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GROWING UP

“CADILLAC OF THE SKIES!”: THE P-51 LVR

July 18, 2014
FAVORITES, GROWING UP, PEOPLE

BY: JAMES F. O’NEIL

“The P-51 Mustang is arguably the world’s most famous fighter of all time.” —

The 1987 movie Empire of the Sun contains a scene with the very young Christian Bale shouting “Cadillac of the Skies!” as a flight of P-51 Mustangs comes shattering the quiet over the prisoner of war camp. A dramatic scene, to say the least, as part of the film’s story.

empire of the sun 1987EMPIRE OF THE SUN POSTER 1987

Well, the Mustangs are not Cadillacs, but are “actually” Rolls Royces…. (Well, a Packard-Merlin copy of the Rolls Royce engine. There. That’s for history.)

A Merlin Engine Aptly namedRolls Royce Merlin Engine: Tangmere, UK 

In 2004, I began to be a Collector of Mustangs. Not literally. I had entered a second childhood/youth-hood, complete with books, Internet writings and pictures, and lists and statistics about the plane, the P-51. No baseball cards this time; no “Red Menace” cards I collected in the 1950s; no SSI (Shoulder Sleeve Insignia) of various USAAF and US Army forces and divisions as I had done for my Boys Scout merit badge days; no comic books, model kits, nor coins for sorting and collecting.  

My collecting days, beginning with those desires to have a collection of something “way back then,” were never as involved with or as enthusiastic over any item as has been my interest in this particular airplane. I cannot explain it either. It just happened that way.

Originally, when I started this airplane “addiction,” or passion, for whatever the inexplicable reason, I had not any particular make or model in mind. I knew I wanted to read about and find information on The Flying Tigers for sure.

Flying TigersFlying Tiger Insignia

When I was in sixth grade, I became a babysitter for a neighbor down the street in Chicago. The husband and wife heard I was a reliable kid with a paper route. They had a small boy who needed an occasional sitter. I was asked over “for an interview” and hired. It was a great weekend job, putting a little guy to bed on a Saturday night–though my early Sunday morning paper route had to be taken into account.

While sitting in the quiet during those times, I read the classics about medieval knights and adventure stories and Hardy Boys books (like The Tower Treasure or While the Clocked Ticked. Those books written in 1927 seem so old now; but in the early 50s, they were “current,” less than 25 years old. By comparison, the first Harry Potter novel was written in 1997….)

And that was that–almost. I was babysitting for an original World War II Flying Tiger.

John Farrell, boyington,croftFlying Tiger John Farrell

I heard few of his stories, but did see his jacket and pictures, medals and insignia. It was the inception, I am convinced, of my innermost love of things flyable, of WWII stories, Flying Tigers, Seabees, Iwo Jima and John Wayne, and more and more and more.

Then… “Grow up!” Well, not quite like that. But there was high school (and reading stories about pilots), and college (and reading about pilots and WWII, or William Shire’s The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich, instead of studying my philosophy assignments). And so on…and on….

2004. Indeed. I never gave up on any of the topics or stories that intervened from then until what started in 2004. I had an opportunity to re-channel, and started collecting.

Plastic, diecast, sizes, pilots, fighter groups–too much to collect without a Plan. I made a Divine Plan for Collecting Airplanes. Many times, the plan changed, kept changing–until I could focus, and that I did.

I always did “like” the “Cadillac of the Skies.” (Even the Flying Tigers gave up their shark-mouthed P-40s and transitioned to flying P-51 Mustangs.) I began my “serious” love affair, as much as I could, with this special, well-known fighter plane.

P-51 LVR License Plate croppedP-51 LVR Florida Plate 

There you have it. I have not ridden in one; I have been up close and personal, however–and have known and visited with WWII pilots and even have some autographs and books signed (typical “love-affair,” groupie-fan activities).

Punchy Powell MustangCapt. Robert Powell 

I have been to air shows on a limited basis, and to the right museums housing beautiful examples.

Ina the Macon Belle at Fantasy of Flight in FloridIna the Macon Belle at Fantasy of Flight: Florida

In addition to an in-cockpit flight film I have that puts me in the seat, I have been thrilled by a few movies for Mustang Lovers: Red Tails, The Tuskegee Airmen, Saving Private Ryan, Hart’s War, and, of course, Empire of the Sun. In the latter, Steven Spielberg used restored P-51s to portray the era accurately. Most effective.

Collecting can be fun, yet dangerous if time and money are taken from family duties and obligations, or from a person’s “normal” behavior. I have tried to be balanced and ordered in what I do: How many books can one have about a topic? Or models? Or…well, however many are needed. And there’s the rub. Want vs Need. I remember from King Lear: “Reason not the need.” I’ve tried that one too many times.

I think I am doing all right, learning from my childhood ways–and errors. But mostly my memories of past hobbies and collections are all good. My comic book collection was lost in a flooded basement. Coin collecting became too expensive for me as prices of metals rose. I still am animated when I see a beautiful new FOREVER stamp. But not enough to fill a postage album anymore. Downsizing living space has made my model collection very selective. I do not want a collection I cannot see, or touch. I am funny that way.

So that is how I came to this place in time and space, having a collection, loving to collect, and having a favorite special object from the past that continues to give me pleasure, physical and intellectual. I love the P-51 Mustang!

© James F. O’Neil 2014

Mustang LoverMustang Lover: Fort Myers, FL, Aviation Day, 2007

DAD TEACHES DRIVING 101

May 20, 2014
GROWING UP, PEOPLE

BY: JAMES F. O’NEIL

“Traffic lights, also known as traffic signals, traffic lamps, signal lights, stop lights–and also known technically as traffic control signals–are signaling devices positioned at road intersections, pedestrian crossings, and other locations to control competing flows of traffic. (Traffic lights were first installed in 1868 in London and are now used all over the world.)

Traffic lights alternate the right of way accorded to road users by displaying lights of a standard color (RED, YELLOW, and GREEN) following a universal color code. In the typical sequence of color phases:

           the GREEN light allows traffic to proceed in the direction denoted, if it is safe to do so; the YELLOW light denoting prepare to stop short of the intersection, if it is safe to do so; the RED signal prohibits any traffic from proceeding.” [Wikipedia]

Traffic Signal: Utica, NY (CREDIT: P.BASE.COM)

“What kinds of things do you remember most about your dad? Some little stories or anecdotes? A memory of the past, something that you do that always brings an image that is so vivid it’s like he’s there with you when you do it?”

“He taught me how to drive and be a good driver. He taught me to play the lights.”

“He is with me every time I am driving where there are stop lights in a row: down a busy street–not the interstate. I still do this. He taught me about traffic lights–and their time and speed and distance–long before computerized traffic signals.

I watch my speed, see the lights ahead of me, guess when they might change, see the Walk/No Walk signs for pedestrians–and how much time they have, and I have. This requires good eyes and good judgment. Concentration. Paying attention.

In Chicago, when I drove my mom to work, being able to go from Halstead and 55th to Downtown at the Federal Reserve Bank without having to stop for lights was a feat. Possible. Do-able. I still “play the lights” on certain streets where I live now. Even after all these years. I have to be conscious of traffic and timing. And he’s there with me.

Oh, he also taught me to be a great parallel parker, a skill not often required these days. And to back up using only mirrors (though I wasn’t so good with my mail truck in 1962, breaking off a mirror when I hit the truck next to me).

And to be a good left-turn-er (“Never make a left when you can make a right.”).

traffic-signalLEFT TURN SIGNAL?

I also have to stay between the lines: he hated when I drifted on Garfield Boulevard. This was the hardest part for him to teach me: “WATCHIT! DON’T DRIFT!”

My current driver’s license [still] has Safe Driver affixed to it–a trait I owe to my dad. 

©  James F. O’Neil 2014

“You are what you were. If you have no past, you have no future.” –Anon. 1991

“YOUR MOTHER IS NOT GOD!” “SHE’S NOT?”

May 9, 2014
EVENTS, GROWING UP, MEMOIRS, PEOPLE
5 Comments

BY: JAMES F. O’NEIL

MOTHERS’ DAY: The current holiday was created in 1908 as a day to honor one’s mother. President Woodrow Wilson made the day an official national holiday in 1914.

* * *

Examination question:

“Who is the person you most admired from your childhood?”

* * *

“It must be true. My mother said so.”

Yes, that worked for me for many years, with my pop psychology, my religion of motherolatry. I thought it was true: My mother was all-powerful, all knowing, all loving, and all wise–seeing all. M-O-M = G-O-D.

Then it happened: 9th grade for sure. World History. Discussion question about . . . and my answer: “My mother said so.” And the teacher’s response: “Your mother is not God!”

NO?

How could I have been so naive? How did I ever make it into high school believing that my mother had the VERUM VERBUM, the true word?

true wordNo, it is not true; I didn’t believe that . . . so late in the Game of Life. But when did I stop believing? When did I come to that realization the Game was changing? That I had to learn for myself?

Somewhere, sometime, I said, “NO!” to Mom-God. There I was, probably shaking while or after the words came from my mouth. My Act of Rebellion.

out with the old by miss cherylAnd so it goes in the Game of Life, as we grow through adolescence into adulthood (which my pop-psychology taught me. Or was that Gail Sheehy: Tryout Twenties, Turbulent Thirties, Flourishing Forties, Flaming Fifties, Serene Sixties?).

 * * *

Examination question:

“List FIVE traits, characteristics, or attributes of your mother and write about them.”

[Optional essay question.]

* * *

I cannot imagine not having a mother, losing her to disease [Steel Magnolias], in a car accident [Raising Helen], in childbirth [The Sign], to a hunter’s bullet [Bambi], or to the many other awful things that happen to mothers before their children know them. “I lost my mother when I was five.” “I don’t remember my mother.” “My mother died of cancer, when I was seventeen.” “My mom never came home from the party.”

And on it went, as I read essay after essay, year after year, for over twenty years. This question was my choice. I wanted my students to do personal narratives by which they could express themselves–and do their best writing–I hoped.

As the semesters ended, I turned to my readings. Often tired, I usually would become pensive while reading. I tried to be an objective reader, weighing the writing against the grading standards. Yet so often I was sucked into the story being told. I think I am like Miss Lonelyhearts [by Nathaniel West], encountering sad story after sad story, truth stranger than fiction. I could not help it.

Essays ranged from the “My mother took care of me when I was sick” to “My mom had it rough raising the nine of us with no father…or with a druggie father…or with an alcoholic father…or with a___ father.” [How did she manage?]

While I was drifting off, and away from the papers, my own questions, my own answers snuck in: How did my mother manage to sleep, work nights (mostly), raise the four of us, and keep up with the household duties–and be a wife, too?

Doing the dishes was the job that fell to my sister, Janice, and me. We learned–and were outstanding dish-doers. “Glasses, knives, and forks. Dishes, pots, and pans.” That was The Sacred Order. That’s the way I learned, from Mom. [Trait One: MANAGER]

Years before (maybe when in 9th grade?) as I was washing coffee cups after supper, I reached into the soapy water, reaching after a cup that slipped from my soapy left hand. My hand went automatically to retrieve the cup, but the broken cup sliced into the fingers of my left hand. Blood in the water. Panic from the immediate intense pain, cut-in-soap. My sister screaming for, of course, “M-O-M!” [Trait Two: NURSE]

“Mom, can you read my story before you go to work?” [Trait Three: GRAMMARIAN] ‘Nuff said.

grammarian amazon

Mothers cheer us on: “You can do it. Go ahead! Go ahead!” I remember vividly, her feeling good on a warm Saturday evening in Chicago. She had just ridden the (used) small bicycle bought for me. I ran alongside her with glee. At the corner, she turned around, giving me the bike. My turn. My first two-wheeler.

“You can do it. Try again,” I heard as I tried to gain balance, but fell into the bushes. Getting up, scratched arms be damned!, I tried again. Her laughing encouragement behind me grew as I cycled away from her. At the end of the sidewalk, near the alley, I stopped (applying the brakes expertly), then fell over–and off. I turned back to see my mom waiting at the end of the street. I rode to her. “Expertly,” of course. Yeah, wobbling from side to side, houses’ steps and bushes on the right, grass-curb-city street on the left. I pedaled the gauntlet. To Mom. [Trait Four: CYCLIST TRAINER]

50s bicycle liveauctioneers50s BICYCLE (CREDIT: LIVEAUCTIONEERS)

“What do you think I should do?”

If there is one question I ask, probably more than any other, it is “What do you think I should do?” My kids do it. My wife does it. We all do it.

Looking over my Early Asking Age to now, I realize this has to be The Ultimate Question: each of us is a Grand Inquisitor. We seek answers. I seek (and sought) answers. However, the answers that come from “What do you think I should do?”, though not unique to kids asking moms, make us Deciders. For the answer usually is, “You’ll have to decide.” It means, “You’ll have to make up your own mind–and live with it.” This is not cold, harsh, cruel, but is concerning, caring, and–when I think more about it–allowing the Inquisitor to grow and live. Therefore, we talk and discuss and ask: “What should we do?”

Yes, just like a mom, she said, “Yes, you’ll have to decide.” Just as I expected, not unexpected. [Trait Five: NON-DECIDER/DECIDER]

Good move, for, as we all know so well, not just Mother Nature, but “Mother knows best” (often).

So I would search student essays for goodness and admiration, stories that demonstrated “goodness” and “admiration.” “All the good” moms do . . . “is oft interred with their bones.”

NO! The good DOES live after them. I CAN recall the good times, the admired times; memories of the hard times, the rough times; illnesses, job layoffs, or . . . .”

Too, from Trait Five, I learned: to be able to reach decisions, come to conclusions, after rational thought, not impulse thoughts, but rather, like a good Indiana Jones Crusader, to choose wisely.

 So, “The person I most admire from childhood . . . .”

 © James F. O’Neil   2014

* * *

 ~Irish Proverb: “A man loves his sweetheart the most, his wife the best, but his mother the longest.”

 happy-mothers-day shlomoandvitos.com(CREDIT: shlomoandvitos.com)