Classic

By Mark W. Danielson

Classic.  A great word suggesting timeless quality.  It used to describe boats, airplanes, cars, art, music, even dance moves and golf swings may fall into this category.  Why?  Because masterpieces in every form appreciatively draw us in.  Of course, exactly who determines what is considered “classic” remains to be seen. 

I have seen and owned plenty of beautiful things over the years, but not everything should be considered classic.  Back in 1971, the blue 1965 Corvette I owned with two tops and a 396 engine was nothing more than a gas guzzling hot rod.  Even then I found it interesting that Road and Track magazine could not find a single original owner of a ’65 396 Vette.  Sadly, I found out why when the car died the day I brought it home.  Yes, folks, when it came to reliability, the 396 Corvette was among the worst.  A few months later I sold it on a prayer for $1,300.00, unaware that this same car would later be worth over $120,000.00 because it’s now a classic.  (I’d write a story about missed opportunities except we’ve all been there before.)

As a military pilot from 1975-95, I spent a lot of time flying F-4 Phantoms and A-4 Skyhawks.  Now these workhorses-turned-classic fighters sit aboard museums such as the USS Lexington – the ship I carrier qualified on – awaiting visitors so they can relive their glory days.  Suddenly, I feel old.   

One of present my cars is a 1987 that some consider classic.  That’s just not right!  After all, 1987 is like yesterday!  And then a visit to an antique store turned up far too many items that came from my childhood.  For whatever reason, these toasters, toys, posters, are now in high demand.  Mom, why did you give away my Tonka trucks and train set?  I could be rich, had I been able to warehouse all of these things. 

What’s particularly disturbing is how classy people will never be considered classic.  Instead, as their faces fall and waistlines expand, they simply get OLD.  Think about those labels -- classic versus old.  No wonder elderly folks get grumpy!  The mirror makes them old.  Inside they are knowledgeable teens!

Clearly, aging is the price of being mortal, but nothing says we can’t leave classic work behind.  Consider taking that approach in your writing, and remember there is no age or term limit for authors.  Carefully crafted words may lead to masterpieces, but remember to enjoy life along the way.   

Buzz Job

By Mark W. Danielson

They say one photo is worth a thousand words. This one can stir many or be limited to a couple. (As in Holy Sh . .!) My buddy recently sent me this photo of an F-4 doing a low pass over a Canadian lake. F-4 Phantoms are long gone from the US inventory, but they were sure fun to fly. It was very interesting to see how this F-4 looked from the boat’s perspective. You see, I made a similar pass over a guy standing in his tiny boat, and when I looked in my mirrors, the boat was empty. After sharing a laugh, my back-seater and I focused on our next turn point. Oh, come on -- it was funny! It was also unplanned. Too many years have passed since that buzz job, so I guess it’s safe to tell my side of the story. (Sure wish I could hear the Filipino’s.)

At the time, I was stationed with the 80th Tactical Fighter Squadron at Kunsan Air Base, Korea, and was operating out of Clark Air Force Base in Luzon, Philippines, for the Cope Thunder “war games”. To understand how this happened, I always flew as if I was going to war, and saw no reason to operate any other way. On this particular day I was the “ground spare”, armed with six inert five-hundred pound bombs and a live 20 mm cannon. The “war” went on without me, but then they decided to let me take off, fly the low level, and drop my bombs on the target airfield -- solo. Very cool.

The sky was overcast with embedded rain showers; typical for the monsoon season. And since wars don’t care about the weather, I flew under the clouds, which got lower the further north I flew. I was comfortable flying at 520 miles per hour at treetop level under a seventy-five foot overcast until the mountainous terrain forced me up to my minimum safe altitude. The interesting thing about flying low and fast is you can see monkeys sitting in trees directly in front of you, but everything to the sides is a blur. That phenomenon is called tunnel vision.

I flew in the clouds navigating by an inertial computer until a hole appeared in front of me. Now over water, I dove for the deck, leveling at fifteen feet on my radar altimeter when directly in front of me was this fisherman standing up in his boat. If you notice in the above photo, the water below the F-4 is disturbed by the air pressure. I’m sure this was the also case with my fly-by. Most likely, the fisherman never heard me coming and was probably blown overboard by this air pressure, or if he heard and saw me, he may have dived overboard. Either way, he got wet. Too bad, so sad. Like I said, it wasn’t planned. Sorry, dude.

The rest of my low level was uneventful. When I arrived at my predetermined point, I pulled the nose up, climbed for a few seconds, then rolled over and pulled the nose around to the target airfield. After checking my dive angle and nose position, I released my bombs, pulled up, and egressed without knowing where the bombs hit. When I got back to base, I heard my bombs cut a nice diagonal through the targeted runway. (Remember, these were cement bombs dropped in a practice area. No one got hurt.) The best part was a peer in my sister squadron witnessed my “glorious” attack. It was truly one of my most memorable flights in the Phantom. Seeing this photo brought it all back.

Now, before you criticize, think about this – do you want fighter pilots who are trained to deliver ordnance in wartime, or pilots that fly at unrealistic altitudes and get shot down when they have to face their opponent? I thought so.