Remembering Bill Schock on his 100th birthday … and the 52nd anniversary of Braniff 250 in Falls City. Also … feeling old from … time flying and stuff.
Since the AM2431 crash in Durango a few days ago appears to be from weather-related causes, never forgetting the lessons of BN250, as well as CO426, OZ809, EA66, PA759, DL191, and US1016 is as important as ever. Hope today’s flight crews are paying attention.
I Am The Roux.
I am a loud basset.
A proud basset.
A messy basset.
A hungry basset.
A loving basset.
A force of nature.
As a puppy, I got lost and couldn’t find my way home.
I was very, very hungry. And scared.
I ended up in a sad place. The concrete was very hard.
But then someone saw my long sad face behind the chain link fence.
I was rescued!
Iâ€™m sitting in a chair in an airport. Waiting on yet another flight. Taking a drag on a cigarette, trying to read the States-Item. Hard to concentrate since itâ€™s been such a long day.
The best routing at the best price the travel agency could give me home to Minneapolis is a Braniff hop via a torturous route: Shreveport, Fort Smith, Tulsa, Kansas City, and Omaha. At least itâ€™s a pretty comfortable jet, not one of the old prop jobs, which is why I went for it. If you have to hop around the midwest, might as well do it in style. Itâ€™s a brand new British type, a BAC 1-11. The one sitting on the tarmac, my ride home, is painted a kind of weird tan that the airline refers to as â€œochre,â€ but it glows like an orange fireball in the early evening steamy Louisiana sun.
The intercom in the boarding area crackles to life. â€˜Mr. Donnelly, Mr. Sean Donnelly, please see the Braniff ticket agent at gate 12,â€™ a disembodied voice pronounces.