Bric-à-Brac

New Snow, 15 January 2015

Another week comes to a close. Second week back at work after the long Christmas break...

Yeah, I need another vacation.

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I'm still researching the T-33 crash I witnessed as a lad. (See here and here.)

I had an e-mail from one of you, my faithful readers, giving me the name of the other crewman who was on board that aircraft.

He searched through West Point alumni records for any record of an alumnus, other than Major Smith, dying on the 19th of August in 1964. He found one. I managed to find a copy of the man's death certificate issued by the state of Vermont. Which indicates that this West Point grad did die in my home town on the same day as the T-33 crashed. The same day that another West Pointer, Major William Smith, USAF, Class of 1949, died.

The other crewman was Captain Robert L. Wessel, USAF, USMA Class of 1957.

At the time of the crash, Capt. Wessel was living in Watertown, Massachusetts, not that far from Major Smith in Lexington. As Major Smith was stationed at Hanscom Field, Capt. Wessel must have been stationed there as well. Not a definite fact but one which, I believe, we can assume.

Capt. Wessel was originally from Nebraska where he was born on the 17th of May, 1933. Making him 31 at the time of his death. He was the son of Joseph and Minnie Wessel. He left a wife behind.

Another interesting thing I read in Major Smith's memorial page on the West Point site was this:

A woman wheeling her baby that day saw the plane overhead and thought it would come down into town. Instead, she watched as it veered off toward Mt. Ararat. She sent a letter to <Major Smith's wife> explaining how grateful she was; she felt the pilots deliberately swerved to avoid the city.

Now growing up in Springfield, I know of no such place as "Mt. Ararat" near my hometown. However, Capt. Wessel's death certificate indicates that he died on "Mt. Arrat." Map searches revealed no such place (other than a middle school and a high school having the name "Mt. Ararat" all the way over in Topsham. Maine!)

I always thought the aircraft came down on Cherry Hill. Then again, my parents weren't native to Springfield but had moved there from New Hampshire after they got married. "Mt. Ararat" or "Arrat" might have been a name the locals gave to what I knew as Cherry Hill. I don't really know. While I was a local, I was only eleven.

But that place name definitely ties the event of the jet crash to the place of Capt. Wessel's death.

I wish I had a picture of the man. But for now, I am certain that I know the names of the two airmen who were flying that T-33 on that fateful day. (Another detail from the death certificate was that the "accident" which took Capt. Wessel's life took place at 2:45 PM. Some of those old records have a rather quaint feel to them. I guess most small towns back then were quaint. So it seems now, 50 years later.)

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So another week in the books. Life proceeds with an almost agonizing sameness but I am really okay with that. Same is comforting, same is good.

Though it can get boring, I remember the old Chinese curse, "May you live in interesting times." Nope, no thank you. At my age I'll stick with boring.

Found a couple of pictures in an old yearbook. Not high school or college mind you but from Kunsan AB, Korea. The 8th Component Repair Squadron's year book. Yes, we actually had those. Kind of like a cruise book. As assignments at Kunsan were supposed to be only a year long (I stayed nearly four) the year book was something of a keepsake, I guess. But Kunsan was the only base I ever saw with a year book.

Your Humble Scribe

You could say that I was the "Young AF Sarge" back then. Only a Staff Sergeant. Hair was still dark and I still had most of it. Notice how I rock those 1970s spectacles.

Notice how I apparently don't own a comb!

Your Humble Scribe, wielding a half-yard stick and wearing his chapeau indoors. Bit of a no-no there!

In this exquisitely natural photo (heh) I am apparently threatening my shop chief, Charlie, with an unsharpened wooden implement. Which appears to be about 18-inches long. A fairly non-standard thing to have around an avionics shop. No doubt we jolly jokers cut a yard stick in half at some point for some lost-to-history reason.

Oh, that guy to my left, that was my best bud Tank. Tank and I drank a lot of beer together.

A. Lot. Of. Beer.

I think he was in Korea for about 3,000 years. At least it seemed that long. Many Koreans thought Tank was Korean as well, though an odd-looking one. Tank, if you couldn't tell, is Italian. His nickname is based on his actual last name. (Not clever, but practical.)

The other guys' names escape me. Not because they weren't memorable guys but because it was a long time ago. And I'm old. And forgetful. I could look it up but then I'd have to walk back over to the book case. And it's getting late. And...

My but I do go on, don't I?

Did I mention that I ran into Rumbear in DC? At the Smithsonian? Here he is...

He's wearing his winter coat. He's from Sandy Eggo ya know. Not used to DC in January.

I was going to go over and say hi, but this elephant was in the lobby making a ruckus.

Okay I know, it's not a real elephant. And yeah, that wasn't really Rumbear in the previous photo. One of his cousins I think.

Your Humble Scribe, enjoying a Guinness
at Joe Theismann's Restaurant

We didn't go to the restaurant until after, mind you after, we went to the museum. I only had two Guinness.

Really.

Enjoy the day. The weekend is nigh!