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Hey, small world. My dad was a navy (test) pilot stationed up and down the eastern seaboard. Older brother born in Virginia, I was born in Maryland, and younger sis in NJ. NJ is the only place I remember, especially the huckleberries and fireflies and horseshoe crabs. Dad decided to leave the military after a little curfluffle with his C.O. He was told to do a hard landing test of a twin rotor helicopter, and he refused after reviewing the documentation tapes from Sikorsky, which showed that the long front rotors would flex downward upon landing. He refused the order because he knew, in a hard landing (no power) the rotors would bend so far as to cut the tail off. Needless to say, C.O. was not happy, called him a big stupid chicken s**t, and stormed off to do the test himself.
The test did not go well for the C.O. Dad knew military life would not be easy for him after the embarrassing destruction a very expensive piece of equipment. He left to fly commercial, and we moved out to California in 1970. Been here happily ever since. There was always a respect issue for dad since he started as an enlisted man, pipefitter on ship in the Pacific, and worked his way up and through cadet school to become a pilot, flying helicopter support off of carriers (they rescued the pilots who landed in the sea). Every ocean going commander he worked under gave him excellent reviews and he was always squadron leader or training officer or something, because he understood what it was like to be a grunt, and always volunteered for things others would not. On the strong recommendation of one of those commanders, he was assigned one of the coveted spots at the testing center (he didn't ask for it). Some out of the navel academy, with their college educations and well connected families, who never pulled any but the cushiest of duties, thought him to be an inferior and undeserving sort. Classism in the military! Who'd a thunk it?! Well, in the end he showed them who knew his stuff, but retribution would have been long and unpleasant when really all you're supposed to say is "yes sir."
And so ends this brief biographical interlude. Back to our regularly scheduled programming.