Police Brutality

I don't get it! Police brutality was recorded on video, not only in Minneapolis but elsewhere. Although police brutality has been reported many times before, this time in conjunction with the effects of the virus pandemic and the general divisive air in America, it has resulted in massive demonstrations. While looting and willful destruction of property are to be condemned, peaceful protests against racism and police brutality should not be countered with draconian measures. The first reaction by a police department, accused of brutality by some of its officers, is to ameliorate the circumstances, that is, to downplay the incident and defend the perpetrators. Only after visual evidence of police transgressions is presented, are some halfhearted actions taken. One would think the police in general would be concerned about their image and be especially cautious after charges of police brutality – not so. The actions in New York City, Buffalo and Washington, where peaceful demonstrators were ruffed up, seriously injured, and frightened by low flying helicopters, is the norm even if individual police officials hold hands or kneel with demonstrators.

Do we need to rethink our guidelines for recruiting and training our police forces or is the problem a bigger one? Is the aim of the federal government under the leadership of the current president akin to that of Pope Innocence III who in 1209 tried to eliminated heretics in the town of Berziers in southern France. When asked how to tell Catholics from heretics, the Papal legate supposedly replied, "Kill them all, for the Lord knoweth them that are His."

South Sudan and the Burning of the Castle

Two events caused me to think more than usual the other day.

Early that morning I read that the southern part of Sudan had become a separate nation after years of strife between the northern part and the southern part. South Sudan, the 54th sovereign state in Africa and the world's youngest country also is one of its poorest. According to UN officials it has the world's highest mortality rate for women during child birth.

Late that evening I attended the fireworks display put on several times each summer, mainly for tourists, by the city of Heidelberg, Germany. It is a spectacular display and commemorates the burning of the castle by the French in the late 17th century. At least that is the official label given the fireworks, designed to couple the tourist trade with history. The “uhs” and “ahs” around us in several languages showed that the attraction was fulfilling its mission of attracting tourists.

I have seen the fireworks many times and each time they remind me of war. I hear booming of cannons, I see rockets streaking into the sky after some unseen enemy, and I see explosions sending shrapnel in all directions into the sky. This year for the first time I saw fireworks being fired horizontally from the Old Bridge out over the river. It looked like machine guns firing tracer ammunition which then ended up in fire-spewing fountains on the surface of the water as if some small ships had been set on fire.

At that point I remembered South Sudan. For this tourist attraction, city streets were closed to traffic by police, all public transportation in the viewing area was halted, emergency vehicles and personnel were stationed at strategic locations. I cannot estimate the cost of these ancillary preparations. Then, of course, there is the cost of the fireworks display itself. Again, I cannot estimate it, but I have a feeling that one could build a modest hospital in South Sudan or at least provide medicines or other useful services for what it costs to put up such a fireworks display. I for one would gladly forgo one or two of the annual “burnings of the castle.”

The Bird

As I was sitting on my terrace one evening I watched a medium-sized black bird with an orange beak as he hopped across the lawn. He hopped a couple of times, stopped, seemed to listen, look around and then hopped on again. Sometimes, between hops, he would peck at something on the ground.

Watching him made me wonder how that bird sees his world. Birds have keen eyesight and undoubtedly he knows who his immediate enemies are. But, what about humans? Does he know what we are? Are we just obstacles in his search for food or nest-making materials? Does he see us as monsters that are slow and predictable and therefore are not an immediate danger to him?

I tried to entice the bird to come perch on my finger by imitating his whistle as best I could - no luck. I know that the whistle wasn't perfect, but I was hoping that it would be close enough to at least get a reaction out of the bird. I don't know what I would have done with him anyway, I guess I was trying to show him that he had nothing to fear from me.

Without bird-in-hand I continued my philosophizing. For instance: Does this bird have any concept of time, does he care about yesterday or about tomorrow? How does he see his life as a whole - if at all?

Sometimes I envy the birds I see crossing the lawn or the sky above it. They seem to be living for the moment - the flight, or the worm on the ground. They don't seem to be burdened with scruples, regrets, memories, plans for the future, or with thoughts about growing old.

Sometimes I wish I were a bird.

Waiting for Death

I'm not depressed. But, it occurred to me that I spend most of my time waiting for something: something to happen, something to begin, something to end, something to change, etc.

As a child I waited for First Grade to start. Then, as I was going to school, each day I waited for the bell that ended the school day. I waited for school to end in the summer. I waited for test results and report cards. I waited for graduation to come around. Life in the military has been described as "hurry up and wait." I spent over 20 years "hurrying up and waiting." I have waited for promotions, paydays, results of medical examinations, the day on which I would return home from an assignment, a shift to end, happy hour to start, and TGIF to roll around. I have waited for children and grandchildren to be born, for the dog to be housebroken, or the garbage collector's strike to end. I waited for the car to be serviced, the telephone or the cable man to arrive.

I waited for retirement. Now, every day I wait for the coffee to finish brewing, the mailman to come, the newspaper to be delivered, lunch and supper to be served, happy hour to start, and TGIF to roll around. Although, if you don't have to go to work, both happy hour and TGIF lose much of their meaning - during retirement it is never quitting time nor do you ever get a day off.

I'm not depressed, I'm just thinking about what all this waiting for something to happen means. If you look at it from a different level, am I not just waiting for death?

The Longest Mile

As I was digging around in some old essays I wrote I came across this one that I wrote in October 1983. I never shared it with anyone until today. Here it is, for whatever it is worth...

As the crow flies, it is roughly one mile from Detachment 3, 7th Weather Squadron on the Heidelberg Army Airfield to Headquarters, 7th Weather Squadron at Campbell Barracks, Heidelberg, Germany. In the early 1960s the squadron headquarters seemed far way from Detachment 3. As it turned out in my case, it was a considerable distance. When I arrived at Headquarters 7th Weather Squadron in 1980, it had been almost 16 years since I had left the detachment at the Heidelberg Army Airfield. In that sense it was the "longest" mile I ever traveled.

Because I will be leaving Air Weather Service soon, I am tempted to do some reminiscing about what has happened to the US Air Force, Air Weather Service, and me during the last 20-odd years.

It is hard to believe that 22 years, 7 months, and 16 days will have gone by since that dreary late winter morning in 1961 on which I took the train from New London to New Haven, Connecticut, to take the oath of enlistment in the US Air Force. At the time it only seemed to be the start of another adventure, I didn't dream that that enlistment ceremony would be the start of a rewarding career in blue for me.

Visions of becoming a fighter pilot, Steve Canyon-style, danced in my head as I began my first four years in the Air Force. Those visions were quickly and rudely dispelled by the realities of basic training. The Aviation Cadet training area (although also on Lackland Air Force Base and still operating) was not "...just a hop, skip, and jump from basic training..." as the recruiter had indicated to me! There were only two ways to leave basic training: Wash out or graduate. "Hopping, skipping or jumping" over to become an aviation cadet was not one of the choices. But, as it turned out later, not getting into flying was not such a bad deal after all.

By pure coincidence I was assigned to go to weather observer technical school after basic training. My first permanent station was overseas in Heidelberg, Germany at Detachment 3, 7th Weather Squadron, at the Heidelberg Army Airfield.

A lot has happened since that day in 1961, not only to me, but to the Air Force, and Air Weather Service as well. Most of the changes were good, some of them not so good. Some changes were reversed again as time went by and when new requirements became known.

It has often been said that the world moves in cycles, and in a sense, so does the Air Force and Air Weather Service. In some respects I am reminded of a non-stop movie that plays over and over and the viewer leaves when the part that he or she has already seen comes up again

Here are some examples. In the early 1960s Air Weather Service had a lot of Representative Observation Sites (ROS). But, because of money and manpower constraints, many, if not most, of the ROSs were eliminated. Lately we have been seeing more and more ROSs being reestablished. Also, in the early 1960s the Air Force made a big splash with the 5BX physical fitness program that was modified and largely abandoned. Lately, another physical fit­ness program that strikes me as being destined to go the same way as the 5BX has been publicized.

Then we eliminated a lot of units here and there and some squadrons and wings. Some of my last actions at 7th Weather Squadron involved preparations for reactivating some of the units closed earlier. I understand that times, requirements, and the availability of resources change - nevertheless, this is where I came in.

Not all the innovations we have seen in the last 20 years have been transient. Some very good and lasting programs were initiated. One was the Airman Education and Commissioning Program, of which a lot of us availed ourselves. Also, there were the many improvements made in the living conditions and benefits for junior airmen and families. No one wants to see those changes reversed. Then there were the many improvements in the quality, style, and ease of main­tenance of the uniforms. How many remember the old 1505s? Or even the bush jacket, the pith helmet, and shorts?

But all the good programs in the world don't make a system work, people make it work. That is where Air Weather Service always seemed to have been very fortunate - with its people. Sometimes I wonder where they are now and what they're doing, those comrades from earlier assignments, especially from that first permanent assign­ment to Detachment 3, 7th Weather Squadron. Where are you Bob Holland, Brian "Abe" Severin, Harry "Honeybear" Podhora, Willy Stoddard, Doug Atkinson. Some have left Air Weather Service and some have left the Air Force. Others such as Roger Seyfert and John Taylor, whom I knew briefly then, are still around.

So, as my Air Weather Service career comes to a close, I look back with only fond memories. I started my career at the Heidelberg Army Airfield and I'm ending it at Headquarters, 7th Weather Squadron, barely a mile from where I started. But while traveling that mile, Air Weather Service and the US Air Force have been good to me. They have made me what I am, given me all that I have. They took a college dropout and gave him the opportunity to earn a bachelors degree, a commission, two masters degrees, and best of all, some lasting friendships and fond memories.

Now it is time to move on and to say "so long" to Air Weather Service and the US Air Force. It is a dreary October day in 1983, almost like the day in March 1961. It is a good time to remember...

Am I Being Too Hasty?

Last week we had a visit by our daughter and her family. They brought along their two dogs - an old one and a young one. The old dog has had a tough life. Our daughter adopted Jessie from an animal shelter. It appears that prior to coming into our daughter’s life, Jessie had been misused and perhaps abandoned, had been hit by a car which damaged her hip or hind legs or both. The injury never healed properly, probably because of lack of care, causing Jessie to limp. Now that she is old the old injury plus age-related joint problems make it almost impossible for Jessie to navigate stairs. She can manage one step, but usually collapses in the process. If there are any more steps, she has to be lifted. I didn’t say so, but I wondered to myself if it wouldn’t be better to put Jessie to sleep to spare her any more suffering…

That reminded me of the two dogs we had in succession in our family. Both were Boxers, one was a male, the other a female. They were part of the family and I still dream of them even though they have been long gone. Koko, the male, was with us from 1976 to 1986 and Kyra, the female, was with us from 1989 to 1999. I was told that a Boxer’s life expectance was between 7 and 10 years. I felt lucky that both of our Boxers made it to the ripe old age of 10 (70 in human years). But when each of them started to become feeble and it appeared that their quality of life had deteriorated to the point where I thought they were suffering I had them put to sleep. Koko had a heart problem and collapsed several times. The veterinarian could not give a definite prognosis - a shot of some medicine might perk him up for a week or so, but would not make him well. For the last visit to the vet I had to physically drag Koko out from behind some bushes. I had the impression that he went in there to die. Kyra developed a lump in her throat which was variously diagnosed as a tumor and then again as a sore throat. She became weak because she could not eat and the prognosis again was not good for the long term…

A couple of weeks ago I had a tree expert come and examine the trees on our property where we have a summer cottage. The cottage is near the ocean and sometimes the wind blows pretty strongly. I had been concerned about these old trees for some years, especially one that, if blown over, could fall squarely unto the cottage, causing (in my estimation) irreparable damage. The tree expert suggested trimming some of the branches out of most of the trees to let the air pass through more freely - as he put it. He agreed with me that the tree which I had in my sights might damage the cottage some day. It was dying he said, it seemed to be partially hollow near the top where birds had pecked holes into the trunk, it had apparently been damaged at the bottom by a construction vehicle some time ago and ants had settled in the break in the trunk. He never said that the tree had to go, but whatever he said reinforced my desire to eliminate it. The tree was felled. I had a slice of the trunk cut so that I could count the rings and determine how old the tree was. I counted 60 rings - a ripe old age - time to come down, I thought. But the trunk didn’t seem as ant riddled or hollow as I wanted to believe…

My friend and I are approaching age 70! Am I being too hasty?