Iron Modeler

Category: Places I’ve been and things I’ve seen

  • More Reunion Stories

    Howdy!

    Something I was not aware of before I arrived in town for my class reunion was that the Navy’s newest San Antonio-class amphibious transport dock (LPD), the USS Fort Lauderdale (LPD-28), was in Port Everglades for her commissioning ceremony on the same weekend.  Had I known, I would have tried to visit the port to see what I could see…

    Ft. Lauderdale is, generally speaking, a Navy town.  The Ft. Lauderdale-Hollywood International Airport made a name for itself as NAS Ft. Lauderdale, where naval aviators were trained—one of the most famous was George Herbert Walker Bush, who would later fly TBM Avengers in WWII and become the 41st President of the United States.

    Most of the smaller airports that dot the landscape around Broward, north Dade, and southern Palm Beach Counties were outlying fields, or satellite fields, to NAS Ft. Lauderdale.  The Navy visits every year for Fleet Week, and it was a popular Liberty port.  In the mid-1970’s, the HMS Ark Royal made port for a visit as well, and other navies have visited the city as well.

    Throughout the years, there have been naval vessels named after many cities in Florida and after the State itself, but up until now, the Navy had never named a ship for my hometown.  Initially assigned to a littoral combat ship, the name was reassigned to the LPD in 2016.  The Fort Lauderdale and the next ship, LPD-29 (USS Richard M. McCool, Jr.) are the final Flight 1 ships of the class, and are transitional—the first ships in the class featured large, boxy composite masts, while the last two feature more traditional steel pole masts.

    So, what’s an LPD?  In short, it transports a Marine Corps amphibious landing force.  The ship can carry one Landing Craft, Utility (LCU) or two Landing Craft, Air Cushion (LCAC) amphibious landing craft along with two MV-22 Osprey tiltrotors.  The ship features a well deck from which the landing craft are launched.  The ship also features 2 each 30mm cannon and 2 each Rolling Airframe Missile (RIM-116) air defense missiles. 

    She will call Norfolk, Virginia home—but I imagine she will be no stranger to her home town.

    Bless you, good ship, and all who sail with you.

    And, for those who know me, yes, there are kits available.  They’ll need work to convert them to the proper configuration, but when has that stopped me before?  At some point in time, a 1/350th scale USS Fort Lauderdale will join my kits of the USS Florida and USS Miami in the queue…

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    Last time out, I told you about the fun and excitement there exists when organizing a large event. 

    We were busy.  Aside from our normal reunion committee duties, we were housed off premises.  We shared a nice little airbnb that was quiet and secluded, which was fun.  However, that means that everything we did required driving to one venue or the other.  There were things we needed to do at certain times.  Our schedule looked something like this:

    Thursday: Begin decorating the Friday night venue (we started around 2PM), grab some supper, and move into the house.  By the time we were finished with all that, it was 10:30.  By the time my head hit the pillow, it was close to midnight. 

    Friday:  Up early (6AM).  Finish decorating the Friday venue, go pick up a rental van (we ran a shuttle between the host hotel and the Friday night venue) and a rental car for a classmate, drop a few items off at the hotel, and try to grab a quick lunch.  Go back to the house, clean up, and head out to the Friday night class mixer.  By the time we were back to the house, it was close to 11.

    Saturday:  Up early (6AM).  Return the rental van, decorate the hotel ballroom, return the rental truck, go shopping for a house party (that never happened—it was a great idea, but by that point in the weekend we were all exhausted) and get some lunch.  Back to the house, get dolled up, and head to the reunion for the 5:30 cocktail hour.  We left a little early, but didn’t get to bed until close to midnight.

    Sunday:  Up early (6AM—again).  Pack the bags, load up the car, do the required tasks for the cleaning crew, and close out the house by 10AM. 

    (To be clear, I made the decision to stay "off-campus", as it were–it was by no means a requirement of the job.  So I'm not complaining–only describing.)

    What that means is that any catching up time I had with my friends was limited to the event itself.  And because both the Friday mixer and Saturday reunion encompassed multiple class years, there were a lot of people to see/meet. 

    Remember, too, that I had not seen the majority of these folks for 40 years.  There was so much catching up to do, and far too little time in which to do all of it.  Pictures?  I've seen a lot from everyone else, but I think I took maybe five of my own.

    I managed to spend a few hours with my brother and sister-in-law on Friday night and Sunday morning.  I also managed to meet with a couple of my old IPMS/Flight 19 friends for lunch on Thursday before everything got rolling for the reunion.  Again, far too little time was available.  Even if we had a week-long event, I don’t think there would have been enough time.

    If I got to see you, or if I finally got to meet you, I cherish the time we had together, however long or short that time might have been.  If I missed you, I’m sorry.  If I saw you but seemed dazed, confused, and distracted, well, that goes with the “running the event” territory and again, I apologize…

    A palpable buzz has developed, and I hope it continues—a lot of us reconnected with old friends, and want to continue to get together on a regular basis.  I know I have some ideas on getting together with a few of you before the end of the year.

    Time will tell.
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    One of my classmates who reads this blog on occasion walked up to me at the reunion.  She said, “You barely spoke four words to me in the four years we were in school together.  How did you get to be such a storyteller?  And where did you get your style?”

    There are several components to the answer to the first question.  The first is maturity.  I was the “painfully shy” kid in school, and frankly, I didn’t talk a lot to many of my classmates.  I had to do a lot of “growing up”.  Once I started to break out of my shell, though, I became a little more talkative.  As I said during my Welcome address at the reunion, I was given three minutes.  40 years ago, three minutes for me was an eternity.  These days, I can barely get warmed up in three minutes.

    My other answer to the question is experience.  How can you tell stories if you haven’t experienced the event, or at least know someone who experienced an event?  Most of my stories are based on me—things I’ve done, people I know, places I’ve been.

    As for a style, I have no particular style.  I always liked the way Justin Wilson (the chef, not the racer) always wanted to “tol’ y’all a story”.  But really, I just start typing, and edit as necessary.  You should see some of my first drafts—they’re all over the road.  And because the reunion has been somewhat special to me, I have tended to veer into the “writing for me” territory, i.e., it gets rather personal.  That means I have to re-edit, and that usually means I lose a large swath of my story. 

    The size of my usual blog entries varies.  A lot depends on the subject of the post, and how long it has been since the previous post.  Sometimes I have a lot to say, sometimes it is just to say “Hi!” and let you know I’m still (as the song goes) Alive and Well and Living In…

    As I type this, I am on page 3 of a 1,575 word essay.  At one point, it was closer to 5 pages/2,000 words, but as I said, I had to cut out a lot of the "too personal" items.  Most of my blog posts run around 1,500 words.  In that space, I hope I can adequately tell the story I want to tell.  Sometimes I succeed, other times, not so much.

    Now, when I get a nice juicy research, history, or scale modeling piece under way, that can easily run 3,000 words or more.  In those cases, the extra text is required to cover the topic. 

    Why not give it a whirl?  Everyone has stories they should tell.  Open your word processing program and start to type.  You may need to edit from time to time, but eventually you’ll get the hang of it.

    Let me know how you fare.  And if you really like it, share it…

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    That’s all I have for this installment.  Maybe I’ll tell a few more reunion stories next time.  Hopefully, I’ll have an update on the F-16’s—I finally ordered the paint and supplies I needed on Thursday.  Or, maybe I’ll tell you another Hangar Story.  To paraphrase Mr. Gump, “You never know what you’re going to get”.

    Be good to one another, and, as always, I bid you Peace.

  • Reunion Ramblings, Part One

    Hello, all!

    To quote the late, great Cajun chef, safety engineer, philosopher, and raconteur Justin Wilson, “How y’all are?  I’m so glad for you to see me some more, I ga-ron-tee!”

    I've told you several times about my upcoming high school class reunion.  Well, it happened this past weekend.  I have so many stories, so many memories…

    One development that came about a month or so before the event was that Lisa, our lovely and talented chairperson, elevated me to co-chair.  So I have that going for me.  Which is nice…

    I suppose I’ll cover things in several separate posts.  I’ve started to write a post several times.  However, each time, it started to enter into “writing for me” territory and began to verge on some stuff I wasn't comfortable sharing publicly.  Oh, I’ll probably share them with the individuals involved, but I’ll only share them publicly if they tell me it is okay to do so.  Otherwise, it stays between us as a special memory.  Fair enough?

    I have to say this up front—South Carolina, you should be embarrassed by the absolutely horrible condition of I-95.  If I had to get a urinalysis after the drive down or the drive back, I’m sure there would have been blood in my urine due to the pounding my kidneys took.  Traffic was backed up on my way down around Walterboro—they were patching, yet again, the cracked and broken concrete.  Oh, and it is 20 years beyond the point where it needed to be widened to three lanes each way…just sayin'.

    I won’t even touch on how bad I-26 is between I-95 and where I live.  It is under construction, sure, but what they’re doing now will be obsolete by the time it is finished.

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    The trip was a double dose of “You can’t go home again.”

    I stopped in Daytona Beach for the night last Wednesday—I’ve taken to splitting my trips to South Florida this way, since it breaks up the trip and allows me some time to look around at my “other home town”.  I was last there in 2015 on my way to a trade meeting.  And it was quite different from the previous visit in 2008.  As Florida goes, things don’t stand still for too long before they erect scaffolding, roll bulldozers, and plow whatever it is under—only for a new something to spring up in its place…

    My landmarks are gone.  The Barnes and Noble book store across from the Speedway is gone.  We used to park behind it when we would go to see the Rolex 24 every year.  Replacing it is a sort of shopping village anchored by a Bass Pro Shops.  Across from Turn 4 used to stand a Holiday Inn (later rebranded as a Ramada) with a neat little restaurant, Dr. BJ’s (later a Pizzeria Uno).  I told you about some of this a long time ago.  Well, those are also long gone, replaced by a group of eateries that includes a Bahama Breeze, an IHOP, and a Cheddar’s.  Even the Olive Garden next to the Hampton Inn is gone, replaced by a Houligan’s—I knew about this one, since it was under construction in 2015.  The old Casa Gallardo/Rio Bravo Cantina has been replaced by an Outback Steakhouse.  At least the Hampton—built in the early-mid 1990’s—remained much the same as it was every other time I stayed there…

    I stopped by the Embry-Riddle campus.  As I drove around looking for a Visitor parking spot, I got so turned around that I got lost.  Three times.  I used to call this campus home, but only three structures—the pool, the racquetball court, and one of the original dorms—are the last structures I recognize.  Everything else is long gone, replaced by new structures…

    I finally found a visitor’s spot, went inside the new Student Union (which is a phenomenal structure, but lacks the charm of the old John Paul Riddle University Center, the UC), and obtained a visitor pass.  I was headed to the Alumni Engagement Office.  It is across Clyde Morris Boulevard, next to the ROTC center.  This is another new area of the campus for me, but after a short search, I found the office.  I got a chance to chat with some of the folks there, but was reminded that most of the others were in Oshkosh for the EAA Fly-In.  Oh, well, I did what I wanted to do…

    A short drive around the immediate area made me glad I didn’t live there these days.  It seems Florida is home of the 10-minute traffic light cycle.  I spent a lot of time sitting at red lights…

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    Did I mention that Florida is now Wawa territory?  I didn’t stop in at the Daytona location, but I did stop at one of the Jacksonville and the Ft. Pierce locations.  I’ll have to compare them to the QuickTrip stores that are popping up around here…

    Oh, yeah–Daytona Beach also has a Buc-ee's.  When I drove by, I figured you needed a full tank of gas to drive around in circles until a fuel pump became available.  Interesting concept, and once the new is worn off it ought to be fun to visit.  (For my SC peeps, there's also one on I-95 up towards Florence…)

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    I exchanged text messages with Lisa, who lives nearby, once I left campus.  She had to rent a van to haul a lot of the decorations.  She asked for a cargo van, but got a 16-foot box truck.  I asked if she needed help loading, but she said her husband was almost done and that she would see me the next day in Ft. Lauderdale.  Free to roam, I did a quick trip down to the beach—it is every bit a concrete canyon that Miami is.  Hungry, I was trying to decide whether a visit to The Oyster Pub or Ocean Deck was in order, but after the day’s drive I settled on another Florida favorite, Pollo Tropical.  Chicken and black beans and rice are a nice recharge, especially when the chicken is *that* good.

    The next morning, I had breakfast at the hotel—and I don’t recall Hampton Inn ever doing breakfast like this in the past.  It was good–if they had those killer cinnamon rolls, I would have mistaken it for a Holiday Inn Express.  Eggs, sausage, potatoes, juice, waffles, and danishes were on the menu.  Not too bad.  Some eggs and sausage were enough to hold me until lunch.  After touching base with Lisa, I got back on I-95 South…

    I had not been south of Daytona Beach since 2013.  I already knew what I would see—more construction and houses butting right up to the Interstate.  These stretches of road used to be wide open, nothing to see but the occasional group of cattle grazing.  Now?  All along the highway was nothing but one housing development after another, more examples of the zero lot line neighborhoods that seem to be pervasive throughout Florida.  As I got further south, I realized that my landmarks down there were gone, too…

    I had a lunch date with some friends.  We chose a South Florida standard—Lester’s Diner by the airport in Ft. Lauderdale.  That place is a bit of a time capsule.  The food is still very good, and it wouldn’t be the only time this visit where Lester’s would provide the sustenance…

    As I passed by on the way to Lester's, I noticed that the old Runway 84 had been gutted.  Supposedly, they're updating it and it will re-open.  They had great food back in the day.  Along those same lines, the Pier 66 hotel was likewise an empty shell.  I'm told they hope to reopen in the next year or so.  That's a common theme, too–the hotel where the reunion was centered, the B Ocean Resort, used to be the Yankee Clipper.  Built in 1956, the ownership changes hands–in the 1990's, it was a Sheraton property.  I only experienced the ballroom, but it appears that a good deal of renovation and modernization has taken place.  My friends who stayed there can add their experiences it they wish…

    I had hoped to be able to stop by the airport to see some old friends, but the reunion duties called…

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    I may pick the story up here the next time we meet.  For you tl;dr folks out there, it goes like this:  When you are on an event committee, two things to remember—don’t expect much spare/"me" time, and everything you have planned and scheduled takes at least half again (if not twice) as long as you planned.  But a key point to remember is that you need to organize a great bunch of volunteers to spread the work out among many hands.  All of you who volunteered, I cannot thank you enough.  I know, I know, I thanked you profusely during the reunion, but you earned my undying affection.  You guys and gals rock!

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    Speaking of thanks–I have to once again thank Lisa for planning a surprise for me on Friday evening.  The parties involved know who they are, and they all know how appreciative I am—even though it was a mean, dirty trick.  You almost (almost!) made me cry. 

    To be sure, I did my fair share of laughing and crying over the space of the two days we were all together.  And I'd do it all over again tomorrow.  And the day after that, and the day after that.  I love all you guys, whether I got to spend 10 minutes or 10 seconds with you.  And I missed everyone who, for whatever reason, was not in attendance.   

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    I think I’ve said this before, but for 99% of the people I saw last weekend, it was the first time I saw them in person in at least 40 years.  That’s far too long.  While we can’t have a blowout like we did last week all the time, we can get together individually or in smaller groups.  I know some plans for some gatherings are already afoot, and I hope they pan out.  And in case anyone asks, I am more than happy to lend any assistance I can. 

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    For my usual readers, I don’t have much to report.  The reunion planning and the regular job took up most of my time since I last made a report from the bench/studio (or whatever else you want to call the place where I hack plastic).

    The VTANG F-16’s are still underway.  The two 1/48th scale models are ready for the paint shop—more on that later.  I still need to buy some 5/16” acrylic rod for the one being displayed in flight, and I still need to start working on a base.  This one will call for something more substantial than the EPS foam and basswood sheeting that I’ve been fond of for the last year or so.  I’m thinking plywood, at the very least, with an appropriate veneered edge.  It should be an interesting project-within-a-project. 

    The 1/32nd scale kit has had the panel lines re-scribed on the fuselage and vertical tail.  The wings and horizontals are next on the hit parade, and that shouldn’t take long.  I am debating whether or not I should drop the flaperons and bump the leading edge flaps to the +2° position, the standard configuration for an F-16 on the ground.  Knowing me, I’ll do it, because, well, why not? 

    The rest of the 1/32nd scale kit parts are in various stages of prep/cleaning, and will be installed in short order.  I imagine it won’t be too much longer before it is also ready for finish.

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    As far as the paint hunt goes, the last time we talked about it I was pretty much settled on Tamiya—and will probably still go that way.  But I love the convenience of grabbing a “ready-mix” color off the shelf.  The answer to my particular need, again, is the Mr. Hobby (formerly GSI/Creos, formerly Gunze Sangyo) Aqueous line.  But my attempts to get the H-3XX line in the States has come up empty, and I really don’t feel like paying the freight to get some from overseas.  The current U.S. importer is the former Bluefin Distributors (now Bandai Namco), and it doesn’t appear that they particularly care about the paint end of things.  Unless one of the other distributors (Mega Hobby, Andy’s Hobby HQ, Free Time Hobbies, Douglas Models/Sprue Brothers, the new Squadron, Spraygunner, etc.) decides to step up, it seems we’re stuck.  So, I guess I’ll dash off an order for a few dozen pots of Tamiya acrylics in the next day or so.

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    That’s all I have for now.  Thanks for reading, everyone. 

    If you’re new to the blog, browse around.  As I said a year ago, the original intent was to have a place for all sorts of topics, but I am an airplane and scale model guy.  It’s what I do, it’s what I’ve done since I was a kid.  “Write about what you know”, you are constantly told.  So, it should come as no shock that my little corner of the interwebs is largely skewed towards those topics.  I’m doing better at opening up and writing about other things, so stick around.

    Be good to one another.  As always, I bid you Peace.

  • “I’ll take ‘Potpourri’ for One-Thousand, Alex…”

    Howdy, all…

    Summer has once again reached the Greater Upper Midlands Co-Prosperity Sphere—days are topping out near 100° Fahrenheit, with humidity levels to match.  And it’s been buggy—more so than usual.  Every week, I have to clean out the screen in the primary water filter stage, and every week I come back inside with at least a dozen bites.  Oh, well, it comes with the territory…

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    My 40th High School Class reunion is coming up in a few weeks.  Somehow, I found myself on the committee, and have been volunteered to organize the volunteers.  How that happened, I have no clue—I volunteered my services to be a Facebook moderator, but here I am.  I’m not complaining, mind you.  Planning for this is much like the planning I have done for any number of scale model shows, so I’m walking familiar ground.

    I’m also curious to just how much Ft. Lauderdale has changed since I was last there in 2013.  Nothing is allowed to stand still around there, I know…

    Speaking of change, the reunion will give me a change to stop by the Embry-Riddle campus for a little while.  I’ll be interested to see how much it has changed since 2015, the last time I had time to look around.  I think there are now only three structures on campus that were there when I initially moved into what was known then as Dorm 2 (later named McKay Hall, it was bulldozed in 2019) back in August of 1982.  Everything else exists only in photos and memories…

    The adage “You can’t go home again” echoes in my head.  We’ll see just how true it is…

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    My experiment with Mission Models Paint is over.

    I will say this—I’m sure it is a great product.  However, I have done trial runs several times using their exact materials and procedures.  In each one, things looked good until I tried to apply a water-slide decal.  A few drops of water caused the paint to run, as if it were a watercolor.  I have followed their instructions to a “T”.  I use their primer, their reducer, their paint, their Poly Intermix, their clear coats.  I maintain the recommended pressures and distance from the surface.  I let things dry/cure per their instructions.  And I get the same result every time.  For me, this is too much fussing about. 

    And yeah, I know guys who have tinkered with adding Future, etc., to the mix and have apparently achieved good results, but recent news out of Johnson and Johnson indicated that Future may not be around much longer.  I decided that I have to find a paint that gives near foolproof results without having to chant incantations over the mixing cup every time I use it.

    If you recall, this search for new paint has been going on for a while now—since Testors discontinued Acryl.  I have tried several paints in the meantime, including Vallejo.  Now, once I cracked the code on airbrushing Vallejo, I rather liked it.  However, what I have found is that shelf life on bottles that have been partially used is not great—I can go back to a bottle I used tow projects ago, and it is now thick and stringy—and it is a 50/50 chance that some additional thinner can cure the issue.  Note that I *never* return thinned paint to the main container—I learned this in my Polly-S days.  No, if I have an excess of thinned paint, I save it in a separate bottle or jar. 

    The other issue with Vallejo is color fidelity.  I’m not one of those who waves his Federal Standard fan deck at every paint and criticizes each for the perceived “inaccuracies” they exhibit, but I do want a bottle of paint that claims to match a particular standard to be at least *close* to that color.  Vallejo is very much hit and miss in that respect.  If I have to mix a paint, I’d like to have one that retains usability for a long time, yields a durable film, and intermiscible with other lines. 

    I tried Lifecolor on the Fujimi Sea King.  I liked the way it behaved so much that I bought the colors I will need on my early Air Superiority Blue-painted F-15A.  And it is still in the running for a #2 or #3 tier paint for me.  But availability can be spotty, and it has been known to be temperamental.

    The British Phantoms reacquainted me with the GSI/Creos Aqueous line.  I had used this in the past, and for whatever reason my results were only satisfactory, nothing exemplary about them.  Well, I guess 25 years removed, I’ve allowed some things to seep into my head, and found them to be easy to use this time around.  I’d love to adopt them as my #1.  However, their U.S. importer is BlueFin.  Most every reseller of these paints has the colors from H-1 to H-94 or H-96.  So what’s the hang-up?  The modern colors (modern RAL, BS, and FS colors) are in the H-300 and H-400 range.  It seems that BlueFin either cannot or will not import them.  Indeed, the only US-based online retailer who even shows the 300 and 400 ranges is Scalehobbyist, and they show them as “Coming Soon”.  They’ve shown them as “Coming Soon” for some time now.  HobbyLink Japan doesn’t show them. Some of the UK-based shops list them, but again show them as “out of stock”.  I contacted GSI/Creos, and they say they still make the colors in question, but don’t even list them on their website…

    I looked at the AK Interactive 3rd Gen acrylics and Real Color paint, and may well use some of them.  But I’m also looking for something that I might be able to procure locally if I run out—you know, common colors like black, white, red, yellow, etc.  We have one shop close that carries some of the 3rd Gen line in the gaming colors.  I am not aware of anyone local who carries Real Colors.  So…

    I’ve finally come back around to Tamiya Acrylics.  With the demise of Testors, they seem the likely line to assume the crown.  Most hobby shops stock them.  They have a wide range of colors.  They can be mixed with Tamiya’s new Lacquer Paints, Real Color paints, GSI Aqueous Hobby Colors, and GSI’s Mr. Color line.  They can be thinned with water, isopropyl alcohol, or lacquer thinner.  These features are what make them the choice of a great many modelers around the world.

    The one drawback?   Lack of “spec” colors.  Even more so than any other line, Tamiya does not offer pre-mixed colors that match any of the standards.  But a friend of mine brought up something interesting: Like artists’ colors, Tamiya offers a range of colors that seem to be almost purposefully designed for mixing.  Tamiya themselves offer mixing ratios in their kit instructions.  And really, mixing colors is not alchemy; it is actually rather easy to do. 

    There are several Tamiya mixing charts online.  One of the issues with this is that there are literally a dozen different places to find mixes, and many of them don’t agree with each other.  Now, that’s fine.  Different people have different opinions on the “proper” shade of any given color.  But wouldn’t it be nice if all these recipes could be found in one place?

    Some friends and I are going to try to do just that.  Stay tuned.

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    The latest iteration of the South Carolina Scale Model Mega Show was held on 18 June.  It went well, by most accounts, and the committee will be meeting soon to make some decisions on the next edition.  Again, stay tuned.

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    One of the Mega Show’s special awards was “Old School”.  The eligibility rules were basically this—use any kit you wish, but any added details had to be made from scratch using raw materials (Evergreen styrene sheet and rod, wire, foil, etc.)—no pre-made detail sets could be used.

    At about the same time we announced our award, one of the Hyperscale forums started an Old School Group Build (OSGB).  The moderator on that forum spelled out a bunch of rules—the kit had to be of a certain vintage, the paints used must have been available “back in the day”, hairy stick application was preferred (as opposed to airbrush), etc.  Now, the participants agreed to these rules, and that’s fine.  They can call it “Fred” if they want to—they laid out the rules and agreed to hold to them

    However, I think there is a bit of confusion between “Old School” and “Nostalgia”.  In my mind, the Hyperscale group is hosting a Nostalgia build—each participant builds the same kits as they did back in the day, using the same methods and products.    

    To me, though, “Old School” modeling is a frame of mind that transcends manufacturers, eras, and products.  What we call “old school" today was called “scratchbuilding” back then, and it was the only way to get added details before the advent of photoetched metal, cast metal, cast resin and prefabricated details like wired distributors.

    For instance, I offer up my 1/35th scale AFV Club Wiesel 1/TOW.  I used Evergreen sheet and wire to cobble up an interior.  That’s “old school”.  There are—or were—resin interiors made for the kit, using them would take the “old school” aspect away from the project. 

    I sponsored the Old School award.  I wanted to inspire this generation of modelers to realize that not everything needs to be pre-packaged in order to add it to their models.  I hope the idea stuck with the folks who participated…

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    That’s all I have for this installment.  As always, be good to one another.  Thanks for reading, and I bid you Peace.

  • Adventure in Moving

    Howdy, all!

    You may recognize the header—it was a long-time marketing slogan for the U-Haul truck rental company.  I’ve used them four times, and each one certainly was an adventure.  The most memorable event came 20 years ago…

    We had moved that January, and used a small U-Haul.  Given that I’m a bit of a pack-rat, and given that working at a hobby shop for credit has pluses and minuses, it took several trips in that little truck to move things from one end of the county to the other (plus a load in my pick-up truck, and another in my then-girlfriend’s car).  This one was more a pain in the ass than it was an adventure—I had a lot of stuff, and was moving from a small first-floor apartment to a third floor apartment (with no elevator), so the adventure was more on me than on U-Haul.

    When I had to move again eight months later, I was better prepared for what I would need.  I had pared down a lot of the stuff that I had taking up space, and had given one of the couches away to a neighbor, but I still hedged my bets with a larger truck.  I’d rather have a little unused space than have to decide what to take and what to toss in the dumpster.

    Oh, did I tell you this was happening two weeks after the September 11th attacks?  Yeah, I guess I needed to add that excitement to the trip as well…

    I reserved the truck with a pick-up of Monday, 24 September in the afternoon.  A friend dropped me off.  I went in, and they couldn’t find the reservation until one of the managers, who was covered in grease and soot, came in and told the kid behind the counter where it was.  As I walked out to the truck, the guy covered in dirt told me it had “a little crack in the exhaust manifold”.  Great.  I reminded him that I was travelling nearly 700 miles in this thing, but was assured it was quite sound and could make the trip easily.  Okay, sure, I guess.  My friend left, and told me he would be back the next morning to help me load up.

    I got the truck to the apartment complex, and had to let the resident idiot know that I needed to park by the stairwell, and he that could park his Ford F-whatever, soot spewing, Deep-Stroke-diesel engined, jacked-up-suspension-and-knobby-tired penis substitution somewhere else for one night.

    I spent the rest of the day finishing up with the packing.  Fortunately, we had already figured out that we would be moving in a few months when we moved in, so we left a lot of things in boxes.  The big things that needed to be packed were the kitchen and bedroom.  My girlfriend had already moved her stuff a few months earlier, which also made things a little easier.

    Tuesday was loading day, and getting all that stuff down three flights of stairs was not going to be fun.  Fortunately, my friend helped me get the big stuff downstairs and into the truck without a lot of drama—gravity working for us was a great help, as opposed to when we lugged it all upstairs in February. 

    The rest of the stuff was easy, and I was about home free when I, while carrying a stack of boxes, missed the last step on the last set of stairs and went tumbling to the ground.  I tried to get up, but my right ankle wasn’t having any of that.  My buddy got an ice pack, and after a few minutes I could at least stand and hobble.  We had two loads of stuff left, and we managed to get it all in the truck. 

    I would be staying at my parents’ condo overnight—so I locked the truck, locked the apartment, and drove over to see the folks.  My father, after seeing me hobble about and hearing the story of how I hurt my ankle, rolled his eyes and said “Well, I guess I’ll be driving a truck tomorrow!”  Mom and I knew the act was for show—he would have loved driving that truck, and secretly hoped that I wasn’t able to do so in the morning so that he could.

    I assured him that I would be perfectly able to make the trip—with the ice pack, the ankle felt fine, and there was only a little swelling.  Mom made supper, we sat up and talked about the move, and eventually we retired for the evening.

    As I figured, a night of rest helped my ankle—no swelling, and it felt a little tender but I had no trouble walking on it.  I left an overnight bag at the condo.  I would be leaving my truck at the condo, so Dad drove me to the apartment to pick up the U-Haul.  It was right where I left it, and I did a quick walk around to make sure nobody had done anything stupid.  All was well, so I went back up to the apartment, had one last look around, and left the rental office a note telling them that the lady across the hall would take the couch I left in the living room.  I went to the office and dropped the keys and my final check in the mail slot.  A few minutes later, I was on the road.

    As I drove down the on-ramp on to the Florida Turnpike, I heard a rather loud “thump” as if I had run over something.  I looked in the mirrors and saw nothing, and the truck was running fine.  I thought nothing of it until I turned the AC on and it was blowing warm—it was blowing cold when I picked the truck up on Monday.  Oh, well, I figured that the proverbial 2-55 air conditioning would work…

    I had to stop by the avionics shop to get my tools—I left them there, since it made no sense to haul them down to the apartment only to drive right by the shop the following morning.  I grabbed the tools, loaded them into the U-Haul, and bade my colleagues farewell. 

    I stopped in at the 7-11 I had visited every morning since 1995, got my Diet Coke Super Big Gulp and a few packages of nuts, and bid the guy behind the counter my goodbye.  His nametag said Fred, but I doubt that was his actual name, but he was always very nice to everyone who came into the store.  He was a showman, too.  “Step up and be the best!  A deal is a deal!”—if I heard those words once, I heard them a thousand times.  I often wonder what happened to old Fred…

    I started up and navigated to the Turnpike again and set a course north.  Everything was going well (except it was a bit warm).  At Fort Pierce, I stopped in at Mickey D’s for a “real” breakfast.  I had avoided fast food for a few years, and this was the first fast food I had since I started watching what I ate.  After the breakfast burritos, I remembered why I was glad I quit eating fast food…but it was food.

    At Fort Pierce, I fueled the truck and then made the switch to that great North-South artery known as I-95.  All was well until I was approaching Exit 73, the Melbourne exit.  All of a sudden, a loud “bang!” and a godawful noise started coming from under the hood.  The truck was running a little rough, and there was no smoke or other indications of a catastrophic failure, but it needed to be looked at.

    These were the days before smart phones, so I found a gas station and grabbed the Yellow Pages from the phone booth (remember those?).  Whew—there was a U-Haul facility a mile away.  The truck made one hell of a noise, but I got to the facility and explained my problem.  I was told that they could look at the truck, but if it was unable to travel, I would have to unload it and load my stuff into another truck.  By myself.  Marvelous…

    Fortunately, the problem was a spark plug that blew out of its bore.  Further investigation showed that the AC belt was gone (which explained the noise as I was starting the trip that morning!) and the mechanic had a hunch that the belt slapped the spark plug and damaged it.  I had my doubts about that—I think Joe Greasy Rag who rented me the truck didn’t finish something he was doing.  A new belt, a new set of plugs, and a new set of plug wires, and the U-Haul guys took it around the block.  I signed some papers and I was ready to once again hit the road.  It only delayed the trip by an hour and a half…    

    “Hey, you know there’s an exhaust leak, right?”  It wouldn’t be the last time I heard someone say those words…

    I passed my normal landmarks—Melbourne, Rockledge, Cocoa, Titusville, New Smyrna Beach, and Daytona Beach.  I had driven that stretch of I-95 more times than I could remember between Ft. Lauderdale and Daytona Beach while going to college and later, visiting.  After a fuel stop in Ormond Beach, I took a look around.  This was the last familiar place I would see until I came back for a visit.  As I passed Ormond Beach, I was now driving through places I had last seen in 1982, when we took a vacation trip to New Jersey.  The exits slid by–Flagler Beach, St. Augustine…and then came Jacksonville…

    I had planned to pass through Jacksonville around mid-afternoon, but the delay meant I hit it at the beginning of rush hour.  I did take I-295 to skirt downtown (the western route—the eastern loop was under some construction), but that wasn’t a whole lot faster.  It took about 30 minutes to navigate around the city, and the next thing you know, I’m about to enter Georgia.  But wait—there is an Agricultural Inspection Station.  I stop.

    “What’s in the truck?” 

    “Oh, pretty much everything I own.” 

    “Any produce?” 

    “No.” 

    “Okay, you can go.  By the way, do you know that truck has an exhaust leak?”

    Georgia was uneventful until Savannah, but even that wasn’t as bad as Jacksonville had been.  As I crossed into South Carolina, it was past supper time.  I grabbed Mickey D’s again—it was cheap and fast.  I figured it hadn’t killed me that morning, so I could probably handle it again… 

    A stop for gas—“Hey, buddy, that truck has an exhaust leak!”—and I started up again.  Now, the roads in Florida and Georgia were good.  But South Carolina?  Yeah, there was something Third World about them—rough pavement, bad patch jobs, potholes—and U-Haul trucks don’t have the softest ride to being with.  The stretch right before Walterboro was perhaps the worst—it had patches on top of the patches that only partly filled the potholes and cracked out concrete sections…

    I found I-26, and made the final push through Orangeburg, Columbia, and the short ride to my destination.  On the way, I noticed road construction was going on—crews were installing cable barriers.  Cable barriers?  Yes, cable barriers.  I later found out why, but for now, I pushed on.

    Of course, by the time I made it to “my” exit, it was nearing 1AM on Thursday…

    I stopped at the top of the exit ramp and turned the dome light on to check my directions.  As I looked up, I noticed a SC Highway Patrol cruiser sitting in the abandoned parking lot of a former gas station across the road.  Thinking nothing of it, I turned and headed to the house—it was only a mile or so down the road off a side street. 

    As I put the directional on to make my final turn, the trooper lights up the bubble gun machine.  I pulled off the road.  Mr. Trooper approached the driver’s side and his partner went around to look in the passenger window.

    “Where are you headed?”

    “To a house about 500 yards away.”

    “We’ve been told to check out all U-Haul trucks with Arizona plates.”

    “I thought they all had Arizona plates?”

    “What’s in the truck?”

    “Pretty much everything I own.”

    “Moving?  It’s kinda late.”

    “Well, the truck does say ‘Moving Adventures’”, and I described my journey.

    “Oh, where are you moving from?”

    “South Florida.”

    “You should have left earlier!”

    “I left at 7AM.  I expected to be here no later than 9PM, but stuff happens…”

    I was aware that I was parked in the side yard of a house, and that the lights inside had come on.  After a few minutes of looking over my license and the rental contract, Super Trooper decides I’m not a terrorist and that he has to look elsewhere for his major felony arrest.

    “Okay, I guess you’re clear to go.”

    “Thank you, sir!  Have a good evening, and be safe!”

    “Oh, by the way—this truck has a cracked exhaust manifold…”

    “Yes, sir, I picked it up from U-Haul that way…”

    I made it to the house, parked the truck, greeted my girlfriend, and went to bed.  I was tired.  And I would be unloading the truck more or less by myself in the morning, since she had to work in the morning, so it would be a busy day…

    The next day, the unloading went faster and better than I thought it would.  The big items got unloaded last—we had to lug the couch in through the front door, which was an adventure, but it all got done with no real drama. 

    I enjoyed the day—slightly overcast, high around 70 degrees—a far sight from the 90+ it was in Ft. Lauderdale that day.  “I could get used to this quickly”, I thought.  Another time, I may tell the story of the following January, when it snowed and I quickly realized that in South Carolina, 2 inches of snow may as well be two feet…

    I washed up, then called U-Haul to get the address of the location to turn the truck in.  It was a short drive away.  I drove up, got out, and went inside. 

    “I’m here to turn in a truck.”

    “What truck?”

    “The U-Haul I just spoke to you folks on the phone about less than five minutes ago.”

    Apparently, not passing on phone messages or checking the computer was an issue with U-Haul locations.

    Finally, a guy wearing greasy coveralls comes in and says, “Is that the big truck we was ‘spectin’?”

    I completed the paperwork as he drove the truck around back.  As I was leaving, he came back inside.

    “Hey, you know, this truck has an exhaust leak…”

    The next day, we drove to Atlanta and flew to Ft. Lauderdale.  Try flying on a one-way ticket with no luggage two weeks after airliners were used to attack the country—it raised a few eyebrows, that’s for sure!

    My brother picked us up and took us to my parents’.  We spent the night, and the next morning got in my little truck to repeat my Wednesday journey.  We overnighted in Ormond Beach, and then drove to Atlanta to pick up her car. 

    Can I say that I-75 between I-10 and Atlanta is the most boring stretch of road I have driven in my life?  It may be better these days, but that was a long ride?  Valdosta…then forever to Tifton…and another eternity to Macon…

    The route did take us past Hahira, though—we wondered if Coy and Bubba had settled their differences from the shenanigans at the Shrine Convention. 

    We made Atlanta without incident and stopped at the parking lot so she could retrieve her car.  I followed her, and we drove I-20 to I-26, and headed to the house.  We had thought of stopping for supper, but we pressed on—we were both tired by this point and only wanted to get to the house.  By the time we got home, I was toast…

    So that’s how I spent the week of 24-30 September 2001. 

    Twenty years have passed.  I still get the same questions:

    Do I regret the decision to move?

    Do I miss South Florida?

    The answer to both questions is a resounding “No”. 

    Sure, I miss friends, but many have moved away themselves.  I miss going to my old haunts, but most of them no longer exist. 

    As the saying goes, “You can never go home again.”  Amen.

    Oh, and the girlfriend?  We’re still together, even though we have made four moves together.  We were married in 2009–we had been together nearly 10 years by that point. 

    The next time we move, we plan on taking a page out of NASA’s book—grab the important stuff, stencil ABANDON IN PLACE on the house, and just drive away…

    Thanks for reading.  Be good to one another, and, as always, I bid you Peace.

  • On Reunions, Friends, and Families (and an introduction, for those who arrived late to the party)

    My 40th high school reunion is coming up next year.

    That means two things—I get to hear (and tell) stories from the good old days, and I’m really getting old.

    I missed my other reunions—combinations of finances (usually lack thereof) and those “life things” got in the way.  This time, I am going to do my best to attend.  In the build-up, my nostalgia rush—bad enough of late when left on its own—went into overdrive, and the memories came pouring back.  What can I say?  I guess that’s why I like history, too—I like looking back and analyzing the past. 

    So, here’s to old friends!

    Somebody once made a comment about what it means to be friends, and how you can’t truly be friends if you never interacted in person.  And they probably have a point, but let’s consider what Messrs. Merriam and Webster have to say.

    Friend: One attached to another by affection or esteem: “She's my best friend.”

    So, the definition seems to indeed indicate that yes, friends should be closely associated.  But then there is this word listed as an alternate:

    Acquaintance, or “a person whom one knows but who is not a particularly close friend.”

    So, in the “according to Hoyle” sense, one can be a friend without being particularly close.

    One of our reunion organizers has made the case that we are family.  I have agreed and said we share a kinship, or fellowship.  So, let’s flip through the ol’ dictionary again…

    Family:  A group of people united by certain convictions or a common affiliation.

     Affiliate:  Associate as a member (of a group).

    Fellowship:  Community of interest, activity, feeling, or experience.

    And there we have it.  We share a fellowship.  We are associated as a member of our high school class, which is a community of interest.

    We are indeed a family.  But we didn’t need to go through all those research steps to figure that out.  I did the research because I enjoy it.  I’m weird.  I admit it.

    Of course, high school classmates aren’t the only extended families we have.  There are fraternities, sororities, military and police and fire units, trade groups, unions, civic organizations, Scouts, religious groups, and others. 

    But a high school family is special to most of us because of when it happens in our lives.  We are close to each other at what can be an awkward time in our lives, that time of transition from child to teenager to young adult.  Piled on top of the usual adolescent angst is the societal expectations placed upon us—this is the time when we are supposed to figure out what we want to be when we grow up, and this time it is for real.  Or so we’re told. Like several others among my classmates, I am still trying to answer that age-old question.

    Add into the mix that wonderful time in every child’s life when we experience that first girlfriend-boyfriend relationship, and first kiss, and possibly a first intimate encounter, and boy, we had a lot on our plates.  We literally watched each other grow up and navigated adolescence together.  Some experienced broken hearts as they found, and then lost, what was thought to be true love—somehow they managed to pick up the pieces and move on.  Others found soul mates sitting in the desk in the next row, and have been married for many years.

    My extended family contains people from all walks of life: doctors and other medical professionals; lawyers, judges and other legal professionals; civil and military veterans; musicians, actors, and other entertainment professionals who worked to bring us the music, movies, and television shows that entertain us; service industry hosts, waiters, chefs, and salespeople who provide the food we eat, the stuff we buy, and manage the places we go when we want to get away; and any number of blue-collar “nine-to-five ham-and-eggers” who keep the world moving.  They are moms and dads, aunts and uncles, stepmoms and stepdads, and grandmoms and granddads.

    Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief,

    Or what about a cowboy, policeman, jailer, engine driver, or a pirate chief?

    Or what about a ploughman or a keeper at the zoo,

    Or what about a circus man who lets the people through?

    Or the man who takes the pennies on the roundabouts and swings,

    Or the man who plays the organ or the other man who sings?

    Or what about the rabbit man with rabbits in his pockets

    And what about a rocket man who's always making rockets?

    Oh it's such a lot of things there are and such a lot to be

    That there's always lots of cherries on my little cherry tree.                                                     

               — Now We Are Six, A.A. Milne

    Alas, my extended family has also mourned the loss of too many of our brothers and sisters.  Whether by disease, malfeasance, or (sadly) by their own hand, each loss was profoundly felt, and they are missed.

    We celebrate together, we mourn together, and we are, at times, dysfunctional.  We also have our fair share of crazy aunts and uncles.

    If that’s not family, I don’t know what is.  And I can’t wait to reconnect with my long lost family.

    *****     *****     *****

    For my new readers, I hope you take some time to have a look around.  Admittedly, the blog that I started in late 2010 as a cornucopia of various topics has fallen into an aviation research and scale modeling rut lately, but, as Samuel L. Jackson’s Jules Winnfield says to the guy robbing the diner in “Pulp Fiction”, “I’m tryin’ Ringo.  I’m tryin’ *real* hard…”

    If you like what you’ve read, there are several teachers to thank, starting with my dear departed mother—she was the Latin teacher at St. Thomas Aquinas High School for 30+ years between 1980 and 2012.  I inherited the liberal arts part of my personality from her. 

    You can then add Ralph Bucci, Sam Rogers, Hope Reinfeld, and Gloria Warrick, my English teachers at Boyd H. Anderson High School.  They taught me everything I know about grammar, spelling, sentence structure, and proper creative and technical writing.  A hat tip also goes to the late Cecilia Carballo, my high school Spanish teacher, who saw that I had some aptitude in several other languages, most of which I am sadly no longer fluent.  She became a special mentor to me in school, and I was saddened to hear of her passing several years ago.   

    I am also guided by my best critic, a college-level journalism professor and book author who also happens to be my wife.  While she doesn’t proof everything I write, I see her cringe when I break some obscure style rule.  When she does, I always imagine her as Miss Shields, the teacher in “A Christmas Story”:

    “You call this a paragraph?  Margins!  Margins!  ‘F’!

     My life's work, down the drain. 

     A semicolon, you dolt!  A period!  ‘F’!

    Oh, I should weep if I have to read one more ‘F’!”

    Incidentally, she’s seen this piece, and she gave me an A++++++++++++.  So I have that going for me–which is nice.  I already had the Red Ryder air rifle…

    The research thing comes naturally to me—I was an inquisitive child—but I was pointed in the right direction by a good many enthusiasts, historians, and researchers whose skills far outstrip mine.  I got my technical aptitude from my dad, and my technical writing skills come as a by-product of 30+ years working on corporate jets as an avionics technician.  It’s also what I get paid to do these days.

    For my regulars, rest assured that I’ll continue to do regular updates on my normal irregular schedule.  Keep checking back…

    Thanks for reading, all of you.  As always, be good to one another and look after each other.  Until next time, I bid you Peace.

  • Some Insight

    Howdy, all!

    Last time out, I made a comment that my hobby of scale modeling led to my career/vocation paths.  To refresh your memory, they were (in no particular order) history, aviation, research, writing, and hanging out at the hobby shop.

    This is one of those "about me for myself" pieces I talked about last time, but I thought this one might be fun to share.

    When my father brought home a Revell 1/32 scale Wildcat model kit, I don't think he realized the vast worlds he was opening up to me. 

    I was an early reader.  I've been told that I could read before I was four years old.  As I got older, I loved to read.  I would read pretty much anything I could get my hands on.  When we started building that model, I was only concerned about the three-dimensional puzzle in the box.  However, one night, as I waited for Dad to come to the table for our modeling session, I started to read the side of the box.  Then I noticed that the instruction sheet contained more than just how to get the parts together—the front page had a capsule history of the airplane and its exploits during WWII.  Before I read it, I just thought the little pudgy airplane looked neat, but as I read about how it was the Navy’s front line fighter airplane in the early days of the war, and how it was flying against faster, more maneuverable enemy airplanes, my interest grew.  I looked for books in the school library about the war, and learned about the Battles of the Coral Sea, the Battle of Midway, Wake Island, and the Solomons.  Each new discovery led me to learn more.  I’d find one nugget that would lead me to three more. 

    That’s research, kids.  I do a lot of research to this day—most of what I do uses what are known as secondary sources, so it is technically “Research Lite” (Less Filling!  Tastes Great!), although I did start to use primary sources when we were up to our necks in the Fire Support Base RIPCORD project a year or so ago.  What’s the difference?  Primary sources are from either official accounts from the units involved or from the guys who were actually there and participated.  SITREPS, diaries, After Action reports, first hand witnesses—those are all primary source materials.  Secondary sources are what you find on the shelves at the local Barnes and Noble—books written about events where the author may (or may not) have used primary sources.  (As “true” researchers know, you take all secondary sources with a grain of salt…)

    As I researched things, I’d write about them.  I wrote a lot of book reports, sure, but sometimes I’d write just for myself.  They were more a collection of notes, but every now and then I would collect those thoughts into an article for the local modeling club newsletter.  I laid off writing for a while, but with the COVID shutdown I’ve managed to get a little of my groove back, and have once again been pumping out modeling articles, and they’re now being published in the national organizations’ magazines. 

    The more models I built, the more I wanted to build.  Unfortunately, like most things, it takes money to acquire and build models.  By the time I hit high school, I was at the age where I started to take my modeling more seriously.  A long-time modeler and author, Roscoe Creed, made mention of it when he “wondered where all the cracks went?” in one of his books  a book that I still refer to from time to time. 

    I wanted to get rid of the seam lines.  I wanted to make it look like the pictures of the actual item.  As I learned of such things, I began using putty, decal setting solutions, these new-fangled super glues, and an airbrush.  Like the kits themselves, that stuff isn’t free.  More experience led me to discover the then-emerging world of the aftermarket—decals were the first thing I think most modelers encounter from the aftermarket, but later things like photoetched brass details, white metal and resin parts, vac-form kits, and other additions and conversions also became part of my repertoire.

    Of course, by doing so, I was honing my skills as a craftsman and, dare I say, artist.  I was learning how to solve problems.  I developed a sense of spatial relationships–how stuff goes together.  It goes without saying that I developed a good eye for small details. 

    After I graduated from college, I started to visit the local shop more frequently.  I became a regular, and eventually I was asked if I wanted to do some fill-in work.  Before long, I was a regular part-time employee, and would remain so until I moved out of state.  During a layoff period about 10 years later, I got a job at the local hobby shop here.  I was only there for a few months, but when my next full-time employer picked up and left, I went to work for the shop again. 

    What helped me get the job, I think, is that I was familiar with all the stuff one needed to complete a model.  I was also interested in going the extra mile when I built my models, and I knew what that took, so I could guide others when they came looking for hobby stuff.  Many see retail sales as a drag, but I saw it as a chance to get paid while playing with toys.  Hence, my days hanging out at the hobby shop…

    Now, how about the aviation thing…

    I have no idea what first got me hooked on airplanes.  Perhaps it was the Wildcat model.  More likely, it was reading of the exploits of the men who flew them in the war; the Wildcat model was merely the first step on the path.  For many years, I wasn’t interested in a book if (A) it was not related to aviation; or (B) the word “fiction” was not preceded by “non”.  I have to believe it was that—the more I read, the more I learned, and the more I wanted to be part of that world.  Interestingly, I never really wanted to be a pilot.  I can’t say why, I just never saw that as where I would be.  More on that shortly…

    In my day, teachers were almost always matronly ladies in their late 30’s to early 50’s.  However, my fourth grade teacher was an exception.  I guess she was in her late 20’s–I seem to recall she had only recently received her teaching credentials at that time.  She was a pretty, petite, energetic lady, blonde with a deep tan, and was always smiling.  Her name was Miss Gerstle (Nancy, if I recall correctly).  Her last name rhymes with the chocolate company’s name, and we often called her “Miss Nestlé-Gerstle”.  From the little bit I managed to gather on her by listening to her, she lived with a few roommates and they all worked on the weekends as flight attendants (we called them “stewardesses” back in the day) for Mackey Airlines, a small scheduled airline that flew from Ft. Lauderdale to the Bahamas, in order to earn a little extra money. 

    I don’t know if she lined it up, but one day we took a field trip to Ft. Lauderdale-Hollywood International Airport and got to walk around some airplanes.  I seem to recall a Mackey airplane, maybe a DC-6, and it sat next to an Eastern Airlines (IIRC) 727 which was powered up, and we could walk through it.  We spent a few hours walking around the airplanes, asking questions, and talking with the pilots and “stews”.  I loved it.

    An interesting tidbit—when I graduated from college and landed my first “adult” job, I worked from that same ramp, by that time occupied by the National Jets/Florida Aircraft Leasing facilities.  Small world, right? 

    I don’t know what happened to Miss Gerstle, but wherever she is, I hope she is still smiling brightly and doing well.  She was a breath of fresh air for me…

    Later, while going through the steps to earn my Aviation merit badge, somehow I got what we call today a “Discovery Flight”.  We went to the airport bright and early, got the whole briefing, got to do the preflight on the airplane, then we went out for a flight over Ft. Lauderdale.  Sitting in the pilot seat, I couldn’t see over the glareshield! I enjoyed the flight, but decided that while it looked like fun, I wasn't interested in being a pilot. 

    As I started high school, I was shunted into what we would call a STEM program—back in those days, it didn’t have a name, but it put me on a track that emphasized math and science.  We only had to take two science and two math classes over four years, but I had four of each.  Somewhere along the line, it was intimated that I should become an aeronautical engineer, but as I related a long time ago, that didn’t work out so well.  But I never abandoned my interest, and eventually went back to school and earned two degrees from Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University that said I had what it took to be a genuine wire stringer, smoke wrangler, electron herder, and spark chaser—I became an avionics technician.

    For most of my 30+ years chasing sparks, I worked in the world of corporate aviation—Learjets were my bread and butter, along with Hawkers and Citations.  From time to time, I also worked on General Aviation craft—the little Cessna and Piper “puddle jumpers” that you see at your local airport—and business class turboprops like the Beechcraft King Air and Cessna Conquest families.

    It was a demanding career, to be sure.  I worked in 100+ degree heat and 20 degree cold.  I worked in the sun, the rain, and sometimes even snow.  Many times, we worked from “can” to “can’t”—we did what we needed to do to keep ‘em flying.  It was hot, dirty, demanding work at times—especially at my last stop, where I was also the airframe electrician.  If something provided electrical power or had a wire or air data line leading to it, it was in my wheelhouse.

    I was always acutely aware that if I failed in my job, people could be injured or killed in a most loud and grotesque manner.  I accepted the challenge.  Not everybody is cut out for such a critical job, and as I began to supervise others, that would be my first question to them.  If they were cavalier or flip, I wouldn’t hire them.  If you wanted to work with me, you had to not only be aware of the consequences of your actions, you had to accept that any little deviation, a nanosecond of inattention, and you could possibly kill someone…

    Incidentally, I don’t really like to fly.  Maybe it has something to do with the fact that 95% of the flying I have done in my lifetime has been done because I *had* to in the line of duty.  Flying for me was almost a mandatory thing, and much like running on a treadmill—we made a lot of noise and expended a lot of effort to basically go nowhere–it quickly became work. 

    For most folks, flying is a way to get from what you know to an unexplored exotic location on the other side of the globe, some sort of personal adventure, and flying is merely a gateway to that adventure.  It is quite different when you know how the sausage is made and have to do it every day.

    When the folks I was working for picked up stakes and left in 2016, I stayed put.  I decided that my days of crawling around on hard hangar floors or cramming myself into ever smaller spaces were behind me.  Since I had done a lot of the documentation that aircraft modifications required, I decided to use my writing skills and my avionics knowledge to start down the path to being a Technical Writer.  My mother, who taught Latin, always said that I had technical hands and a liberal arts brain, and this seemed to be the best of both worlds.

    And that’s how scale modeling made me who I am today.  A gift from my father awakened an interest in history, and also fed my reading and research habit.  What I learned through my reading led to an interest in aviation, helped along by a teacher and a merit badge.  The technical aspects of the hobby sharpened my problem solving skills, helped me develop good hand-eye coordination and spurred me to develop a keen eye for small details and a sense of craftsmanship and artistry.  The marriage of all this led to where I am right now. 

    And it started with a model airplane.

    Thanks for reading.  Be good to one another, and look after each other.  As always, I Bid you Peace.

  • Who am I to Judge? (Or: I know art when I see it)

    Howdy…

    Today, I’m going to tackle a subject that I’ve skated around for a few years.  This topic, more than any other in scale modeling, can be the most polarizing thing there is in the hobby —the topic is judging scale models.  I will try to remain objective and neutral on my observations…

    Full disclosure:  I am an IPMS/USA and an AMPS member.  My last full effort for competition in IPMS was the 2000 Space Coast show.  My last model on an IPMS competition table was at the 2005 Atlanta Nationals.  Why?  One, I subscribe to David Sarnoff's (the guy behind RCA and NBC back in the day) theory that "competition brings out the best in products and the worst in people".  I have been witness to more bent feelings, hot tempers, and bad blood at IPMS contests that I can shake a stick at, all because someone didn't get a big shiny to take home to prove to the world that he or she was The God of Styrene that week.  Two, the actual construction of a model falls under the heading of “craft”, but the final finish certainly borders on being art.  How do you judge art as a winner or loser?  

    For the record, I have a rather large box of plaques and medals that I've won at model shows through the years, from a 3rd place plaque from an Embry-Riddle model show in 1983 to a Best Aircraft and “Best Between the Wars” plaque, a special award, from the 2000 Space Coast show, so this isn't being colored by sour grapes.  I build my models for me, and if they happen to garner some ugly plaque buildup, so much the better.  I don't do this for adulation, because after the show is over I still have to go to work and pay the bills…

    Without getting into the weeds with the various systems out in the world used to judge a model show, I will instead take a look at the two most common systems used here in the United States.  They are the IPMS/USA system—commonly referred to as a “1-2-3” system, where every category (entries permitting) has a 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place winner.

    The other system is Open Judging, the best known being the system that AMPS uses.  AMPS doesn’t so much judge a model as they do score it, and multiple awards are possible within any given category.

    These are some observations that I've collected over the years–some of them are actually mine, but most are from talking with others.  The general claims and observations are in standard type, my comments are in italics.

    The IPMS system works like this—your model is placed on the table, in the relevant category.  Once registration closes and all the models are on the table, a team of judges evaluates each category.  They’ll look for basics: alignment, mold flaws, construction flaws, finish, detailing, etc.  If a model exhibits major flaws, they’ll be cut out of the running.  All the while, the models are compared to each other as well as to a mental “standard” that each judge is supposed to know and grasp.

    The models that make the cut are again evaluated in the same manner but to a more focused look.  Eventually, the team arrives at the top four or five models.  The final cut is taking those four or five models and determining a 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place winner.  Remember, throughout the process the models are not only being evaluated to the nebulous “standard”, they are also being compared to each other.

    So, the observations: 

    IPMS judging picks “Winners”! (and, by extension, “losers”.)

    If you "win", you get a big shiny trophy!  (But if you don't, you get bupkus.  This especially applies to competition newbies–they haven't yet grasped the nuances of how the deal works.)  

    “If you want to know why your model didn’t ‘win’”, they’ll tell you, "ask a judge.”. (This is a noble effort, but it usually doesn’t result in anything.  Asking a judge is usually futile, since they want to get out and go home, too–it also seldom works, especially if the judge or  judges you consult weren't involved with your model, because part of the IPMS judging scheme requires the comparison of your model to the others on the table.  So, even if the judge that worked your category was there and remembered the way the judging unfolded, they really can't say for sure why you "lost", since they don't have the other models there for comparison.)

    IPMS awards the modeler, not the model.  (Despite claims to the contrary from the IPMS Hard-Liners, the IPMS 1-2-3 system awards the model, not the modeler.  Think about it–if it rewarded the modeler, their model's standing in the show wouldn't depend on what else was on the table with it.)  

    Under this system, a model could win Best in Show one week and get shut out the following week at the contest a few hours down the road.  (I’ve seen this first-hand, more than once.  Any repeat-ability is purely coincidental.)

    IPMS judges learn on the fly from people who aren't always the best teachers.  (Most are very good at what they do, but I've come across a few guys who call themselves “IPMS Senior Nationals Judges” who still don't grasp what it is that the Society is trying to accomplish–they see it is a zero-sum, win-lose "bloodsport", damn the “casual hobby” aspects of it.  In short, they're bullies, bent on choosing only the models THEY deem as an appropriate “winner”.  You don’t see this often at the Nationals level, but it is still hanging around in the Local/Regional areas.  These guys are the ones who are insistent on judging accuracy, so you’ll know how to spot them…)

    What the IPMS 1-2-3 system has going for it is speed–you can evaluate and judge a room full of models in a few hours.  A good team of judges can take a category of 20 models and determine the winners in less than 30 minutes.  (It also appeals to most Americans' desire to be called a “winner”, where 2nd place is the “First loser”.)

    Now, let’s take a look at Open Judging (sometimes erroneously referred to a Gold-Silver-Bronze system) as employed by AMPS:

    AMPS uses an open system where your models are placed in front of a panel of three or four judges and the model evaluated to a written "standard", and are judged in a “stand-alone” situation rather than being compared to the other models it competes with. (That standard merely quantifies the basics–alignment, construction, detailing, and finish–the very same basics that IPMS judges are taught to evaluate.  And note that neither organization judges accuracy.)

    AMPS has several skill levels–Junior, Basic, Intermediate, and Advanced.  It is a ladder system—as your skills improve, you can be promoted to the next highest skill level.  This usually takes place at the annual AMPS International Convention.  (AMPS is one of the few hobby groups that also has a Master level–The National Model Railroad Association is the other, they feature a path to Master Model Railroader.  Rather than just proclaim yourself a “Master Modeler” because you’ve built a gazillion models, won at the Nationals, and maybe written a few articles for a magazine, in order to become an AMPS Master you must win Judge's Best of Show at the AMPS International Convention.  And, in order to do that, you have to be an Advanced member who earns a Gold at that show, and then go on to win Best of Show.  ONE person gets elevated to AMPS Master per year.)  

    The judges write comments on the score sheet, and you get that score sheet back at the end of the show. (Most AMPS modelers want the score sheet with the judges’ comments more that they want the medal–we have one guy in our AMPS Chapter who routinely earns a fistful of medals every year, and he gives them back to us every year.)  

    AMPS certifies their judges through a standardized training system.  (Up until a few years ago, it was administered by their Chief Judge, who would travel from show to show to train new judges, ensuring uniformity.  These days, there is a team of trainers.)  

    The AMPS OJT consists of sitting for two shifts after you've received the classroom training.  Only then do you get your credentials.  (IPMS' OJT criteria aren't as stringent.  Not to say the way IPMS does it is "wrong" and AMPS is "right", just throwing it out there to compare and contrast.  IPMS judges only receive “credentials” after 20 years as a judge at the National Convention.)

    In theory (and in practice 99% of the time), a model that earns a Gold medal in a given skill level at one show will earn the same medal at another AMPS show.  (In other words, there is documented repeat-ability in the system.)

    Now, here are the drawbacks.  Open Judging, done correctly, takes time.  A lot of time.  We (AMPS Central South Carolina) host a show every year.  Registration opens at 8:30, the show runs until 5.  Judging starts at 8:30 and runs until approximately 3PM–and this is for around 100 models.  (Most IPMS local and regional shows draw a few hundred, and a National Convention draws a few thousand models.  Most AMPS local shows–they call them regional–draws around 100, and their International show draws a couple hundred for scoring.)

    The associated drawback (for some) is how AMPS actually confers awards.  If you bring seven armor models, all in different categories, you have the potential to take home seven medals.  But if you bring seven Sherman tanks, all in U.S. Army markings, you will take home the highest medal awarded to your body of work because their all entered into the same category.  In other words, AMPS rewards the modeler and his or her efforts, not individual models.  So, AMPS is sometimes seen as limiting the number of models entered by doing this.  (Those who poo-poo that idea don't realize that AMPS has always had Display Only space at their shows, something IPMS has struggled with through the years.)  

    The only place where someone at an AMPS contest can be a "winner" (in the "I'm Number One!" sense) is in the Best Of's.  The Best Of's are chosen by taking all of the Advanced level Gold medal winners in a given category and judging them in an identical fashion to the IPMS 1-2-3 system: count the flaws and compare between the eligible models.  Best of Show takes all the category Best Of's and does the same thing.  Otherwise, you are submitting a 3D research paper and getting a grade. 

    All that being said, is one system better than the other?  I don’t know.  It all depends on what is expected from a model show.  

    If you want to be The God of Styrene for that week and have all the bragging rights associated with the title, if you want to be the Big Winner, you probably prefer the 1-2-3 system.  It is a system, as we have discussed, that picks winners and losers.  You won’t learn much from the exercise.

    If you want to measure your abilities as a modeler, learn from your mistakes, and climb the ladder as you gain experience, the Open Judging system is probably the one you will choose.  You get that feedback from the judges telling you what they saw on your model, both good and bad.  You take that feedback and apply what you’ve learned to your next model.

    Something else you ought to know–these days there are several IPMS Chapters who have used what they call a hybrid system, where the categories are evaluated as normal in a 1-2-3 system, then the top 5 or 6 models get the Open Judging score sheet treatment.  I don't like this–the people at the top really don't need the score sheet and comments, as they usually have a pretty good grasp on what they're doing (yeah, sometimes we "experienced" modelers make boneheaded mistakes and don't realize it, but usually we're on top of things).  The folks that don't make the cut are the ones who could really use the coaching.  Plus, by not treating all the models entered in the show the same way, you insert a double standard into the mix.  

    I’ve seen some rather pointed comments made after a show here in the Southeast concluded, the group having adopted one of these hybrid systems.  The main comment from one person I know was (and I’m paraphrasing here), “I got two Silvers, but if I wanted critique on my models with feedback, I’d take it to the club meeting.  I want to know where I stand when I’m stacked up against other modelers.”

    This all leads me to my last suggestion:  Before you enter any contest, read the rules applicable to said contest.  Don't like the rules?  Don't play the game.  It is as easy as that.  If you see the show is running an Open system, and you don’t like it, don’t play.  I can assure you that the show organizers aren’t going to change their judging system for you.

    Finally, here’s some good reading material for you…

    IPMS has their rules and a Modelers Guide to IPMS Contests available on their website.  They are downloadable, and are worth perusing.

    Here’s a link to the AMPS system and philosophy.

    Both make good reading.

    ************************************************

    This weekend, we traveled to the 32nd Annual Atlanta Airliner Collectibles Show at the Delta Flight Museum.  As usual, it was a nice event.  On the model front, I didn't get too much–I picked up an 8A Decals sheet for 1/144 Braniff two-tone DC-8's, and later at the "World's Largest HobbyTown" I managed to finally get a copy of the Eduard 1/72 MiG-21MF.  I'll give both products a review at some point.

    If you are an airliner geek, though, you go to this show simply because of the airplane watching you can do.  The show's hotel is the Renaissance Concourse about a block away from the Delta Museum.  If you go be sure to request a runway view.  Granted, this IS Atlanta and therefore most of the air traffic wears Delta colors, but you will see a lot of other airlines, too, especially Southwest.  Spirit, Frontier, Jet Blue, American, and United also have gates at ATL, as do Air Canada, Virgin Atlantic, Korean Air, Air France, and British Airways.  Cargo operators include Challenge, Omni Air Express, China Southern, FedEx, UPS, and other smaller carriers.  The variety of aircraft is interesting, too, from Canadair Regional Jets to Boeing 747 cargo ships.  Here's a small selection of the photos we took:

    As_739_06oct18

    A Boeing 737-900 from Alaska, complete with Chester's smiling visage.

    Dl_a330_06oct18

     A Delta A330 on the flare.  One of my rides to Mesa last year was aboard one of these critters.

    Dl_a350_06oct18-2 Dl_a350_06oct18

    A couple of shots of one of Delta's new A350's, this one arriving from Inchon, South Korea.  As the photos tend to show, it was a rather hot and hazy day in Atlanta for early October, but the sky colors were gorgeous.

    Af_777_06oct18

    An Air France 777.  This feller usually arrives on Saturday afternoon, hot on the heels of a British Airways and Lufthansa flight–both of which didn't happen this year.  A shame, too, since LH usually brings an A340 into town…

    Dl_777_06oct18

    One of Delta's 777-200's.  I have to remind myself that these are now considered "old" airplanes.

    Dl_753_06oct18

    One of Delta's 757-300's.  We saw a few of these this year…

    Dl_767_06oct18

    Delta 767.

    Fx_767f_06oct18

    A FedEx 767F.

    Nk_a319_06oct18

    One of Spirit Airlines' A-319's.  Looks like Stewie Griffin should be flying…

    Virgin_a330_06oct18

    A Virgin Atlantic A330.  I think I saw more A330's this visit than I have in the past…

    Ua_787_06oct18

    The most unusual visitor this past weekend?  A United Airlines 787, carrying the Los Angeles Dodgers to Atlanta for the National League Divisional Series.  It was getting dark by the time they arrived, I feel fortunate to have snapped the photo.  If they had been delayed a minute or two longer, the shot would have been difficult…

    Dl_modeldisplay1 Dl_modeldisplay2

    And, finally, here are a couple of shots of the new Model Room at the Delta Flight Museum.  They're just putting this collection together, so it is a work in progress.  You should visit if you haven't already done so, and next year offers a neat opportunity:  The Airliners International show will be there next June 19-22.  I'd imagine the Collectibles show will also be back next October…

    That's all I have this time.  More later.

    Thanks for reading.  Be good to one another, and as always, I bid you Peace.

  • In the days of yore…

    (Or:  Hey, Grandpa, tell us a story…)

    As the Cajun Chef Justin Wilson would say, "How y'all are?  I'm so glad for you to see me some more!" 

    Since we last crossed paths, a lot has happened.  Our Mesa Project is over, ended prematurely by our customer.  So, no more treks cross-continent–which is a good thing and a bad thing, because as long as it wasn't in the summer months, I enjoyed the time I spent in Arizona.  This also means that I've been between projects since January, which means I have time on my hands–and time that isn't always spent in the best of manners. 

    I guess that's why I volunteered to "un-retire" and ask the guys in the local IPMS Chapter to trust me to run the club for a few years.  "I wanted a mission, and for my sins, they gave me one…"

    So, having time on my hands and something that I need to spend time on has got me writing articles for our club newsletter.  I've done a few so far, and I have two or three more lurking out there amongst my research materials on projects near and dear to me.  The first I wrote was a short piece on the various Army missile sites situated in and around South Florida during the aftermath of the Cuban Missile crisis and how those spots look today.  Since we're in South Carolina, and I have never seen anyone in the club do so, I also did a two-part history of the 169 Fighter Wing, the flying unit of the South Carolina Air National Guard.  Waiting in the wings?  I'd like to do a short piece on the 321st and 340th Bombardment Groups, two units that were assembled and trained here at what is now the Columbia Metropolitan Airport.  I've also been refining my "Model Building 101" seminar that I first presented at the 2016 IPMS/USA National Convention.  And, while all this has been fun, it has caused me to do some digging in back issues of old magazines–where I'm greeted almost every time with some sort of "Blast from the Past"…

    The first thing I recalled were the Alpha Cyanoacrylate Cements (ACC, also known as CA, "Super Glue", "Krazy Glue", and a host of other trade and nicknames) that we had available to us in the day.  Dad would usually have one of the syrette-type tubes of Krazy Glue hanging around, and every now and then he'd bring home an expired bottle of Eastman 910, the great-granddaddy of all ACCs from work–he worked at a bio-medical company for a while and they paid strict attention to dates.  The glue was still perfectly fine, except the date on the container said it couldn't be used. 

    A few years later, I found Satellite City's "Hot Stuff"–the original bottles were flat-topped and used the little piece of Teflon tubing as an applicator nozzle.  And, boy, did it work!  I first discovered it when my brother was building a Dumas tunnel-hull radio control boat.  I happened to be building my one and only "real" model (according to Dad), a Guillows large scale Spitfire.  I used Titebond for most of the construction–I wasn't concerned with weight, since I was building it as a shelf sitter–but when I needed to lock something into place NOW, I'd hit it with Hot Stuff, and pow, it was secured.  I tried it on some of the plastic models I built later on, and found that it worked fairly well on them, but that I was still a bit lacking in my technique–so what I usually wound up with was a misaligned bit of model that took a while to sort out.  But it was good stuff, and it is actually still available.  In the years since, I've used the Pacer "Zap" line of ACC, Carl Goldberg's "Jet", the "Krazy Glue" formulations, and the Bob Smith Industries products, but if it was still as readily available as it was in the early 1980's, I'd probably still be using Hot Stuff…these days, Bob Smith is what is usually available, so it is what I use…

    Another product from days gone by are fillers.  Back in my formative years, there was only one readily available hobby filler worth using, and that was good, old, Squadron Green Putty.  And boy, did I use it by the metric ton.  I'd glue the parts together, and once the glue was dry I'd smear a nice bead of putty on every seam.  I guess I liked sanding for weeks back then, I dunno.  As my technique improved, and as I realized that I didn't need to use the whole tube on just one model, I started to use less.  At some point, I used Duratite putty, and later tried the Dr. Microtools' red putty–nice stuff, but if you are painting something white, it was a huge pain in the hinder.  About the same time, Squadron introduced their White Putty.  I've used it ever since, at least as far as solvent-based putties go.  I've added a few to my arsenal–namely, CA, Deluxe Products' Perfect Plastic Putty, and Apoxie Sculp.  That last one reminded me that I originally used Duro's E-Pox-E Ribbon–you probably remember it if you used it, it has a blue and a yellow component, and when it cured it was this garish green color.  Once I discovered Milliput, thought, I switched.  And, when Apoxie Sculp debuted and I could get it easier than Milliput, I switched.

    But of all the products I look back on, the one that I always come to is paint.  In my kid days building models in the neighborhood, you were either a Testors fan or a Pactra kid–a lot depended on where you shopped for paint.  It seems to me that the drug store closest to the house (as well as the local K-Mart and Treasury discount store) carried the Testors Pla Enamels, and the drug store across the street carried Pactra 'Namel.  Back then, we only knew we needed paint, we weren't particular, but I was always under the impression that the Testors bottles held more paint that the jewel-faceted 'Namel jars did.  I used the Testors Flats, mostly, and continued to use them when I transitioned from using the hairy stick to using the airbrush for my final finishes.  That is, until about 1981…

    Remember my stories of the Otaki Corsair, and how it became my Great White Whale, and how I so thoroughly botched my first attempt that I had to wait until the shop got another kit?  Between those two, I built the Otaki Hellcat, and since I had already bought the paint for the Corsairs, I'd simply use them on the Hellcat, too.  These were different–these were the square bottles of Pactra's Authentic International Colors.  And boy, how I loved that paint.  I had discovered that using Aero Gloss Dope thinner really cut the Testors flat enamel paint and made it lay down well and flash quickly, and it held no surprises when I did the same with the Pactra stuff.  Of course, my luck being what it is, a few months after I discovered the stuff, it was being discontinued.  No matter, as I was in for a change anyway…

    When I started college, I was trying to be considerate to my roommates, so I tried the original Polly-S.  For those of you younger than 30, this was the original hobby "acrylic"–actually, it was latex paint.  It hand brushed very nicely, but to airbrush it was a bit of a crap shoot.  See, you could thin it with water or alcohol, neither of which was 100% reliable with any given bottle of paint.  Some bottles would do well with either, other bottles would only work well with water, and some bottles would curdle into a tight little ball if you tried alcohol.  I got real good at troubleshooting paint in those days, and I used it until it, too, was starting to pass from the scenes.  When I couldn't get colors like RLM02 and Non-Spec Sea Blue, it was telling me that I needed to find a new paint.  It actually found me…

    About the same time Polly-S was sinking, the gang at Floquil had begun to produce the "re-formulated" military colors, in the form of their "new" (for 1992-ish) line.  Now, I was quite content to use Polly-S (as well as the Tamya and Gunze/GSI acrylics), but given the range of colors, I just had to try the new Floquil line.  I did.  I liked it.  I used it.  Well, until the advent of PollyScale…

    There were other acrylics that I tried back in the day, too.  I liked the original Tamiya acrylics.  They were an absolute joy to use.  They then started to fiddle with the chemistry of their paints, and for several years I simply could not get it to work, come Hell or high water.  I also liked the Gunze Aqueous line to an extent, but I found that it didn't give as good a coverage as the others did.  Along the way, I also tried the Testor Model Master Acrylics (the line that preceded the Acryl colors we have now), and found them to be the most useless model paint I ever encountered.  The experience I had with them colored my opinion of the later Acryl line until I tried them. 

    Then there was "Niche"/"Red Paint".  They came out in the early 1990's with these supposed hyper-accurate paints formulated for late war Luftwaffe and Soviet colors.  I have actually had good results with the one bottle of "Soviet Dielectric Green" I bought (check out the MiG-21 I built–the antennas are all done with this paint), and wish I had bought more when it was available.  

    I tried the ProModeler paints once, too–the less said, the better.  They weren't as useless as the Testor Model Master Acrylics, but they came pretty close.

    Coming full circle, one of the last of the "others" that I really liked were the Pactra Acrylics.  And, as my luck runs, it wasn't around long once I discovered it.

    Back to PollyScale.  Bar none, this is the best acrylic I have ever used, before or since.  I liked it so much that I simply gave away all my Floquil enamels.  If this stuff was still around, I'd be using it.  No question.  But, as we have seen from RPM (the parent company of Testors, Bondo, and Rust-Oleum) a few times, well, they just couldn't bear having "sister company" (as Floquil was at the time) show up the Home Team.  Yep, they discontinued the PollyScale colors in favor of the Acryls…

    Since PollyScale went away, I have re-learned how to use Tamiya colors, I have liked the Acryls, and I have adopted a new favorite in the form of Vallejo Model Air.  Sure, it isn't PollyScale, but as I have been experimenting and getting used to it, I like the stuff.  I've been able to pull off some pretty nice paint jobs–see the Hasegawa F-111F, the pair of Corsairs, and the ER-2 as proof.  They make the best, to my mind, acrylic metallic colors, too, as the MiG-21 proves.  So, while my winding road through the world of hobby paint has been long and slightly tortured, I think I'm where I need to be.

    ———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————–

    And this doesn't even scratch the surface of the list of the kit manufacturers we had back in the day.  We had Otaki and Nichimo, neither of which are around any more, although Arii picked up the Otaki line for a while–it is now marketed by Micro Ace in Japan.  We had Fujimi, kits from whom have only recently started to hit these shores again.  We had Life-Like, Inpact, ESCI, SMER, VEB/Plasticart–none of which have survived to today. 

    And, the latest additions to the list:  Monogram and Revell.  They were victims of the Hobbico bankruptcy.  Hopefully, the new owners of Revell Germany–who now own the entire Revell and Monogram catalog–will re-establish some sort of U.S. branch, but I'm not holding my breath.

    On the other hand, due to the efforts of Round 2 Models, the likes of AMT, MPC, Lindberg, Hawk, and Polar Lights…

    Perhaps next time, we'll take a look at those manufacturers.

    Until then, thanks for reading.  Be good to one another, and I bid you Peace.

     

  • Big ol’ jet airliner…

    Howdy…

    With the new job, I've had reason to do some air travel over the past few months.  A few observations…

    First, I had a trip to the Dallas area in late February.  It was my first ride on an Embraer 175/195, and I was surprised.  Unlike the older 145, there wasn't the annoying Dutch Roll through the flight, which was good.  And, unlike the Baby Jungle Jet, it was 2X2 seating.  Which kind of sucks.  I liked getting an A seat, which was the best of both worlds–a window seat and an aisle seat.  No matter, it was a neat airplane.

    About 5 weeks later, I was called to the Phoenix area.  I chose to fly Delta, since, well, when you're in the Southeast, it is simply what you do.  The flights between Columbia and Atlanta are predictable, with predictable equipment:  MD-80's or CRJ's.  Now, the MD-80's (MD-88's, usually) aren't too bad–I've flown on them many times.  As long as I get an aisle seat (or at least seat on the right side of the airplane in the two abreast row), I'm good.  CRJ's, on the other hand, I don't like at all.  They're cramped, the windows are too low…and, if you sit over the wing, you know right away when the landing gear either hits the uplock or the pilot selects gear down–it sounds like a gunshot.  One of these days, I'll schedule a flight on one of Delta's MD-95's…

    The first Atlanta to Phoenix leg was on an Airbus A330.  Not having flown on a product of Toulouse, I was surprised at how nice the ride was.  It was certainly one of the better flights I've been on, air transport-wise.  I'll do it again, too.  I liked the fact that even the "Cattle-Class" seats were roomy enough–although the guy next to me didn't understand boundaries, and wanted to try and sit side-saddle–in the four abreast middle row.  Those of us on either side of him had to constantly tell him to get back in his seat–the one he paid for, not that one and half of ours, too.  I am a big fan of Delta's seatback monitors–I caught the Amy Adams movie "Arrival", which was an interesting movie.  I had some time to go, so I started to watch "Office Christmas Party",  and yes, it was one of those stupid silly movies.  And yes, I enjoyed it. 

    The return flight was okay, too, but it was on one of Delta's A320's.  I can't really complain, but Delta has found a way to install seat-back screens on everything short of the CRJ's.  This one?  Nope.  Not a big deal, as I was fighting a bit of a cold that day.  It was probably just as well that I could snooze during the flight.

    The first trip was like clockwork up until the last leg between Atlanta and Columbia.  But even that wasn't a big deal, we had a maintenance delay that saw us arrive an hour late.  However, you would have thought they told us we weren't leaving for a week by the reaction of some of my fellow travelers.  More on delays and how unbearable other people can be in a minute.

    My most recent trip?  Well, I was scheduled to fly on April 6th.  If you recall, that was the day Delta had a little bit of a problem with airplanes and crews out of position due to some bad weather.  I got the message that my flight was cancelled before I had a chance to take a shower.  I went online and called at the same time–and got a message that the call waiting list was up to at least two hours.  So, I rebooked online.  I tried to rebook for the next day, no dice.  I did the next best thing and rebooked for Saturday, April 7th.  Surely, things would be better by then…

    Well, two things I learned:  When you rebook a flight, for some reason you don't get the text alerts.  Well, at least I didn't.  I got to the airport with plenty of time to spare–which was a good thing–only to find the Columbia to Atlanta flight had once again been cancelled.  So, I joined the queue at the Delta ticket counter.  Now, maybe my 30 years in the aviation industry has prepared me for things like this, I dunno, but I watched a young lady rip the ticket agent up one side and down the other because of the delay.  It wasn't the ticket agent's fault, so I don't know what this lady thought she would get in exchange.  She stormed off, and I approached the agent.  She took a look at my ticket, and offered a voucher for a taxi from Columbia to Atlanta–which is about a four-hour trip.  I had some time to play with, but I had to leave quickly if I was going to make my connection.  "Oh, there's a line of taxis waiting outside", I was told.  Uh, sure there were.  We're talking Saturday of The Master's weekend–Augusta is about 80 miles up I-20.  Rental cars and taxis are usually in short supply. 

    A few Checker Yellow cabs drove up and picked up people in the same boat we were, only they were headed for Charlotte and Charleston.  Minivan taxis with one passenger.  Not too efficient.    But I did call them, and I told them that there were at least ten people who needed to get to Atlanta, and quickly.  So, the minivan pulls up–and the driver only wants to take two of us.  Not happening.  We told him to load the minivan up, which after a call to the dispatcher, he finally did.  The ride was uneventful otherwise–given that a bridge on I-85 on the other side of Atlanta had collapsed days earlier, it could have been much worse.  We arrived at the Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport at noon, my flight out was scheduled for a 2PM departure.

    Now, when I go through the Security Checkpoint, I'm pretty efficient–once I clear the boarding pass/ID check, I put the contents of my pockets into my briefcase or backpack.  When I get to the scanner line, I'm pretty quick to pull the laptop out of the briefcase, place it into a tray, grab a second tray for my shoes, belt, cell phone, and toiletry baggie.  The briefcase and backpack go on the conveyor, and once it starts into the X-Ray, I approach the scanner.  I'm usually in and out on five minutes once I pass the ID check podium.  Well, because Atlanta was so backed up, it liked to take forever.  Part of the problem was that people still don't understand that your pockets must be empty–hell, one of the TSA agents walks up and down the line and tells you that!  Then there are people who want to argue about taking their shoes off.  Look, if you don't have a Known Traveler ID, your shoes come off.  Don't argue–these people have the authority to make sure you don't fly that day.  Do what they tell you.  It isn't difficult.

    Anyway, clear of the checkpoint, I go looking for a Departure monitor–which Atlanta seems to be short of in the checkpoint area.  Sure, there are plenty in the underground areas and gate areas, but I'd like to know which terminal I need to head towards.  I finally found one, noted that we were scheduled out of gate A23…and that we were delayed two hours.  I'd rather be at the airport than on the way to the airport, and Atlanta's terminals are like shopping malls, so I am more than happy to stooge around the airport while waiting.

    Every now and then, I'd check the Departures monitor.  Yep, still A23.  I grabbed a quick snack–I don't really like flying on a full stomach–and sat down.  I checked Facebook, I caught up on my e-mail–personal and work, I caught some of the cabbed TV.  And, every 30 minutes or so, I checked the board.  About 45 minutes before our departure, a few of us noticed that the Gate Monitor now said "Miami".  Hmmm.  Check the Departure monitor–the Phoenix flight was still scheduled out of A23.  But so was the Miami flight.  Three minutes apart.  We asked the gate agent.  She wasn't sure.  This went back and forth for a few minutes until I noticed they had finally changed Phoenix to A24.  Right across the way.  No big deal.  Other than the 4PM departure was now 4:30.  I think we finally got boarded and pushed from the gate sometime around 5:15…

    The flight was on a 737-900.  The last 737 I had flown on was a USAir 737-400.  Night and day.  My seat was towards the aft cabin, and was a bit bumpy, but nothing too bad.  Otherwise, it was a nice flight.  I got a chance to see "Rogue One", which was also kind of cool, as I hadn't caught it in the theater.  I also watched the first half of "Hacksaw Ridge"–I had seen that one in a theater, so I selected it to fill some time.  By the time we got to Phoenix, it was 5:30 local (8:30 on my internal clock)…and I still had to summon an Uber (a new experience for me, but kind of neat), get to the shop, pick up the company truck, and drive to the house.  Yep, we leased a house and bought a vehicle, since we reckon we'll be there for a while…

    Oh, and air travel aside–that Sunday I truly did catch up on my "Star Wars" movie watching when I caught "The Force Awakens" on one of the movie channels at the house.  Interesting film, I see many parallels between it, "A New Hope", and "A Phantom Menace".  I've seen all of 'em up until now-even the revised versions–so I'm interested to see how Disney finished the main story as well as how well they do the other stories like "Rogue One".  If "Rogue One" is any gauge, they're on the right track…

    I spent the week in Phoenix–and if you've never been, you owe yourself a vacation in Arizona.  I've been to Tucson once and Phoenix twice, and the weather has been gorgeous on all three trips–I think it rained one night on my first Phoenix trip, otherwise the skies have been blue and clear.  I'm figuring that my flight on Friday should be smooth sailing.  Right…

    The scheduled departure was 10:24.  The airplane pulled up to the gate–an ex-Northwest 757-251, the passengers got off the airplane, and the crew followed.  Then I see a guy in a reflective vest and the Captain go back aboard.  And I notice one or two guys looking under the airplane.  Then they opened the main wheel doors.  The Captain and the other guy walked back to the gate agent.  There was some discussion, and one of the red-vested Delta "Help" agents showed up.  I had a suspicion, and it was confirmed when they made the announcement that they had a maintenance discrepancy.  The flight would be delayed until 12:30.  I heard whispers of a hydraulic issue.  Specifically, some hydraulic control module.  And then I heard something that told me we weren't leaving at 12:30–"We don't know if we have a part, and we are looking for one now."

    About ten minutes later, the "Help" person started handing out those red "Need Help?" cards.  Doing the wise thing, I rebooked my connection from Atlanta to Columbia for the last flight out that evening.  Surely they could get this airplane fixed and to Atlanta before 10PM EDT…

    In an ideal world, that may have happened.  But then the announcement went out–4:30PM.  And then 7:30PM.  When the departure went to 4:30, I called and rebooked my connection for the first flight out of Atlanta–10:30AM.  And then I waited.  And was once again amazed at what happens to people when things don't go their way.  "Get us another plane!"  It ain't that easy.  Phoenix isn't a Delta hub, and Delta generally doesn't have airplanes sitting around idle.  "Work overtime!"  Uhh, these folks have 24-hour maintenance crews.  "Fly a part in!"  Yep, that's what they're doing–from LAX.  But they can't snatch a part off the shelf, throw it on an airplane, and leave it to that.  There's all sorts of procedures that need to be followed, and they take time.

    By about 5PM, the gate area was nearly empty–only the die hards like me who stuck with the original flight.  Delta got some pizza and brought out the drink and snack cart for us.  I was content to wait–I didn't have to be anywhere right away (sure, I wanted to get home, but I could wait), there were others travelling for the holiday, or Spring Break, or needed to be in the office.  Most of them rebooked for the 1:30 and 4:30 flights.  Knowing I wasn't getting out of Atlanta until 10AM the following morning meant I was going to spend a lot of time at an airport, and it didn't matter much to me whether I had to wait in Phoenix until 7:30.  Did I say 7:30?  Yeah, that's what Delta told us, too.  Until they slipped it to 9PM.  Still, no matter to me…

    About that time, another red-vested Delta "Help" agent approached our gate.  "Are you all waiting for 1546 to Atlanta?"  When a few of us indicated that we were, she called us to the podium.  "We need to rebook you–we have no cabin crew."  She looked at her computer, and called maintenance control.  Sure enough, they had the part, they were ready to install it…and the cabin crew hit their duty time limit.  My trip would continue…

    We all got rebooked for the Red Eye departing at 11:30.  So, I once again found a bit of a snack and a drink, and wandered the terminal for a while.  Oh, a hint–Terminal 3 at Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport has a Wendy's, a Taberna Del Tequila, a Starbuck's, and a few News outlets.  Terminal 4 is where all the action is.  Anyway, I stayed in Terminal 3, where I could watch the Frontier flights come and go.  I like watching airplanes anyway, so I was good.

    About a half hour before we were supposed to board, I noticed a few folks on the 10:24 flight appeared at the new gate.  I thought they had rebooked for the earlier flights and were gone, but apparently they sent their afternoon at Taberna Del Tequila.  And they apparently had consumed some beer.  A lot of beer.  There were about a half-dozen of them, and they were all shit-faced, a couple almost falling-down drunk.  I was speaking with one of them when another showed up and got boisterous with some of the young ladies sitting around us.  They had started to board anyway, so I gathered my gear and slipped away.  The interesting part of the boarding process was when these folks checked in–the gate agents were closely watching them.  The same thing played out once we boarded–the Flight Attendants were certainly aware that these folks were inebriated.  Toe of them were seated in an exit row, and I was amazed that they were allowed to remain there.  Fortunately for all of us on the airplane, all of them passed out (literally, I think) soon after we were on our way.

    I wanted to catch some sleep on the flight, but my neighbors had other ideas.  As soon as the cabin lights went down, their reading lights went on.  And stayed on for the entire flight.  So, I watched more movies.  Or tried to.  I would nod off, and then wake up.  So, I caught about 40% of "Rogue One" again, before I switched to "Office Christmas Party" to catch the last 30 minutes of it.  And then we were in Atlanta.  One step closer…

    We arrived at around 6AM, so I had some time to kill.  I was going to try and find someplace where I could get a sit-down breakfast, but no joy.  So, I did what I usually do–find some snacks and a drink.  By this time, I'm running on nearly 24 hours with little sleep, and it was all I could do to contain my crankiness/grumpiness and stay awake.  Knowing full well that I have a CRJ ride, it took all I could muster…

    The flight was uneventful.  And fast.  We arrived almost 20 minutes early.  I met my wife, we headed to the house (stopping at the grocery store on the way), and went to the house.  I had some lunch.  And I don't remember much else about last Saturday…

    But back to one of my observations.  I watched more people get nasty with airline representatives that I could count.  It wasn't their fault.  Weather happens.  Airplanes break.  Plans get changed.  I've learned to roll with the waves–unlike another airline who made the news for another reason last week, all the problems I experienced were typical air travel issues.  Screaming at, yelling at, cussing at, and abusing the people behind the counter doesn't make things better.  Stay calm.  Be patient.  Go with the flow…

    The other thing I did with my time was people-watch.  I ask you, since when is a steamer trunk classified as "carry-on baggage"?  I routinely carry a small canvas briefcase and a small backpack when I travel.  Those are carry on bags.  But I've seen people try to pass off those huge roller bags or huge backpacks as carry on bags.  I watch people struggle to stuff their bags into the overhead bins.  I know the airlines have caused the problem in part due to their checked bags fees, but people, c'mon.  Use some sense…

    I'm happy to be home for a few weeks.  I'm about traveled our for the time being.  I think I've caught up on my sleep, too…

    Thanks for reading.  Be good to one another, and, as always, I bid you Peace.

     

  • Back on the road again…

    Howdy, everyone!

    From time to time, I go on the road for work.  Sometimes it is to actually work airplanes, sometimes it is for trade shows, and sometimes it is for training.  This road trip is for the latter two, and I managed to fit in some sightseeing and visiting while I'm travelling.  More on that in a minute…

    The Story of The Old Guy

    Last week, as I was getting done with the last tests of an air data computer that had been exchanged, I came to a stark realization.  Back when I first got out of school and was as helpless as a newborn kitten, I learned the bulk of my trade by doing.  And, of course, the first time you get thrown out on the hangar floor and told, "There it is kid, have at it", you start thinking you may have just bitten off more than you can chew.  Everything you do takes too long, or isn't working like they told you it should in school, or you screw it up.  In my case, I was patient to a point, but got frustrated very quickly–the frustration killed my focus on the job.  The frustration coupled with some of the Old Guys on the floor made it worse for me–I'm an introvert, and don't like being criticized in front of God and everyone, all it does is make me even more frustrated.  So, invariably when I was on a task new to me, I'd get frustrated and lose my cool. 

    Usually, what they do next is to send the Old Guy out there to help you, since he usually has been at it longer than anyone else, knows the most, and can fix anything with a small screwdriver and a tie wrap.  As you get to work with the Old Guy, you wonder if you'll ever have the same knowledge and abilities as he does–and if you ever do know that much, you wonder where you're going to learn it.  See, back in the day, a lot of the Old Guys didn't want to share what they knew.  What they knew was their job security.  If they let you know what they knew, they lose that job security of being the only guy in the shop who can do that particular task or group of tasks.  Personally, I don't subscribe to that train of through for a few reasons–one, I don't want to be 60 years old, fat and arthritic, and crawling around on airplanes.  Second, the more people in the organization who know how a certain task is done gives that organization flexibility.  If both my technicians can do all the tasks I can, we don't have to rely on one guy to do this and the other guy to do that.   

    Anyway, I did what everyone has done in the past–I found a guy who was older than I was, but younger than the Old Guy was, tagged along with him, listened, and learned.  There was a lot of trial an error, there were times that nothing made sense, there were times that it was frustrating as hell.  It came to me, though, slowly.  That's why, last week during that seemingly inconsequential air data test, that I realized that I have become the Old Guy in the shop.  My guys, though older than I am, come to me for answers to questions that crop up on the airplanes we work.  They haven't had as much corporate jet experience as I've had, so they come to me for the answers.  And I have learned over the years, too, how to deal with frustration.  I no longer allow the airplane to fluster me.  Which is good… 

    Certain tasks that used to fill me with dread are child's play.  I no longer have trouble diagnosing pitot-static system or autopilot system problems.  Part of it was learned via the sink-or-swim method, part of it through the immersion method, and part of it was through a few good, learned people (other old guys) who weren't afraid to answer my stupid questions or tell me where I went astray.  There's a lot to be said for schools, but there's even more merit in the apprentice system.  I wish it were better organized in the avionics industry, because it is alive and well…and working.

    I went back to my city, and my city was gone…

    Do you recall my two-part post where I gave you a tour around Daytona Beach?  Well, forget most of what you read… 

    I stayed in Daytona last night on my way to my training/trade session.  I had some time late in the afternoon, so I took a drive.  I first took a drive around what the signs say is Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University.  I recognized three buildings.  Out of about two dozen.  I could barely navigate the campus.  Nothing was the same as it was thirty-some years ago except the University Center and two original dorms–at least that I could see.  I know time marches on, and progress needs to be made, but as I drove around campus, I began to recollect those six years I spent there and was again made pain fully aware than I am, officially, The Old Guy.

    Then I took a ride around town.  The Speedway is in the closing stages of their renovation and the completion of the Daytona Rising project–the whole look of the speedway from U.S. 92 is completely different.  The Holiday Inn (later Ramada Inn) across from Turn 4 is gone–replaced by a Bahama Breeze, IHoP, Olive Garden, and Cheddar's.  I wondered about that, because the Olive Garden is next to the Hampton Inn…er, was next to the Hampton.  That property is under construction–the sign says a Houligan's is moving in.

    The look of Beach Street hasn't changed, but the shops out there sure have.  Dunn Hardware and Dunn Toys and Hobbies are long gone, but so are some of the older Mom and Pop shops, too.  Stavro's Pizza is still hanging in there, though…

    Another Daytona Beach constant is still hanging in there, too–the Streamline Hotel, long little more than a flophouse, is being renovated and restored as is fitting the birthplace of NA$CAR.  I was glad to see they hadn't plowed the old place down in the name of progress.

    The rest of the beachfront is depressing–it is becoming more and more another coastal concrete canyon, much the same as Miami Beach.  But I did stop in at the Oyster Pub for supper–much the same as I remember it, I must say, and well worth the visit.  That is one of two watering holes from back in the day (Razzle's being the other, fans!) still open and looking much as they did back in the day.

    Without family, what do you have?

    I got a chance to spend a few hours with my brother and sister-in-law this afternoon on my way through O-Town on my way to Tampa.  I hadn't seen either one on a year, and wish I had a few days to spend catching up with them.  Alas, I had to get on down the road, but we will have to get together again soon…

     

    Planning for both the 2016 AMPS International Convention and the 2016 IPMS/USA National Convention is going smoothly.  Both shows will be First Rate, and I hope to see you all at one or both.  I'm the seminars coordinator for the IPMS Show, and I do believe you'll like the slate of speakers we've put together.  If you are interested in hosting a Seminar for either show, please contact me through the Seminars link on the 2016 IPMS/USA Nationals site.

    With the Big Shows coming up quickly, you need to get your models ready…

    Thanks for reading.  Be good to one another, and, as always, I bid you Peace.