit by Lt Gen Claus is expected at this base on 25 Dec.

The following directives govern activities of all personnel during the visit: 

  • Not a creature will stir without permission. This includes Officers, Warrant Officers,Staff Non-commissioned Officers, Noncommissioned Officers, and mice. Marines may obtain special stirring permits for necessary tasks through the Battalion S-1 Office (See Company Office for PAR).
  • All personnel will settle their brains for a long winter nap no later than 2200 hours, 24 December. Uniform for the nap will be: pajamas: cotton, light-weight, general purpose, olive-green; and cap: battle-dress: utilities – Woodland pattern. Equipment will be drawn from supply prior to 1900 hours. While at supply, all personnel will review their personal hand receipts and sign a Cash Collection Voucher, DD Form 1131, for all missing items. Remember that this is the “season of giving.”
  • Personnel will utilize standard T-ration sugarplums for visions to dance in their heads.Sugarplums are available in T-ration sundry packs and should be eaten with egg loaf, chopped ham, and spice cake to ensure maximum visions are experienced.
  • T-ration sundry packs can be picked up at the Medina Dining Facility (MDFAC) from 0800-1800 24 Dec. The S-4 will coordinate the acquisition and distribution of the T-ration sugarplums and accompanying items.
  • Stockings – wool, cushion sole, olive-green – will be hung by the chimneys with care. Necessary safety precautions will be taken to avoid fires caused by carelessly hung stockings. Platoon commanders will submit stocking handling plans to the S-3T, Training Chief, prior to 0800 hours, 24 Dec.
  • All Platoon commanders will ensure their subordinate personnel attend mandatory stocking-hanging safety classes and are briefed on the safety aspects of stocking hanging by the Safety Officer.
  • Stocking Safety will be taught 18 Dec at 1900 in the conference room of Bldg 321. Stocking Licenses will be issued at that time. Stockings will be issued out of the pebble shack on a first come first serve basis from 1400 – 1600 on 19 December.
  • At first sound of clatter, all personnel will spring from their racks to investigate and evaluate the cause. Immediate action will be taken to tear open the shutters and throw up the window sashes.
  • On order, Operations Plan (OPLAN) 7-01 (North Pole Contingency), para 6-8-A9(3), dated 4 Mar, this office, takes effect to facilitate shutter-tearing and sash-throwing. Platoon Commanders, Platoon Sergeants, and all Marines of the Guard will be familiar with procedures and are responsible for seeing that no shutters are torn or sashes thrown in the barracks prior to the start of official clatter.
  • Prior to 0001 hours, date of visit, all personnel possessing Standard Target Acquisition and Night Observation (STANO) equipment will be assigned “wonderingeyeball” stations.
  • The Sergeant of the Guard will ensure that these stations are adequately manned even after shutters are torn and sashes are thrown.
  • The Company Training Chief, in coordination with the U.S. Transportation Command(CinC-Trans) and Motor T, will assign one each Sleigh, Miniature, M-24A3 and eight (8) reindeer, tiny, for use by LtGen Claus.
  • The assigned driver must have a current sleigh operator’s license with rooftop permit and evidence of attendance at the winter driving class stamped on his Department of Navy Form 348.
  • Driver must also be able to clearly shout “On, Dancer! On, Prancer!” etc.
  • Lt Gen Claus will initially enter Bldg 302 through the front entryway.
  • All buildings without chimneys will requisition Chimney Simulator, M6A1, for use during the visit.
  • Request chimney simulator on Department of Navy Form 2765-1, which will be submitted in four copies to the Company Gunnery Sergeant prior to 20 December.
  • Personnel will ensure that chimneys are properly cleaned before turn-in at the conclusion of visit.
  • Personnel will be rehearsed in the shouting of “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!” or “Merry Christmas to All and to all a Good Night!” This shout will be given upon termination of the visit.
  • Uniformity of shouting is the responsibility of the Senior Enlisted Marine.


(Signed)
For The Commander 

Snerk…

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H/T Old NFO @ Nobody Asked Me.

‘Somebody’ had WAY too much time on their hands…

‘Twas No Hope Before Christmas:

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when in the White House,
Not a creature was spinning, not even Josh Earnest’s mouth;
The pantsuits were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Hillary soon would live there;
Democrats were nestled, all snug in their beds,
While visions of socialism danced in their heads,

And Barack in his mom jeans, and I with arm’s firm,
Had just settled down for my husband’s 3rd term;
When across the country there rose such a clatter,
I assumed it involved that Black Lives Matter;
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Kicked out the shutters, threw out Barry’s stash;
The moon illuminated our eight years of woe,
And exposed hope-and-change lies to our subject’s below;

When, what to my vacationing eyes should appear,
But the host of The Apprentice, looking quite cavalier;
I had seen that comb-over, he was tall and was plump,
I knew in a moment, it must be St. Trump;
More rapid than welfare checks, his people they came,
And he hired them, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now Reince, now Ivanka! Now Pencer and Bannon!
On, Mattis, on Sessions! On Kellyanne and Kanye!”
“To the Mexican border! Let’s go build that wall!
Now get to work, get to work, get to work, all!”

As empty promises my husband made that never would fly,
I knew that Obamacare would soon have to die;
The electoral college had spoken, we’d been given the bump,
The free ride was over, thanks a lot, Mr. Trump;
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
My husband’s legacy, gone in a poof!
As I filled with dread, turned my hopeless self around,
Down the chimney St. Trump came with a bound;

He was dressed in a suit, from his head to his feet,
I was expecting a racist, but he was wearing no sheet;
A bunch of red caps he had in a sack,
They said “Make America Great Again,” I felt under attack!
His eyes – how they chilled me, his demeanor how scary,
His skin was so orange, his gaze made we wary;
He was going to erase the last eight years, I swear!
And the one’s who elected him were as white as Pence hair;

My school lunch program would be a thing of the past,
Like the food I made them eat, it would end up in the trash;
He would cancel regulations my husband held dear,
I could feel myself being overcome with fear;
We’d worked so hard to bring America down,
Our hope and change would be killed by this clown;
He represented all the hate for the right that I felt,
And I peed my pants when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye, and a look that said, “You’re effed”
Put me on notice, we had just one month left
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his fracking,
Then he turned to me and said, “Shouldn’t you be packing?”
And laying his finger aside of his nose
Giving me a ‘go to hell’ look, up the chimney he rose;
He sprung to his limo, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like a Hillary-seeking missile;
Then I said to Barack, as I climbed back in bed,
“Hopeless Christmas to all, and to all…….whatever.”

Don’t know who gets credit for this, but it’s on the mark!

h/t JP

SCOTUS…

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H/T Old NFO@Nobody Asked Me.

If you’re a supporter of the 2nd Amendment, the Supreme Court is really what this election is all about…

The 60-second spot explains that the late justice, Antonin Scalia, was the deciding vote in affirming that the Second Amendment protects the right of an individual to keep a firearm in their home.  Scalia authored the majority decision in District of Columbia v. Heller in 2008.

Hillary Clinton has twice said she disagrees with the Heller ruling. At the third presidential debate, she said she, “disagreed with the way the court applied the Second Amendment in that case.” Earlier in her campaign, Clinton was recorded at a private event saying, “The Supreme Court is wrong on the Second Amendment, and I am going to make that case every chance I get.”

Whoever wins the presidency on Nov. 8 will appoint at least one Supreme Court justice, and possibly as many as three or more additional justices. Americans cannot afford to elect a president who will stack the court with justices hostile to the Second Amendment.

“This election will determine the fate of the Second Amendment in America for the next 40 years. Law-abiding gun owners cannot afford to put someone in office who will eliminate their rights.” Chris Cox- NRA-ILA

h/t NRA Media

A Bleg…

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H/T Old NFO@Nobody Asked Me. 

 As a Gold Star family member I am outraged at the way the Obama Regime is destroying the morale of the military.

The military is not to be a social experience in political correctness. 

The military is not the International Meals On Wheels.

The military’s function is to kill people and break things of the enemy because that is how you win wars.

 

I’m asking my readers to please assist us in this endeavor…

We’re trying to stop the PC BS games being played with the Navy over the rate/rating removal to remove ‘man’ from the rates/ratings…

Restore the Traditional Navy Rating Specialty Titles Disestablished on 9/29/2016

Created by R.W. on September 29, 2016

For 241 Years Navy personnel have been identified by their Job specialty, known as a “Rating”. The oldest rates such as Boatswain Mates, and Gunners Mate predate the founding of this country. Being known by your job title was a sense of pride. A sign of accomplishment. The Secretary of the Navy and Chief of Naval Operations just senselessly erased this tradition. One only has to visit Navy social media pages to see the disgust and outrage of current and former personnel. One by one current leadership continues to erode the very things that set the Navy apart from the other services. Mr. President, I and the others signing this petition request you use your authority to restore to our Sailors what they have earned.

The link for the petition is HERE!!!

Thank you in advance for your help!

 

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