Corry Field Columns Mystery Update!

Well - I was very fortunate to make a little headway into the mystery of the Corry Field Columns that i posted on just a few weeks ago.  I sent out emails to several different people and organizations in Pensacola and received a reply from Curt Lawson, Buehler Library, NNAM, NAS Pensacola, FL.  Here's his reply:

The pillars, now south of the new Veterans Hospital, were once one of the field boundary light arrangement to enable safe night flying from the early days of Corry Field. They were used between 1927 and 1934 to light the southern edge of the landing field that was only a grass area at the time (i.e. no runways). The lights had electrical and a gas system for added light augmentation as needed. The pillars are 15 to 20 feet tall and each held a 7 foot tall light as shown in an attachment.  Two additional sets of shorter pillars were located along the western and northern field boundaries. These lights permitted safe clearance of trees and lit the landing areas for the early biplanes (without any on-board lights). Additional lighting and runway construction was started after 1934 as aircraft and airfield development proceeded.

He also included a photo of the original lights that topped the columns:

Eastern Ways Martial Arts

Anyone who knows me, even those who encounter me briefly, knows my affiliation and love for martial arts.  I’ve been practicing kung fu for 12 ½ years.  That’s a serious commitment.  But I’ve never posted about it on my blog – it seemed redundant.   I mean, I talk about it all the time to everyone around me so I thought, hey, I don’t want people running the other direction when they see me coming.  But recently I’ve had a string of things happen to me.  You know – Life.  That chaotic period where every problem you encounter is insurmountable.  To make matters worse, they all came at once.  Or so it seemed.  Loss of work.   Car problems.  Money problems.  I couldn’t recoup from one problem before another one was there staring me in the face.  Then my Father became very, very ill and I knew I needed to fly home. 

When you have problems, really serious problems, that’s when you find out who your real friends are.  Those who don’t want to deal with sorrow and life’s troubles will disappear off your radar.  Those who are committed to you will be on your doorstep offering whatever it takes to help.  And that is how I discovered just what the people at Eastern Ways Martial Arts are made of. 

I’ve been very blessed to have wonderful people around me – for most of my life.  But sometimes there are those who just go “above and beyond” in their dedication to make you feel the top of the world. 

Who let you know, no matter how awful things get, they will be pulling for you.  And if you fall, they’ll be there to catch you.  I don’t know what I’ve done to have such wonderful people in my life, but I have certainly been blessed.

There is one person in particular that I would like to make a special thanks – and that’s to Tai Simo Molina.  She is a giver – from thoughtful birthday and Christmas presents to “just because” gifts purchased with your needs in mind.  But the greatest gift is her heart.  Throughout the years she’s been a rock and foundation of compassion.  She celebrates your accomplishments and, when the chips are down, is there to listen with great empathy and love.  To hold your hand when you cry.  To tell you that you are worth something and to never give up on your dreams.  She makes you believe in yourself when all your world is crumbling in around you and, through her energetic support, you begin to believe that you can shake off your troubles and rise again.  That is a real and true gift and the worth of that goes beyond measure.

Does it sound like I’m sucking up?  Maybe.  But I don’t give a damn.  Goodness should be recognized and praised.  Compassion should be held above ego and gold.  So much of our world has become a regular diet of doom and despair.  Shootings.  Stabbings.  Murder.  Rape.  I hate turning on the news.  But people seem to delight in drama.  I don’t understand it.  I would rather elevate goodness, compassion, true understanding.  To live in a world that recognizes and promotes these things.  Maybe that sounds idealistic and unrealistic.  But I say, if I don’t embrace these ideas, who will?  If I don’t make my world, who is?  We are what we believe we are. 

So – to all the Instructors, to Tai Sifu, and especially to Tai Simo – thank you for supporting me and believing in me throughout these years.  You matter.  You make a difference.  What finer thing in the world is that?

The Salute

Many things touched me and left impressions in my mind on the day my Father was buried.  I am always struck by the seemingly small things that are enormous in scope.  A funeral is just a surreal experience.  People are talking in hushed voices, with questions, tears, sorrowful looks, but it all seems like it’s happening to someone else – not you.  Mom and I are in the car behind the hearse.  A procession begins across the rain-soaked town as grey clouds threaten to rain out another day.  I try to count the cars but lose track as curves block my view.  Police fly past us, lights flashing, as they stop traffic.  We have something here in Florida I find endearing – people stop their cars for a funeral procession.  Police block intersections.  Traffic stops all around as people pay respect for the dead and for the families.  It is quite moving – and the first time since Dad died that I felt anything. 

When we arrived at NAS, the military MP’s came to attention and saluted.  The police, who had given us escort, were out of their cars, also saluted as we passed.  I was touched.  Of course I knew, realistically, they were doing their jobs – they are supposed to salute.  But as we passed the golf course on the way to the cemetery, two older gentlemen golfers stopped their game, came to attention, and saluted.  No one was paying them.  They had no idea who was in that hearse; they were having a fine day of golf.  Yet they stopped to salute.  It still brings a lump in my throat.  What a simple gesture.  That meant so much. 

Now when I think of my Father’s funeral – that is the image that lingers with me.  What a great memory to hold.

Corry Field Mystery

We stumble out of bed in the morning, slurp a cup of hot coffee, and hit the road blurry-eyed and groggy.  We drive down the same old road, past the same old buildings day in and day out.  Most days we’re either too sleepy or too focused on the day’s projects to notice the scenery as it whizzes by us.  But sometimes, for some unexplained reason, we wake up and see.  And what we see makes us wonder.  Like how have we passed this way every day and not notice – well – everything?  It makes us wonder like a kid wonders.  Why?  How?

I had a moment like that recently.  Actually, it was my Mom who woke me up and made me notice.  Made me wonder.  At the intersection of Hwy 98 and Veteran’s Way in Pensacola, FL, in a swampy, mosquito-ridden tangle of woods and vines lay three weather beaten columns.  They’re just twenty feet or so off the highway.  There’s something regal and majestic about them.  An air of American pride.  Of history.  But now they stand forgotten.  No one notices their carved columns; their classic styling.  No one knows their proud history.  They are overgrown and ignored. 

The columns, I believe, were a part of the runway lighting on Corry Station – the air field that opened here off Hwy. 98 in July 1927 in response to an ever-growing need for landing strips for the Navy.  I was curious so of course I Googled it.  According to “The Hook Magazine” http://www.tailhook.org/Corry.htm there were two Corry stations.  Which surprised me.  The first was created in July 1922 and was not much more than a green pasture with cows that had to be shooed away before the planes could land.  There were no photos I could find on that first airfield but plenty on the current location.  The website provided a number of old black and white photos, but none of them showed the columns.  Maybe the columns weren’t for landing lights at all.  What else might they be?  I certainly would like to know. 

Every time I drive by them now, I look and wonder.  Day by day they are slowly fading into the woods.  Soon their mystery will be swallowed by greenery.  It makes me sad.  Does anyone know what these stately old columns are?  Were they actually used on Corry Field?  Would Corry Station allot money to restore the columns and create a space around the columns so people could stop and see them?  Put lights back on the top?  That would be cool.  Or put up a plaque that gives the history of the columns and Corry?  If Corry couldn’t do it, would the Pensacola Navy Museum be willing to relocate these columns to the museum?  Is there some military agency that works to restore and preserve military history?  If there’s anyone with knowledge about these columns or knows who might be interested in preserving them, please feel free to reply here.  Pensacola has a very proud and long Naval history and these columns would be a great addition.  

Donations in Honor of My Father

Many people have asked what they can do for my Mom or if they should send flowers - Mom has asked if people would like to donate to one of these organizations.  Covenant Hospice is the service we used when Dad became really ill and they are just angels.  I don't say that lightly. 

The other organization is run by a wonderful lady who helps injured and sick - or sometimes misplaced - wild animals.  Mom, Dad, and i used to go there all the time.

Covenant Hospice
2001 N. Palafox Street
Pensacola, FL  32501
(850) 433-8097

Wildlife Sanctuary of NW Florida Inc.
105 North S Street
Pensacola, FL  32505
(850) 433-9453

Thank you in advance for everything people have done for us.  You are beautiful!  I mean it!

A Tribute To My Father

All our Fathers are unique men.  Sometimes they are loved for it, and sometimes not.  Not all have been great or even good men. But this tribute is for my Father.  And he truly is a great man and well-loved by many people.  No lie. 

Alvin C. Farage was born in Kansas City, Missouri, April 27, 1933.  Wow, a long time ago.  He died two days ago at 79 after a very long and painful battle with cancer.  The cancer may have taken his body.  But it did not take his spirit.  It did not take the laughter and smiles he shared with friends and strangers alike.  It did not take the kindness that was in his soul.  It did not dampen his drive, energy, and zest for life – because it lives on in all of us – all of those who knew him.

 

Dad was an impressive athlete and bore the competitive spirit and focus of an Olympian.  Whatever he put his mind to, he conquered. In the early days, he played football and basketball.  He built model airplanes and won trophies throughout the southeast.  I spent my youth watching my Dad pitch fast-pitch softball at Lion’s Park in downtown Pensacola.  On the weekend he played golf and won local tournaments.  When he wasn’t on the golf course, he was fishing either with family or friends in the Gulf of Mexico.  Or water skiing.  When he pitched his last game and was tired of golf, he turned his eyes on tennis.  He won tournaments there too. Then he fell in love with snow-skiing.  Yes – he was a Floridian who loved to snow ski in Colorado.  And he didn’t just dabble in all these sports.  He pushed himself to always be better.  He took lessons, but they never lasted long because he just GOT it.  His body knew what to do; he understood.    

But playing sports wasn’t the only thing he excelled.  He was a fantastic and creative builder.  The single car garage in our home quickly became his workshop.  If Dad didn’t have a racket in his hand, he had a hammer and nail.  He built a swimming pool after watching one being built – no drawings, no plans.  He saw it and knew he could do it.  He built a tennis court.  Remodeled the house.  Many times.  Did I say many times?  We lived on a woody two acres – if Dad had lived to 100, he would have filled the yard with an ever expanding “weekend” project.  And later, he learned to build furniture.  Our houses are filled with tables, benches, cupboards, and crafts that Dad built. 

Dad was a proud American.  He served in the Navy for two years on a destroyer out of New York then spent another six as a reservist.  He had great stories of those years on the ship.  The night he saved his ship from being cut in two by another ship.  Watching a man get washed overboard then washed back on deck again.  The evocative descriptions of sailing into Bermuda.  These were the stories he told over and over but I never got tired of them.  After his active duty tour, he worked at NARF, NAS Pensacola.  Dad retired from NAS after 34 years. 

USS Kyne DE 744

With all he did, I suppose some might think that there was no time left to be a family man.  But that was certainly not the case.  Mom and I were a part of his life as deeply as water is part of the Ocean.  Mom and Dad were childhood sweethearts.  They lived down the street from one another, grew up together, and married.  Four years later, they had me.  Dad and Mom were always a team.  They planned their life – together.  They worked as a unit.  He was a giving husband and playful father.  He liked to play pranks on us.  Once, he convinced Mom and me that the roof was leaking water into my bedroom – on a bright, sunny day.  He was that convincing. He also told me that I couldn’t throw a football left-handed because the “the threads inside the football are wound a certain way and the football won’t spiral if you throw it left-handed.”  I believed that for years and later embarrassed myself over those “facts.”   It isn’t possible to tell of all the things Dad did.  All the vacations.  All the holidays he made extra special with his enthusiasm.  Dad approached life with great energy and hope.  How could you not love him?

Now Mom and I sit numb.  Surreal.  I feel like Dad is really just at the hospital or at Hospice.  We’ll see him again.  Surely.  But I know I won’t.  Not in this life.  Neither of us have mourned.  Not really.  Not yet.  But there are things.  His things.  The peanut butter in the pantry that is HIS peanut butter.  The tennis shoes that he always wore.  I was walking through the hall and I heard the alarm of his watch.  I almost stumbled.

I bought an American flag yesterday.  I will put it on his grave.  Maybe then I will cry.  Whatever the outcome of that, I know in the days and months to come, I will miss him terribly.  As I should.  He was a great man and still is in our memories.

Blue Angels

There’s been hundreds of articles written on the Blue Angels – The Navy’s Demonstration Team.  And here I am, adding to the mountain of material and probably not saying anything new.  But there’s something so remarkable about watching the Blue Angels that it compels me to attempt the foolish.  Of course, I’ve never been particularly quiet about things I’m passionate about.   

I’ve been watching the Blues since I was a baby.  My Father and Grandfather both served in the Navy and later worked for, what was then, NARF – Naval Air Rework Facility.  They both loved aircraft and had a serious interest in model aircraft competition.  So it was no strange thing to go to the yearly air show.  The first plane I remember the Blues flying was the Phantom – a massive plane that made the ground shake when it took off.  Sometime after that they changed to a smaller aircraft, the A-4 Skyhawk; the same planes that hang in the Naval Air Museum in Pensacola, FL, the city I was born.  And it seems like just yesterday the Blue Angles began flying F/A 18 Hornet but this is the 25^th Anniversary of their flight. Which makes me feel like I should be walking with a cane.   

Watching the Blues fly their annual beach show is thrilling.  If you’ve never witnessed a show, put that on your list of things to do before you die.  It really is that impressive.  And as thrilled as I am to watch them, I can only imagine how it must feel if you are on the wrong end of America.

 A dark silhouette silently rises above the horizon then screams with incredible speed and accuracy across the land.  Your mind only has the time to register, “What’s that?”, before the jet is there and gone again. 

It's a terrifying menace descending from the sky.   Intimidating to put it mildly.  But I’m not on the wrong side of America.  Good thing.  I am very proud of our Navy and Marines and all those who serve.  So when I watch the Blues perform their maneuvers, I smile.  It’s a great feeling.