Monthly Calendar Report for October, 2011

Tiger-Shark. (Photo by Philip Makanna©.)

—The October 2011 entry of my Ghosts WWII warbirds calendar is best this time.
Usually my own calendar renders what I consider the best picture, but not this time.
The October entry of my own calendar is the picture I almost pulled.
See below.
The October 2011 entry of my Ghosts WWII warbirds calendar is a fabulous photo of a Tiger-Shark Curtiss P-40.
The P-40 is somewhat a turkey (compare the P-38 Lightning and the P-51 Mustang), but the picture makes it look pretty good.
Photographer Makanna is in the open rear of the cockpit of his chase-plane, and the P-40 is behind.
He’s in radio contact with the P-40’s pilot.
“Now buzz me,” he says.
The P-40 pilot does so, but don’t take Makanna or the P-40 out of the sky.
Makanna gets a fabulous shot, although telephoto probably helped.
The P-40 is right in Makanna’s face!
BAM! Got it.
I know the feeling well.
Life-and-limb risked to get a fabulous shot.
“Just shoot, you idiot!”

Photo by BobbaLew.

The greatest railroad locomotive ever made.

Here comes a GG1 at 90+ mph, 8-10 feet from me.
Arm hooked around a small light-standard, I managed to pull it off without getting sucked in.
Scared me to death, but what a picture!
That whole incident is goin’ to my grave.
The P-40 was not one of the great airplanes of WWII, but its front radiator-scoop was perfect for shark’s teeth.
It had a water-cooled Allison V12 engine.
The Tiger-Sharks were a squadron of P-40s defending the Chinese against Japanese invasion.

Crusader.

The shark’s teeth have been applied to any number of airplanes.
The most ridiculous I’ve seen was a lowly Piper-Cub basic trainer once featured in this calendar.
Vought had a Navy fighter-jet (above) during the ‘60s that has an air-intake up front like the P-40’s radiator-scoop.
The airplane was called the Crusader.
The shark’s teeth don’t look bad on that.

A-10 fires an AGM-65 Maverick missile.

I’ve also seen shark’s teeth on the Republic A-10 ground-attack jet.
The A-10 is crude and slow compared to a fighter-jet, but perfect for its mission: ground-attack.
The A-10 pictured is firing an air-to-surface guided missile.
The Curtiss P-40 WarHawk wasn’t the extraordinary airplane the P-51 Mustang was.
But it was extraordinary for the late ‘30s, when it was developed.
It was eclipsed by the Mustang.



1970 Trans-Am Firebird. (Photo by Ron Kimball©.)

—The October 2011 entry of my Motorbooks Musclecars calendar is one of the most successful styling jobs ever, a 1970 Firebird.

1970 Camaro Z-28.

I used to think the 1970 Chevrolet Camaro was the most successful styling-job Detroit ever did, but this Firebird makes me reconsider.
The Camaro uses a Ferrari scoop grill, and seems to need those two racing-stripes to make it work.
The Firebird doesn’t use either, yet looks great.
Both the Camaro and the Firebird were too big, the only problem with the design.
The ’72 Vega coupe was another great-looking design, more the right size.
But it too uses a Ferrari grill, and seems to need that racing-stripe. (The Vega only had one, and it was on the “GT” model.)

Vega GT (mine was red with a black stripe).

The Vega was also one of the worst cars ever marketed by General Motors. —It quickly went bad, rusted to smithereens, and fell apart.
I had one, and I babied it and thought the world of it.
And like all Detroit coupes it suffered from large, heavy doors.
The Camaro and the Firebird had the same problem; gigantic doors from a Detroit sedan.
But they both had perfect lines.
GM styling had gone all-out.
No compromises to make the car attractive to practical people.
Proportions triumphed over trunk-space, and rear seating space.
But the Firebird comes off better than the Camaro.
The particular car pictured suffers from the massive, and heavy, 455 cubic-inch Super-Duty engine.
It makes it a musclecar, but throws the balance off.
So much weight — that massive engine — is on the front-end, the car will plow in corners.
It won’t respond to the steering-wheel; it will plow straight-ahead.
It will be dominant in a straight line, but on a typical curvy back-road, a BMW 2002 would beat it.
And goose that gigantic motor on a straight, and the rear-tires would spin.
So little weight is on that rear-end, it would take a while for the tires to hook up.
This car would be better balanced with a smaller V8, perhaps a Pontiac version of a high-output Small-Block Chevy.
It just wouldn’t be a musclecar.
Sports Car Club of America’s (SCCA) Trans-Am series only allowed 305 cubic inches.
Yet a Trans-Am racer would cream a 455 cubic-inch Pontiac Trans-Am Firebird (like this car is).
Of course an SCCA Trans-Am racer would be impossible on the street.



A Pennsy GG1 accelerates a passenger-train west out of Coatesville station. (Photo by Bill Janssen.)

—Can there ever be an All-Pennsy calendar without a GG1 (“Jee-Jee-ONE,” as in “Gee.” —I only say that because a friend was mispronouncing it “Jee-Jee-Eye”)?
The GG1, after all, was the most successful railroad locomotive the Pennsylvania Railroad ever developed.
In my humble opinion, the GG1 is the greatest locomotive of all time.
The October 2011 entry of my All-Pennsy color calendar is their requisite GG1 picture, this one #4897, accelerating a westbound passenger-train away from a station-stop at Coatesville, PA.
The railroad is Pennsy’s main from Philadelphia to Harrisburg, PA.
It was the original railroad west out of Philadelphia, and soon became part of the Pennsylvania Public Works System, Pennsylvania’s response to the phenomenally successful Erie Canal in New York.
The Pennsylvania Public Works was a combined canal and railroad system, and included an inclined-plane railroad over the Allegheny mountains.
Grading at that time was not what it is today.
The Alleghenies had been a barrier to west-east commerce. There was no way a canal could thread them.
The Pennsylvania Railroad was a private response to the utter failure of the Public Works System, that it was so cumbersome and slow.
The Pennsylvania Railroad eventually put the Public Works System out of business, and that was despite it building new railroad over the Alleghenies that circumvented the inclined-planes.
The Pennsylvania Railroad got the Public Works System for a pittance, and that included the railroad from Philadelphia to the Susquehanna (“suss-kwee-HAN-uh”) river, although first it was to Columbia, PA.
Pennsy built the extension up to Harrisburg.
The line was eventually electrified to Harrisburg — this looks like the electrification Pennsy used in the ‘30s.
Pennsy’s first electrification was its commuter-district around Philadelphia.
It only extended as far west on the main as Paoli (“pay-OLE-eee”), about 30 miles out from Philadelphia.
But Pennsy eventually electrified most of its mainlines east of Harrisburg. Pennsy also electrified other freight lines, e.g. its bypass around Philadelphia, its line to Columbia, PA, and southward along the Susquehanna into Maryland.
Pennsy electrification ended at Harrisburg, and also in Enola yard (aye-NOLE-uh;” as in “hey”), southwest of Harrisburg, where its freight eventually went.
Electrification was needed into New York City, particularly the Tubes under the Hudson river, which couldn’t run steam-locomotives.
And New York City only allowed electrified railroads — steam locomotives were not allowed — too smoky.
The GG1 was Pennsy’s mid-‘30s response to needing a powerful, yet smooth, electrified locomotive.
Pennsy tested two experimentals, the R-1 (4-8-4), sort of an enlarged P-5 (4-6-4), and a GG1 (4-6-6-4; “G” being Pennsy’s classification for its 4-6-0 steam-engines), modeled after a New Haven electrified 4-6-6-4 locomotive.
They expected the R-1 to be dominant, but the GG1 won; it was phenomenal. —The main thing is it tracked better at speed.
The R-1, like the P-5, hunted from side-to-side.
The railroad was so impressed they brought in industrial-designer Raymond Loewy to improve it.
Loewy had already done work for Pennsy, locomotive streamlining, and designing stuff for its New York terminal, e.g. trashcans.
Loewy didn’t do much, just reshape the front door around the headlight, and design the original “cat-whisker” paint-scheme of five gold pin-stripes.
(The GG1 pictured has the single-stripe scheme that replaced it.)
He also convinced the railroad to use a welded shell, instead of a shell riveted together from pieces.
The welded shell looks great, and was cheaper to maintain.
As a teenager, I was fortunate to witness GG1s in action in northern Delaware. (See picture above in Ghosts calendar-entry.)
And it seemed like every time I saw one it was doing 80-100+ mph.


This thing is doing at least 90! (Photo by BobbaLew.)

Photo by BobbaLew.

More 90+ mph.

A GG1 could put 9,000 horsepower to railhead.
A modern diesel locomotive is good for about 4,000 or so.
That 9,000 horsepower was temporary. At that rate, the traction-motors would eventually overheat.
But it could do that to quickly accelerate a train out of a station.
Just dump the controller to the last notch, and stand back.
A single GG1 could pull a train from Philadelphia to Harrisburg.
That train might need four diesel passenger-units to continue west.
Harrisburg was where electrification ended. The GG1s had to be replaced.
Years ago my paternal grandfather rode the Congressional Limited, a name train from New York City to Washington DC.
My grandfather was not a railfan, but he was impressed.
We’re driving back up Route 40 in northeastern Maryland from my first foray at a boys summer-camp on Chesapeake Bay in 1954.
A GG1 express flashed south, probably over 100 mph.
“Must be the Congressional,” he said, obvious awe in his voice.
From then on every time we saw or heard a GG1 express, “Must be the Congressional,” he’d say.
My grandfather and grandmother eventually moved to an apartment in Edgemoor, DE, overlooking the Pennsylvania Railroad’s New York City to Washington line (now Amtrak’s Northeast Corridor).
Every time a train roared through he’d hear it, and “Must be the Congressional.”
In 1959, when I was 15, my neighbor (who was also a railfan like me) and I took a train-ride to Philadelphia.

Photo by BobbaLew.

(A Baldwin switcher ruined my picture.)

Back home was on the Congressional Limited, which by then was no longer an all-Pullman luxury train.
We rode coach; it had coaches.
We got on at Philadelphia’s 30th St. Station, and as soon as we left the station, the engineer put the hammer down!
Within minutes we were up to 90+ mph.
That’s goin’ to my grave!
There was nothing like a GG1.
GG1s lasted for years, many over 40. A typical steam-locomotive might last 30 years, a diesel 20.
I used to tell a friend I attended high-school with, a fellow railfan like me, “When the last GG1 is retired, we’ll know we’re getting old.”
I remember he and I were in the back row of a grandstand, at a rainy football-game in Newark, DE. We spent the whole time watching GG1 express-trains on the adjacent New York to Washington electrified line.
The football game, which our high-school lost, was nowhere near as entertaining.
Giant arcs of yellow lightning would flash as the GG1 pantographs (“pant-uh-GRAFF”) bounced off the rain-soaked catenary (“kat-in-AIR-eee;” called that because the overhead trolley-wire, which the pantograph slid on, was suspended on a catenary of cables).
Quite a few GG1s were saved, but none are running.
The GG1’s interior transformers, which stepped down the trolley-current to that of the traction-motors, were filled with a PCB-based fluid.
That fluid was drained (removed), and the transformer housings filled with sand or concrete.
Beyond that, the current via the overhead wire is no longer the voltage it was.
GG1s ran on 11,000 volts. Now it’s 60,000 volts.
About all a GG1 could be to get it running is a modern electric locomotive in a GG1 body.
It wouldn’t be a GG1.
Probably the best is GG1 #4935, owned by Railroad Museum of Pennsylvania in Strasburg, PA.


(Photo by Tom Hughes.)

(Tom Hughes is my nephew, also a railfan.)

It was long ago repainted in Loewy’s “cat-whisker” scheme for memorial. Loewy was at the memorial.
It was operated that way for a while.
Most GG1s were painted black for Penn-Central or then Conrail. —Some were painted Conrail blue.
Even Amtrak operated them, and had their own paint-scheme.
I’ve only been through one GG1, #4896, 3 a.m. at Washington Union Station in early 1966.

Photo by BobbaLew.

I only snagged one photo of it, although I saw it many times.
That photo is my computer desktop picture.
The GG1 was the greatest railroad locomotive of all time.



Pennsy Decapod (2-10-0) with a local waits in a siding for a southbound freight to pass. (Photo by Jim Shaughnessy©.)

—The October 2011 entry of my Audio-Visual Designs black and white All-Pennsy Calendar is a Pennsy Decapod (“Hippo”) with a local-freight waiting in a siding at Watkins Glen, NY for a southbound freight-train to pass.
Enginemen called ‘em “hippos,” because they were so large compared to usual practice when they arrived.
Their boilers were quite a bit larger.
The Dek was developed in 1916.
Pennsy wanted a powerful drag-engine.
A 10-drivered steam-locomotive could put a lot of tractive effort to the railhead, and a Dek put most of its massive locomotive weight on the drivers.
Heavy weight on the drivers enhanced pulling power.
But the Decapod wasn’t SuperPower.
It only had 70 square feet of firebox grate.
That was somewhat marginal. A Dek could run out of steam.
SuperPower increased firebox grate area to 100 square feet or more.
With that the firebox could keep up with the boiler.
Despite only 70 square feet, even two firemen couldn’t keep up with a Dek wide open.
The Dek was Pennsy’s first application of the mechanical coal-stoker, an appliance Pennsy abhorred.
Pennsy avoided appliances that enhanced steam-locomotive performance. Appliances had to be maintained.
But even two firemen couldn’t keep up with a Dek’s coal-demand.
Pennsy’s abhorrence of appliances, e.g. stokers, was rendering the Decapod unworkable.
Hence mechanical stokers on the Dek.
A 10-drivered steam-locomotive has other detriments.
Primary is massive side-rod weight.
The side-rod assembly for a 10-drivered steam-locomotive is heavy and long.
Rotate that heavy assembly up-and-down and it hammers the rail.
The Dek has massive counterweighting to offset that, but still about 50 mph was the limit.
Vibration was heavy.
Added is dynamic augment, the rail-hammering that comes with drive-piston action.
I could feel it myself behind a steam-locomotive. The train pulls side-to-side as the drive-pistons work.
This is not a problem with diesel-electric (or straight electric) locomotives, where drive-torque is constant.
Diesels (and electrics) don’t hammer the rail; there’s no piston-thrust.
Nevertheless, the Deks had long and storied careers. They lasted until the end of steam-locomotion on Pennsy.
A Dek was extremely well-suited for pulling long and heavy drags over difficult terrain, mainly hilly with grades.
Deks lasted until the end of steam in two applications: -1) heavy ore drags on the Mt. Carmel Division in Pennsylvania, and -2) heavy coal and ore drags on the Elmira Division from Williamsport, PA up to Lake Ontario at Sodus Point, NY.
At Sodus Point the coal or ore would get transloaded to lake steam-ships.
This is what’s happening here, sorta.
Except the Dek pictured was pulling a local-freight, and is waiting in a siding at Watkins Glen, NY for a southbound empty coal-drag.
Deks had gravitated to the Elmira Division, so a Dek was being used on the local-freight.
Most of the Elmira Division is now GONE, as is the wharf at Sodus Point.



Autumn glory. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

―The October 2011 entry of my own calendar is the one I almost pulled, Autumn glory from the Tunnelhill overlook.
Tunnelhill is the tiny burg atop the New Portage Railroad’s New Portage tunnel.
It’s so close to Gallitzin (“guh-LIT-zin;” as in “get”) it melds into it.
Gallitzin is were the original Pennsy tunneled under the summit of the Allegheny front.
Pennsy’s tunnel wasn’t that long, only about 3,000+ feet.
Tunneling under the entire Allegheny front was clearly impossible in the 1850s.
It still is, although doing so would take out the climb to the summit-tunnel, The Hill, about 12 miles of grade averaging 1.75 percent (that’s 1.75 feet up for every 100 feet forward — not that steep, but steep enough to often require helper locomotives).
A tunnel under the entire Allegheny front would probably be over 20 miles long.
It would cost billions, and there isn’t enough rail-traffic to justify such expense, busy as the line is.
We are over Track One through New Portage tunnel.
Pennsy came to own the Pennsylvania Public-Works System, including New Portage Railroad, and rather than abandon New Portage Tunnel, they incorporated it into their summit crossing.
Originally it was two tracks, as was the original Pennsy Allegheny tunnel in Gallitzin.
But as equipment enlarged, Allegheny was converted to one track, and a second tunnel, Gallitzin, was added in Gallitzin.
That tunnel has since been abandoned, and the original Allegheny tunnel enlarged so it could clear doublestacks on two tracks.
Doublestacks need a higher clearance than the original tunnel had.
Enlarging the tunnel was a joint effort between Conrail and the state of PA, to make it so the railroad could clear doublestacks.
At that time the old Pennsy line was Conrail; now it’s Norfolk Southern.
Widening Allegheny tunnel for two tracks permitted abandonment of Gallitzin tunnel (which also wasn’t high enough to clear doublestacks).
New Portage tunnel is slightly higher uphill than the Pennsy tunnel(s) at Gallitzin, so Pennsy had to connect up to it.
This is “The Slide,” a 2.36 percent grade from the tunnel down to the original Pennsy alignment.
Operation is a bit challenging, but not too much trouble. In 1947 a Pennsy passenger-train, the Red Arrow from Detroit, ran away down The Slide, and derailed off a curve down an embankment, killing 24.
But the locomotive-crew (actually there were two K4 Pacifics [4-6-2]) might not have realized where they were, or were asleep.
Heavy coal-trains descend The Slide without problem.
The New Portage Railroad alignment was made into a second crossing of Allegheny summit by Pennsy.
But that line has since been abandoned and partially obliterated by highway construction.
The second crossing was only double-track, but gave Pennsy six tracks approaching the summit: four up on the original alignment to the two single-track tunnels in Gallitzin, and two more up to New Portage tunnel.
(New Portage was reduced from two tracks to one not too long ago.
New Portage was also modified to clear doublestacks by having its floor lowered.)
New Portage and The Slide are Track One, eastbound, and Tracks Two and Three are in Allegheny.
Three is westbound, and Two can be either way.
That leaves three tracks over the summit, which can be a bottleneck. Four might be better.
The summit approaches are also down to three tracks; it used to be four.
Although one short segment on the west side is four tracks — actually five, but one is used for storage.
All the pictures in this calendar are the same used in a calendar I did for Tunnel Inn in Gallitzin, the bed-and-breakfast we stay at in the Altoona area.
Tunnel Inn is the old Gallitzin town offices and library. It was built by Pennsy in 1905. It’s brick, and rather substantial.
It’s also right next to Pennsy’s tunnel-cut, so railfan Mike Kraynyak (“CRANE-ee-yak”) bought it when Gallitzin built new town offices.
Being next to Tracks Two and Three, it’s a great place to stay for a railfan like me.
Plus it’s substantial enough to keep the racket down.
It’s also quite classy. We stayed in another bed-and-breakfast in nearby Cresson (“KRESS-in”) last February, and it was rudimentary compared to Tunnel Inn.
I sent Kraynyak a calendar as a Christmas gift a couple years ago, and he suggested I make a calendar he could sell.
Despite Kodak’s best efforts to foil this, a 2012 calendar with my pictures is available at Tunnel Inn.
This picture is the one I almost didn’t use, because the train is nearly invisible.
But the Tunnelhill Overlook is a great location, and it’s the only fall foliage shot I have.
Which is why it’s October.
I entertained replacing it with another picture, but was advised fall foliage makes the picture.



Next-to-last run. (Photo by Bill Gantz.)

―The October 2011 entry of my Norfolk Southern Employees’ Photography-Contest calendar is a doublestack-train westbound passing New Galilee, PA.
I had to Google-search New Galilee, PA.
It’s west of Pittsburgh, almost to the Ohio border.
The picture looks like Pennsy’s old Middle Division across central PA.
.....The segment between Tyrone (“tie-ROAN;” as in “own”) and the Susquehanna river at Duncannon (“dun-CAN-nin”), where the railroad turns inland westward along the Juniata river (“june-ee-AT-uh”).
The terrain along the Middle Division looked about the same as this picture.
Plus it’s also down to only two tracks.
It used to be four, “the Broad way.” —This looks like it was at least three.
Pennsy’s Broadway Limited was named after “the Broad Way,” not Broadway in New York City.
The railroad was one of Pennsy’s many feeders from the west to Pittsburgh, a “Lines West,” a merged line.
Pennsy only built Harrisburg to Pittsburgh.
Now it’s part of Norfolk Southern’s line from Chicago to the east-coast megalopolis.
It’s October, so the Norfolk Southern Employees’ Photography-Contest calendar is doing a fall-color picture.

Photo by Rich Borkowski.

Last month.

But last month’s entry (at left), a bit premature, was better.
Apparently this picture is a next-to-last run.
The photographer, a train-engineer, set out to get a next-to-last run picture of the engineer friend who convinced him to become a railroader years earlier.
His friend was retiring.
The fact it’s a fall-foliage picture is secondary.
What mattered is the train’s engineer was his friend.
He set up in this location, and included that tree at left.
The train-engineer blew the horn when he saw the photographer.
It’s interesting track-workers seem to also be in the picture, just barely visible, if that’s what they are.
And so the Norfolk Southern Employees’ Photography-Contest decided to make this a winning picture.
It’s their fall-foliage picture, although I don’t think it’s that good.
October, when the trees turn, is the time to run fall-foliage pictures.
Although last month’s was more spectacular.



Ugh!

—About all I can say about this thing is at least it wasn’t junked.
The October 2011 entry of my Oxman Hotrod Calendar is what hotrods were before WWII, before the preeminence and availability of the Flat-head Ford V8 motor.

Photo by BobbaLew.

A Ford Flat-head V8 (note flat cylinder-head casting).

When I was a child, people were doing what we have here, stripping their conveyances to decrease weight.
In my case, stripping my bicycle to make it light enough to enjoy.
People were also stripping their cars, and that’s what we have here.
.....A Ford Model-A stripped to its basic essentials, a buckboard with a seat.
The engine is the Model-A four-banger.
The Flat-head Ford V8 came into prominence after WWII, and to my mind a V8 motivator is central to hot-rodding.
But before the war, Flat-head V8s were relatively unavailable.
So what hot-rodders were doing was stripping their cars down the basics so the humble four-banger wasn’t dragging around so much weight. —No fenders, etc.
This is the Ford Model-A engine, but often more recent hot-rodders, to remain true to the four-banger mantra, will plug in a Chevy Iron-Duke four-banger.
But this car doesn’t have the look; a hyper V8 filling the engine-bay.
And the seating area looks like an amusement-park bumper-car.

Did you see that?

“Did you see that? “
So would have said my friend Art Dana (“DAY-nuh”), who passed away about a year ago.
Dana was a retired bus-driver for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the supplier of transit bus service in Rochester and its environs.
For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for RTS. My stroke in late October 1993 ended that.
Art drove bus over 30 years.
Art had fairly severe Parkinson’s Disease in his final years, and it made him weak.
Yet his interests remained constant, hotrod cars and motorcycles, and model trains.
They’re pretty much the same interests as me, although I prefer the real thing over model trains.
So I drove him around some, taking him to car-shows and Transit retiree gigs.
One day we were returning from a Transit retiree gig, and a guy cut me off.
“Did you see that? “ Art cried.
“Ever get the feeling all we were doing driving bus was cutting slack for idiots?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said; “and befuddled grannies and NASCAR wannabees.
‘Oh look Dora, a bus. Pull out! Pull out!’
I’m supposed to stop nine tons of hurtling steel on a dime without throwing my passengers outta their seats.”
I’m motoring quietly back from Victor, NY, where I had done various errands across from Eastview Mall.
I’m on Strong Road, and approach the intersection where it ends in Ionia (“eye-OWN-yah”) with State Route 64.
I came to a stop because traffic was approaching on Route 64.
I had time to pull in front of them, but the old bus-driver jones kicked in: “don’t pull in front of someone no matter how far away they are. They’re liable to be frightened and do something stupid, thereby involving you in an accident.”
I also noticed a black GMC Denali in my inside rear-view mirror, hurtling toward me at a frantic pace.
I hope he’s cutting around me, otherwise he’ll clobber me.
Yep, he threaded the narrow space to my right and then charged out onto 64 without stopping, making the approaching traffic slam on their brakes.
“Did you see that? “ Art woulda said.

• “Victor” is an old farm-town southeast of Rochester, now a suburb. A large shopping-mall, Eastview Mall, is nearby.
• “Ionia” is just north of where we live.

This is dental insurance?

As a retiree from Regional Transit Service in Rochester, NY, where I drove transit bus for 16&1/2 years, I have dental insurance, although it’s a joke.
It doesn’t pay nearly the going rate for dental work.
I also am a member of the official Transit retirees club, the “Alumni,” who negotiated reduced pricing with Q-Dental, an area dental provider.
My copay after Transit’s dental insurance is not as much as it would be if I paid the going rate.
I patronize Q-Dental’s office in Henrietta, NY, a suburb of Rochester to the southeast.
They tell me I’m the only one at that Henrietta office who uses the Alumni pricing, and I’m beginning to wonder I’m the only Transit retiree who uses the Alumni pricing.
I’d like to think there are others, but every time I go there I have a credit or debit adjustment.
I asked about this, and was told my pricing is very complicated.
It is?
I have an exact schedule of my copays for each dental procedure.
Just recently I had a two-surface amalgam filling done.
And now my Transit retirees dental insurance is refusing to pay anything.

This is dental insurance?
An old geezer like me is limited to one filling per year?
Get real, dudes. You’re just going through the motions!
You limit someone my age to one filling per year, and you’re being ridiculous.
Somebody’s making a killing being ridiculous.
Stiff the little guy so they can buy a Mercedes.
My wife called Q-Dental.
Apparently they will eat the extra $10 my so-called dental insurance refuses to pay.
My dental insurance is being asinine. —They’re stiffing us, probably laughing all the way to the Mercedes dealership.
My wife would have called the dental insurance, but no phone-number was provided as promised.

(Not there.)
They claimed the phone-number would be on the notification, but it wasn’t.
Okay, use the phonebook, in which case you engage a machine, and “Please hold during the silence (boom-chicka-boom-chicka-boom-chicka-boom-chicka!); your hold will be approximately three hours.”

’56 Chrysler

(Photo by Roy D. Query.)

Not much was interesting in my November, 2011 issue of Hemmings Classic Car magazine.
(November? For crying out loud, guys. It’s still September.)
But there was a feature on a ’56 Chrysler.
The ’56 Chrysler was the most successful-looking car of that genre.
Looking at it now, it’s obscenely HUGE with gigantic fins.
The car is ridiculously WIDE.
I remember cars like this parked in garages designed for a ’41 Chevy.
The entire back end of the car would stick out of the garage into the driveway. Giant fins and trunk; the garage-door partially closed.
What makes the ’56 Chrysler a winner is the grill.
Despite how wide the car is, the grill didn’t cover the full width of the front-end.
And it’s the right shape.
It doesn’t look ridiculous.
The guy who lived across from us in our little south Jersey suburb, the mayor of the township, bought a ’56 Chrysler to supplement his ’55 Imperial.
I was awestruck. It looked great.
It’s backend was obscenely wide, punctuated by giant two-tone fins. I think his was black and white.
But the front-end made the car.
Compare the ’56 Buick, its competition, sorta.
It has a gigantic grill plastered all over the front of the car. (At least it lacks teeth; what previous Buicks had.)
The Buick always looked angry.
Chrysler won this time, although Buick sold more cars.
And that’s despite the Chrysler being bigger, which seemed to be what America wanted.

Can they ever leave well-enough alone?

My wife opened her Facebook the other night (Wednesday, September 21, 2011):
“Oh dread,” she said. “They’re at it again.”
I received an e-mail from Facebook the other day: “We're trying out a new feature to reduce the amount of email you receive from Facebook. Starting today, we are turning off most individual email notifications and instead, we'll send you a summary only if there are popular stories you may have missed.”
“Huh?” I said.
“What constitutes a ‘popular story?’ What’s going on behind the scenes?
Can they ever leave well-enough alone?“
I have a Facebook myself, but only because of a fast-one on their part.
I got an e-mail from Facebook regarding an old friend who wanted the “friend” me.
Okay, but “to become a ‘friend’ you must have a Facebook of your own.”
So be it. —I opened a Facebook little knowing what was happening.
“Welcome to Facebook, Grady,” said another old friend I once worked with at the Mighty Mezz.
And so began my torturous relationship with Facebook. That was at least three years ago, maybe four.
I don’t pay much attention to it anymore, perhaps every three weeks or so.
I open it with great fear and trepidation; it has frozen this computer at least twice, perhaps three times.
I’ve been tempted to dump it, but haven’t. Too many of my friends use Facebook to maintain contact.
I have about 89 bazilyun “friend” requests, but I gave up responding some time ago.
“Friend” someone, and never hear from them again.
Or if you do, it’s “burp, fart, or ‘you go girl.’”
And “Congrats to all.”
Facebook also has a character-limit, anathema to a word-generator like me.
Heaven-forbid I spell out a word, like “to” instead of “2.” “Too many characters, naughty-naughty!”
Studied consideration and reason seem verboten; they trample the character-limit.
Another reason I avoid Facebook is because it’s slightly different every time I open it.
I have to blow 20 minutes just figuring out how to drive it.
Which presents the pretense for this blog.
My wife opens her Facebook, and it presents a message about changing things yet again.
Uh-ohhh, here we go again!
Plus I get the e-mail message about Facebook e-mails.
(A Facebook e-mail about reducing Facebook e-mails?)
“NOW WHAT? Can they ever leave well-enough alone?”
If anything I’d say this change is favorable.
Stop the gigantic torrent of useless blathering you have to pore through, which I rarely look at anyway.
Reprehensible! Friends are putting their thoughts and lives on Facebook, and I’m not listening.
Although I’m sure there’s an angle in it somewhere, something to pad Zuckerberg’s pants-pocket.
That’s Mark Zuckerberg, founder and CEO of Facebook.
A friend I graduated college with calls him “Suckerberg......”
My Facebook is showering me with paid ads regarding model trains and AARP home financing, probably because I noted I was a railfan, and my age. (Model-trains are not the real thing.)
My college friend doesn’t have a Facebook.
He abhors it, saying one-or-two friends is enough, not 5,000, or whatever it is.

• The “Mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired over five years ago. Best job I ever had — I worked there almost 10 years. (“Canandaigua” [“cannan-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 14 miles away.)
• “Grady” was my nickname at the Messenger newspaper. See blurb at right.

Disco era

While gathering trash the other night (Monday, September 19, 2011) I stumbled upon a 1994 car-calendar I had never thrown out.
It was probably a Christmas-gift I saved but never used.
It was probably picked up last minute at the supermarket calendar-bin: “Oh, Uncle Bob will like this.”
Just like I liked those railroad calendars of turn-of-the-century steam-locomotives.
They were “awesome” to the calendar-buyer, but not me.
The calendar was titled “Hot Cars,” and had some of the most laughable cars I had ever seen.
....For example, the one above, a 25th Anniversary Lamborghini Countach (I think it’s “koon-TAHSH;” as in “ah.” And it’s “lam-bore-GEE-nee;” as in “get”).
Lamborghini is an Italian car-maker that went into business because its head-honcho couldn’t get Ferrari to -a) fix a car he had already bought, or -b) sell him a car.
—I forget; WHATEVER!
Lamborghinis were meant to compete with Ferrari, so were megabuck exotics that perform extraordinarily.
They use fairly large 12-cylinder engines of great horsepower, in the Countach mid-mounted like a racecar.
The Countach was so outrageous it didn’t appeal to me.
All wings and scoops and outrageous appendages.
And low enough to scrape getting in your driveway.
I can hardly imagine chasing trains in such a thing.
For that I need ground-clearance for rocky dirt-tracks.
Most laughable about this car is the front bumper, probably required to sell it in this nation.
It looks like an add-on, a protest of the bumper-rule.
It hardly agrees with the sweeping lines of the car.
It looks Tinker-Toy.
And it’s hardly aerodynamic.
To show up at some glitzy gig with that silly bumper would be embarrassing.
“Well yes, a Countach, but about that bumper.....”
It looks like Coney Island.
This calendar is cheaply done.
One car, from different angles, was the entry for two different months.
The cars had often been brought into studios, and posed in front of unnatural backdrops.
Like the two different entries in front of fake lightning (same background each time).
At least the Countachs were three different cars, although the calendar seemed overloaded with Countachs.
I consider cars of this time to be disco era.
Take Ferrari, for example.
What we have here is a ’92 Testa Rosa.
It has the name of a famous Ferrari racecar from the ‘50s, more a road car, but powerful and light.
Its front-end is squashed flat as cars were back at that time.
Its lines are similar.
Ferrari also blessed it with a giant side-scoop, loaded with fins.
The car’s engine is mid-mounted; it probably needed that scoop.
Imagine 150 mph in this car, its front-end hunting madly despite that air-dam.
Or power-sliding it around a road-course on a track-day.
That’s all it would be, a megabuck piece for profiling.
I used to want a Ferrari, but my tastes have changed.
I need a car -a) to start, -b) run reliably in traffic-jams, and -c) not get stuck in the snow.
I suppose they’re the requirements of my Grandmother, who thought my Grandfather’s penchant for Packards was silly.
“Is it a Chevrolet?” she’d always ask.
My father reflected her taste in cars; they were just an appliance, so he never took care of them.
For that last requirement I need All-Wheel-Drive. (This Testa-Rosa was not All-Wheel-Drive.)
Where does one stretch out the potential this car has?
(Stuck in traffic twiddling stereo-knobs.)
Stretch it out and you’re cop-bait.
And recent Ferraris look much better.
A local supermarket CEO, who’s a car-freak, had one; I think his was ’89.
He never drove it much — probably drove a Honda Accord as his daily driver.
I think he traded it for a more recent Ferrari; no great loss.
Another so-called “Hot Car” is a 1993 Corvette.
That’s the C-4 model, what I call the disco ‘Vettes.
(Corvette-fans go by model number. There have been six versions so far; we are currently on C-6. Each version is pretty much the same throughout a production run; although the first [C-1] vary somewhat by year.)
The C-4 was a major improvement on the hoary old C-3, which lasted many years, 1968 through 1982. And the C-3 was essentially the C-2 chassis, which began production in the 1963 model-year.
But the C-4, like the other “Hot Cars,” suffers from disco looks, incredibly squashed flat.
I consider the C-4 Corvettes the worst looking, although the C-5s are almost as bad. A friend suggests the C-5 looks like a large plastic shampoo bottle.
They’re almost bloated.
I’ve only seen one good-looking C-4; a guy in the Canandaigua YMCA owns it.
It’s a blue roadster with a double red stripe.
I think it’s a ZR-1, a high-performance version.
It looks good enough for me to photograph, if I ever get the chance.
The car in this calendar looks as bad as I think C-4 Corvettes are.
Although it’s better than a C-3. The C-3s were when Corvette lost its way. Larded up with auto-tranny and air-conditioning. Not so much a performance car as a Detroit sedan made impractical.
Again, where do I stretch it out?
And above all, where do I put my dog?
Most disgusting is that trim-detail behind the front wheel.
Too detailed, a trait of disco cars — and probably not even functional.

1989.

1958.

Most disgusting in this calendar is the ’89 Porsche (“poor-SHA”) Speedster.
Sorry guys, but it’s the hoary old 911 introduced in this nation in 1965.
A 911 with the top chopped off to make it a so-called “Speedster.”
But not the Speedster of old, a really great car based on the 356 Porsche coupe — a bit off-the-wall, like the Volkswagen Bug in concept, but powerful and above all light.
Porsche dickered with that 911 for years.
Improving it, but it was still a 911.
.....Attractive as a 2+2 GT car, but still an old design.
Add-ons were made to improve the car’s aerodynamics.
But they were add-ons to an old design, and some looked silly.
Fender-flares were added to accommodate wider tires.
Silk purse out of a sow’s ear!
What Porsche needed was a new car, and finally the hoary old 911 was replaced; but that was about 1994 (not ’89).
But it was still based on the 911, but a newer-looking body, with more modern headlights.
And it still looks like the 911, plus, like the 911, its engine is still out behind the rear wheels.
Although the engine is no longer air-cooled. Porsche went to water-cooling in 1998.
Putting the engine out back is putting it in the wrong location.
You can do all sorts of tricks to offset that engine-location, but putting it behind the rear wheels unbalances the car.

Boxter.

Porsche also introduced another car, the Boxter, that puts the engine where it belongs, in the middle behind the driver, yet in front of the rear wheels.
This is current racecar practice, that is Indy-car not NASCAR.
NASCAR is like racing taxicabs; ancient technology.
They call ‘em “Stock-Cars,” but they’re hardly stock.
“Uncle Bob will like this.”
Well, sorta.
Except I’ve moved beyond “Hot Cars” to practical cars.
And that ’89 Porsche Speedster is a joke.
More interesting might be a Porsche Boxter, developed as much as the 911, but -a) way overpriced, -b) where do I stretch out the car? -c) where do I put my dog? and -d) can I drive it in Winter?
I also need a car with automatic transmission; my wife can’t master stick shift.
I doubt the Boxter has automatic transmission available, and if it does it probably has complications my wife couldn’t handle.
She needs to just push the gas-pedal.
I, on the other hand, can operate stick shift.
For that I have a motorcycle that could probably cream everything in this calendar, except maybe the Countachs.

• “Uncle Bob” is me, “BobbaLew.”
• I am a railfan, and have been since age-two (I’m 67). I was fortunate to experience steam-locomotives in regular revenue service.
• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym, appropriately named the “Wellness-Center,” usually three days per week, about two-three hours per visit. (“Canandaigua” [“cannan-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city to the east nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” It’s about 14 miles away. —We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.
• “Tranny” is transmission.

I’m a Pennsy man

CSX on the Water-Level. (Photo by BobbaLew.)


On the Rochester Bypass in Fairport. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

The other day (Sunday, September 18, 2011) was gorgeous.
Not a cloud in the sky all day, and coolish, about 65 degrees.
“A perfect day to chase trains,” I said to my wife.
—Although probably not that great, since it was Sunday.
I’m a railfan, and have been since age-two (I’m 67).
“Despite it being nearby, I’ve never done justice to the old New York Central Water-Level,” I said.
“And it has just as many highway overpasses and great photo locations as Norfolk Southern’s Pittsburgh Division down near Altoona (‘al-TUNE-uh;’ as in the name ‘Al’), PA, where I’ve been almost 100 times.
The Water-Level is the old New York Central (NYC) Railroad’s mainline across New York, called that because it pretty much followed rivers, so had easy gradients.
The Water-Level is now CSX Transportation (railroad).
The fact it had river gradients made it easier to operate than the old Pennsylvania Railroad (PRR), now Norfolk Southern.
Pennsy had to cross the Allegheny Front, which prior to the railroad had been a barrier to west-east commerce.
Yet Pennsy was more successful than New York Central. It moved gobs of freight, so much it had to expand to handle it.
A lot of Pennsy was four tracks, “the Broad Way.”
A lot of New York Central was four tracks too.
NYC’s ultimate destination was New York City — with Pennsy New York City was an afterthought. Pennsy’s original goal was to make Philadelphia comparable to New York City, which became what it was because of the Erie Canal.
And New York Central had a dogleg, east from Buffalo to Albany, then south down the Hudson river to New York City.
Pennsy didn’t have that dogleg, but was detouring through Pennsylvania and north Jersey to get to New York City.
It’s not as-the-bird-flies, but Central wasn’t either.
As-the-bird-flies would have had NYC into the Catskills, and hilly western New York.
New York Central is far enough north to avoid that hilliness.
It more-or-less parallels the Erie Canal, which that lack of hilliness made possible.
Pennsy was blocked by the Hudson river from New York City proper. New York Central wasn’t.
Quite a few railroads from the west terminated at the Hudson river, and ferried into New York.
There was talk of a union railroad bridge over the Hudson, but it was never built.
Pennsy eventually tunneled passenger-service under the Hudson, but never freight.
Freight was ferried into New York; now it’s trucks.
The Pennsylvania Railroad was once the largest and most powerful railroad on the planet — the so-called “Standard Railroad of the World.”
Pennsy moved a lot of Pennsylvania coal, a commodity railroads profit from.
New York state wasn’t a coal-producer, so New York Central didn’t have that coal-base.
Nevertheless, Pennsy’s main competition was New York Central, particularly in the midwest (Ohio and Indiana), where the two railroads had feeders to their main stems.
PRR eventually had to merge with New York Central in 1968; a marriage out of desperation. There was no one else to merge with, and Pennsy was faltering.
A proposed merger with Norfolk & Western was not approved.
That merger (Penn-Central) went bankrupt, and the government took part in forming Conrail, a merger of all bankrupt northeast railroads — there were quite a few.
(Norfolk Southern is a long-ago merger of Norfolk & Western and Southern Railway.)
Conrail succeeded and eventually privatized. It was sold in 1999 to CSX and Norfolk Southern. CSX got mostly the New York Central lines, and Norfolk Southern the Pennsy lines.
I’ve been to Norfolk Southern’s Pittsburgh Division almost 100 times, primarily Horseshoe Curve, the best railfan spot I’ve ever been to.
I first went there in 1968, or perhaps ’69, Horseshoe Curve (the Mighty Curve), which at that time was Penn-Central, and four tracks.
The Curve was reduced to three tracks by Conrail.


At the Mighty Curve Labor-Day, 1970. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

The first picture I ever had published nationwide, November 1971, was at Horseshoe Curve, and it was in Trains Magazine, page 25.
“I suppose there’s one reason I keep going back to the Pittsburgh Division,” I told my wife.
“It’s the old Pennsy, and I’m a Pennsy man.”
The Pittsburgh Division is the heart of the old Pennsy, an engineering triumph when it was built about 1854.
The Allegheny Crossing was Pennsy’s greatest challenge, and it was done with guile and cunning.
Horseshoe Curve is the trick that stands out.
The railroad was looped around a valley to make the grade manageable.
That took a lot of cutting and filling for 1850; including rock.
The east slope still averages 1.75 percent (that’s 1.75 feet up for every 100 feet forward), a grade that often needs helper locomotives. But it’s not 4 percent, which would have been near impossible.
Plus there are no switchbacks — advance into one switchback, back up to the next switchback, then go forward again.
Switchbacks are a way to gain altitude, but ponderously slow to operate.
Pennsy’s Allegheny Crossing is a through railroad, one that could be operated without shenanigans, with manageable gradient.
And most of the original alignment is still in use.
Only one shortcut was put in on the west slope, from Portage north (railroad east). It took out a lot of torturous curvature near the top.
The east slope is still as built; the original alignment.
As I say, I’ve been to Altoona almost 100 times.
Years ago a coworker at the Messenger newspaper where I worked, noted I was going on vacation, so asked where I was going.
“Why Horseshoe Curve, of course,” I answered.
“What is it about that place?” he responded; “that’s the third time this summer!”
“Trains, man,” I said. “You’re smack in the apex of the Curve, and they’re right in your face. It’s the BEST railfan spot I’ve ever been to.”
I’ve branched out beyond Horseshoe Curve the past few years.
First the tunnels at the top of The Hill in Gallitzin (“guh-LIT-zin;” as in “girl”), then Cassandra (“kuh-SANNE-druh;” as in the name “Anne”) Railfan Overlook in Cassandra, PA on the west slope west toward Gallitzin.
Cassandra Railfan Overlook is an old footbridge set atop abutments for old state Route 53 into Cassandra.
(State Route 53 no longer goes through Cassandra.)
The bridge bridged a deep rock cut that was part of the 1898 line relocation north (railroad east) of Portage.
The railroad used to go through Cassandra, but now it doesn’t.
The footbridge was for Cassandra residents that worked east of the railroad.
Railfans started congregating on that footbridge to watch Pennsy slug it out up the west slope toward Allegheny summit.
A Cassandra resident noticed, so started mowing lawn and put in old diner tables plus benches.
It’s a great place to watch trains. Trains are wide-open hammering up the west slope. But primarily it’s the shade.
Nearby Cresson (“KRESS-in”) has a railfan observation deck, but it’s right out in the sun.
At Cassandra you can sit and not bake.
Plus Cassandra Railfan Overlook is between two defect-detectors, 253.1 at Carney’s Crossing south (railroad west) of Lilly, and 258.9 in Portage.
Defect-detectors broadcast train-condition on the radio operating channel. The train-crew will hear ‘em.
Monitoring with a scanner I can hear when a train is coming.
Once at Cassandra we got up to leave and “Norfolk Southern milepost 253.1, Track Three, no defects.”
We were stuck for at least two hours. Every time we got up to leave, here comes another.
They were fleetin’ ‘em, both directions.
Your wait might be 5-10 minutes, but in the shade you can stand it.
Since 2008 we’ve been chasing trains with Phil Faudi (“FOW-dee;” as in “wow”).
Phil is the railfan extraordinaire from Altoona who supplied all-day train-chases for $125.
—He called them “Adventure-Tours,” and that’s just what they were, railfan overload.
Faudi would bring along his radio rail-scanner, tuned to 160.8, the Norfolk Southern operating channel, and he knew the whereabouts of every train, as the engineers called out the signals, and various lineside defect-detectors fired off.
He knew each train by symbol, and knew all the back-roads, and how long it took to get to various photo locations — and also what made a successful photo — lighting, drama, etc.
I’d let Phil do the monitoring. I have a scanner myself, but I left it behind.
Phil knew every train on the scanner, where it was, and how long it took to beat it to a prime photo location.
My first time was a slow day, yet we got 20 trains. Next Tour we got 30 trains in one nine-hour day.
Phil gave it up; fear of liability suits, and a really nice car he’s afraid he’d mess up.
Phil also no longer does the driving; he’s 67, same age as me, and afraid he’d wreck his car.
But he can’t give it up; he still leads me around as long as I do the driving — which is slow, since I had a stroke. We miss trains he would get.
Over our many Tours Phil took me to many places along the line around Altoona just as good as Cassandra, often better.
So now our sojourns are no longer to just Horseshoe Curve.
Now it’s the Pittsburgh Division; more precisely the Allegheny Crossing.
That’s both the east and west slopes.
My younger brother-from-Boston, now a railfan, regals me with calls from the nation’s interior. He’s stopped at some phenomenal railfan location out west, probably Union-Pacific or Burlington Northern Santa Fe (“fay;” BNSF).
Trains are flying by willy-nilly, more often than the Pittsburgh Division.
He holds up his cellphone so I can hear the horn-blowing cacophony — what I usually hear is racket.
Well, yes; but it’s not Allegheny Crossing, the old Pennsy.
Which explains why —A) another foray to Altoona is planned for the end of this month, and —B) the Water-Level remains in the doldrums.
I also don’t have a Phil Faudi along the Water-Level.

• “The Rochester Bypass” is the old West Shore line south of the city — it bypasses Rochester; doesn’t go through. The “West Shore” was a line financed by the Pennsylvania Railroad to compete directly with the New York Central Railroad in New York state in the late 1800s. It was merged with NYC at the behest of J.P. Morgan, who got all the warring parties together on his yacht in Long Island Sound. The NYC got the West Shore for no longer financing the proposed South Pennsylvania Railroad [which was graded but never built, including tunnels, which were later incorporated into the Pennsylvania Turnpike]. It was called the “West Shore” because it went up the west shore of the Hudson River. It’s been largely abandoned west of the Hudson, although the segment around Rochester became a bypass around Rochester; plus the line along the “West Shore” of the Hudson River was also never abandoned.
• The “Messenger newspaper” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger, from where I retired over five years ago. Best job I ever had — I worked there almost 10 years. (“Canandaigua” [“cannan-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 14 miles away.)
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993, from which I pretty much recovered.

Internet foibles

Yesterday afternoon (Saturday, September 17, 2011) our electricity dumped for about a tenth of a second.
That’s long enough for the lights to go off-and-on, and the battery backup for our DVR to kick in — although only for a tenth of a second: ker-click!
This here laptop is battery driven, so even though the house power-supply may dive, my computer keeps running on its battery.
All the house-power is doing is charging my computer, or overriding its battery.
But a tenth of a second is long enough for our Internet router to dive.
This here computer fools me! It keeps displaying Internet, but it’s displaying it from cache.
If I try to refresh; NOTHING!
Suddenly my wife, who gets the Internet wirelessly in another room, was complaining no Internet,
I was trying to do a Google-map search and got the “cannot-find” error message. —It couldn’t even find Google.
But of course my computer was displaying many other Internet sites I have tabbed, but all from cache.
Reset router.
Suddenly everything worked; my wife had her Internet, and I had my Google search.
It’s sick we’re so dependent on that Internet, and delivery of it can be flaky.

Tri-Pacer

Piper Tri-Pacer.

The other day (Monday, September 12, 2011) a Piper (“PIPE-rrr”) Tri-Pacer flew over our house.
In 1955, at the age of 11, yrs trly took his first flight. It was in a Piper Tri-Pacer (see above), a tricycle landing-gear version of the Piper Pacer, a tail-dragger.
The Pacer was Piper’s first four-passenger airplane. —The Piper Cub could only carry two.
At that time, middle ‘50s, Piper and Cessna (“SESS-nuh”) were at war with each other, trying to make private aviation the next big thing for the middle-class.
There’s just one problem.
Airplane crashes are usually fatal. Car-crashes not necessarily.
Beyond that if an airplane cripples it falls out of the sky and crashes.
If a car cripples, you just pull over and call Triple-A.
Flying is much more involved and dangerous.
-A) You have to be aware of terrain and radio antennas, so you don’t crash into them, and
-B) You have to watch out for the other guy; you can’t just look straight ahead.
They can come at you from all sides, including above and below.
Hit someone and you both crash and die.
Fly blind, like through a cloud, and things get really complicated.
You depend on your instruments to keep level — there’s no road to do it for you.
And you have to depend on others far away to keep you from clobbering other planes.
Nevertheless both Piper and Cessna thought private aviation was the next big thing.
They tried their mightiest.
With Piper, as I recall, the trick was to make flying much like driving.
Rudder controls were integrated with the control-yoke, which was much like an automotive steering-wheel.
An airplane has three systems to control flight: pitch, yaw and roll.
Rudder-pedals control a tail rudder, the yaw, left-or-right.
Pitch and roll can be controlled by a control-yoke.
Pulling it back or pushing it forward controlled pitch, up or down.
Turning it left or right activated ailerons (“ail-er-ONS;” as in “Ron”) toward the wing-ends, to bank the airplane left or right.
Turning an airplane involved both roll and yaw. You had to bank the airplane and apply rudder.
You didn’t bank a car. You just steered left or right.
Piper’s trick was to integrate rudder-action into your yoke-banking.
So you weren’t using rudder-pedals to turn.
(If I have that right.......)
It was like driving a car.
Well, sorta.
Flying an airplane is not like driving a car.
And then there’s take-off and landing, both of which involved pitch control.
The pavement isn’t setting pitch for you.
It’s tilt able horizontal control surfaces, usually on the airplane’s tail.
Take-off isn’t much trouble, just throttle up the engine and accelerate down the runway until the plane becomes airborne.
Landing is a monster.
My younger brother in northern Delaware long ago had his pilot’s license; his father-in-law and he owned a small private plane, a Piper Cherokee.
Lots of things can go wrong in your landing.
A gust of wind can throw off your approach.
Your airplane has to kinda drop gently onto the runway; you can’t just slam into it.
If you did, your airplane might bounce and flip.
Every time my brother landed his plane, it was “WHEW! Did it again.”
Beyond that you also have to use flaps.
The flaps help slow your airplane, which you’re flying so slow ya need to enhance wing-lift, which flaps do.
How much flap you apply is a judgment call. Imagine Granny doing this: “Oh my golly! We’re approaching too fast. Go any slower and my wings might stall.” (No lift.) “Oh my golly!”
Lotsa times ya see private pilots practicing take-off and landing, touch-and-goes. Touch the runway as if landing, and immediately take off, so as to go around and try again.
The original Piper Cub used a vertical control-stick, not a steering-wheel like control yoke.
A Cub only seated two; the Pacer (and Tri-Pacer) could seat four.
An airplane was rated for how much weight it could carry, and a Cub could only carry two persons.
The weight had to also be properly distributed — improper balance could imbalance the airplane.
A tail-dragger was another incredible challenge — you had to be at the right pitch to gently drop it onto the ground (land). This pitch was nose-up; not the same as flying.
Cessna’s competition also went to tricycle landing-gear, but I don’t think they tried integration of rudder-control into the banking function.
Tricycle landing-gear negated the tail-dragger pitch-angle landing requirement.
With tricycle gear ya landed at the same angle ya flew at.
We flew out of Echelon Airport, long abandoned, a small private airport in south Jersey about 10-15 miles from where we lived.
Echelon Airport eventually became Echelon Mall, which apparently also failed and became Voorhees (“Vor-HEEZ;” as in “or”) Town Center, a giant shopping mall like many private airports became. (Voorhees is a township in south Jersey.)
Ray Hylan Airport, a small private airport southeast of Rochester, became MarketPlace Mall.
Small private airports like Echelon and Hylan had the land needed to develop a mall with its giant parking-lot.
And Echelon kept the name. “Echelon” is an aviation term, but it was Echelon mall.
The only reference to Hylan is in the name of a road through the area.
My flight was a thrill. I did it at least twice, probably three times, ’55, ’56. and ’57.
Each flight cost $5 for 15 minutes. Do that now and it might cost $50-$100.
I had saved the $5 from my allowance, and remember my sister rode along.
Which means I still say my sister owes me, since it was my $5, and she rode along free.
I remember protesting mightily, but my father declared me reprehensible.
All I remember is my sister was riding along free on my nickel. I felt that was unfair then, but that was long ago.
Echelon was apparently a Piper franchise, selling Piper airplanes.
No way in a million years was my father gonna buy a Tri-Pacer.
Our pilot was apparently the owner of the airport.
I was the copilot, and my sister and my father sat in the back.
The pilot let me fly the plane once we got to 1,000 feet altitude — that is, work the control-yoke. I doubt I could reach the rudder pedals, but as far as I knew, that didn’t matter. (Rudder-pedal integration.....)
I flew toward our neighborhood, and then wagged the wings over our house, the international indication to anyone below watching.
I had the plane level, but we kept climbing. We climbed to 1,200 feet.
The pilot had me do the landing approach, hook around, and then down to about 400 feet.
Then he took over and landed the plane.
I was thrilled! He let me fly the plane, sorta.
Back home I drew up an entire Tri-Pacer instrument panel, so I could fly the Tri-Pacer on my bed.
I got catalogs from both Piper and Cessna, and also Beechcraft, now apparently merged with Hawker.
I subscribed to Flying Magazine.
1957 would have been my last flight. Our family moved to northern Delaware at the end of that year.
I never got my pilot’s license.
Flying still stokes a sense-of-wonder; even in an airliner.
As I’ve said before: “The sun always shines at 35,000 feet!”

• We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield, southeast of Rochester, NY.

Where were you on 9/11?

Yrs Trly was at the Mighty Mezz, quietly beavering away in his cubicle, slamming together things needed to get the daily newspaper out.
A 21-inch TV hung off the ceiling at one end of the newsroom.
Suddenly there was one of the Twin Towers on it, smoking after the first hit.
“How can an airliner hit the World Trade Center on a clear day?” I said.
People began gathering below the TV, advertising-reps and reporters.
But not me; I had things to do.
Things began getting wonky.
The Pentagon was hit by another airliner, and soon another airliner crashed into the other Twin Tower.
A fourth airliner crashed in Pennsylvania. It had been hijacked, and was headed for Washington.
Suddenly the newspaper’s priorities had changed.
We no longer were reporting the local news: fires, car-crashes, crime,
Our nation was under attack.
But the Twin Towers were still standing, smoking profusely.
Then one tower collapsed.
“WOW,” I said.
And then the second tower.
Someone called to report the Canandaigua lake-level, as they did every day, since we reported it.
He commented we were under attack.
This guy was older than me, old enough to remember Pearl Harbor.
“Well, yes,” I said; comparable to Pearl Harbor.
People say we will never forget, but will we?
Over 69 years have passed since December 7, 1941, “A date that will live in infamy......”
Yet December 7 seems to come-and-go; buy a Toyota.
Will September 11 suffer the same forgetfulness 60 years from now, when those living were not there on September 11, 2001, and those that were are gone?
By then our cars may be from Afghanistan.

• The “Mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired over five years ago. Best job I ever had — I worked there almost 10 years. (“Canandaigua” [“cannan-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 14 miles away.)

Roulette scale

“186.5 pounds,” our bathroom scale said last Tuesday morning, September 6, 2011.
“Well,” I thought to myself; “my weight seems to be dropping. Perhaps it’s the lack of working-out in the YMCA Exercise-Gym, and walking our dog instead.”
The Canandaigua YMCA is closed all week for maintenance, as it does every year after Labor Day.
“194.5 pounds,” our scale said the next morning, Wednesday, September 7, 2011.
“Oh yes,” I thought to myself, a bit surprised.
“This is the roulette scale. Readings are always ballpark, and all over the map.”
Ya don’t gain eight pounds in one day.
“192 pounds,” it said the next morning, yesterday, September 8, 2011.
Today it said “189.5.”
“It’ll be nice to get back to the medical scale at the Canandaigua YMCA,” I thought.
“It’s the one I trust. It’s consistent.”
Our roulette scale is from Mighty Wal*Mart, which my siblings loudly insist is the finest store in the entire universe.”
The fact I avoid it proves I’m stupid and of-the-Devil.
(This comes with being a Democrat [gasp!].)
I’ve had difficult shopping experiences at Wal*Mart, like -a) being hugged and kissed by a urine-smelling geezer-greeter, and -b) being snapped at by two store-associates for interrupting their day-long donut-break by having the awful temerity and unmitigated gall and horrific audacity to ask where something was.
It’s also inconvenient, and I can never find anything inside.
I also don’t think a two-cent-per-pound saving for bananas is worth five dollars in gas to get there and back.
The Canandaigua Wal*Mart is not on a main drag.
You have to navigate the adjacent Lowes parking-lot to get there.
It’s also about a mile past my usual supermarket.
But we needed a bathroom scale.
Our old scale was a hand-me-down from the ‘50s, something from an older relative who had died.
So off we went to Wal*Mart, although we were probably also looking for dish-towels.
Their selection of dish-towels was puny.
“Is this all they got?” my wife asked. “I thought Wal*Mart had everything.”
She was reprising what my siblings always tell me: “Wal*Mart has everything!”
We stumbled upon bathroom scales after hiking the giant store.
They were near the displayed bagless vacuum-cleaners, that look like rejects from the Star Wars cantina set.
There were quite a few bathroom scales, but all appeared to be digital.
Batteries were included.
I zeroed in on a Taylor scale.
Taylor is the famous instrument-maker in Rochester, NY. They have a venerable reputation.
But the scale wasn’t made in Rochester. It was made in China, probably by child slave-labor.
That’s our roulette scale; readings always ballpark, that fluctuate so much ya can’t go by them.
Sold to us by the finest store in the entire universe; and I’m stupid and of-the-Devil for avoiding it.

• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym, appropriately named the “Wellness-Center,” usually three days per week, about two-three hours per visit. (“Canandaigua” [“cannan-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city to the east nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” It’s about 14 miles away. —We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.
• Walking the dog is about four-five miles, her pulling the whole way. Our current dog is “Scarlett;” a rescue Irish-Setter. She’s six, and is our sixth Irish-Setter. (A “rescue Irish Setter” is an Irish Setter rescued from a bad home; e.g. abusive or a puppy-mill. By getting a rescue-dog, we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't bad.)

Politics

Yrs Trly avoids political blogging.
But the fevered blustering of REPUBLICAN presidential contender Gov. Rick Perry of Texas has me involved.
The Texas wildfires should get a Texas-only response.
No Federal aid. No funds from FEMA.
It should be a state responsibility.
Let Texans aid Texans.
And if that’s not enough, perhaps they could hold bake-sales.
Or rummage sales.
Sell the Alamo to Wal*Mart and add flashing neon lights.
Or make it a gambling casino.
After all, a casino adds jobs.
The kind of jobs Perry brags about in his state: minimum wage.
And if the casino generated gambling addicts, that’s their problem.
And while we’re at it, the Interstate Highway System should no longer be a Federal responsibility.
After all, it was a giant lie, a Ponzi scheme, as it were.
Call it that. It gets ink! Garner the Limbaugh vote. (That’s Rush Limbaugh, the master of “say anything,” and be bellicose about it; “it may get legs” — between OxyContin hits.
Highways should be privately funded; public benefit is suspect, and inefficient. —Protect the fat-cats!
And similarly airports.
They shouldn’t be government entities.
Let people that use air transit pay exorbitant airfares.
The airports should be funded by the airlines. —Perhaps an airport for each airline, like railroad stations used to be.
My neighbor across the street suggested that fat-cats deserve every cent, they shouldn’t be taxed as high as the little guy.
“Yeah, by sending our jobs overseas,” I responded.
“But rich people create jobs,” he stated.
“They no more create jobs than the next guy,” I said.
“What they do is pay themselves fat dividends so they can buy a custom Mercedes-Benz, and build mega-mansions in the Hollywood Hills.”
The Federal response to the Texas wildfires should be that of Dubya to Hurricane Katrina. “What, me worry? I got mine. Them Liberals; they had it coming — God’s justice for all that Mardi Gras prancin’.”

Har-har-hardee-har-har

“I actually believe in gun-control,” said Republican presidential hopeful Gov. Rick Perry of Texas, reprising the old redneck joke.
“Use both hands.”
Har-har-hardee-har-har-har!
I bet that went over well with all those folks out in Nevada bewailing the death of their loved ones at an IHOP restaurant.
Garner the redneck vote.
I’ve never been able to make a decision regarding gun-control.
On the one hand I believe in the constitutional right to bear arms, to secure against a government gone mad.
On the other hand I worry about the ready availability of lethal weapons to citizens gone mad.
My younger brother in northern Delaware owns pistols to protect his house.
No matter those pistols will be more likely used to kill he and his wife.
What he doesn’t have is a dog.
When our house was being built, the contractor wondered if he should install an alarm-system.
I refused.
“Best alarm-system I ever had has four legs and barks,” I said.
When we lived in Rochester, ours was the only house on our block not broken into.
We had “Beware of Dog” signs in our doors, plus our dog was always on-guard.
One night I was awoken at 3 a.m. by a torrent of noisy barking.
I heard someone slink off our front porch.
Same thing with the mailman and United-Parcel-Service.
One day I was walking our dog up the street, and she started barking.
It was a UPS truck; she’d heard the four-ways clicking.
I also had to tie up the dog outside so the gas-man could read the meters inside.
And I always knew when the garbagemen were coming.
An immediate neighbor got a dog.
So how does one come down on gun-control? How does one make lethal weapons unavailable to crazies?

• Our house was built 20 years ago. We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield, southeast of Rochester.

Silly me

My DroidX Smartphone shoots a pretty good video.
Good enough to not bother purchasing a video-camera, which I’d have so little use for it’s not worth buying.
So I’ve shot a couple. Mostly of our dog.
Many are of our dog exploding out the back gate to tell off deer behind the back fence.
The other day I shot a longish video of our dog perusing a puddle at Baker Park in nearby Canandaigua. 38 seconds.
She’s hunting frogs — POUNCE! She’s very much the hunter. (So far, at least three frogs.)
There is a large concrete drain-pipe to the puddle. We have to keep her out of it. What if there were rats? Once a rat snagged a previous dog on the lip and wouldn’t let go.
Dogs don’t seem to worry about that until it happens. Then it’s “Help me, Master.”
The video looked pretty good.
So upload it to my sister’s Facebook.
My sister is in Fort Lauderdale, FL.
Easier said than done — for a stroke-survivor who’s never done it before.
Okay, no editing; that’s later.
The video is good enough to not need editing.
Okay, crank up video on DroidX.
“Share,” but no Facebook.
Not surprised.
I hear Facebook and Google are mortal enemies.
“Droid” is Google’s Smartphone operating-system.
So it looks like to upload to Facebook, I hafta get the video on my laptop.
Hook up USB cable. Transfer video, save on laptop.
Now I can upload to Facebook from my laptop.
I open my sister’s Facebook to upload the video.
“What happened to ‘upload video?’” I cry.
“Good old Facebook,” I say. “Every time I open it, something is slightly different.”
This is the first time in about three weeks.
“Every time I open it, I hafta blow 10-15 minutes researching how to drive it.
I don’t have 10-15 minutes to waste. Can’t they ever leave well-enough alone?”
I opened my own Facebook: no “upload video.”
My wife opened her Facebook; no “upload video.”
But she stumbled upon “upload video” under “upload photo.”
“Thank you, Facebook. I didn’t know a video was a photo.
Silly me!”
So upload video to my sister’s Facebook from my laptop, but it’s upside down.
We’re parrying Smartphone monkeyshines here.
How can I know what is upside down if my Smartphone is always righting the display automatically?
I guess I hafta shoot two short video-clips from either position to see what is upside down.
But that’s later.
There’s no correcting an upside down video-post, or so it seems.
My laptop video was upside down, so that’s what posted to Facebook.
Funny; Facebook can redefine “video” as a photo, but can’t seem to flip an upside down video — or can it, in which case it freezes my machine. (It has......)
This all reminds of years ago at the Mighty Mezz.
A computer-geek asked me how to work the Optical-Character-Recognition (OCR) scanner, with which I had much more experience.
“Face down,” I told him. “Face up gets the back of the sheet. Face up ya get nothing. The HEX-spurt has spoken!”
Next step: upload video to YouTube.
I don’t think I have a YouTube account, and YouTube wants a Google-account.
“I already have one,” I said.
“I went through this before with GMail, which I never could access on my laptop because it wanted a Google-account.”
My Google-account is what I drive this here blog with.
My GMail, which I never use, is a Smartphone app. I had to set up GMail to purchase my DroidX.
I get the feeling Google is trying to take over the entire known universe.
Google fatcats in megabuck Mercedes.
So much for YouTube, I thought. They’re not getting a third Google-account, I already have two.
Until I tried “Sign In,” and off-we-went.
I uploaded the video, but it too was upside down.
Delete that, except easier-said-than-done.
I finally deleted the YouTube video, after contorted “Try-This-and-See-What-Happens” navigation.
YouTube e-mailed me congratulations for successfully uploading my first YouTube video.
Like HELLO, it’s upside down.
My sister’s Facebook video remains, upside down but not deleted.
I’m sure she can deal with that.

• “Canandaigua” (“cannan-DAY-gwuh”) is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” It’s about 14 miles away. —We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield, southeast of Rochester.
• “Baker Park” is a city-park in Canandaigua.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993, from which I pretty much recovered.
• The “Mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired over five years ago. Best job I ever had — I worked there almost 10 years.

The future is character-limited

“And there goes Heather,” the local TV-news reported; “carrying her wide-screen TV into her dorm room at Nazareth College.”
“Wide-screen TV?” we both exclaimed.
“Do they ever study at college?” I asked.
“College was the most meaningful experience in my life,” I said.
There indeed was Heather carting a large cardboard Sanyo box into the dorm; the box was about five feet by two feet by about six inches.
“We didn’t have no wide-screen TV,” I said. “In fact, we didn’t have TV at all.”
“Now they got TV, and microwaves, and mini-refrigerators,” my wife said. “And video-games on their Smartphones.
College has become a social gig. Critical thought is an aside.”
“Critical thinking is for wusses,” I noted.
“What about Wipe-Out and The Bachelorette?
Why college when I can Google?
College has become summer-camp.
The brain is no longer for weighing points-of-view. It’s for tweeting inanities, or fiddling Angry Birds.”
The future is character-limited.

MAC or PC

MacBook Pro. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

“Online poll: which computer do you prefer, MAC or PC?” said a small header on my former employer’s front-page, the Daily Messenger newspaper in nearby Canandaigua.
It was referring to a poll on the newspaper’s web-site I used to do years ago.
I won’t respond, but anyone who reads this here blog knows I’ve been driving Apple Macintosh computers at least the last 15 years.
Our first computer was a Windows PC about 18 years ago, a 386/40 (remember them?).
But I switched to Macintosh when my employer computerized.
Actually, that’s not precise.
The Messenger was computerized before that, but it wasn’t individual computers on each person’s desk.
It was so-called “dumb terminals,” keyboards on each person’s desk linked to a giant mainframe computer in a cramped air-conditioned room.
There might also have been sub-computers on each person’s desk — I remember having to feed it a five-inch floppy (remember five-inch floppies?) to get it to work, after which a reporter could key in a story to the mainframe, which sent to typesetters that produced galleys.
The galleys were long strips of photographic paper on which lettering had been projected by light.
The galleys had to be developed, and then cut and pasted to cardboard page-dummies.
The completed full-size page-dummies then got photographed to produce a negative from which a printing-plate could get burned.
“Computerization” (so-called) dispensed with the mainframe, typesetters, and paste-up and camera.
A reporter could now key her story into her desktop computer, it got filed to servers, and a paginator (or page-editor) could draw that story onto his desktop computer-display to create the page.
Right about then Apple introduced the iMac, a desktop computer with display all in one box.
It wasn’t much compared to nowadays. All I remember is four megs of RAM — the laptop I’m using now (above) has four gigs; that’s 1,000 times as much.
Messenger powers-that-be were tilting toward MACs, even though they cost more, because our image-setter was MAC-based.
An image-setter produced negatives directly for plate-burning. It circumvented the mainframe and camera/page dummies.
The image-setter was driven by a Rastorized-Image-Processor (“RIP”), but it was a PC.
That PC had to translate everything into MAC instructions for the image-setter to work.
The RIP often hung, and could thus delay the newspaper.
MACs would take out translation.
But MACs were more costly, until Apple marketed the iMac.
So iMac it would be, with individual towers for page-creation.
A coworker convinced me I should switch to MAC, that MACs were superior.
(I don’t know as they are any more.)
Added was the factor my employer was switching to MAC.
My siblings are all born-again Christians, and they loudly tell me anything Apple is stupid and of-the-Devil.
This is despite their all having iPhones and iPods and iPads, and my non-Apple DroidX Smartphone is stupid and of-the-Devil.
Meanwhile my sister’s DroidX is blessed.
Jesus would have used a PC, I was told. Or was it Jesus used a PC?
This reminds of the sonorous blasts I get about which motorcycle I ride.
Jesus rides a Harley-Davidson, or is it he would ride a Harley-Davidson?
Whatever, He sure wouldn’t ride no Honda like I do, nor would He use a MAC!
What this comes from is I had the awful temerity and unmitigated gall and horrific audacity to suggest that MAC was superior.
And it was, years ago.
The MAC was elegant Porsche engineering to PC’s musclecar overkill.
I attended a Photoshop® school that couldn’t afford MACs. It was Photoshop on a PC, and “please wait.”
My MAC at home was much faster.
Far be it I point this out to my all-knowing siblings. I a Democrat. (Gasp!)
I also was told Apple was toast, the equivalent of Sony’s Betamax.
Yet Apple survives despite the passing of various PC manufacturers.
A while ago it was Gateway with their placid Holsteins.
Now it’s Dell.
Who’s next?
And then there are all the horror stories I hear from PC users. Slow performance, dumping everything, and starting over.
Yet my MACs go on-and-on.
The motherboard quit on my first MAC, but my G4 tower still gets occasional use.
My laptop is MAC number-three.
Often I think failing PC performance is the operator.
My wife drives a PC, and they’ve lasted eons.
Ya don’t open every e-mail ya get. —It protects against virus infiltration.
I’ve driven both PC and MAC, and in my opinion they’re now pretty much equal.
I stick with MAC because that’s what I’m familiar with.
I also am not doing computer-aided-design (CAD), a Windows PC application.
A PC user I know is thinking of changing to MAC.
I advised against it.
Switch to MAC and ya gotta learn all the MAC idiosyncrasies, like it doesn’t give the memory-path without arduous looking.
“Stick with PC,” I told him. “PC is what ya know.”

• My desktop picture is Pennsylvania Railroad GG1 number 4896, scrapped. 4896 is the only GG1 I ever went through, and this is the only photograph of 4896 I ever got. The GG1 was the greatest railroad locomotive ever made. —I’m a railfan, and have been since age-two (I’m 67).
• “Canandaigua” (“cannan-DAY-gwuh”) is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” It’s about 15 miles away. —We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield, southeast of Rochester.
• I worked at the Messenger almost 10 years. It was the best job I ever had.