With how common air travel is these days, we often forget just what it took to get here. Today, we can fly from New Jersey to Beijing in just about 12 hours, with the comfortable assurance that the plane will not only make it in one piece but will be ready for a return trip with a new crew and a refuel.
In the early days of aviation, getting into a plane made of canvas and wood could mean taking your life into your own hands when you try to land in the middle of a field. Imagine the trepidation a pilot must have felt the first time they landed on a ship at sea. Now try to imagine being the first pilot to ever actually do it.
That was Eugene Ely's biggest claim to fame.
Ely was a thrill-seeker from a young age. Some sources say he only graduated from grammar school while others say he attended the University of Iowa, but the only thing we know for sure about his education is that he taught himself to fly. He spent his early adult years as a chauffeur to a Catholic priest who owned a very fast, very red car. It was in this car he set a driving record for the fastest time driving between Iowa City and Davenport, but this was just the beginning.
After marrying his young wife, the couple moved to Oregon, where Ely began selling cars for automobile magnate E. Henry Wemme. Believing that flying a plane was as easy as driving a car, he purchased one of the first Curtiss biplanes, along with a contract to manufacture them in the Pacific Northwest.
However, when Wemme tried to fly the plane, he quickly realized it wasn't that easy, so his subordinate, Ely, offered to do it. Ely crashed the plane instead, but he wasn't finished with flying. He purchased the plane from his boss, repaired it, and learned to fly it, this time, with success.
Soon, he was working for Glenn Curtiss, the original manufacturer of the Curtiss biplane. The two men began working with the U.S. Navy at a time when the future of military aviation was uncertain, let alone the future of naval warfare.
During this time period, the world's great powers were building dreadnaughts, large battleships designed to duke it out on the surface in large formations. It wasn't until after World War I that Army Gen. William "Billy" Mitchell would prove that a focus on naval aircraft was the superior doctrine.
Before carrier-based air combat could happen, someone had to first get planes off and then back onto a ship at sea. This is a very difficult task, even with modern carrier operations, but it was an enormous undertaking in Ely's day.
On a carrier, as opposed to landing on an airstrip, the plane's touchdown point isn't a fixed location. It constantly moves as the ship bobs and weaves, pitches, and rolls. It's one of the most difficult and exacting procedures in naval operations, and it cost many, many lives to perfect.
So while naval aviation had a long way to go, it had to start somewhere, and it was with Glenn Curtiss and Eugene Ely. Ely's first attempt at a naval takeoff was in a Curtiss Pusher biplane in 1910. He took off from a specially-made deck plate on the bow of the light cruiser USS Birmingham. The plane dipped as soon as it left the platform and nearly plunged into the waters off of Hampton Roads, Virginia.
Ely managed to pull the plane up and land on a nearby beach. It was a disappointing outcome, as he was supposed to circle the harbor and land at the Nor
folk Naval Yard. But it was a start. He would make history two months later, in January 1911.
Using a similar Curtiss Pusher plane, Ely took off from a Racetrack in San Bruno, California, and landed on the deck of the armored cruiser USS Pennsylvania in San Francisco Bay. It was the first-ever successful shipboard landing and the first use of a tailhook system to decelerate the plane as it landed.
Eugene Ely did not live to see the development of naval aviation or even aircraft carriers. He died while flying at an exhibition in Georgia when he couldn't pull his plane out of a steep dive. He was just 24 years old. Congress would later award him with the Distinguished Flying Cross in 1933 after the effectiveness of shipborne aircraft was proven.
The War of 1812 held a lot of meaning for the young United States. It was an assertion of its independence from Great Britain, a demand to be recognized and respected as a nation of the world, and it was a chance to show that the U.S. would assert itself militarily if the need arose.
What most people, even Americans, remember about the War of 1812 (aside from the burning of the White House) is that the conflict was fought to a draw. Very little tangibly changed following nearly three years of war - not a bad outcome for a young country fighting what was arguably the world’s greatest power at the time.
The real, lasting outcome of the war actually came after the war’s end: the Battle of New Orleans. Neither side knew that a peace treaty had been signed, but the battle was still important, as American determination and skill in combat forced the British to abide by the terms of the treaty.
It also ensured that New Orleans, Louisiana, and the rest of the Louisiana Territory remained in American hands.
Much of the American strategy during the war focused on Canada and capturing any parts of the British colony for the United States. To relieve the pressure on Canada, the British sent Maj. Gen. Sir Edward Pakenham and Adm. Sir Alexander Cochrane south to New Orleans.
Only the United States recognized the transfer of land from France to the U.S. under Napoleon. With Napoleon exiled to the island of Elba and the royalists in control of France, any territory the British captured in American Louisiana might not have been returned, even under the terms of the treaty that ended the War of 1812.
This would end U.S. governance of the territory and end its westward expansion.
By Dec. 14, 1814, a fleet of 60 British warships carrying almost 8,000 men was anchored in the waters off the coast of Louisiana. They landed a vanguard of 1,800 men on the East Bank of the Mississippi River and attacked a plantation nine miles south of the city. While it might have seemed like a good idea at the time, it proved to be a harbinger of bad luck to come for the British.
Rather than advance on the city, the invading troops decided to stay at the plantation and await reinforcements. Its owner, an American officer named Maj. Gabriel Villere managed to escape before being captured and rode to Gen. Andrew Jackson. He warned of the British position and gave the Americans intelligence on the house.
In response, Jackson led a three-pronged assault on the unsuspecting British troops who had made camp for the night as they waited for more reinforcements. The American attack didn’t dislodge the British, but the number of casualties inflicted on the invaders informed the British that an attack on New Orleans would be much more difficult than they expected.
Back in the city, Jackson had been preparing the defenses for weeks, bolstering American manpower with Tennessee militiamen, a force of regular army troops, a smattering of local civilian volunteers, and - famously - a force of pirates under Frenchman Jean LaFitte. They were given amnesty for their past crimes in exchange for their aid in the defense of the city.
By the time the British made their first reconnaissance in force, the American numbers had swelled to some 5,700. It might have looked grim to outsiders, but to Gen. Jackson, it was enough to write back home to his beloved Rachel that “all’s well.” It turns out that the first reconnaissance in force was the closest the British would get to taking the city, and they didn’t even know it.
Jackson and the Americans had constructed a massive earthwork along a drainage canal that connected to the Mississippi River. What British Gen. Sir Edward Pakenham did next shows how much disdain they had for the American way of war. Despite having several possible avenues of attack that were less heavily defended, the British decided to have a go at the earthworks.
While attempting to probe these defenses, the right side of the American line nearly crumbled under the force of the British reconnaissance. As the Americans struggled to hold on to the right, the left side of the American defenses took all the notice. Cannons moved from U.S. Navy ships after being displaced by British warships, gunned down the redcoats attacking the left side in an enfilade.
The enfilading fire wreaked havoc on the British, and Packenham ordered a full retreat to determine their next course of action. During a war council, the British decided to assault the earthworks head-on once more rather than change their attack. At the same time, Jackson and the Americans added more guns to the line, ready for whatever came next.
When the British finally did attack in full force, it came on Jan. 8, 1815, more than two weeks after the War of 1812 ended and lasted about 30 minutes. It began with an exchange of cannon fire that saw the outgunned, but superior accuracy of the American guns knock out of five of seven British batteries.
The main assault saw a massed force of British troops out in the open attacking a reinforced and well-defended fortified position, still with guns positioned in enfilading fire. The worst part about the execution of the attack was that British field commanders forgot to bring the ladders and fascines needed to climb the walls, cross the canals, and make an effective attack.
British regular forces were sitting ducks, just taking fire from all sides and powerless to move forward. Maj. Gen. Packenham would be among the 291 British troops killed in the fighting, and a full one-fourth of the attacking British would become casualties. The Americans lost only 70 defenders, a miracle considering the force of veteran troops they were fighting against. The British were forced to move on and to abide by the terms of the Treaty of Ghent that ended the war. Most importantly, Louisiana remained firmly in American hands.
This old legend might be the first military myth new recruits come across, and it might have been around for as long as saltpeter itself. Despite the combined efforts of science, health education, and common sense, somehow, the myth of the military adding saltpeter to the food or beverages in basic training still persists.
Why would the Army, Navy, Air Force, Coast Guard, or Marine Corps do such a thing? The legend says they would add saltpeter to any or all of the food served in order to control the sexual urges of its young recruits.
Saltpeter has gone by a number of names, including "nitrated sodium salts" or simply "niter." It is a historically critical component of the black powder used in early firearms. Chemically, it would either be called potassium nitrate or sodium nitrate. Either one is effective in the use of explosives.
What it's not effective at is keeping a large group of 18-22 year-old military recruits from getting horny, yet the rumor of its use and efficacy has persisted for decades, maybe longer. And it's not only the U.S. military; the rumor has popped up in basic training all over the world.
When asked about its history with using saltpeter in basic training chow halls, the U.S. Army's official response was that adding saltpeter to food would be poisoning new recruits and would thus be counterproductive to the Army's needs.
It turns out that basic training is incredibly stressful and physically demanding. Under that kind of stress, the human body focuses its efforts on staying in survival mode, not on reproduction. Even the most virile of men and women tend to find arousal difficult under the levels of stress brought on by a Smokey the Bear-style campaign hat.
So why is saltpeter always to blame?
One kind of saltpeter actually is added to food, and it's not just an antiquated practice of the past. Sodium Nitrate has been used to preserve and cure meats for more than 500 years, possibly longer. Salting meats draws water out of the meat and - more importantly - out of the botulism bacteria that could be infecting it.
These days, food manufacturers refer to the product as simply "nitrates" or "nitrites" and try to minimize their use in preserved foods. Studies have shown the preservation process, and the products used can increase risks of stomach cancer - so be careful with those 
charcuterie boards. It will not harm your sex drive, though.
The persistent myth of the saltpeter in food during training is likely the combination of a young man's attempt to explain a sudden lack of interest in sexual urges with the only explanation he could readily see: the addition of a gunpowder ingredient into his unit's food.
We, of course, can't prove this event happened or that it was the definitive source of the rumor, but it makes about as much sense as any other rumor you hear in basic training.
There are a couple of facts that might surprise moviegoers about Morgan Freeman's acting career. The first is that he hasn't been a big name for all that long. The second is that he almost didn't become an actor at all - he began his career in the U.S. Air Force.
Freeman, recipient of the American Film Institute's Lifetime Achievement Award, didn't get his first big break until age 49. This came in 1986 when he was cast in the film "Street Smart." Since then, he's made more than 50 films.
"It didn't have to happen at all," he told AFI in 2011. "I'm very lucky and very grateful that I had a career ... if it happens right away, it's gonna stop right away, and that's a foregone conclusion."
As a young man living with his grandparents in Mississippi, Freeman was enthusiastic about drama and acting. He performed in a number of school plays in his youth and, at age 14, won a statewide drama competition. He was even offered a scholarship to Jackson State University to study drama. He turned it down, however, because he had another love: flying.
Part of his interest in acting in those days came from Hollywood's war movies, especially those about planes and fighter pilots. He would spend his summers in Chicago with his parents, where he would scrounge for change to go to the movies. Those movies kindled a desire to learn to fly, so when he graduated from high school in 1955, he joined the Air Force instead.
In fact, three of his four brothers also joined the military.
Freeman became a radar repairman in the Air Force while waiting for a chance to become a pilot. He worked on tracking radar stations that would align radar antennae toward an incoming target, such as a missile or aircraft. He spent more than a year sitting at a desk before he got the chance to audition for a pilot's slot.
When he finally sat behind the stick of an Air Force fighter plane, a feeling of disillusionment came over him. This dream wasn't going to be what he thought it would be.
"When I was getting close to being accepted for pilot training, I was allowed to get in a jet airplane," he told AARP Magazine. "I sat there looking at all those switches and dials, and I got the distinct feeling that I was sitting in the nose of a bomb. You are not in love with this; you are in love with the idea of this."
After nearly four years of service, Freeman left the Air Force to pursue his other passion, the one we know him for today: acting. It would be a long road, but one he would pursue with much more zeal and patience.
His next stop was Los Angeles, where he studied acting at the Pasadena Playhouse and learned to dance in San Francisco. He worked as a relatively unknown actor on stage and television for more than 20 years before landing his breakout role in the acclaimed Christopher Reeve film, "Street Smart." From there, he was cast in a string of critically acclaimed films that would lead him to prominence: "Lean On Me," "Driving Miss Daisy," and the Civil War drama "Glory."
It was a wise career move, not only for the notoriety, fame, and financial security of being a celebrated Hollywood actor. His tracking radar repair skills would become obsolete by the 1990s with the rise of GPS-guided munitions.
The world of medicine lost a potential great in the summer of 1953, but the U.S. Army, the world of film and television, benefited from its loss. That was the year James Earl Jones graduated from the University of Michigan and was commissioned a Second Lieutenant instead of going to medical school.
Jones would have entered the Army that summer, regardless of his future plans. He attended Michigan as a pre-med student, funded by the university's Reserve Officer Training Corps. While in college, he became disillusioned with the idea of becoming a doctor but found that he thrived in the military culture.
Jones was an exceptional cadet, a member of the Pershing Rifles Drill Team and the National Society of Scabbard and Blade. The same performance ability that let him excel with the Pershing Rifles led him to the university's School of Music, Theatre & Dance. He knew he wanted to be an actor, but he once referred to his fellow cadets as "the only semblance of a social life."
He initially left the university without completing his degree. With the Korean War raging at the time, he thought he would be sent overseas. But it ended in an armistice later that year, and although he returned to graduate in 1955, Jones' life took a different course.
After graduating from college, he was sent to Fort Benning, Georgia, for the Officers Basic Course and to attend Ranger School. Jones was assigned to the 38th Regimental Combat Team, where he led the setup of a cold-weather training command at Camp Hale near Leadville, Colorado.
"Our regiment was established as a training unit, to train in the bitter cold weather and the rugged terrain of the Rocky Mountains," Jones told the Army in an interview. "I took to the physical challenge, so much so that I wanted to stay there, testing myself in that awesome environment, mastering the skills of survival. I loved the austere beauty of the mountains and the exhilaration of the weather and the altitude. I didn't mind the rigors of the work or the pioneer-like existence. I thought it was a good life."
Jones was a good officer and soon was promoted to First Lieutenant. When the time came to decide whether the Army should be his career, his commanding officer asked him a poignant question: "Is there anything you feel like doing on the outside?"
His father, Robert Earl Jones, had been an actor performing in plays on stage while James was a young man. Jones told his commanding officer he had always thought about following his father's path. His commander told him he could always come back to the Army, but he should pursue his dreams.
After his discharge, Jones packed up and moved to New York City, where he studied acting at the American Theatre Wing using his GI Bill benefits while working as a janitor to support himself.
His first acting jobs came in Michigan at the Ramsdell Theatre in Manistee, where he had once worked as a carpenter and stagehand. Just two years later, he was a lead actor. By 1957, he was on Broadway. In 1964, he made his film debut as Lt. Lothar Zogg, a B-52 Stratofortress pilot in Stanley Kubrick's "Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb."
James Earl Jones' first leading role was in the 1970 film "The Great White Hope," a part he'd previously played on stage. His performance led to his first Academy Award nomination for Best Actor, making him the second Black man to receive the nod.
After a career spanning more than 60 years, Jones has been called "one of the greatest actors in American history" and "the best-known voice in show business." He received the National Medal of the Arts from President George H. W. Bush, Kennedy Center Honors from President George W. Bush, and the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. He also has achieved the "EGOT" - winning at least one Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, and Tony award.
But after a lifetime of success, he still remembers his time in the Pershing Rifles as some of the best years of his life.
In the summer of 1964, a team of specialists and I embarked aboard a nuclear-powered submarine and set sail on a classified mission. Broad guidance for the execution of the mission was to transit to the operating area, execute the mission, and return undetected by either friendly or hostile forces.
The modern attack nuclear submarine is particularly well suited for such a task. It has an exceptionally sensitive sonar system that allows it to detect and usually classify noises in the water at great distances. This capability, coupled with highly sensitive electronic systems which alert it to radar signals, allows the submarine to avoid or investigate targets long before the sub comes within range to be detected by the target. Our platform for this particular mission was unique to the US Navy, not only the longest at 402 feet but the only submarine ever built with two nuclear reactors and classified initially as SSNR (Nuclear attack Submarine Reconnaissance).
The transit to the station was routine, with periodic excursions to periscope depth for radio traffic or to investigate contacts. The approach to the mission area was conducted at a speed and depth to maintain the mission's covert status. The long transit time offered an opportunity for the ship's crew to conduct training and emergency drills. My team also used this time to check and recheck equipment and to review details of the upcoming operation.
Once in the operating area, all contacts were considered hostile and evasive tactics were used. However, as contacts became more numerous, evasion often consisted of remaining quiet and deep while unfriendly units passed over us.
One evening, as we were attempting to maneuver our way clear of a concentration of surface contacts, we found ourselves boxed in, with no clear course to steer to vacate the area. Using the "quiet and deep" tactic appropriate in such situations, we anticipated our slow speed would gradually carry us beyond the problem area or that the surface ships would eventually move on. The great thing about nuke submarines, I remember thinking, is that they can stay down forever.
That's when the lights went out.
When a ship loses its electrical load, battery-powered battle lanterns automatically click on in all the compartments, and the ship's intercom shifts to battery backup. In the dim light of a solitary lantern, I could barely make out the rest of my team as we all froze in place, waiting for some indication of the seriousness of the problem. The unmistakable voice of the Commanding Officer erupted over the intercom, "Will someone tell me what the hell's going on?"
The chilling response from the engine room: "Captain, we've just scrammed both reactors." This announcement was accompanied by a wailing siren in the background - a sound whose memory gives me visceral twinges 50 years later.
A reactor scram is, simply put, the automatic shutdown of the nuclear reactor and complete loss of primary power to the submarine. (I don't know if "scram" is an acronym; but if it is, it probably stands for "Stop Chain Reaction, Avoid Meltdown!") A brief layman's explanation of this process might be useful. A nuclear reactor is a furnace fueled by radioactive material. The heat from the reactor turns water into steam, which makes the screws turn and the electricity flow. The intensity of the reactor's output is controlled by graphite rods whose retraction from the reactor core allows more nuclear reactions and more heat and whose lowering into the reactor has the opposite effect. A scram occurs when sensors recognize a problem in the system that is so severe, the rods are automatically dropped into the core, shutting down the reactor.
When the cause of the scram has been identified and corrected, the reactor is brought back on line by slowly withdrawing the rods. If circumstances dictate (e.g., consequences of lost propulsion may be worse than the risk of bringing the reactor on line without first isolating the cause of the scram), a fast scram recovery can be initiated.
As forward momentum is lost, depth control is lost. Like an airplane, a sub must either have lift across its control surfaces to control its rise or fall or by strategic use of its ballast tanks. Without depth control, a sub either pops to the surface (broaches) or sinks.
Getting back to our story, while broaching might seem a preferable alternative to sinking, our situation made that less attractive. To broach in the midst of unfriendly units without power or propulsion would not be a fun thing. Had we not been ballasted heavy, we would have broached no matter how opposed we were to that option. Instead, we slowly sank, stern down, at about a 15-degree angle.
Meanwhile, fast scram recovery procedures and attempts to start the Electrical Propulsion Motor (EPM) were initiated. Unfortunately, the EPM, an emergency backup motor, refused to start. And we continued to sink. As the boat went down, the tension level went up.
Fast scram recovery was successful, but before we could muster a collective sigh of relief as the reactor was brought back on line, the wailing of sirens again pierced the dim interior of the boat...a second reactor scram. And we continued to sink. I recall thinking at the time that Einstein's calculations must somehow be flawed, and we were going to be the unfortunate guys to prove it. ("Look at this equation again…Albert forgot to carry the 1..."). The consequences of an uncontrolled descent can be disastrous -- USS Thresher and USS Scorpion were both lost in peacetime accidents when loss of depth control plunged them to crush depth.
Our situation was serious, but by bubbling air into the ballast tanks, we were able to slow our descent considerably and not alert the units above. Through this maneuver, we finally reached a depth equilibrium and hung suspended well above the danger point. The surface units gave no indication that they were aware of our presence and gradually moved their center of activity away from us. After an eternity, the engine room announced (unaccompanied by sirens), "Captain, making turns most reliable on Reactor Number One." But stomachs and jaws didn't unclench until lighting was restored, and we began our withdrawal from the area.
We went on to complete our mission successfully and had an uneventful return to port.
I came away with my confidence in nuclear power shaken but with a renewed respect for the skilled submariners who willingly drop through that deck hatch day after day and year after year and go in harm's way.
The bond that fellow Marines and service members have is unique. My journey with Sound Art started as a chance meeting with Steve Ventre, owner of Sound Art USA and fellow Marine. I was walking around Old Town Scottsdale, Arizona, when a store with military and patriotic-themed pictures caught my eye. Steve and I started talking as if we were old friends. The only thing in common was our Marine Corps bond. As we talked, I noticed the quality and variety of pictures were interesting, but what I learned next blew me away. The pictures on the wall were playing music. I was hooked immediately. My first purchase was a personalized USMC design, which I proudly display and listen to every day. The response from everyone is the same. They are amazed at the quality of the picture and sound. The next logical step for me was becoming a member of the Sound Art team and bringing joy to others. I’m especially proud of the unique one-of-a-kind gifts we have created for customers and look forward to designing more in the future.
Please visit our website to see our complete catalog. https://tucsonsoundart.com/
Veteran discount is 15%!
TWS Member Bob Pattengale
bob.pattengale@tucsonsoundart.com
Are you familiar with what a "voting machine" was in South Vietnam during the Vietnam War? Have you ever heard of a "Search and Avoid" mission? Do you know the difference between a "Number One GI" and a "Number Ten GI?"
We have the best dictionary-turned-Vietnam War history you might ever lay your hands on, thanks to Vietnam-era Marine Corps veteran Bill Stilwagen. Stilwagen joined the Marines as part of its early enlistment program in 1968 and by 1969 found himself in Vietnam as a field radio operator along the demilitarized zone.
Later, he was a machine gunner aboard CH-46 Sea Knight helicopters flying out of Marble Mountain near Da Nang. He left Vietnam with an Air Medal, Purple Heart, Combat Action Ribbon, and the Republic of Vietnam Gallantry Cross.
Stilwagen was in the thick of the war and knows the language of this harsh reality, the reality of a generation who asked what they could do for their country.
He has created a compendium of 2,500 slang terms, acronyms, jargon expressions, and more, all used by servicemen in Vietnam. This book, "Vietnam War Speak: The Distinctive Language of the Vietnam Era," shows remarkable insight into the Vietnam generation of veterans' place in American cultural history.
Like the vernacular of all major American wars, it is often unique, sometimes harsh, and not for the faint of heart. The terms used by soldiers on the battlefield can be beautiful and terrible, sad and funny, or just absurd. More often than not, these terms are not politically correct. The language of troops in the country reflects the experiences of those who served there, for better or for worse.
Language, however, it's used, is a means of coping with the brutality of the war, the loss of family and friends, and the time spent away from being "in the world." Though shocking as some of the language can be, it is both entertaining and informative to look at the language compiled by Stilwagen for this book. It's a step back in time to an era that still affects America today.
When he's not writing about the language of the Vietnam War, Bill Stilwagen is conducting tours through the bush as a guide in Vietnam, helping his fellow veterans with their return trips. He also leads tours for the widows and orphans of Vietnam veterans who seek to understand their veterans' experiences.
Stilwagen is also President of the non-profit tour company Vietnam Battlefield Tours and has conducted more than 300 seminars on the legacies and realities of the Vietnam War. You may never find a more honest, specialized history of the language of soldiers than the one provided by Bill Stilwagen.
His book, "Vietnam War Speak: The Distinctive Language of the Vietnam Era," is available in paperback on Amazon, Walmart, or eBay for $18.99.
Greetings! Happy New Year!
As we get started in 2022, we have several challenges ahead of us. Overall, 2021 was a very successful year for us! We came very close to achieving our new member goal. We added four new Regular Chapters, rejuvenated the WWII Medallion Program, and increased our presence on social media. In 2022, 
I am asking every member to recommit themselves in support of the Association. Whether it be signing up new members, volunteering to assist or taking the lead on a committee, or starting up a new Chapter. Below are some of the areas I am asking you to support in any way you can.
NCOA WWII War and Remembrance Medallion Recognition Program: A shoutout to Chapters and Individuals that are steadily presenting our WWII Veteran Medallions to Veterans and/or their family members. Pictures are being posted on our Facebook Pages, Instagram, and website. There are plenty of Medallions remaining. Help us get the word out. I encourage you to keep sharing the information about the program with your friends and other Military/Veteran Sen/ice Organizations. Veteran Retirement Homes, etc. Thank you for your continuous support of this very worthy program. Medallions are a $15.00 donation each. Information on how to order is on the website and has been sent out in separate emails.
Membership: Have you signed up a New Member yet? Please continue to support our 2021/22 Membership Campaign by recruiting at least one new member in any category as we strive to reach our 1.200 new member goal by the 2022 Conference. Incentives for this program have been sent to chapter leadership via email, and the information is posted on the website and Facebook pages. We need everyone to continue to do their part by signing up at least one new member and sharing the information about the program with others.
Chapter Startup Liaisons: We are also seeking members who would like to be Liaisons to help us start chapters in those areas where we currently do not have a chapter presence. It only takes 5 Paid members to start a chapter, and, with today's technology, it is not necessary to always meet in the traditional face-to-face manner. We have the information we can send you both electronically and hard copy and are here to assist in any way we can. If you or anyone you know is interested, let us know, and we will provide more details.
Chapters in Action: We need more of you to tell what you are doing so we can share with other chapters, sponsors, and member prospects. Send in pictures with captions to let us know what you are doing in your communities. Please share on your and our Facebook pages and your website. We need to continue telling others who we are and what we are doing. Share information with the newest chapters regarding activities and fundraisers you are involved in. The Chapter Locations roster is posted on the website www.ncoausa.org.
NCOA Website. NCOA USA Facebook and NCOA Member Group Page, INSTAGRAM, LINKEDIN: We continue to update our website and ask you to share our NCOA Group Facebook Page (NCOA-Strength in Unity). Please encourage your members to join the Group Page. We set it up so we can have an open forum to exchange issues and ideas. It is for paid members of the Association only. We ask that everyone is courteous and make constructive comments on the page. In addition, please visit, like, tag others, and share our public Facebook page - NCOA USA.
2022 NCOA Conference: Save the date and plan to attend. July 19-22 is locked in for the 2022 Conference. It will be held in San Antonio. More information will be announced in the coming months.
In closing, there is plenty to do whether you are near a chapter or not. Take another look at supporting the topics above and review the strategic plan and consider volunteering for one of the committees. We need everyone to get involved. Thank you in advance!
"Strength in Unity"
In the early days of aviation, getting into a plane made of canvas and wood could mean taking your life into your own hands when you try to land in the middle of a field. Imagine the trepidation a pilot must have felt the first time they landed on a ship at sea. Now try to imagine being the first pilot to ever actually do it.
During this time period, the world's great powers were building dreadnaughts, large battleships designed to duke it out on the surface in large formations. It wasn't until after World War I that Army Gen. William "Billy" Mitchell would prove that a focus on naval aircraft was the superior doctrine.
folk Naval Yard. But it was a start. He would make history two months later, in January 1911. 
What most people, even Americans, remember about the War of 1812 (aside from the burning of the White House) is that the conflict was fought to a draw. Very little tangibly changed following nearly three years of war - not a bad outcome for a young country fighting what was arguably the world’s greatest power at the time. 
This would end U.S. governance of the territory and end its westward expansion. 
By the time the British made their first reconnaissance in force, the American numbers had swelled to some 5,700. It might have looked grim to outsiders, but to Gen. Jackson, it was enough to write back home to his beloved Rachel that “all’s well.” It turns out that the first reconnaissance in force was the closest the British would get to taking the city, and they didn’t even know it. 
When the British finally did attack in full force, it came on Jan. 8, 1815, more than two weeks after the War of 1812 ended and lasted about 30 minutes. It began with an exchange of cannon fire that saw the outgunned, but superior accuracy of the American guns knock out of five of seven British batteries. 
Why would the Army, Navy, Air Force, Coast Guard, or Marine Corps do such a thing? The legend says they would add saltpeter to any or all of the food served in order to control the sexual urges of its young recruits. 
It turns out that basic training is incredibly stressful and physically demanding. Under that kind of stress, the human body focuses its efforts on staying in survival mode, not on reproduction. Even the most virile of men and women tend to find arousal difficult under the levels of stress brought on by a Smokey the Bear-style campaign hat. 
charcuterie boards. It will not harm your sex drive, though. 
Freeman, recipient of the American Film Institute's Lifetime Achievement Award, didn't get his first big break until age 49. This came in 1986 when he was cast in the film "Street Smart." Since then, he's made more than 50 films.
When he finally sat behind the stick of an Air Force fighter plane, a feeling of disillusionment came over him. This dream wasn't going to be what he thought it would be. 
Jones would have entered the Army that summer, regardless of his future plans. He attended Michigan as a pre-med student, funded by the university's Reserve Officer Training Corps. While in college, he became disillusioned with the idea of becoming a doctor but found that he thrived in the military culture. 
"Our regiment was established as a training unit, to train in the bitter cold weather and the rugged terrain of the Rocky Mountains," Jones told the Army in an interview. "I took to the physical challenge, so much so that I wanted to stay there, testing myself in that awesome environment, mastering the skills of survival. I loved the austere beauty of the mountains and the exhilaration of the weather and the altitude. I didn't mind the rigors of the work or the pioneer-like existence. I thought it was a good life."
James Earl Jones' first leading role was in the 1970 film "The Great White Hope," a part he'd previously played on stage. His performance led to his first Academy Award nomination for Best Actor, making him the second Black man to receive the nod. 
The modern attack nuclear submarine is particularly well suited for such a task. It has an exceptionally sensitive sonar system that allows it to detect and usually classify noises in the water at great distances. This capability, coupled with highly sensitive electronic systems which alert it to radar signals, allows the submarine to avoid or investigate targets long before the sub comes within range to be detected by the target. Our platform for this particular mission was unique to the US Navy, not only the longest at 402 feet but the only submarine ever built with two nuclear reactors and classified initially as SSNR (Nuclear attack Submarine Reconnaissance).
When a ship loses its electrical load, battery-powered battle lanterns automatically click on in all the compartments, and the ship's intercom shifts to battery backup. In the dim light of a solitary lantern, I could barely make out the rest of my team as we all froze in place, waiting for some indication of the seriousness of the problem. The unmistakable voice of the Commanding Officer erupted over the intercom, "Will someone tell me what the hell's going on?"
When the cause of the scram has been identified and corrected, the reactor is brought back on line by slowly withdrawing the rods. If circumstances dictate (e.g., consequences of lost propulsion may be worse than the risk of bringing the reactor on line without first isolating the cause of the scram), a fast scram recovery can be initiated.
Fast scram recovery was successful, but before we could muster a collective sigh of relief as the reactor was brought back on line, the wailing of sirens again pierced the dim interior of the boat...a second reactor scram. And we continued to sink. I recall thinking at the time that Einstein's calculations must somehow be flawed, and we were going to be the unfortunate guys to prove it. ("Look at this equation again…Albert forgot to carry the 1..."). The consequences of an uncontrolled descent can be disastrous -- USS Thresher and USS Scorpion were both lost in peacetime accidents when loss of depth control plunged them to crush depth. 
We have the best dictionary-turned-Vietnam War history you might ever lay your hands on, thanks to Vietnam-era Marine Corps veteran Bill Stilwagen. Stilwagen joined the Marines as part of its early enlistment program in 1968 and by 1969 found himself in Vietnam as a field radio operator along the demilitarized zone.
Language, however, it's used, is a means of coping with the brutality of the war, the loss of family and friends, and the time spent away from being "in the world." Though shocking as some of the language can be, it is both entertaining and informative to look at the language compiled by Stilwagen for this book. It's a step back in time to an era that still affects America today.
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