April 2004 Archives

By Vincent Safuto staff writer

April 24, 2004

On a recent weekend, I made a pilgrimage out to Vero Beach's airport to have a look at the airplanes on display during Aviation Day.

The key to a successful day celebrating flight is, in my view, the presence of some World War II aircraft, and by that standard the day was far from a disappointment. True, there were no tours being given — at least, while I was there — of the Collings Foundation's beautifully restored B-24 and B-25, but they drew a crowd, myself included, and the cameras were beeping and snapping like mad.

The other aircraft also were excellent, and we should be grateful to the owners for allowing the public to walk around their planes and gaze into the cockpits.

Big or small, prop or jet, there's something about an airplane that has always gotten me excited. Maybe it's the potential to break free of the ground and see the world from a different perspective. Forget Interstate 95 and U.S. 1. When the sky's your highway, no destination is out of reach.

Airplanes on the ground, especially the general aviation craft I once flew for fun, seem sad, though. Their cockpits are cold and dark, their engines inert, their struts compressed, their wings almost drooping, depressed at not biting into the air and lifting their payload.

Indeed, you can always tell a pilot because his or her body seems to mimic the grounded plane. Darn it, they want to fly — planes and pilots alike.

There's a T-shirt that reads: "I know there's a lot of money in aviation. I put it there." People make great sacrifices for that miracle of flight, and with aviation fuel costing more than $3 a gallon and aircraft sale and rental prices so high, it is a costly hobby. Small wonder that computer flight simulators sell so well.

But there's nothing like the real thing, bringing even a simple aircraft to life, throwing the switches to make the instruments on the panel come alive, cranking and starting the engine, and making that little drive to the runway, pointing the plane in the right direction and gently easing the engine to full throttle.

There are those seconds while the plane builds speed and you have to counteract the left-turning tendency single-engine prop aircraft have, but then you're airborne.

Below is the world, and it seems that not only does the ground fall away, but so do the problems: war, politics, bad television, violent movies, all the rough and tumble of modern life in America.

All too soon, it's time to come down. As another T-shirt says so eloquently: "Flying is the second-greatest achievement known to man; landing is the first."

To some people, airplanes are just noisy contraptions that fly overhead, need long strips of asphalt and concrete to come back to Earth, and hurt property values.

I've never felt that way, and anytime I'm near an airfield and see a plane taking off or landing, it's still amazing to me that it really happens.

Vincent F. Safuto is a copy editor for the Press Journal. Reach him at ( Vincent.Safuto@scripps.com).

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By Vincent Safuto staff writer

April 17, 2004

A recent story in the Press Journal told about an air show to be held at the St. Lucie County airport in June.

It's the strangest air show I've ever heard of, because the main emphasis isn't on aircraft, according to the organizers, though since it's being held on an airport, I suppose there'll be planes around.

Most such events become "salutes to the military," which isn't that bad a thing. But a recent conversation with a fellow veteran in the newsroom brought out a view that I thought was mine alone: We're going overboard on the lionization of the military.

Even worse, some of the attempts to promote the military are very disrespectful of the people who serve their country in uniform.

A TV advertisement for the "air show" includes someone in a military uniform driving up to the camera in a jeep and shouting that the viewer had better come to the event.

Maybe it was that description that got me thinking about how stereotypical it is to assume that a military instructor naturally would be yelling all the time. I can't believe that someone who has served in the military would perpetuate such a stereotype, so I suppose it's someone whose sole source of military knowledge is the movie "Full Metal Jacket" or the History Channel TV show "Mail Call."

In the latter show, a former Marine drill instructor shouts at and insults viewers, though he does provide some useful and interesting information. It's almost a mockery of the Marine Corps in many ways.

True, being shouted at was a reality when I underwent Marine Corps basic training in August 1978. No doubt about that.

Drill Instructor Sgt. Bostic and Drill Instructor Sgt. Holden could turn 70 recruits into fear-ridden babies with a few well-chosen words at high volume.

While what they said when they were shouting often scared me half to death, in some ways what they said when they weren't shouting scared me a lot worse. Indeed, while a drill instructor was shouting, you felt secure because you knew it couldn't get much worse, but when he wasn't shouting, you feared that sudden rise in volume if you displeased him more than anything.

The military has an important job to do, and is doing that job to the best of its ability and even when the civilian leadership lies to the troops and breaks its promises.

Our troops deserve respect, and especially those on the front lines of training new soldiers, sailors, airmen and, of course, Marines.

I could not stand idly by as the methods that turned me into a Marine when I was 17 are mocked and played up for the entertainment of civilians.

I hope that ad never runs, and I hope that next time someone decides to portray a military basic training instructor, regardless of branch of service, they do so with respect and understanding — and realize that the shouting is a disrespectful caricature of reality, no matter what Hollywood may want you to believe.

Vincent F. Safuto is a copy editor for the Press Journal. Reach him at Vincent.Safuto@scripps.com.


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By Vincent Safuto staff writer

April 10, 2004

I was deep in thought recently about ways to get the most out of my money. In our era of ever-increasing efficiency, I thought that there had to be some aspect of my life that could be "outsourced," as the economists say, but I kept coming up dry.

Then, while watching my cats eat, it hit me: Why not outsource them to India?

I wouldn't actually send Tommy, Mikasa, Shadow and Midnight to India — that would cost too much — but I could contract with someone in India who would adopt, say, 16 cats, and I would pay him or her to take care of them.

My current feline crew would, of course, have to go back to the Humane Society, I thought. I mean, I could just throw them out of the house, but that would be wrong.

The advantages of outsourcing were immediately apparent. I'd need cat carriers to take the whole bunch to the Humane Society, which would benefit the American cat-carrier industry.

I could buy my proxy in India a video camera (good for the electronics industry), ship it there (good for the shipping industry), and have him or her record my new kitties and send the videos over the Internet. With my high-speed connection, downloading such large files would be a snap.

I'd be helping cats in India, where I have no doubt there is a huge population explosion in the feline arena, and be part of the wonderful world economy.

Most importantly, I would save a load of money, not only in vet bills but also in cat food, cat litter and cat-toy costs. Such savings could be plowed into spending that would benefit the rest of the American economy, thus creating millions of new good-paying jobs right here at home.

And my life would improve. No more awakening to Tommy licking my forehead or Midnight attacking my feet under the covers. My proxy cats would be there when I needed them, and gone when I didn't.

Of course, the Humane Society folks might think poorly of me for giving back the cats I promised I'd take care of, but once I explained the benefits to the national economy, I'm sure they'd see reason.

In the middle of all this thought, Tommy jumped on the couch next to me and licked my hand, Mikasa rolled over for a tummy rub, Shadow did some "shoulder cruising" and Midnight took his post on the end table and rubbed against my arm.

I then realized that there's more to life than money, and that the benefits of four cats more than outweigh the costs. There are some things that can't be measured in dollars and cents, and the companionship of my cats is one of them.

To heck with the economists and their theories. The cats stay!

Vincent F. Safuto is a copy editor for the Press Journal. Reach him at Vincent.Safuto@scripps.com.

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