My Father has had some interesting times, has met some interesting people, and I bet he hasn't told me the best stories yet. But I was surprised when he told me that he had worked with a guy who later became an astronaut. Not just any astronaut, either. Now, to me, ALL astronauts are heroes, rock stars for science nerds. But the Mercury 7 are have Super Hero status, they're The Beatles of the Space Program. Yes, my Dad knew one of the Mercury 7.
He brought it up rather nonchalantly, as we drove from Portland to an Aviation and Space Museum near McMinnville, Oregon. It was after World War II, when Dad had been a Navy pilot. He was going to school at the University of Minnesota, and like many young men he took some work besides spending time in studies.
It was unloading box cars at "Monkey Wards", as my Dad called it, in St. Paul. They paid 85 cents an hour. No health insurance, I'm sure. He worked there for about 4 months. His work partner there was someone who was very easy to like. Very level headed and unflappable. His name was Deke Slayton. All Dad knew was he was studying Aeronautical Engineering and had been an Army pilot. As a Navy pilot, my Dad jibed Deke that while he could navigate over water, Deke would navigate by following railroad tracks. At the time Dad did not know how many missions this easygoing freight car unloader had flown, but he did remember how he took the jibe without ire.
My Dad owned a a four cylinder inline Indian motorcycle. Appropriate transport for him, as far as I'm concerned. He said that he would sometimes give Deke a ride home after work. Deke lived in the Seven Corners neighborhood in Minneapolis. One time after dropping Deke off my he remembers going through the namesake intersection and took a turn he probably shouldn't have. He hit a car on the front fender. The Indian only sustained minor damage, breaking a small marker light on the front fender.
When we arrived at the Museum, there was a large photo of the Mercury 7. My Dad looked and said, "There he is. Looks about the same as I remember him."
My Father and Mr. Slayton, as far as I am concerned, went on to use their education at U of M very well. My Father became a very well respected teacher, then counselor, then administrator, furthering the education of so many students. Keith Wayne Dawson, PhD.
Deke Slayton, from what I read, was a good judge of character when he made the selections for missions. He chose a good work partner to ask for a ride home, too.
[This was written at the request of @slaytonmuseum to be posted on their website. Except for the last paragraph, this story was read by my Father and passed inspection.]
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Big School Field Trip, For Grown Ups!
I promised I would write about my experience at the JPLTweetup 2011. As the title of this entry says, I sorta thought of this as a field trip, like you had when you were in school. Except for this field trip you are taking a plane, staying overnight in a different city/state, and visiting the epicenter of human space exploration.
Let me repeat that last part. OH EM GEE! The frakking Epicenter of Human Exploration of our Solar System. Nay, our Galaxy. Even our Universe!
I am going to have to write about this in several entries. Don't be surprised if you see stories pop up even much later. One thing that I came away with from this is that NASA is doing absolutely necessary things for humankind, and I want to be an ambassador for NASA. This may be a rough start to that, but every journey begins with the first step.
Watch this space for more about JPL, NASA, and the adventures of a neo-NASA ambassador in training. I want to do it right, and I'm not a professional writer. So, patience, gentle readers. I promise occasional gems.
Very occasional.... :-)
Let me repeat that last part. OH EM GEE! The frakking Epicenter of Human Exploration of our Solar System. Nay, our Galaxy. Even our Universe!
I am going to have to write about this in several entries. Don't be surprised if you see stories pop up even much later. One thing that I came away with from this is that NASA is doing absolutely necessary things for humankind, and I want to be an ambassador for NASA. This may be a rough start to that, but every journey begins with the first step.
Watch this space for more about JPL, NASA, and the adventures of a neo-NASA ambassador in training. I want to do it right, and I'm not a professional writer. So, patience, gentle readers. I promise occasional gems.
Very occasional.... :-)
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Before They Were The Right Stuff...
This is the story of when my Father knew one of the Mercury Seven. And I just found out, now?!
My dad is visiting from Minnesota this weekend to attend the first wedding one of his grandchildren. For a long time I had told him that when he visits next time we have to go visit the Evergreen Aviation and Space Museum. But visits have become fewer and less frequent. When you reach 85 (the new 65, I'm told...) you tend not to tolerate the trials of travel as well. So, this time, when I noted that Sunday was not spoken for, I asked him if he'd like to check out the Spruce Goose. We made loose plans and waited.
Finally, the day after my Nephew became a lucky man (congrats, David) we agreed to meet for breakfast and head out to McMinnville. My wife had to back out after realizing a commitment made some time ago had to be taken care of this morning. So, Keith (my Dad), Donna (my Dad's better half) and myself started the hour plus drive.
Lucky for me the scenery was some of Oregon's most pleasant, going through wine country in light traffic. On the way I spoke of as much of the history of the area that we were going through, and made up the rest. (3% true stuff, 97% believable fiction?) and told them stories from my recent trip to JPLTweetup 2011.
Once we arrived at the impressive complex of buildings that is the Museum, we located a parking spot and moved our stiff joints out of the car. Looking at the 3 large buildings surrounding the parking lot. With no obvious signs to tell us where to go, we headed to the center one. It made perfect sense to start in the middle, plus there were several school buses in front.......
WAIT A MINUTE! Stop the (pseudo)presses! Where the heck do you think all this rambling is leading to? The title promised something about "Before They Were The Right Stuff" so where is the Mercury Seven?!
Well, I have not had time to do this justice, and I do want to do it right. So, gentle imaginary readers, ;-) Please be patient with this novice. Besides, since a request has been made to write something up for a web site to post, and my Dad will have final editorial rights on what gets posted... You'll have to wait.
Let's just say my father worked shoulder to shoulder with one of the Right Stuff men. I'd like to think he had a little something to do with the man's future work. But maybe it was the future astronaut who was the teacher to my Dad in the end.
But, the best teacher is also a student to their student's lessons. It is symbiotic when done right.
Stay Tuned
My dad is visiting from Minnesota this weekend to attend the first wedding one of his grandchildren. For a long time I had told him that when he visits next time we have to go visit the Evergreen Aviation and Space Museum. But visits have become fewer and less frequent. When you reach 85 (the new 65, I'm told...) you tend not to tolerate the trials of travel as well. So, this time, when I noted that Sunday was not spoken for, I asked him if he'd like to check out the Spruce Goose. We made loose plans and waited.
Finally, the day after my Nephew became a lucky man (congrats, David) we agreed to meet for breakfast and head out to McMinnville. My wife had to back out after realizing a commitment made some time ago had to be taken care of this morning. So, Keith (my Dad), Donna (my Dad's better half) and myself started the hour plus drive.
Lucky for me the scenery was some of Oregon's most pleasant, going through wine country in light traffic. On the way I spoke of as much of the history of the area that we were going through, and made up the rest. (3% true stuff, 97% believable fiction?) and told them stories from my recent trip to JPLTweetup 2011.
Once we arrived at the impressive complex of buildings that is the Museum, we located a parking spot and moved our stiff joints out of the car. Looking at the 3 large buildings surrounding the parking lot. With no obvious signs to tell us where to go, we headed to the center one. It made perfect sense to start in the middle, plus there were several school buses in front.......
WAIT A MINUTE! Stop the (pseudo)presses! Where the heck do you think all this rambling is leading to? The title promised something about "Before They Were The Right Stuff" so where is the Mercury Seven?!
Well, I have not had time to do this justice, and I do want to do it right. So, gentle imaginary readers, ;-) Please be patient with this novice. Besides, since a request has been made to write something up for a web site to post, and my Dad will have final editorial rights on what gets posted... You'll have to wait.
Let's just say my father worked shoulder to shoulder with one of the Right Stuff men. I'd like to think he had a little something to do with the man's future work. But maybe it was the future astronaut who was the teacher to my Dad in the end.
But, the best teacher is also a student to their student's lessons. It is symbiotic when done right.
Stay Tuned
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Re: Coming soon!
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T
-----Original Message-----
From: t2elves@gmail.com
Date: Tue, 14 Jun 2011 20:43:32
To: <makitso.namo4731@blogger.com>
Reply-To: t2elves@gmail.com
Subject: Coming soon!
Okay, I promised I'd write about JPL Tweetup, but since I've been back I have jumped right back into the 12 hour work days, plus other catching up.
I WILL write more, but for now let's just say I am letting it settle in my brain. I had a great time, and the memories will be with me... Well, at least until I get to go back again. :-)
For now, I write to you, gentle reader, from the back seat of a Toyota Highlander on our way to Pike Place Market with an friend of my wife's from Malaysia. Well, she is from Brisbane now, and visiting relatives by marriage. *sigh*
Blogging from the BlackBerry is tough.
Come back, soon!
-Charles
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T
Monday, June 6, 2011
Flickr: NASAJPL's Photostream
The BEST field trip for grown-ups ever!
http://www.flickr.com/photos/nasa-jpl/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/nasa-jpl/
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Getting Ready
I am packing (and re-packing and re-packing) to be ready for when I head out tomorrow to Pasadena, CA. I will be going to NASA JPL for JPLTweetup 2011! Very excited is an extreme understatement.
As I cleared my man-bag from the last trip, when I went to North Dakota via Minneapolis to attend my Uncle's memorial service, I found something that brought back a nice feeling. A napkin and a postcard from my flight on United to MSP. Here's what happened.
I was on the leg from SFO to MSP, a fairly long plane ride but manageable. I lucked out with a seat by the window (like a kid, I still love to look outside while flying) and a young Chinese fellow was sitting next to me. We were cordial seat mates, but not buddies. I was fine with occupying myself in my own little world, and trying to catch some sleep. Apparently, so was he. Then came the time in the flight when the flight attendants offer free drinks, and over-priced food if you're hungry. My seat mate was, and apparently had not understood that, unlike in the grand old days of flying and on most international flights, the meal they were offering was not part of the fare. I knew this and had stashed some snack food to tide me over, in case I got hungry. He wasn't so prepared. He asked what was available, and he selected the last item they mentioned, a "Thai Chicken Wrap". I think that his English was not strong enough to get every nuance of the transaction, and I suspect part of the reason he chose the "Thai Chicken Wrap" was it was the last thing the Flight Attendant had said, so it was easy to remember and repeat. The Flight Attendant took the plastic wrapped, pre-fab "Thai Chicken Wrap" package from it's compartment, added a few napkins, and handed it to him.
This is where it was apparent that there had been a communication break down. He said thank you, and tore open the plastic package to get to the food inside. All the time ignoring the Flight Attendant who pleasantly said, "That will be $9.95 please." She waited patiently, or as patiently as you can while standing in the aisle of a jet with several passengers staring, waiting their turn for their free drink. She repeated her request with her hand stretched out, but not intrusively, to my seat mate. He noticed, and paused in his efforts at getting at the food. "I'm sorry, it's $9.95 for that." The other Flight Attendant, on the other end of the service cart, chimed in, "There is no meal, like there is on international flights." It was not clear if she was talking to my seat mate or the other Flight Attendant.
Sitting there, watching surreptitiously with furtive glances so as not to add to the embarrassment that was sure to hit my seat mate, I felt a surge of... empathy? I guess that was it, mixed with the selfish understanding that if this young man's experience got worse, the left over aura of what I was feeling now would make for a very long flight, indeed. Still, I watched on, thinking that I understood what he was going through, but wanting to allow him to navigate his way past this stranger-in-a-strange-land moment. I have had those opportunities myself, and have made it through unscathed. Mostly. Still, I felt bad for him.
One low watt, refrigerator light bulb went off over his head and he reached for his wallet. This is when it was confirmed that his English skills were about as good as my Spanish. Probably better, but that's not the point. He took some cash out, large bills, if I remember. However, they had made it clear several times, as they announced the "Refreshment Cart Rules" that they could NOT accept cash. Only credit cards. I'm sure he was befuddled, as I could see by the look on his face, when she held up her hand, palm facing him, and said again, "No cash, sorry. Only credit card. Visa, Mastercard, American Express, or Discover." He had this look on his face like, "Who doesn't take CASH?" But he had understood, at the mention of the list of acceptable cards. So, he tucked the cash back, and drew out a Visa card. I could see the Chinese characters on it and the Smart Chip implanted in it, as he handed it over. His shoulders relaxed, just a bit. He had made it past this embarrassing moment without too much blushing.
Then, the Flight Attendant was handing him the card back, shaking her head. "It's not working, I'm sorry." The other Flight Attendant, the one who must have been more seasoned, said, "Some of the foreign credit cards don't work here." (I resisted the urge to preach about how the American banks are behind the curve in technology, and it was the Airline's equipment which was at fault, as it could not work with the more advanced Smart Chip enabled credit card used overseas.)
That's when I couldn't stand to leave my seat mate dangling in the breeze any longer. I said, "Here..." as I reached for my wallet (no easy feat given that my large frame was filling in the cramped airline seats to a just snug fit) and handed the Flight Attendant my Visa card. She hesitated, but I encouraged her to please take it. Immediately the 20 something Chinese man, my stranger-in-a-strange-land seat mate, took a fifty out and tried to give it to me. I thought, fifty bucks for a $9.95 "Thai Chicken Wrap"? No way! What I said was, no thank you. "Please just help the next person you have the opportunity to help, that would be great." I did my best to make sure it was not a big deal for me. I could get by without that $9.95, pfft, no trouble. Part of me was thinking about how I was saving up to fly to Australia in November to see my son, who I have not seen in far too long. But I was also thinking of the generosity which allowed me to be sitting on that plane just then. I had almost begged out of going to attend my Uncles service with my Father because of the cost and because I knew that my Sister had been able to get airfare to attend, so that there would be at least one of the kids there to help out. My Brother, who has worked hard to build his business, was going to attend, but could not as his lovely wife had just had surgery and he needed to stay home to take care of her and his Daughter for a bit. My Brother paid for my airfare there and back, saying that he had budgeted for it before the surgery happened and that since he couldn't go, I should. He said that Uncle Dick was a good guy and deserved a good send off.
My paying for the "Thai Chicken Wrap" was, after all, mostly selfish. Done for reasons which were largely for my benefit, not my seat mate's. I was the one who felt good for having helped a stranger. I was the one who had paid off a small portion of the karmic debt I owed for having accepted my generous Brother's offer to pay the way. I was the one who would not have to sit next to the grumpy seat mate, listening to his stomach growl all the way to Minneapolis. Plus, I had given him the task to "pay it forward", so he did not get a free lunch after all.
With all that behind us, my seat mate finished off the repast, and we got down to the serious task of napping. We were both tired after the ordeal, apparently, as we both nodded off. He was truly asleep, while I was relaxing with my eyes closed, listening to my music on my headphones. Then, I felt a tap on my arm. I opened my eyes and the Flight Attendant from earlier was trying to hand me the napkin. The very same one I pulled out of my man-bag earlier, remember? At first I thought, Why is she wanting to serve me more juice while I was relaxing? Then I looked at the writing that was on the napkin. It said:
"We'd like to credit you for your neighbor's purchase. May I see your credit card, please?"
I protested quietly, not wanting my seat mate to wake and see this. But the Flight Attendant quietly insisted, so I dug out my wallet a second time and handed her the card. I thought, well, it's okay if they want to reimburse me. Maybe it will make THEM feel good, like I did when I paid for the meal. Moments later, she came back, and gave me a deja vu moment. She was handing the Visa card back and shaking her head, whispering that it wouldn't work. They couldn't make it credit my account back. I said that it was fine. After all, I had paid for it without the expectation that I would see that $9.95 again, so I was no worse off for her trying. She looked disappointed.
A short time later, she was back, handing my the other item I had removed from my man-bag: the postcard. It was a card that read at the top, "Please Accept Our Apology" and went on to instruct me how I could go on line later to enter the code printed there, and find out what token of appreciation they had in store for me. I smiled, and shrugged, as I accepted the card from the Flight Attendant. I stashed into my man-bag.
So, I hope, the Flight Attendant had maybe been touched by my picking up the tab. Maybe my seat mate had a slightly better impression of Americans during his trip. All I know is that, for my selfish act, I had a little tear in my eye. It felt good.
As I cleared my man-bag from the last trip, when I went to North Dakota via Minneapolis to attend my Uncle's memorial service, I found something that brought back a nice feeling. A napkin and a postcard from my flight on United to MSP. Here's what happened.
I was on the leg from SFO to MSP, a fairly long plane ride but manageable. I lucked out with a seat by the window (like a kid, I still love to look outside while flying) and a young Chinese fellow was sitting next to me. We were cordial seat mates, but not buddies. I was fine with occupying myself in my own little world, and trying to catch some sleep. Apparently, so was he. Then came the time in the flight when the flight attendants offer free drinks, and over-priced food if you're hungry. My seat mate was, and apparently had not understood that, unlike in the grand old days of flying and on most international flights, the meal they were offering was not part of the fare. I knew this and had stashed some snack food to tide me over, in case I got hungry. He wasn't so prepared. He asked what was available, and he selected the last item they mentioned, a "Thai Chicken Wrap". I think that his English was not strong enough to get every nuance of the transaction, and I suspect part of the reason he chose the "Thai Chicken Wrap" was it was the last thing the Flight Attendant had said, so it was easy to remember and repeat. The Flight Attendant took the plastic wrapped, pre-fab "Thai Chicken Wrap" package from it's compartment, added a few napkins, and handed it to him.
This is where it was apparent that there had been a communication break down. He said thank you, and tore open the plastic package to get to the food inside. All the time ignoring the Flight Attendant who pleasantly said, "That will be $9.95 please." She waited patiently, or as patiently as you can while standing in the aisle of a jet with several passengers staring, waiting their turn for their free drink. She repeated her request with her hand stretched out, but not intrusively, to my seat mate. He noticed, and paused in his efforts at getting at the food. "I'm sorry, it's $9.95 for that." The other Flight Attendant, on the other end of the service cart, chimed in, "There is no meal, like there is on international flights." It was not clear if she was talking to my seat mate or the other Flight Attendant.
Sitting there, watching surreptitiously with furtive glances so as not to add to the embarrassment that was sure to hit my seat mate, I felt a surge of... empathy? I guess that was it, mixed with the selfish understanding that if this young man's experience got worse, the left over aura of what I was feeling now would make for a very long flight, indeed. Still, I watched on, thinking that I understood what he was going through, but wanting to allow him to navigate his way past this stranger-in-a-strange-land moment. I have had those opportunities myself, and have made it through unscathed. Mostly. Still, I felt bad for him.
One low watt, refrigerator light bulb went off over his head and he reached for his wallet. This is when it was confirmed that his English skills were about as good as my Spanish. Probably better, but that's not the point. He took some cash out, large bills, if I remember. However, they had made it clear several times, as they announced the "Refreshment Cart Rules" that they could NOT accept cash. Only credit cards. I'm sure he was befuddled, as I could see by the look on his face, when she held up her hand, palm facing him, and said again, "No cash, sorry. Only credit card. Visa, Mastercard, American Express, or Discover." He had this look on his face like, "Who doesn't take CASH?" But he had understood, at the mention of the list of acceptable cards. So, he tucked the cash back, and drew out a Visa card. I could see the Chinese characters on it and the Smart Chip implanted in it, as he handed it over. His shoulders relaxed, just a bit. He had made it past this embarrassing moment without too much blushing.
Then, the Flight Attendant was handing him the card back, shaking her head. "It's not working, I'm sorry." The other Flight Attendant, the one who must have been more seasoned, said, "Some of the foreign credit cards don't work here." (I resisted the urge to preach about how the American banks are behind the curve in technology, and it was the Airline's equipment which was at fault, as it could not work with the more advanced Smart Chip enabled credit card used overseas.)
That's when I couldn't stand to leave my seat mate dangling in the breeze any longer. I said, "Here..." as I reached for my wallet (no easy feat given that my large frame was filling in the cramped airline seats to a just snug fit) and handed the Flight Attendant my Visa card. She hesitated, but I encouraged her to please take it. Immediately the 20 something Chinese man, my stranger-in-a-strange-land seat mate, took a fifty out and tried to give it to me. I thought, fifty bucks for a $9.95 "Thai Chicken Wrap"? No way! What I said was, no thank you. "Please just help the next person you have the opportunity to help, that would be great." I did my best to make sure it was not a big deal for me. I could get by without that $9.95, pfft, no trouble. Part of me was thinking about how I was saving up to fly to Australia in November to see my son, who I have not seen in far too long. But I was also thinking of the generosity which allowed me to be sitting on that plane just then. I had almost begged out of going to attend my Uncles service with my Father because of the cost and because I knew that my Sister had been able to get airfare to attend, so that there would be at least one of the kids there to help out. My Brother, who has worked hard to build his business, was going to attend, but could not as his lovely wife had just had surgery and he needed to stay home to take care of her and his Daughter for a bit. My Brother paid for my airfare there and back, saying that he had budgeted for it before the surgery happened and that since he couldn't go, I should. He said that Uncle Dick was a good guy and deserved a good send off.
My paying for the "Thai Chicken Wrap" was, after all, mostly selfish. Done for reasons which were largely for my benefit, not my seat mate's. I was the one who felt good for having helped a stranger. I was the one who had paid off a small portion of the karmic debt I owed for having accepted my generous Brother's offer to pay the way. I was the one who would not have to sit next to the grumpy seat mate, listening to his stomach growl all the way to Minneapolis. Plus, I had given him the task to "pay it forward", so he did not get a free lunch after all.
With all that behind us, my seat mate finished off the repast, and we got down to the serious task of napping. We were both tired after the ordeal, apparently, as we both nodded off. He was truly asleep, while I was relaxing with my eyes closed, listening to my music on my headphones. Then, I felt a tap on my arm. I opened my eyes and the Flight Attendant from earlier was trying to hand me the napkin. The very same one I pulled out of my man-bag earlier, remember? At first I thought, Why is she wanting to serve me more juice while I was relaxing? Then I looked at the writing that was on the napkin. It said:
"We'd like to credit you for your neighbor's purchase. May I see your credit card, please?"
I protested quietly, not wanting my seat mate to wake and see this. But the Flight Attendant quietly insisted, so I dug out my wallet a second time and handed her the card. I thought, well, it's okay if they want to reimburse me. Maybe it will make THEM feel good, like I did when I paid for the meal. Moments later, she came back, and gave me a deja vu moment. She was handing the Visa card back and shaking her head, whispering that it wouldn't work. They couldn't make it credit my account back. I said that it was fine. After all, I had paid for it without the expectation that I would see that $9.95 again, so I was no worse off for her trying. She looked disappointed.
A short time later, she was back, handing my the other item I had removed from my man-bag: the postcard. It was a card that read at the top, "Please Accept Our Apology" and went on to instruct me how I could go on line later to enter the code printed there, and find out what token of appreciation they had in store for me. I smiled, and shrugged, as I accepted the card from the Flight Attendant. I stashed into my man-bag.
So, I hope, the Flight Attendant had maybe been touched by my picking up the tab. Maybe my seat mate had a slightly better impression of Americans during his trip. All I know is that, for my selfish act, I had a little tear in my eye. It felt good.
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