Ray took this while we were having lunch at the Broadmoor Hotel yesterday.
Love,
Janet
Love,
Janet
Monday, November 26, 2007
Sunday, November 25, 2007
November 25, 2007
Gloria, don’t know how to post on the blog, but here is some info I’d like to share.
I started training for triathlons about 3 years ago, really enjoyed the sport. Lots of study regarding body mechanics, efficiency of motion, diet etc. My goal is to qualify for the national Sr Olympics in San Francisco June ’09. ’08 is the qualifying year; I’ll turn 60 so I’ll be the youngest in my age group in’08. In ’07 I competed in the qualifying events to get a feel for the competition and the course and wound up qualifying for the TX Sr Olympics finals in Temple last October. The sprint event was on 10/26/07, it was 43 degrees outside and the water temp was 63 degrees(outdoor pool w/o heating). Out of the group there were around 10 of us that didn’t have wet suits; needless to say I didn’t warm up until I got off the bike and into the run. We are talking serious shrinkage. Came in second. The picture is just as we were leaving the transition area.
I trust everyone had a restful Thanksgiving; thanks for all you do to keep us connected.
Rick Norton
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Veteran's Day 2007 by Jerry Ball
November, 2007
On the 4th, I flew to Washington DC to attend the funeral of a friend. I had worked for Bryan when he was a political appointee, and we became friends after I left that job. A good man, he traveled widely in his job and always cared about the “care and feeding” of the military folks we visited. He had an incredible way of interacting with people so that they spontaneously liked him. I know that I did. We had talked last in August and shared thoughts on the great mysteries of life. Two guys, one who had turned 60 in January and the other who would do so in October, were reflecting back over the “woulda, shoulda, coulda” of life and looking forward to what might lie ahead. Bryan was planning to come here on business around his birthday in October, so we were going to spend a couple days visiting sights in the Texas Hill Country – the National Museum of the Pacific War in Fredericksburg for one and Luckenbach for another.
I trailed the few joggers out at that hour along the sandy path to the Washington Monument
One end of the Memorial pays tribute to those who fought in the European Theater
and the other end commemorates the Pacific Theater.
Spaced along the Memorial’s oval perimeter are small monuments from each of the states and territories.
Carved in stone are memorable quotes from the era.
The Memorial made personal by one family
Cast in bronze are vignettes from the war. My personal favorite of the bronzes is the one that shows the celebration at the end of the war and the return of the troops.
(The National World War II Memorial has an associated web site where people can honor “their” veterans by writing a paragraph about the service he or she performed. Once the paragraph is approved by the editors, a picture can be uploaded. I encourage anybody who has relatives who served in that war to commemorate that service with an entry. I have written up four veterans so far and would be glad to help any Rohawks get started.)
The World War II Memorial is a wonderful tribute from a nation to a generation.
.jpg)
tell ike that i want him to stay
with you for if i had knowed what it
was to be a soldier i would be with you
today. you need not be uneasy about
me for i will try to take care
of my self. So nomore at present but remains your Affectionate Son until deth
(I think I may have had similar thoughts one night in late summer or early fall of 1972 in the central highlands near Pleiku as I huddled in my helmet and flak jacket behind the sand bags, listening to the explosions, and repeating to myself, “Nixon says the war is over. Nixon says the war is over.”)
I copied about thirty pages from Henry’s file – including all of the letters, two of which mentioned his brother William, my ancestor. William also had two affidavits in the file vouching for facts in Henry’s claim for a pension. I was very happy with those finds as I got into my car and headed for the airport.
So I was back at the place where I live for the Veterans Day weekend having thought about veterans of the Civil War, World War II, and Vietnam. But I saved the best for last. Earlier in this e-mail I mentioned my March note to you about Dexter Florence. The third person I mentioned in that note was John Matthews. A week or two before my trip to DC, a friend of John’s had seen your blog and had caught up with him in London where he was on business. John sent me an e-mail note and I responded. I had another e-mail from him on Veterans Day, and how great it was to be reconnected with him. I owe it to the awesome power of your Rohawk blog and the serendipity of John’s friend spotting the item and caring enough to contact him. I am very appreciative to you and to her.
Veterans Day wasn’t just a single day for me this year. It was about ten days. Ten meaningful and wonderful days in which your efforts played a significant part, and so I wanted to share them with you.
As always, I thank you for what you do to keep our far-flung alumni community connected. And, in this case, for being the cause for reconnecting me with a friend I was sure I had lost forever.
There is a carving near the research entrance to the National Archives that says, “What is Past is Prologue.” It means that the things that have gone before set the stage for what we have remaining to accomplish. As we reach the age where the “woulda, shoulda, coulda” mentality can easily take us on a rough ride down a river of regrets, it helps to remember that what we have lived to date is just a prologue to what we may yet do. As Sinatra told us, “The best is yet to come and won’t it be fine?”
God bless.
Jerry
Gloria,
Hope you had a good and meaningful Veterans Day weekend. My last week or so has been involved with thoughts of veterans of various eras, and I thought I’d share some of them with you.
On the 4th, I flew to Washington DC to attend the funeral of a friend. I had worked for Bryan when he was a political appointee, and we became friends after I left that job. A good man, he traveled widely in his job and always cared about the “care and feeding” of the military folks we visited. He had an incredible way of interacting with people so that they spontaneously liked him. I know that I did. We had talked last in August and shared thoughts on the great mysteries of life. Two guys, one who had turned 60 in January and the other who would do so in October, were reflecting back over the “woulda, shoulda, coulda” of life and looking forward to what might lie ahead. Bryan was planning to come here on business around his birthday in October, so we were going to spend a couple days visiting sights in the Texas Hill Country – the National Museum of the Pacific War in Fredericksburg for one and Luckenbach for another.
Shortly after that call, I came home from church to find that the visit was not to be. His wife Ann had called. Bryan had been carrying groceries from his car to his kitchen and collapsed of a sudden, fatal heart attack.
It took a while to arrange his burial in Arlington, but Ann went through the process and the waiting to lay him there where his mother and father are buried. And so, on Monday, 5 November 2007, our group of mourners attended his funeral service at historic Christ Church Episcopal in Alexandria, Virginia where George Washington and Robert E. Lee had been parishioners. We caravanned under police escort to Arlington National Cemetery, driving behind the hearse and the family to the point where the horse drawn caisson awaited. As the band 
played “Amazing Grace”, Bryan’s casket was transferred from the hearse to the caisson and we began the slow walk down the slope to place his body among other people privileged to have worn “the Nation’s cloth.”
played “Amazing Grace”, Bryan’s casket was transferred from the hearse to the caisson and we began the slow walk down the slope to place his body among other people privileged to have worn “the Nation’s cloth.”We walked in silence, each with our own thoughts – of Bryan, of Ann, perhaps of our own mortality as we considered our friend’s early departure from this planet. To our right were the spires of the Air Force Memorial – a metal “flyby” permanently etched against the sky between Arlington National Cemetery and the Pentagon. It seemed very appropriate to see those spires as we said goodbye to Bryan. He had served in the Air Force Reserve and retired as a lieutenant colonel. He had also served as a deputy assistant secretary of the Air Force. Now the heritage of the military service we shared would be within line of sight of his “resting place.”
Arlington Cemetery executes military honors exceedingly well. The band played “Taps” – a haunting melody at any time, but especially so as it echoes over the hallowed hills of Arlington. The squad fired the traditional three volleys. The band played, “Lord, Guard and Guide the Men Who Fly.” The honor guard crisply and precisely folded the flag that had covered his coffin and handed it to the three-star general who represented the Air Force. He took the flag and knelt in front of Ann as he presented it to her. That action always gets to me, and at that point, my eyes lost acuity for several moments.
We had a reception at the elegant Women in Military Service Memorial at the entrance to Arlington. It is a beautiful facility telling stories have been left unsaid for too long. On another
day, I will visit it again. On a day when I can appreciate it. On this day, I would hug Bryan’s widow and daughter and shake the hands of his son and surviving sibling. And then go home to my hotel room. It had been a full day.
Tuesday, November 6th, was also centered on veterans. I caught the Metro downtown and walked the National Mall while the early morning light was not yet strong enough to definitively dismiss the darkness that hovered over that familiar scenery. I took the short walk from the Navy Memorial at the Archives Metro Station to the Mall.
Looking to the left I saw the Capitol,
then turning right towards the Smithsonian “Castle”
We had a reception at the elegant Women in Military Service Memorial at the entrance to Arlington. It is a beautiful facility telling stories have been left unsaid for too long. On another
day, I will visit it again. On a day when I can appreciate it. On this day, I would hug Bryan’s widow and daughter and shake the hands of his son and surviving sibling. And then go home to my hotel room. It had been a full day.Tuesday, November 6th, was also centered on veterans. I caught the Metro downtown and walked the National Mall while the early morning light was not yet strong enough to definitively dismiss the darkness that hovered over that familiar scenery. I took the short walk from the Navy Memorial at the Archives Metro Station to the Mall.
Looking to the left I saw the Capitol,
then turning right towards the Smithsonian “Castle”
I trailed the few joggers out at that hour along the sandy path to the Washington Monument
My goal was beyond that obelisk. It was the National World War II Memorial. If you have not been to DC in recent years, you will want to see this tribute to “the Greatest Generation.” Sitting between the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial, it nearly straddles the full width of the Mall.
View of the National World War II and Lincoln Memorials from the base of the Washington Monument
View of the National World War II and Lincoln Memorials from the base of the Washington Monument
One end of the Memorial pays tribute to those who fought in the European Theater
and the other end commemorates the Pacific Theater.
Spaced along the Memorial’s oval perimeter are small monuments from each of the states and territories.
Carved in stone are memorable quotes from the era.
The Memorial made personal by one familyCast in bronze are vignettes from the war. My personal favorite of the bronzes is the one that shows the celebration at the end of the war and the return of the troops.
(The National World War II Memorial has an associated web site where people can honor “their” veterans by writing a paragraph about the service he or she performed. Once the paragraph is approved by the editors, a picture can be uploaded. I encourage anybody who has relatives who served in that war to commemorate that service with an entry. I have written up four veterans so far and would be glad to help any Rohawks get started.)
The World War II Memorial is a wonderful tribute from a nation to a generation.
My next stop was a different memorial. It was personal because this was “my war.”
I was surprised to find The Wall deserted. I paused at the top of the ramp and saluted. Then I walked downward past the names of those whose lives had been cut short while mine had been permitted to go on. Most of the names I did not recognize. Some of these men walked the terrazzo with me at the Air Force Academy.
Others I met in-country, like Dexter Florence of whom I wrote to you in March on what would have been his 60th birthday. Dex’s name is about two thirds of the way down the tablet containing the names of the last service members to die in the war.
I talked to The Wall for a few minutes then turned back to the Mall and walked towards the Archives where I renewed my research card and requested some records to be pulled from the stacks. But I didn’t have time to wait for them then because I was to meet my son Richard and granddaughter Ava at Fashion Centre Mall, a shopping center across the highway from the Pentagon. Rich had taken the day off work to spend time with me and I really appreciated that gesture.
When Richard was born, his birth announcement contained a quote from Carl Sandburg, "A
baby is God's opinion that life should go on." Now, amidst the bustle of the food court and with the fresh memory of my last twenty four hours, I watched my 14-month old granddaughter and saw that quote in a new light. Yes, “life should go on.”
After lunch, Rich bundled Ava into her car seat and he drove around the Pentagon to the hillside where the Air Force Memorial stands so I could walk that ground and stand beneath those spires. It is a remarkable, remarkable work.
Many of us Rohawks can identify with the heritage of service it represents. Even those who don’t come from Air Force families will appreciate the memorial’s majesty.
It is said (although I don’t know if it is true) that the slightly larger than life Honor Guard figures at one end of the monument
grounds were added to give a place for people to put themselves 
in pictures. The spires are too grand to capture on film when you are close to them.
Others I met in-country, like Dexter Florence of whom I wrote to you in March on what would have been his 60th birthday. Dex’s name is about two thirds of the way down the tablet containing the names of the last service members to die in the war.
I talked to The Wall for a few minutes then turned back to the Mall and walked towards the Archives where I renewed my research card and requested some records to be pulled from the stacks. But I didn’t have time to wait for them then because I was to meet my son Richard and granddaughter Ava at Fashion Centre Mall, a shopping center across the highway from the Pentagon. Rich had taken the day off work to spend time with me and I really appreciated that gesture.
When Richard was born, his birth announcement contained a quote from Carl Sandburg, "A
baby is God's opinion that life should go on." Now, amidst the bustle of the food court and with the fresh memory of my last twenty four hours, I watched my 14-month old granddaughter and saw that quote in a new light. Yes, “life should go on.”After lunch, Rich bundled Ava into her car seat and he drove around the Pentagon to the hillside where the Air Force Memorial stands so I could walk that ground and stand beneath those spires. It is a remarkable, remarkable work.
Many of us Rohawks can identify with the heritage of service it represents. Even those who don’t come from Air Force families will appreciate the memorial’s majesty.
It is said (although I don’t know if it is true) that the slightly larger than life Honor Guard figures at one end of the monument
grounds were added to give a place for people to put themselves 
in pictures. The spires are too grand to capture on film when you are close to them. 
Rich dropped me back at my hotel so I could soak off the aches from my morning hike. After a few hours, his wife Kathy got home from her job in Maryland and the three of them met me for dinner. Washington can be a lonely town if you don’t have people to share it with. I was glad to share this evening with family. I don’t know when I’ll get to see them again any more that my grandparents knew when they’d see me again when we 
passed through Cincinnati on holidays or between Dad’s assignments. Thank God for every such get-together!
On Wednesday the 7th, I checked out of my hotel and headed back to the city to see what the records I had requested at the Archives yesterday looked like. It was another “veteran” emphasis in that I was trying to get the Civil War pension files from my great great grandfather William’s brothers John and Henry. I had pulled William’s files on previous trips, but the advice from experienced family historians is to always check out the records of close ancillary lines because you never know what you might find in the old files. I found nothing in John’s files because the VA is allegedly still holding them. The Archives clerk gave me an address to write to the VA to try to free them up. I think I can safely tell the Department of Veterans Affairs that there are not likely to be any new claims on a soldier who was discharged one hundred and forty three years ago!
passed through Cincinnati on holidays or between Dad’s assignments. Thank God for every such get-together!On Wednesday the 7th, I checked out of my hotel and headed back to the city to see what the records I had requested at the Archives yesterday looked like. It was another “veteran” emphasis in that I was trying to get the Civil War pension files from my great great grandfather William’s brothers John and Henry. I had pulled William’s files on previous trips, but the advice from experienced family historians is to always check out the records of close ancillary lines because you never know what you might find in the old files. I found nothing in John’s files because the VA is allegedly still holding them. The Archives clerk gave me an address to write to the VA to try to free them up. I think I can safely tell the Department of Veterans Affairs that there are not likely to be any new claims on a soldier who was discharged one hundred and forty three years ago!
Henry’s file was in the Archives though, so I sat down to see what might be there. Henry was the “baby” of the three Broughton brothers in Company A, 24th Kentucky Infantry (Union). To get a veteran’s pension he had to prove that he had been in the Army and that he had become sick while on duty in the Civil War. As proof, he submitted six letters he had written home to his mother. Remember that there were no copiers back in the 19th century. These were the original documents.
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It is a stunning feeling to hold in your hand the same piece of paper your great great great grandmother held when her baby boy wrote home from the Battle of Shiloh. Apparently, Henry had been in the Army long enough to see some action. His letter told his mother to tell one of the neighbor boys to stay home:
tell ike that i want him to stay
with you for if i had knowed what it
was to be a soldier i would be with you
today. you need not be uneasy about
me for i will try to take care
of my self. So nomore at present but remains your Affectionate Son until deth
(I think I may have had similar thoughts one night in late summer or early fall of 1972 in the central highlands near Pleiku as I huddled in my helmet and flak jacket behind the sand bags, listening to the explosions, and repeating to myself, “Nixon says the war is over. Nixon says the war is over.”)
I copied about thirty pages from Henry’s file – including all of the letters, two of which mentioned his brother William, my ancestor. William also had two affidavits in the file vouching for facts in Henry’s claim for a pension. I was very happy with those finds as I got into my car and headed for the airport.
So I was back at the place where I live for the Veterans Day weekend having thought about veterans of the Civil War, World War II, and Vietnam. But I saved the best for last. Earlier in this e-mail I mentioned my March note to you about Dexter Florence. The third person I mentioned in that note was John Matthews. A week or two before my trip to DC, a friend of John’s had seen your blog and had caught up with him in London where he was on business. John sent me an e-mail note and I responded. I had another e-mail from him on Veterans Day, and how great it was to be reconnected with him. I owe it to the awesome power of your Rohawk blog and the serendipity of John’s friend spotting the item and caring enough to contact him. I am very appreciative to you and to her.
Veterans Day wasn’t just a single day for me this year. It was about ten days. Ten meaningful and wonderful days in which your efforts played a significant part, and so I wanted to share them with you.
As always, I thank you for what you do to keep our far-flung alumni community connected. And, in this case, for being the cause for reconnecting me with a friend I was sure I had lost forever.
There is a carving near the research entrance to the National Archives that says, “What is Past is Prologue.” It means that the things that have gone before set the stage for what we have remaining to accomplish. As we reach the age where the “woulda, shoulda, coulda” mentality can easily take us on a rough ride down a river of regrets, it helps to remember that what we have lived to date is just a prologue to what we may yet do. As Sinatra told us, “The best is yet to come and won’t it be fine?”
God bless.
Jerry
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
CARL MEADE - Class of '68
Hi Gloria,
Here are a couple pictures for your use. The two pictures on the left side show my crewmate, Mark Lee, attached to the orbiter's robot arm. I am flying back toward him (positioned over the tail) while performing one of the flight test maneuvers called "mission suitability." Top right picture shows me performing another part of the test flight called "handling qualities." The bottom right picture shows Mark flying towards the refueling station (i.e. 17000 mph flying gas station) while I work on some electrical and plumbing connections next to the orbiter's thermal radiators.
Take care, As for 'what's up with me and mine' -- attached is also a picture of my three boys and son number 1's fiancée. Yes, 20 years between son number 1 and son number 3 with son number 2 in the middle at 6 yrs old. (I've now figured out how this stuff happens!) So, trying to keep up with these guys keeps me off the street.
Here are a couple pictures for your use. The two pictures on the left side show my crewmate, Mark Lee, attached to the orbiter's robot arm. I am flying back toward him (positioned over the tail) while performing one of the flight test maneuvers called "mission suitability." Top right picture shows me performing another part of the test flight called "handling qualities." The bottom right picture shows Mark flying towards the refueling station (i.e. 17000 mph flying gas station) while I work on some electrical and plumbing connections next to the orbiter's thermal radiators.
Take care, As for 'what's up with me and mine' -- attached is also a picture of my three boys and son number 1's fiancée. Yes, 20 years between son number 1 and son number 3 with son number 2 in the middle at 6 yrs old. (I've now figured out how this stuff happens!) So, trying to keep up with these guys keeps me off the street.
Here's a picture of my wife, Celyna, and sons Jacob (age six yrs) and Michael (age 6 wks).
Number one son is named David and his fiancée is Anna--(we're lucky, she's great!) We've moved from Palmdale to Santa Clarita (both in the southern CA area) after I left the Lockheed Skunk Works for Northrop Grumman. (yes, still working--is there ever an end?) And finally, no clarinet lately--although my dad thought I should work my way through astronaut school playing the clarinet!
Hope all is well with you, Carl carl.meade@ngc.com
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