Summer Olympic Trivia

1. What country has hosted the Olympic Summer Games 4 times?
a. England
b. USA
c. Greece
d. France 

2. How many countries have had representation in every Summer Olympics?  Can you name them?

3. What country competed in the 1956 Olympics, but also boycotted them?

4.  How many athletes participated in the 1900 Olympic Games in Paris?  

a. 2500
b. 660
c. 997
d. 1780

5.   What was used for targets during the shooting events during those games?

6.  In the first Olympics in Athens, what types of medals were awarded?

a. Gold, Silver, Bronze
b. Gold and Bronze
c. Gold and Silver
c. Silver and Bronze

7.  The US has never won a medal in ____ sports.

a. 2
b. 5
c. 12
d. 8

8. How old was the senior-most Gold Medalist?  

9.  What about the oldest medalist of all?

Jeannie Finch (hint for the next question)                         Source

10. What five sports will be added to the Olympic Games in Tokyo in 2020?




This is also a hint

11.  What was banned (by Hitler) from the Olympic Village in 1936, but an exception was given to the French and Italians?

 Christa Luding-Rothenburger

12.  What feat did East German Christa Luding-Rothenburger accomplish in 1988 that is now impossible?

13.  What did Nikolai and Yuri Pimenov from the Soviet Union become the second to accomplish in 1980?

14.  What country has won a gold medal at every Olympic Games?


15.  What is the record for the most appearances in the Olympic Games?

Source

16.  Which of these have never been an Olympic sport?

a. Motorcycle Racing
b. Hot-Air Ballooning
c. Croquet
d. 10 Pin Bowling

17. Which of these countries has only won a single Olympic medal?

a. Albania
b. Fiji
c. Djibouti
d. Bolivia

18. How much gold is actually in those gold medals?

a. 80%
b. 50-65%
c. 30-40%
d. 0-25%

RioOlympics.com

19.  The 2016 Olympic Games in Rio will be the first games to feature this.

a. Have no sports with athletes maintaining an amateur status.
b. The 300m Hurdles event
c. A trans-gendered surfer
d. The first athletes born in this millennium

20.  In 1924, American Robert LeGendre smashed the world record for the long jump, but only took home the bronze medal.  I'll give you 5 guesses why.

Ok, pencils down.  Grade your own papers.


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



Maracanã Stadium (Rio-2016-live.com)

Answers:

1. Four-time host?  USA. In 1904, 1932, 1984 and 1996
2. Always an Olympian? 5- Switzerland, Australia, Greece, Great Britain, France.  However, Australia competed with a combined Kiwi and Aussie team as Australasia, and a lone Frog was on the US team in 1904, the year France didn't send a team.
3. Play and No-way? Switzerland.  They competed in some early equestrian events in Stockholm, but then later boycotted the rest of the games in Melbourne months later.
4. By the numbers- 997 athletes competed in 19 events, which is far more athletes than spectators that attended.
5. Targets?  Live pigeons, which was the last time that was done.
6. What's your medal?  C.  Silver and Bronze.  Four years later, few medals were awarded with mainly Cups and Trophies given out.
7.  We're American and we suck:  5- Badminton, Handball, Rhythmic Gymnastics, Ping Pong, and Trampoline
8.  Oldie but a goodie:  64 year old Oscar Swahn of Sweden in shooting in 1912
9.  The same guy took the silver 8 years later.  The family has a total of 15 medals!
10. Nubes:  Baseball/Softball, Karate, Skateboard, Sports Climbing and Surfing
11.  Alcohol, but they were given an exception at meal times after appealing.  Boozing whiners!
12.  What'd she do?  Won medals in both Winter and Summer Olympics in the same year. Speed Skating and Track Cycling.  Now the games are staggered.
13.  They were the second set of twins to earn a team medal in the same event (Coxless Pair- a rowing event).  They took the silver, but gold went to Bernd and Jorg Landvoigt (East Germany).  By the way, Americans Calvin and Alvin Harrison (bros, but not twins) were on the same gold medal 4x400 relay team in Sydney.  Clones Paul and Morgan Hamm won the team silver for the US in the All-Around Gymnastics event in Athens in 2004.
14.  Always taking the gold:  Great Britain
15. Frequent flyer: 10- By Canuck Show Jumper Ian Millar.  His horse got sick or he would have made it 11 in Rio.
16. One of these things is not like the others...D. 10 Pin Bowling.  The medal made you guess wrong I'd expect.  Bowling was an Olympic-related event in '36, but not an IOC-sanctioned sport.
17. Once is enough: C- Djibouti won a bronze medal in the Marathon in the 1988 Seoul Olympics
18. There's gold in them thar medals!: D.  In London it was barely 1%.  However, they must be 92% silver.
19. Kids these days:  D.  We've got a 16 year old Ping-Ponger, but Nepal brought a 13 year old swimmer.  Wrestling still requires amateur status.
20. Winner and a loser: He did that during the Pentathlon, but his other four events didn't score high enough.   

14-20 Correct: 

9-13 Correct:

4-8 Correct: 

Less than 4 Correct?  You must be a bowler.

Friday Musings - 16217

Le Penseur, Musée Rodin, Paris (Source)

While I do not consider myself to be a great philosopher, pundit, or thinker, I will, from time to time, sit and ponder the (perhaps) imponderable. It's human nature I suppose to think about things. Then again, from what I've seen lately in the world, there are quite a few folks out there who do not think, they simply react, spout their opinions, and spread hate and discontent wherever they may be. Perhaps it's because of the upcoming election. Perhaps it has always been this way but with the 24-hour news cycle we just get more of it. I will say this, while on jury duty I didn't notice any of the nonsense filling the many forms of media we have in these modern times. Mostly because I didn't access them, I had quite enough on my plate determining the fate of a fellow human being.

While the jury thing was indeed mentally exhausting, for me at any rate, it was refreshing to not listen to the news, or read about it online. I was content to focus on what was in my own personal line-of-sight and leave all the rest to others. I knew that I would have the chance to "catch up." Almost wish that I had left it well enough alone and continued to bask in my ignorance of current events.

So let's get to it, shall we?

I think we've reached a point where the majority of the American people no longer care who is in charge, just so long as it doesn't impact them. Or seem to impact them, which reminds me of this...

First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Socialist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

Pastor Martin Niemöller

If you give the government enough power, they will come for you, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but they most certainly will come. Those who seek power, much like those who seek wealth, do not recognize nor understand the concept of "enough."

How much money is enough? How much power is enough?

Give them an inch and most assuredly, they will take a mile.

When I was doing my civic duty, I was very concerned with some of my fellow jurors. Though everyone of us it that room "felt" that the defendant had done "something" illegal, only seven of us obeyed the law concerning "beyond a reasonable doubt." The premise is that you don't take away someone's freedom without a damned good reason, without sufficient evidence that any reasonable person could look at and say, "Yup, he did it."

"I think he did it." Isn't enough.

"I feel he must have done it." Isn't enough.

The reason being is that we as individuals grant the State power on our behalf. We grant that power by electing others to represent us at each level of government. At the town, county, state, and national levels we have people who speak for us, who vote somewhat in accordance with the beliefs and wishes of their constituents.

Of course, it is more indirect than that, for the most part we have created political parties to which we adhere and which, to a certain extent, believe what we believe. Not exactly mind you. For my own part I am very much aware of the needs of the less fortunate. I believe that they should be provided assistance when it is needed. I also believe that there are those who will never be able to rise above their dependent state due to physical or mental impairments beyond their control. I understand, and am willing to pay for, the need to take care of those folks. Housing, food, medical care, and the like. People who cannot work cannot provide for themselves, there is no arguing that point. Kinda liberal, neh?

On the other hand I believe in a strong military, strength through superior firepower resonates with me. I believe that around the world people should be terrified of harming an American citizen because they know that retribution would be swift, and deadly. Mess with the U.S.A. and expect to die. Kinda right wing, neh?

I don't adhere to the Republican Party in all things, on the other hand, I don't much care for the Democratic Party at all. Neither represents me near enough for me to donate time or money to their platforms and causes.

Now I've also mentioned in these spaces that I'm leaning strongly towards the Libertarian ticket of Johnson and Weld come November. I don't like their stance regarding pro-choice versus pro-life and I don't like their stance on immigration. I like some of what they stand for, I dislike the rest. I do know one thing, the Republicans have forfeited any loyalty I may have had towards them in the past. Their track record has been abysmal over the past few years. Why should I vote for Trump? He's not really a Republican and I believe he is just the latest in a series of also-rans put forth for President by the GOP.

In the past two elections it's almost as if the Republicans were trying to lose. Now they have a guy who might actually pull it off, and they're not helping him. Of course, it really feels like Trump is trying to lose now. Can he say any more dumb things? Yes, bad press is better than no press but hey, he's a Presidential candidate, he's going to get press coverage either way.

As to Shrillary? I despise her, always have. There is no way she would ever get my vote, ever. Now don't say that not voting for Trump is, de facto, a vote for Shrillary. It's not, a vote for someone other than those two is a vote for whoever I put down. I think it's time we break the two party system, the Ds and the Rs no longer represent the American people. They only represent the rich and the powerful. We have raised a new class of nobles who feel entitled based on birth and who they know.

Honestly, I think that things are going to come to a head sooner, rather than later. I know folks who truly believe that blood must be shed. I'm sure though that like most putative revolutionaries, they want others to do the actual shedding of blood while they sit in the background and conspire. Revolutions also tend to eat their young, I've said it before, be careful what you wish for.

And really, I live in Little Rhody. Conservatives in this state are as rare as a snow storm in May. Sure they happen, just not very often. So, unless I vote a straight Democratic ticket, I might as well write myself in for President. It ain't gonna count, not really. I'm awash in a sea of blue, in a blue region, surrounded by blue states.

Ah well, maybe next time...

Hey look! A kitten and a dog, living in harmony.

(Source)

I'd rather see that than the mug of another politician. Maybe it's just me...



Have you figured out the title yet? Hat tip to Lex for the main part. Man, I wonder what he would have to say about all this. Buck too.

Hydraulic Fluid and Cigars (A Black Hat Tale)

(Source)

A long, long time ago I was (somewhat) gainfully employed as an avionics maintenance Quality Assurance (QA) inspector for the mighty 8th Tactical Fighter Wing, also known as The Wolf Pack. Juvat and I were contemporaries in that outfit for one year. He flew Phantoms, I fixed them. Well, I fixed the Weapons Control System (think radar and gun sight), I couldn't help you if a wing fell off, an engine broke, or a control surface jammed. I could take note and recognize such things, just couldn't mend them once they had gone south.

Anyhoo...

I have, no doubt, alluded to how I wound up in QA, assigned directly to Wing Headquarters, no longer a squadron guy but kind of a staff wienie. Kind of, as we spent most of our evenings on the flightline and not sitting in our office. (Office = boring, flightline = exciting.) Still and all, I can lay claim to having been a staff puke in a fighter outfit. Not something to be proud of, but there it is, that's just me being upfront and honest about my past. (Other "Black Hat Tales" are here, here, and here. For those with an interest in ancient history.)

I worked with a tech sergeant during the six or so months I was exiled assigned to QA. It grieves me that I cannot remember his name. I remember what he looked like and I remember that by trade he was an Avionics Ground Equipment (AGE) technician. But his name escapes me. So by convention (which means I assigned him the moniker "Billy" in one of those links above) I refer to him as Billy. TSgt Billy to be precise. Not Billy Stanphill, who was on Okinawa when I got there, first he was a TSgt then he was promoted to MSgt and was famous for having the most starch in a set of fatigues that I have ever seen. Before or since. MSgt Stanphill could sleep standing up as his uniform was about as flexible as a sheet of plywood. No, not that Billy, who also smoked unfiltered Pall Malls, the man was about as old school as you can get without actually being able to say he worked on B-17s during the "Big One," ya know, Dubya Dubya Deuce. (WWII that is...)

Anyhoo...

TSgt Billy and I would climb into the six passenger International Harvester pickup truck (painted a delightful shade of Air Force blue) assigned to our shop and head out to the flightline as soon as all of the day shift types had left the building. Again, the action was out on the flightline and our job was to ensure that only the highest maintenance standards were observed within the mighty Wolf Pack, the finest fighter wing of all time.

(We would hang around while the day shift wonks were still there pretending that, like them, we adored manuals, regulations, and paperwork. As soon as they left, it was off to where the real work was done. Not exactly proclaiming "FTS" as we headed out the door but damned close to it. Only as I grew older did I reconcile myself to sitting behind a desk. Out of the weather, where it was warm in the winter, and cool in the summer. Oh wait, it was an overseas base so it probably was too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter. It was a hardship tour I tell you, our golf course only had nine holes. It was harsh man, harsh.)

Anyhoo...

Now as I only worked in QA for a few months (again it was so long ago that I scarce remember) the number of "Black Hat Tales" is pretty limited. This one may be the last, unless some long hidden (perhaps suppressed) memory bubbles up from the primordial ooze which is my ancient memory. So let's get to it, shall we?

Now the first story involves hydraulic fluid. Ye Olde F-4D Phantom had three completely independent hydraulic systems: PC-1, PC-2 and the Utility System. (PC = Power Control.) Now that info I have straight from the Dash 1 (the Air Force version of the NATOPS), specifically Technical Order 1F-4C-1 (which covers the C, D and E models of the mighty Rhino). That info is, drum roll please, on page 1-20. One of those "Not Intentionally Left Blank" pages in the T.O. (hhmm, T.O.s, there's another story right there, POCIR).

Now those hydraulic systems powered all sorts of things on the jets, but for this story we're only concerned with the control surfaces which the hydraulic systems powered. Without hydraulic fluid, those controls would (as I recall) be hard to move. Back in those days the controls still had mechanical linkages but needed that hydraulic boost not found in earlier aircraft. Remember this was and remains a big, robust aircraft. No hydraulic pressure was referred to as "Not A Good Thing." I'm sure Juvat still recalls the bold face procedures (verbatim) for loss of hydraulic pressure.

Anyhoo... (Yes, I'm using that a lot today, it's the written version of "um" and "ah." As utilized by all the best professional speakers.)

TSgt Billy and I were parked out on one of the taxiways of Kunsan Air Base, Republic of Korea, watching the jets taxiing back to their homes. As one mighty Phantom rolled on by, I noticed a rather steady stream of liquid spewing from the port inboard leading edge slat.

(Source)

I said to Billy, "I say old chap, hasn't rained in a while, has it?"

"Why no, dear colleague, it has not. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I see yon flying machine pissing mass quantities of liquid from the wing. If it ain't rain, I reckon it's something those daring young men in their flying machine might want to know about."

"Hhmm, yes, let's follow them home."

So we did, noting the trail the Phantom was leaving behind. Perhaps for to find its way back to the runway. Probably not, I mean the jet's a two seater. The GIB (guy in back) is supposed to navigate amongst his other chores. Though some pilots refer to the GIB as the "self loading 200 pound ballast" that's somewhat less than flattering. Of course, GIBs have terms of endearment for their pilots as well -

• stick actuator
• nose gunner
• driver
• chauffeur

I'm sure there are more. But I digress...

Billy and I pull over next to the aircraft's parking spot in front of the whiskey arch and wait for the aircrew to shut the engines down. We note that there is no crew chief in sight, no doubt he is otherwise engaged. Or maybe he was there but we didn't notice him. (I use the masculine terms exclusively here because lady aircrew were non-existent in fighters back then and female crew chiefs hadn't been invented yet. Just wanted to point out that I'm not being sexist. We are very freaking inclusive here at The Chant.)

As the aircrew dismounted and climbed down to once again embrace the surly bonds, we called out to them...

"Say there Lords of the Air, is thy mighty war machine meant to urinate hydraulic fluid like that?" (For I was now close enough to recognize the reddish liquid, which burns nicely by the way.)

The back-seater turned to observe what the enlisted swine were caterwauling about then muttered, "Sweet Jesus..." and seemed to go all weak in the knees. The pilot turned as well, beholding the puddle beneath the wing, he too got all religious, "Holy shit!"

We left them to their business, I mean they were safely back on earth and all but we sensed a gathering storm. Knowing that discretion was the better part of valor, we quit the field and went elsewhere. Perhaps Juvat can postulate as to what the heck was up with that jet. We gathered (though we be non-flyers) that it "wasn't good" and that some maintenance person would possibly have his or her arse handed to them later that day. As we would not be doing the arse handing, we departed to seek greener pastures.

-------------------------------

Oh yes, I promised a story about cigars as well. That one is much shorter and involves our captain of Quality Assurance (that is, our OIC or officer in charge, that is, "our boss") and another leaky aircraft.

Seems that late one night there was some sort of brouhaha out on the flightline which involved ground equipment, an F-4D Phantom and JP-4. That last bit was the stuff the Phantom used to make loud noises and go fast. Jet fuel, back then we used JP-4. Kinda smells like kerosene. Point is, you wanted that stuff contained and not just floating around the ramp.

Seems someone had managed to spill JP-4 near or on a jet, seems there may have been an instance of that spill being caused by a piece of ground equipment colliding with a wing tank, full of fuel AND attached to the wing of a jet. So people were quite excited. As some of those people were important, it was decreed that Quality Assurance should respond forthwith and put the fear of God into those responsible for this mess.

I mean, we wore black hats, so by definition we were "the bad guys." It was part of our job to hold impromptu "come to Jesus" meetings with sinning maintenance types.

As Billy had done this sort of thing before (and he was a TSgt, I was a lowly, yet exalted SSgt at the time) he thought it might be a good idea to call our captain. So we headed back to the office, called the captain's quarters and told him to "come on down" and we'd give him a ride out to the scene of the crime.

Rather quickly the captain showed up dressed as if he was ready for a night on the town. I had no idea that our lord and master was such a snappy dresser.

When we arrived at the scene, where there were many flashing lights and people of importance standing about and gesticulating to the gathered audience, we found a spot to park (in the dark so we could materialize out of the gloom like the evil bastards we were) and sauntered over to where that most holy of holies, the Deputy Commander of Maintenance (DCM), his Lordship, a full colonel, and owner of all things maintenance, was berating some poor lieutenant. A second lieutenant mind you, the poor kid looked like he'd graduated from high school, er, I mean college, only the week before.

When we arrived, the DCM turned to see who it was and seemed rather pleased to see "his" black hats on the scene, no doubt ready, willing, and able to start crucifying the miscreants right then and there. Then, the half smile melted from His Holiness's face as he beheld our captain, in his silk shirt, snappy slacks, and penny loafers, cigar to his lips, matches at the ready...

Standing, mind you, not ten yards from a wing tank busy pissing jet fuel all over the ramp...

"JESUS, MARY AND JOSEPH AND ALL THE FIRE TRUCKING SAINTS IN HEAVEN CAPTAIN. ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL US ALL????!!!!!"

Our dear captain, fairly new to the place and as innocent and pure as the driven snow could only stutter, "Sir, I, uh..."

I leaned over to our leader, our mentor, and our guide and said, sotte voce "Sir, you might want to NOT light that cigar. I mean, that IS fuel over there."

Before the DCM died of apoplexy or, on the other hand, disemboweled our poor, unwitting, captain, said captain looked at the matches in his hand, then jerked the cigar from his lips, exclaiming -

"HOLY SHIT! WHAT WAS I THINKING?"

At that the DCM seemed to relax and return to his earlier victim. I don't think the captain hung around long but started walking back to his quarters.

Yes, when he was a safe distance away, I saw the flare of a match and the glow of a cigar. I could have sworn I heard something about "fudge" as well.

But I could be wrong.

After all, it was an awfully long time ago...

301st TFW F-4D landing at Nellis AFB, NV, 1985. (Source)

Time to Have Holes Poked in Me. Again.

(Source)

Long ago, exactly when I don't remember but sometime in the last 17 years, I had surgery to repair a hernia, in the left groin area. I didn't know I had one until during an annual physical I had to do the whole, "Turn your head and cough" thing. Then I knew, for my doctor told me so. Now it had been mildly painful in that area for a week or so, I figured in was merely a muscle pull.

Not a big deal, out-patient surgery was called for, in and out all in one day as the surgery was done arthroscopically, I did have to have two little holes in my abdomen (as I recall) one of which was right next to my navel. One for the instrument (the scope) another for to do the work through. They also had to "blow me up" as in "inflate me" so there would be room to work for the surgeon.

In and out, just a little pain.

Down the road a piece my gall bladder decided that its warranty had expired and that it needed to give me problems. In the form of gall stones, and pain, there was pain. Sometimes significant pain. So it was decreed that Mr. Gall Bladder must be evicted from the place where it had always been. Again two or three little holes in my abdomen (I think they used the same ones as before) and voilà, no more gall bladder, no more problems. (Well, except for the third day after surgery, again of the out-patient variety, when I felt as if I was going to die. In fact, kinda wished that I would do so. The Missus Herself called the doc who told her that that was completely normal. But if it didn't go away in a few hours, why then she could just haul me down to the emergency room. It being after hours and all.)

Well, the pain did subside. Everything healed up real nice and I discovered that I had many friends and acquaintances that were living life sans gall bladder. Who knew?

Time went by, the glaciers receded, new life forms arose upon the planet and my diverticulitis started to act up again. Now while suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune I noticed a bump above my navel. I assumed that it was scar tissue from my previous arthroscopic surgeries. But when the doctor summoned me to the O.R. for to have my colon turned into a semi-colon, he discovered that that bump was a hernia.

This, as some of you may recall, was last year. Nearly exactly a year ago as a matter of fact. (You can, should you wish to, follow that whole saga starting here, ending around here.) Well, in addition to removing a foot of colon to hang on his trophy wall (just kidding) the good doctor repaired the above the navel hernia. He couldn't use a mesh to repair the tear as he didn't want to risk any infection in my abdominal region. As that sort of thing can kill a fellow, I wholeheartedly concurred with his decision.

Should be no problem he said, you'll be fine he said.

But ya know, when you get enough holes punched in you, something may eventually give. Which it did, sometime earlier this year I went to my doctor and announced that I had, "ta-da!", another hernia.

"How do you know it's a hernia?" she asked.

Ah, let me demonstrate I said. Placing my hand on my belly, up and to starboard from center-line in relation to my navel, I indicated that there was a bulge, and when I coughed, it pressed against my hand.

So the doc, of course, had to try it for herself. Sure enough, we were in agreement, I had a hernia. Not a big one mind you, a "take it easy and we'll see how it goes" hernia.

"So Doc, is this thing supposed to get smaller, or bigger?" I called, asking for an appointment.

"Ah, smaller or the same would be the desired outcome. Come on in."

So I did and it was off to see the surgeon. Again.

No arthroscopic for me this time. This hernia is the size of a freaking softball. While it is normally not painful, sometimes I will awaken in the wee hours after coughing and feel, shall we say, "uncomfortable." What a doctor might term "mild discomfort." Not screaming agony mind you, more along the lines of "wouldn't it be nice not to have this thing bulging out of me anymore and waking me up in the wee hours of the night" discomfort.

So I get to do the whole surgery thing again. Doc says about a four inch incision, probably a one or two night stay in the hospital, depending on pain. Also a 1 in 400 chance of "complications." I didn't want to know what that might entail, still don't. Didn't ask. Very much a "La la la la la la - can't hear you, not listening!" kind of thing.

Surgery is scheduled for Friday the 19th of August at 0600 local. Which gives me the weekend to recover. I asked if I could go to work the following Monday after the surgery and all the doctor would say was, "We'll see."

Oh boy, maybe I get to fight with the insurance company one more time. Also this year my medical insurance is different. I don't know if it's better different or worse different. We shall see. By the way, thanks Obama, without you I would still have my old, fairly inexpensive medical plan. Now, thanks to the tax whores in Congress I have to pay more out of pocket. After taxes.

Yes, this might suck.

A lot.

Oh Boy...

Paying the Tax (The Tax Collector) by Pieter Brueghel the Younger (Source)

As many of you know, The Chant is a global enterprise. While the Home Office (no, not that one) is located in Little Rhody in a wee New England town fast by the Bay of Narragansett, we also have branch offices in Texas (the Juvat branch) and in Sandy Eggo (the Tuna branch).

We also have Forward Operating Bases (FOBs) at each of the homes of the progeny, two in California (FOB Bay Area and FOB Lemoore) and another, FOB D.C. in Virginia. Now while I will, from time to time, visit one of the FOBs, mostly it is The Missus Herself who finds herself on the road for two to three months a year. Mostly to FOB Lemoore as both the kids have jobs there, which involve flying and deploying from time to time. Though The WSO's days of aerial activity are winding down, she still must, from time to time, go to work so that the Navy remembers who she is. Long story there for which I have not yet received authorization to tell. I have submitted a chit, but you know how bureaucracies are.

Long story short, (when my old minister used to say that you knew to standby for heavy rolls) The Missus Herself, my better half (both in looks and smarts), the love of my life, and the very reason why I live (I hope she likes all that) is, as you may have guessed, out west visiting The WSO.

Now I must fess up here and now, I do not like being a bachelor. I did that extensively when I was younger and found it most distressing. And no, it wasn't because I had to do my own laundry, though that may have factored in...

I still do not like this bachelor nonsense as I am too old and settled in my ways to go out and about, on the town, running with a fast crowd. Not that I know many in that crowd anymore, like me they have aged and grown respectable. That is, too old to bother with getting in trouble.

So while The Missus Herself is out west, I get to do all the stuff I would take for granted if I were a stupider man. Such as -

• pay the bills
• do laundry
• clean (after a fashion)
• tend to the feline staff
• feed the fish
• water the gardens
• feed myself

And various and sundry other chores about the manse which the wife does with such aplomb. I tell you, she makes it all look so easy and I'm here to tell you, it ain't. Easy that is.

So tonight, rather than entertain you with a long (winded) post grousing about politics, complaining about work, or regaling you with tales from mine own and others' histories, I am stuck doing chores. One I least like and that is,

Paying the Bills

In a traditional Korean household, the wife is responsible for managing the family finances, keeping the budget balanced, paying the bills, and generally ensuring that the heat remains on, the electricity flows, the water is not turned off, and all the various and sundry financial obligations are kept up to date. Now while we are only half of a traditional Korean family (guess which half isn't Korean), we still abide by the rules set by Those In Authority. Yes, that would be my wife, The Missus Herself. She makes the rules and as she also makes me happy, I'm really okay with that. I am the means of production, she controls the means of production. Or something...

As we all know, if such things were left to the XY chromosome types (that is, we men), while there would be plenty of cold pizza in the fridge and a never ending supply of beer in the special beer fridge, there would be sod all else in the house. For we guys, if left to our own devices, would quickly revert to a wild state and would, no doubt, regress to some early Stone Age existence. As long as we still had good Wi-Fi and a quantity of excellent games on our computers.

I speak from experience here. Why, when I was a hotel dweller for four days of every seven, The Missus Herself was explaining to the feminine progeny how their Dad (Yours Truly) was starting to get pretty independent and had, shudder, actually "talked back" once or twice. The Nuke instantly realized the problem. Not The WSO, mind you, for she is too much like her old man to complain about such things, in fact, she encourages my behavior more than her Mother cares for.

Anyhoo, The Nuke pointed out that I had probably gone "feral" and needed to be re-socialized upon returning home every weekend. By being made to do yard work and other chores. That would keep me domesticated and thriving, even when let off the leash when heading back to the road for to work in far flung locations in my employer's global enterprise. (Okay, so I was just going to Massachusetts, a scant 100 miles away.)

It worked, but when she goes out west, the call of the wild reasserts itself and I yearn to do as little as possible. At least until I run out of clean underwear.

I like it when my wife takes care of me. I truly am hopeless on my own. Not that I'd starve or anything but...

I'm not saying this is me, not saying it isn't either... (Source)

Now if you'll excuse me, I really must go pay a few of those pesky bills.

98.3% = Fail

Most of the readers on this blog are familiar with my semi-regular postings on USAF Air Force (and it's antecedents) Medal of Honor Recipients.  They also know that I have focused on the less well known Recipients.  In my opinion, pretty much everyone knows about Rickenbacker, Bong, and Luke.  I felt that if someone from my service was awarded the Nation's highest award for valor, I ought to know who they were and what they did.  I've posted on a dozen or so.  I've also done research on another couple of dozen, but haven't gotten enough data to tell their story well.  Most of the rest have stories that are well known.

So, my point is, I am much more informed about the names on this monument than I was when I started posting.  (I have that slavedriver Sarge, to thank for that!  Content, Juvat, Content! and strawberries! Yes, My Sergeant!)

USAF Medal of Honor Monument, Parade Field Lackland AFB

So,  There I was *.... Just outside Wright-Patterson AFB, Dayton OH, on a cool July day, (it really was cool the high barely got to 80), about to visit the National Museum of the US Air Force for the first time.

We got there early, just after opening at 9AM,  Parking was up close and in the shade of trees near the memorial park.  We walk towards the entrance and are admiring the trees, grass, park benches and such when we see this inviting entry way.

Before anyone has a Fiscal Conniption Fit, those are not actual F-22s on the sticks.

What the heck, it's early, not crowded and cool, let's wander over there and see what there is to see.

  

Quite recognizably, that is a rendering of the USAF Medal of Honor (the Army and Navy versions are different).  The columns on either side have names of recipients, in chronological order of date of action.  I know there are 60 USAF recipients. 

I start out on the left, reading each one.  Mrs. Juvat is with me and as I get to one I know, I give a short little story about the particular episode of Valor the recipient had given.  There was Goettler and Bleckly, Baker and Jerstad, Mathies and Truemper and Vance.

We switched sides. There was Erwin, Sebille, Pitsenbarger, Wilbanks, Sijan and ....

Wait a minute.  Where is CMSGT Etchberger?  Went back around to see if I'd skipped over him.

Nope.

Well, that's interesting.  His Medal was only awarded comparatively recently (9/21/2010).  Since the Museum is privately funded, maybe they're raising money to add the name.  I'm going to give them the benefit of the doubt. 

Inside the museum in one of the corridors, there are charcoal portraits of the Medal of Honor Recipients.  I cycle through the Vietnam era recipients.  Again, no CMSGT EtchBerger.  It doesn't take much money or time to commission an artist to sketch a portrait, much less to print out a summary of what happened and post it on the wall with his name.  

So, I get home, and try to research why the museum would not have a recipient of our Nations highest medal for valor, making him a hero by any definition of the word.

I search the museum's site (google etchberger site:www.nationalmuseum.af.mil).  #1 result is here with a publication date of May 18, 2015. 

 Interestingly, this page, with a publication date of May 12, 2015, lists "all" the USAF Medal of Honor recipients, but not the Chief.  

One might be able to accept a 6 year delay to carve a name in a piece of granite (I don't), or to commission a drawing (again, not I). However, having fixed errors on  web pages regularly, I know the longest and hardest part of that is usually logging in to the site.  Good gravy, you couldn't fix the list in the past 14 months?

I'm a little bummed.  The museum is an outstanding exhibit of aerospace history, but all the machinery in there is just that.  Inanimate Objects.  It took the hard work and brave actions of many people to accomplish the historical reference provided by each and every exhibit in the place.

But if the museum is going to catalog important and heroic events and include, as it should, events that were "above and beyond the call of duty", it should include all 60, not 59, men.  The museum should fix this ASAP.

Director

National Museum of the U.S. Air Force

1100 Spaatz Street

Wright-Patterson AFB OH 45433

*SJC -Didn't want anyone to forget!