Friday, June 30, 2017

TheList 4490

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The List 4490


To All,
I hope that you all have a great weekend. Some repeats for fun reading and no political stuff except for the one from Dutch R. below on parking.
Regards,
Skip
This Day In Naval History - June 30
1815 - USS Peacock takes HMS Nautilus, last action of the War of 1812
1943 - Third Fleet Amphibious Force lands troops on Rendova Island while naval gunfire silences Japanese artillery
1951 - Naval Administration of Marianas ends
1951: A group of stranded Japanese soldiers who refuse to believe World War II ended in 1945, surrender to Lt. Cmdr. James B. Johnson, USS Cocopa (ATF 101) on Anatahan Island in the northern Marianas
2016 The passing of RADM Paul Gillcrist
 
 
This Day In Naval History - July 1
1797 - Naval Regulations passed by Congress
1800 - First convoy duty; USS Essex escorts convoy of merchant ships from East Indies to U.S.
1801 - U.S. squadron under Commodore Dale enters Mediterranean to strike Barbary Pirates
1850 - Naval School at Annapolis renamed Naval Academy
1851 - Naval Academy adopts four year course of study
1911 - Trial of first Navy aircraft, Curtiss A-1. The designer, Glenn Curtiss, makes first flight in Navy's first aircraft, A-1, at Lake Keuka, NY, then prepares LT Theodore G. Ellyson, the first naval aviator, for his two solo flights in A-1.
1914 - Prohibition of alcohol begins in the Navy
1916 - Establishment of informal school for officers assigned to submarines at New London, CT
1918 - USS Covington hit without warning by two torpedoes from German Submarine U-86 and sank the next day
1946 - 1st of 2 detonations, Operation Crossroads nuclear test
1951 - Responsibility for the Government of Trust Territories transferred from Navy to Department of Interior.
1972 - Date of rank of Rear Admiral Samuel Lee Gravely, Jr., who was first U.S. Navy Admiral of African-American descent.
 
This Day In Naval History - July 2
1923 - Commissioning of Naval Research Laboratory, Washington, DC.
1926 - Distinguished Flying Cross authorized by Congress.
1937 - Amelia Earhart disappears in Pacific. Navy conducts extensive unsuccessful search
1945 - USS Barb (SS-220) bombards Japanese installations on Kathy Island, Japan; first successful use of rockets against shore positions.
1946 - Establishment of VX-3 to evaluate adaptability of helicopters to naval purposes.
1950 - USS Juneau and 2 British ships sink 5 of 6 attacking North Korean torpedo boats and gunboats.
1967 - During Operation Bear Claw, Seventh Fleet Amphibious Force conducts helicopter assault 12 miles inland at Con Thien.
 
Today in History June 30
1520
Montezuma II is murdered as Spanish conquistadors flee the Aztec capital of Tenochtitlan during the night.
1857
Charles Dickens reads from A Christmas Carol at St. Martin's Hall in London--his first public reading.
1859
Jean Francois Gravelet aka Emile Blondin, a French daredevil, becomes the first man to walk across Niagara Falls on a tightrope.
1908
A mysterious explosion, possibly the result of a meteorite, levels thousands of trees in the Tunguska region of Siberia with a force approaching twenty megatons.
1934
Adolf Hitler orders the purge of his own party in the "Night of the Long Knives."
1936
Margaret Mitchell's novel, Gone With the Wind, is published.
1948
John Bardeen, Walter Brattain, and William Shockley demonstrate their invention, the transistor, for the first time.
1960
Alfred Hitchcock's film, Psycho, opens.
1971
Three Soviet cosmonauts die when their spacecraft depressurizes during reentry.
 
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Thank you! - every time I drove by it, I wanted to puke -
poor babies..................................
·  Dutch R.
Members of Congress lose their special airport parking lot
Published June 30, 2017
                                                                   
One of the most popular perks for Washington D.C.'s power players has come to an end – members of Congress, Supreme Court justices and certain diplomats on Friday officially lost their parking privileges at Reagan National Airport.
Under new rules that went into effect Friday, a restricted lot that had been available to these officials is now closed.
The special lot had long enabled lawmakers to shave minutes off their trip to Capitol Hill for a crucial roll call vote — or get a head start on flights home for every congressional recess.
Lawmakers are now going home for the July Fourth recess, without their special lot.
Now, those with congressional, Supreme Court and diplomatic plates or placards will have to go to the public parking lots.
The airport is closing the restricted lot as part of a $1 billion expansion project aimed at streamlining the movement of passengers through its terminals.
 
 
Thanks to  Rick
Thoughts worth pondering
This is without question the best advice you are going to get today. Maybe for the year!
Whether we wear a $300 or $30 watch - - - they both tell the same time.
Whether we carry a $300 or $30 wallet/handbag - - - the amount of money inside is the same.
Whether we drink a bottle of $300 or $30 or $3 wine - - - the hangover is the same.
Whether the house we live in is 300 or 3,000 or 30,000 sq. ft. - - - the loneliness is the same.
And we realize our true inner happiness does not come from the material things of this world.
Whether we fly first or economy class, if the plane goes down - - - we go down with it. Whether we fly first or economy class, if the plane reaches its destination - - - everyone arrives at the same time.
Therefore . . . we should realize that when we have mates, buddies and old friends, brothers and sisters, with whom we can chat, laugh, talk, sing, talk about north-south-east-west or heaven and earth -- that is true happiness!
Six Undeniable Facts of Life
1. Don't educate your children to be rich. Educate them to be happy, so when they grow up they will know the value of things, not the price.
2. Best wise words: "Eat your food as your medicines. Otherwise you have to eat medicines as your food."
3. The one who loves you will never leave you because, even if there are 100 reasons to give up, he or she will find one reason to hold on.
4. There is a big difference between a human being and being human. Only a few folks really understand that.
5. You are loved when you are born. You will be loved when you die. In between, you have to manage!
6. If you just want to walk fast, walk alone; but, if you want to walk far, walk together!
Six Best Doctors in the World
1. Sunlight
2. Rest
3. Exercise
4. Diet
5. Self Confidence
6. Friends

And, finally:

The nicest place to be is in someone's thoughts, the safest place to be is in someone's prayers,
and the very best place to be is........in the hands of God.
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Thanks to 'tom
Ever Remember . . When Your Justifible Fear . . Prevented YOUR . . ' Lights From Being Doused ' ?  Cougar Vs. ' Kid ' Bear
CLICK ON :
 
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F-8 40 minute parachute descent
Thanks to Doctor Rich
 
Thanks to YP (Youthly Puresome) - who "stars" in this tale … so an autobiography of sorts … Most Naval Aviators are well familiar w. the Naval Safety Center's Grandpa Pettibone and YP …
 
Notice the common denominator in these two "Peril in the Air" stories is the F-8 Crusader.
 
Hence, this short "there but for the grace of Grong went I" memory:
 
 
YP was rapidly running out of his ejection seat qual, so, wot to do?  Aha!  NAS New Orleans had such a trainer, so YP snagged a Mighty 55-Foot Long Crusader, whose burner goes boom boom and wing goes up and down (or, it's the fuselage that does that, wotever).  Finally one came available late in the day that was not gushing hydraulic fluid; blastoff was achieved and a landing in the darkiness at N'Orlens was jolly enough.  So, two quick cold beers and and a bagout at the BOQ without being et by gators or fanged by slithery things.
 
Rode the ejection seat up the rails, got the required stamps and notations in the log book.  No Muffalata's or oyster Po' boys at the ops grill, but a suitable cheeseburger sufficed.  Time for RTB.
 
Well now then there.  This was back in the wonderful days when a chap could fly VFR below FL 240--no steeking IFR unless it was REALLY crap WX--and so a VFR flight plan back to Navy Dallas was filed.  It was summertime, so some thunderstorms were expected along a cold front out there, said the wx man.  Looking out the window, YP could see wot looked like a solid line of nasties that seemed to extend from roughly Mexico City up to Chicargo.  No sweat, sez YP, my might jet knows no fear, and I won't tell anyone if I have to sneak above FL240.  All the important bits seemed to be attached to the Crusader, so boom boom went the burner and zoom zoom went the jet.
 
It shortly became apparent that the line of TRW's were rather higher than FL 240,  By quite a bit.  No sweat--boom boom went the burner, zoom zoom went the jet.  Seems like the tops were between 50 and 52, 000', with regular peaks up thru that, like a picket fence.
 
Staggering along just out of the clag, YP was aware that this was not good.  To stay out of the clag took occasionally resorting to the burner, which about half the tiime did not light.  Etai, Japanese word for pain!  Nozzles opened, no belch fire, loss of thrust, down into the clags.  Quick outta burner, close the nozzles, pick up some lost smash and hoping not to encounter a hard part of cloud.  
 
Try again on the burner, and, YES!  Regain enough smash to get back on top.
 
Now, YP was also aware he was not wearing a pressure suit.  If his pressurization hiccuped, things would go pear shaped.  There were these lumpy clouds all around.  Even though it was a relatively short flight from N'Orlens to Navy Dallis, and he was way up high, he was using fuel at more than an ordinary rate, due to excessive use of Mr. Burner to save his hiney.
 
Grampa Pettibone was definitely jumping up and down, screaming "Jumpin' Jehosephat!"  Yet once again, YP assured the Big Guy that he would join the Boy's Soprano Chorus at Sunday School if'n he'd hep him just a little, one more time.
 
And, right quickly, he popped out into clear blue skies behind the frontal thunderstorms.  YP slowly retarded the throttle to idle and back an RCH to close the nozzles, and eased out of hyperspace and boiling blood country.  He figgered he could idle descend to practically the Westerly Coast, and would not flame out and look bad before he got home.
 
He even had enough petrol for a Sierra Hotel break back at the Home Patch.
 
Yessssss!  Piece of pie!
 
But sometimes, on the darkest nights when thunderous storms boomed and lightening spat fire, YP would remember the Boy's Soprano Chorus thing.  Someday, when it's sunny, I got to do that.  
 
Grandpa Pettybone just lurked in the background, smiling.
 
He knew the boy.
 
 
YP
 
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And this thanks to Barrett … in case you haven't heard about the amazing survival of an ejection into a fully developed thunderstorm ("The Man Who Rode The Thunder") … also involving the "Last of the Gunfighters", the F-8 Crusader ...
 

A few years before Cliff Judkins' manual bailout during the abortive trans-pac...
 
In the summer of 1959, a pair of F-8 Crusader combat jets were on a routine flight to Beaufort, North Carolina with no particular designs on making history. The late afternoon sunlight glinted from the silver and orange fuselages as the US Marine Corps pilots flew high above the Carolina coast at near the speed of sound. The lead jet was piloted by 39-year-old Lt Col William Rankin, a veteran of both World War 2 and the Korean War. In another Crusader followed his wingman, Lt Herbert Nolan. The pilots were cruising at 47,000 feet to stay above a large, surly-looking column of cumulonimbus cloud which was amassing about a half mile below them, threatening to moisten the officers upon their arrival at the air field.
 
Mere minutes before they were scheduled to begin their descent towards Beaufort, William Rankin heard a decreasingly reassuring series of grinding sounds coming from his aircraft's engine. The airframe shuddered, and most of the indicator needles on his array of cockpit instruments flopped into their fluorescent orange "something is horribly wrong" regions. The engine had stopped cold. As the unpowered aircraft dipped earthward, Lt Col Rankin switched on his Crusader's emergency generator to electrify his radio. "Power failure," Rankin transmitted matter-of-factly to Nolan. "May have to eject."
 
Unable to restart his engine, and struggling to keep his craft from entering a near-supersonic nose dive, Rankin grasped the two emergency eject handles. He was mindful of his extreme altitude, and of the serious discomfort that would accompany the sudden decompression of an ejection; but although he lacked a pressure suit, he knew that his oxygen mask should keep him breathing in the rarefied atmosphere nine miles up. He was also wary of the ominous gray soup of a storm that lurked below; but having previously experienced a bail out amidst enemy fire in Korea, a bit of inclement weather didn't seem all that off-putting. At approximately 6:00pm, Lt Col Rankin concluded that his aircraft was unrecoverable and pulled hard on his eject handles. An explosive charge propelled him from the cockpit into the atmosphere with sufficient force to rip his left glove from his hand, scattering his canopy, pilot seat, and other plane-related debris into the sky. Bill Rankin had spent a fair amount of time skydiving in his career—both premeditated and otherwise—but this particular dive would be unlike any that he or any living person had experienced before.
 
As Rankin plunged toward the earth, licks of lightning darted through the massive, writhing storm cloud below him. Rankin had little attention to spare, however, given the disconcerting circumstances. The extreme cold in the upper atmosphere chilled his extremities, and the sudden change in air pressure had caused a vigorous nosebleed and an agonizing swelling in his abdomen. The discomfort was so extreme that he wondered whether the decompression effects would kill him before he reached the ground.
 
As the wind roared in his ears, he gasped up oxygen from his emergency breathing apparatus while resisting the urge to pull his parachute's rip cord; its built-in barometer was designed to auto-deploy the parachute at a safe breathing altitude, and his supply of emergency oxygen was limited. Opening the chute early would prolong his descent and might result in death due to asphyxiation or hypothermia. Under normal circumstances one would expect about three and a half minutes of free-fall to reach the breathable altitude of 10,000 feet. The circumstances, however, were not normal.
After falling for a mere 10 seconds, Bill Rankin penetrated the top of the anvil-shaped storm. The dense gray cloud smothered out the summer sun, and the temperature dropped rapidly. In less than a minute the extreme cold and wind began to inflict Rankin's extremities with frostbite; particularly his gloveless left hand. The wind was a cacophony inside his flight helmet. Freezing, injured, and unable to see more than a few feet in the murky cloud, the Lieutenant Colonel mustered all of his will to keep his hand far from the rip cord.
 
After falling through damp darkness for an interminable time, Rankin began to grow concerned that the automatic switch on his parachute had malfunctioned. He felt certain that he had been descending for several minutes, though he was aware that one's sense of time is a fickle thing under such distracting circumstances. He fingered the rip cord anxiously, wondering whether to give it a yank. He'd lost all feeling in his left hand, and his other limbs weren't faring much better. It was then that he felt a sharp and familiar upward tug on his harness—his parachute had deployed. It was too dark to see the chute's canopy above him, but he tugged on the risers and concluded that it had indeed inflated properly. This was a welcome reprieve from the wet-and-windy free-fall.
 
Unfortunately for the impaired pilot, he was nowhere near the 10,000 foot altitude he expected. Strong updrafts in the cell had decreased his terminal velocity substantially, and the volatile storm had triggered his barometric parachute switch prematurely. Bill Rankin was still far from the earth, and he was now dangling helplessly in the belly of an oblivious monstrosity.
 
"I'd see lightning," Rankin would later muse, "Boy, do I remember that lightning. I never exactly heard the thunder; I felt it." Amidst the electrical spectacle, the storm's capricious winds pressed Rankin downward until he encountered the powerful updrafts—the same updrafts that keep hailstones aloft as they accumulate ice—which dragged him and his chute thousands of feet back up into the storm. This dangerous effect is familiar to paragliding enthusiasts, who unaffectionately refer to it as cloud suck. At the apex Rankin caught up with his parachute, causing it to drape over him like a wet blanket and stir worries that he would become entangled with it and drop from the sky at a truly terminal velocity. Again he fell, and again the updrafts yanked him skyward in the darkness. He lost count of how many times this up-and-down cycle repeated. "At one point I got seasick and heaved," he once retold.
 
At times the air was so saturated with suspended water that an intake of breath caused him to sputter and choke. He began to worry about the very strange—but very real—possibility of drowning in the sky. He began to feel his body being peppered by hailstones that were germinating in the pregnant storm cell, adding yet another concern: that the icy shrapnel might shred his fragile silk canopy.
Lt Col Rankin was uncertain how long he had been absorbing abuse when he began to notice that the violence of his undulations was ebbing. He was also beginning to regain some sensation in his numb limbs, indicating that temperatures were warming. And the rain—which had previously been splashing him from every conceivable direction—was now only falling from above.
 
Moments later the moist Marine emerged from the underside of the cumulonimbus cloud amidst a warm summer rain. Below was a flat expanse of North Carolina backcountry, with no immediate signs of civilization. But Rankin's parachute was still functional, and he was just a few hundred feet from the ground, so all seemed relatively well. But the storm had one last parting gift. As Rankin neared the ground a sudden gust of wind whisked him into a thicket. Helpless, he was pushed into the branches of a tree where his parachute became ensnared, and his momentum caused him to plow headfirst into the trunk. Fortunately his flight helmet kept his brain box from taking any serious damage.
 
Bill Rankin removed himself from the troublesome tree and assessed his situation. The time was 6:40pm. Bill's brutalized body had spent around forty minutes bobbing around the area of atmosphere which mountaineers refer to un-fondly as the Death Zone. Applying his Marine training, Rankin started walking in a search pattern until he located a backroad. He stood at the roadside and attempted to flag down the automobiles that occasionally passed, but it took some time to find a passerby bold enough to brake for a soggy, bleeding, bruised, frost-bitten, and vomit-encrusted pilot. Finally an obliging stranger stopped and drove Rankin back to a country store in the nearby town of Ahoskie, NC where he used the phone to summon an ambulance. While he awaited its arrival he took the luxury of slumping to the floor for some much-needed rest.
 
In the aftermath of his ordeal Lt Col William Rankin spent several weeks recovering in the hospital. His injuries were surprisingly minor, however, consisting of superficial frostbite and a touch of decompression shock. He eventually returned to duty, and the following year he chronicled his perilous adventures in a now out-of-print book entitled The Man Who Rode the Thunder.
 
No human before or since Bill Rankin is known to have parachuted through a cumulonimbus tower and lived to tell about it. Lt Col William Henry Rankin passed away on 06 July 2009, almost exactly 50 years after his harrowing and history-making ride on the storm.
 
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Thanks to Walt .. and I'm sure what he flew in Viet Nam will be very apparent … (though I must
admit I've never noticed any 'prominence' in Walt's appearance ….)
 
 
Can I add a verse?
 
While the fighter pilot looks about
His gaze in wonder falls
Beneath the stool of the o'club bar
At the chopper pilot's balls.


Walt Fricke
 
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