Men in Planes

Most objects of practical worth must consider museums an open grave. Priceless jewels in a museum's care won't be going on a Saturday night. Classic autos won't be dashing under street lights. Ruins won't have a chance to fully ruin themselves. I think fossils are at least one exception. Another is the open cockpit day at the Flying Leatherneck Aviation Museum. On this day anyone can climb into a lucky flock of warplanes and wag the stick, drop the bombs, and get the babes. Unfortunately, the babes were museum quality too -- closer to the fossils than the priceless jewels. Barry and I believed the hype and beat the heat to get in line.

Foot windows were key before digital instrumentation to landing the bird on target. They were also key to the armed forces banning mini-skirts as standard-issue pilot uniforms.

Hey enemies, catch!

The guide explained that both Barry and I would've been too tall to be pilots. The hatch wouldn't close. Apparently Boeing does not make a convertible model for real cruising Southern California style.

I got to be Iceman. Barry was Maverick: after all, he drinks attitude.

The snorkel enables planes to fly under water to sneak up on enemies.

Danger here. Rescue here. These pilots walked a fine line between nuts and crushed nuts. Barry thinks they were Ohio people. I had a hard time arguing that one.

Putting Marine life into the air is called an attack wave. Do not try to surf.

Even with a vertical takeoff, you do not want to be a goose in the wrong place at the wrong time.

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