A recent news telecast depicted a helicopter crash near a beach in Florida. Quite a dramatic vision. The crash itself is sad and not something I bring up without sympathy for loss. However, the incident brings to mind experiences concerning helicopters that I wish to share. Papa is no engineer but the ability of airplanes to fly made sense mainly because they have wings. Conversely, I acquired a belief that it was hard for helicopters to actually fly. No wings.

However, fly they do. I was never comfortable riding in one. Part of the reason for my failure to embrace flight in a giant egg beater stems from a portion of my work in Vietnam. Some of my work involved reviewing various investigations. The military does a ton of investigations; including aircraft accidents. I’d review with an eye towards how thorough a job had been done and if there were any unanswered questions etc. One item regarding helicopters stuck in my mind. I’d receive a readout about the number of aircraft lost. In combat or from accidents. The actual numbers are no longer retained in my vice-like brain but what was especially significant to me at the time was that helicopters lost to accident versus to combat was at least 2 1/2 times greater. Perhaps those Cong guys were bad shots but I doubt if that created the ratio gap.

On the few occasions when I had to fly away from the safety of our base, I was often fortunate to be able to pick and choose my routing. I had some flexibility about date and times. I remember going to aviation offices and looking for pilots of upcoming trips with photos of family on the desk. In a few of my investigative reviews I’d read about what is best described as an element of risk taking by pilots. Helicopters can auto-rotate to safe landings at times. I remember one where the pilot rotated down with the airfield in sight and he was teased for doing so. Then, of course, there was another that experienced similar engine problems but crashed trying to get to base to avoid being teased. I can recall a few other “accidents” caused by sheer stupidity.

Once, near or at the border with Cambodia in the Delta region I had no choice of pilots. Off we were to go from a landing zone surrounded on three sides by tall (really tall) trees. The crew’s radio chatter seemed excited about whether the pilot would try to clear the tall (very, very tall to my eyes) trees on the flight out. A perfectly cleared fourth direction of course was not used. Everyone was excited to see if the helicopter would make it except Papa. I saw the tip top of those damn trees as amounting to a non-combat loss to pad the statistical imbalance.

DON’T EVER LET OTHERS DEFINE YOU.

This is one of those never, ever things. Everything about you is constructed inside out. Starting with family there are plenty of resources for your mind to use/emulate as you go about the task of defining yourself. You are the architect. Your identity, persoanlity, character, morality, spirit and conscience are singular. Third parties are observers. What they might think or believe about you from such observations are strictly theirs, not yours.

STICKS AND STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES BUT NAMES WILL NEVER HURT ME!

I first heard this bromide about 72 years ago at the time of my solo venture out into the world of bullies. i.e. my first day of school. I was just bright enough to know that I could shrug off being called “four eyes” because I wore glasses. That part of the equation I got. It was the broken bones picture that got my attention. Knuckle raps into the upper arm or losing a prized possession to older toughs who “borrowed” it eventually became the worse damage I had to endure. It was hard to adhere to the belief in “the bigger they are the harder they fall” philosophy. Or, the reassurance that bullies are no bigger/better than you because “they put their pants on one leg at a time.” (Easy for an adult to say.)

I don’t mean to put a “Farkus” from Christmas Story spin to the past that minimizes its threatening aspect. However, my encounters with bullies pale in relation to presnt day bullies; especially those on social media. I’m not sure my old brain understands the social part of on-line bullys. Secret, mean spirited cowards taking potshots at other humans seems like a media platform that has no redeeming social value. The easy answer is to stay away from silliness. In the old days the knuckle rapper had to get where you saw the whites of their eyes. Yet, I understand many young people wish to spend hours per day on a device interacting with strangers. If you do so, and someone tries to get under your skin, that is where and when the OTHERS DON”T DEFINE YOU rule comes into play. Delete all as so much water off a duck’s back. Bullies aren’t worth a warm cup of spit. You are a valued person onto yourself.

When I was in grade school my dad took the family to various conventions in May of each year. We always drove. No one in the family flew on an airplane until the 1960’s; except for me if a certain unauthorized trip in a seaplane counts. However, that’s another story for another time. The convention travels I remember were to Long Beach, Miami, New Orleans, Dallas, Salt Lake City and Omaha. Those trips opened picturesque vistas of our entire country to my young eyes. I felt a tinge of pride after traveling the famed Highway 66. Life was simple in those days. Having traveled the “Main Street Of America” gave a kid status when reporting details of a vacation. Automobile traffic exloded after World War Two and there was even a popular song about Highway 66. Think the birth of fast food and other travel services that are attributed to such trips.

I saw first hand all the differing topographies of America. Most were the opposite of the rolling kettle moraines of my home state. Those trips happened before most of the nation’s interstate highway system was completed. We traveled along two lane roads in the countryside that at times felt like concrete ribbons winding through tunnels of billboards. Signs galore advertised anything and everything. The billboards were huge and up close and not far from the highway’s edge. But, mostly I remember Burma Shave. A clever advertiser spaced six small red signs about 100 feet apart. We might encounter 3 or 4 sets of signs during each day’s drive. It was something to look forward to if we lost interest in various games to occupy the time. Look it up sometime but I found one that gives you the flavor.

SLOW DOWN PA

SAKES ALIVE

MA MISSED SIGNS

FOUR AND FIVE

BURMA SHAVE!

Yes, parents were often called Ma and Pa. Many of the signs along America’s highways disappeared thereafter. The clutter of billboards was considered an eyesore and a disgrace to the nation. What happens when a country is shamed? Tear the signs down! What’s left? Greenery! Legislation was adopted to beautify Ameica’s roadways by removing/reducing billboards. It worked. Unobstructed scenery became the norm for any decades. Until somebody got the bright idea of plopping giant windmills in clear view from highways.

This intrusion was first noticed in Nova Scotia. One appeared and was noticable on a trek back to the Halifax airport. Then a second and so on through the ensuing years. There are still only about a dozen total on the route but they are noticable. Undoubtedly some folks must balloon with eco pride at the site. Yet, there are places with more than a scattered dozen; dozens cloud the horizon in huge wind farms. Not to be otdone, I can also look out at large swaths of solar panels dotting the greenery adjoining the highways. Ah, progress. I guess beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I prefer the vistas between the blight of billboards and he shine of progress. Dare Papa wonder if there is an element of “what goes around comes around”?

MENTAL HOSPITALS EMPTIED

I want to avoid overstating the obvious. However, aspects of today’s homelessness situation were predictable nearly fifty years ago. I recall a conversation with my older brother lawyer about a case that arose in our hometown that made its way to the US Supreme Court. The case was part of a change in the historic manner of mental health commitments by the courts. Due process rules akin to criminal law cases were established before an individual could be involuntarily committed for treatment.

A local lady diagnosed with schizophrenia was well know for repetitive phone calls (i. e. 100’s in a day), oration at common council meetings and ongoing disputes with past employers/attorneys/ and police. When the police came to transport her to a hospital she claimed they were “Nixon Goons” sent to kill her. There was no question that the poor woman needed mental health treatment. However, short of an official court commitment she refused treatment. Her successful case led to a re-writing of the state’s laws on involuntary commitment. What my brother and I discussed those many years ago is that her case also led to reducing/closing much of the county’s mental health facilities; including out-patients funding. Politicians could then re-direct those funds to other sectors. The question thereafter was whether a suitable treatment alternative to commitments was to be set up. The local lady involved lived a long and presumably chaotic life. Homeless at times she often slept on buses and had scores of emergency detentions. It was later reported that she once asked for admission to a psychiatric hospital for treatment but she was refused because she did not meet the admission criteria established by her case in the 1970’s. (No room in the inn.)

When one walks the downtown streets it is common to see segments of the homeless who rant and rave. It cannot be determined if the individual is a danger to themselves or others but treatment is clearly needed. Layer in addictions and there are many on the street who do not get adequate treatment. I see little dignity in their freedom/plight. Politically, it allows for a great deal of lip service to compassion and talk of addressing “complex” issues. A legislative will to enact required treatment, and pay for it, short of mental institutions for the non-dangerous doesn’t appear to exist.

One constant for folks brought in for a hearing after an emergency detention is the refusal to take medication. In a past life Papa was appointed to represent various clients on mental health holds. Most of the individuals stated they’d refuse medication. A quick hearing and they’d be back on the streets. One man in particular insisted he’d not be examined, sealed his lips and would take no medicine. He said words to the effect that they will have to release me. He was. Two months later the newspaper reported that he died after being struck by a vehicle on a snowy night while he was running naked in the center of the road yelling at the passing traffic.

In 1948 there was a movie, “The Snake Pit” that highlighted the sordid side of mental institutions. It went a long way in promoting change in the laws concrning involutary housing of mental patients. The eventual constitutional rights case my brother and I discussed followed that evolutionary path. “Enlightenment” at the time meant that not all mental patients belonged in asylums; especially on an involuntary basis. Sadly, all the good intentions are worthless if mental health treatment is not only not available in the commun ity but also cannot be made mandatory. Ranting and raving, living hand to mouth on the streets, being subject to abuse and spiraling into deeper mental illness is the opposite extreme to the Snake Pit. There is a need for the money and effort to treat and protect the vulnerable. There is a need to bolster mental health laws that not only protects against wrongful admission to institutions but insures “no ifs ands or buts” treatment. Some might argue that it is not mean/cruel to ban living on the street and put some teeth in mandated treament for mental patients in need.