Lee Halvorsen Blog

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Appomattox

Appomattox Court House Grave

Yesterday I drove to Appomattox for a quick walkabout. This was my first outing in months and the weather was perfect. The light was a bit “harsh” because midday is, well, middle of the day…not at all the “golden hour.” But in spite of the noon sky, the light was wonderful…large, puffy clouds flying rapidly through the sky while their shadows raced with one another along the ground. I’ll have a more detailed post in a few days but wanted to highlight this unusual cedar tree next to the grave of a 19-year-old soldier who died of typhoid without ever seeing combat. The unusual lighting highlighted the orphan like quality of the tree and grave in the middle of a meadow.

The drive to the Park was just over an hour, mostly on two lane roads running through farmlands dotted with large confederate flags. Few people were visiting the park, I assume because it’s March and a Monday. The Park is a semi-reconstruction of the village, called a Court House, at Appomattox, some of the buildings are original, some are reconstructions, some are gone. The surrender was signed in the McClean House which is a reconstruction. I tried to imagine the tensions, the emotions, and the personalities at the surrender, all taking place in a relatively small room.

The tree and grave were fascinating. I’ve included a color version of the B&W and another angle of the scene. Just another example of what hate can do in an “Us versus Them” kinda world.

Appomattox Court House Grave

Appomattox Court House Grave

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Lee Halvorsen Lee Halvorsen

Rain, Rain…

This is the time of year when everything begins to wake up…leaves come out, migrating birds return, pollen erupts, taxes are due, and, of course, spring showers bring May flowers. The soil where I live is not the same kind of dirt I grew up with in South Dakota and have experienced in most other places I’ve lived. No, the soil here is red clay which does not absorb the rain very well. When the rain comes, the water runs off. Or. Sits. And sits. And sits. Our “lawn” is muck. For Sunny’s exercise we walk which is good for us as well as Sunny since we can’t play with her in the yard. The color green is still mostly hiding and I admit missing the green.

My creative energy is at a low…which happens quite often so I’m not alarmed. However, at my age the time horizon is a bit different and I’ve grown to resent non-creative hours. I know this is a self created problem. I think I’m reluctant to go out because I don’t know the area well and some of the places I want to go are potentially not appropriate for someone my age with a big camera. Perhaps I should get a smaller camera. Another self inflicted problem. Today, I’m heading for Appomattox on a search for my creativity!

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Lee Halvorsen Lee Halvorsen

Forest Poem

Natural Bench at Hidden Rock Park

The weather warmed up a bit and I went out for a walkabout! I only had an hour so didn’t do a lot of wandering. The objective of my walkabout was to jump start some creative energy and do some writing. The county where I live is mostly rural and has few parks. Forests abound and the James River borders the county on the south side…but most of the land is private and not accessible to the commoner…me. A notable exception is Hidden Rock Park, a large park close to the county seat, Goochland. I was the only visitor so I sat on the rock in the image above and tried to craft a poem to match the Zen theme of one of our rooms. Many things came to mind but none stuck. Until 2:00 a.m. this morning, I woke with a haiku in mind. It’s not perfect, but tomorrow is another day.

Quieting colors
warming my heart and my soul
edges fade, time blurs

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Lee Halvorsen Lee Halvorsen

The Midnight Library

Abandoned High School, Alexandria, VA

One of our children gave me “The Midnight Library” by Matt Haig. He’d read it during the year and wondered what my impressions would be. The protagonist is a young woman, Nora Seed, mid thirties, who is introduced to us as a teenager in a high school library discussing life’s possibilities with Mrs. Elm, the librarian. Sharp jump to 19 years later, Nora answers a night time knock on the door and is told her cat was run over and killed. She envied the cat because it was no longer suffering, it was dead. This was just one more straw, loss of job at String Theory Music Store, loss of relationship, loss of her parent’s hopes for her, and now the cat. She decided to end it all and the rest of the book is a countdown to her self-scheduled death. The actual time was probably minutes, Nora’s perceived time was years.

In the countdown and again without warning, we are taken to a solitary room filled with books. Mrs. Elm is the librarian and tells Nora this is the “Midnight Library” and each book contains a different outcome for her life, she only has to pick a book and she will be taken to that life. If she is unhappy in that life, she should just wish to come back to the Midnight Library and choose another. The remainder of the book is Nora playing the What-If game with lives from the books. She finds that even in her most comfortable, joyful life, all things and people aren’t the way she’d hoped.

The book is very straightforward with few characters and no subplots. Each life story Nora lived sprouted from an event or relationship or hope/dream she’d had before she decided to commit suicide. Each time one of those lives disappoints her, and that was quite often, she returns to the library. She notes the library’s infrastructure is crumbling a little more with each return visit. Every visit to the library grounds us in the actual life remaining since the overdose is changing everything in Nora and the library. Although I anticipated the story arc and even some of the story events, I was never quite certain how the book would end. Viewed from 10,000 feet, the book almost becomes a cliché…troubled girl, finds herself, rises from the ashes. While true, each adventure is a stepping stone to the next and each new life arc added a dimension to Nora’s grasp of life and life’s meaning and especially life’s value.

As Haig introduces us to Nora’s other possible lives…he brings us to meta-scapes, parallel universes, taking us down the ultimate “what if” path. The technique provides Haig the means to bring Nora through family crisis, tragedy, joy, anger, success, failure, and on and on and on. She searches the library for the perfect life and sometimes comes close but never 100%. In her Library lives she touched perfection many times but never enjoyed the nirvana she’d imagined. Self discovery about her own worth, the value of others, the continuing evolution of life uncovered the reasons to live and she chose life. But it was close.

Other perspectives come to mind which I guess is appropriate given Haig’s multi-channel approach to finding human value. The first is chess which is a presence in most of Nora’s visits to the library. I can’t find the exact quote but Mrs Elm told Nora something like, after three moves, there are over 9 million variations possible, over 250 billion different possible positions after 4 moves each, with even bigger numbers to follow. The placed where Nora worked and was successful on a human level was called String Theory but she had difficulty working with customers and so was let go. Haig’s approach to Nora’s outcome seems loosely based on principles of quantum physics and string theory. Pulling the string might bring results not anticipated or comfortable. Nora got to pick a book based on a high level description of a particular outcome/regret she wanted to relive, for instance, not giving up professional swimming strongly supported by her father. In real life, she’d given it up and he’d died disappointed in her. In the Library’s life, she was an Olympian and her father was beaming. But she wasn’t happy. The people around her weren’t happy. So…back to the library. She’d leave the library with a new life, but like string theory physics, the exact outcome was difficult and not predictable. But, I digress.

I enjoyed the book and found the mental adventures worthwhile. In the back of my mind, Nora’s pending death bothered me. But she came out of it! That disturbed me a little since the mental state that drew her to suicide wasn’t a theme…I mean, did she seek treatment? Why not? What could she have done? Her recovery was a little too “They lived happily ever after.” Lots of life lessons, I think the most important is to pay attention to you, don’t compare yourself with or judge others. They each have their own library.

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Lee Halvorsen Lee Halvorsen

Warranty

My car died a few days ago. One side of me really hated the end…the other side relished the idea of a new “gadget.” The side hating the end loved the way the car rode, the relative economy, and the up-until-now, reliability. It’s obituary: Born in 2008 and adopted in 2010 by my family, a Toyota Highlander Limited Hybrid with three rows of seats, an as needed car top carrier, comfortably carrying seven people (two adults, three kids with friends: dancers, hikers, baseball players, college seekers, etc). Tens of thousands of miles, hundreds of baseball games, so many dance runs, art runs, sleepovers, photo trips, adventures, vacations…

Each year I religiously took the car in for an annual checkup, spending the money on expensive stuff like timing belts, joint replacements, coolant hose repair, headlights, sensors, etc. Each year I was glad to hear it was healthy (after necessary repairs) and easily passed inspection. But then (dramatic music), a year ago the check engine light came on followed by what in my pilot days I would have called an astounding display of most of the warning lights. Then a tow truck. Then diagnosis and repair. Then a thousand dollars. And finally, back on the road with a smile on my face.

The car is, after all, sixteen plus years old and a comfortable, sturdy ride. But two weeks ago, without warning, the “Check Engine” came back on. Oh no, I thought! I’ve been good to it! Changing the oil, new brakes, new this, new that, I exercise it often…what the hell!! I wouldn’t mind a new car but at my age I’m not sure it’s worth the expense. So, I called the service department at the dealership I’ve been taking the car to since we moved here, the one where I’ve spent some thousands of dollars.

“The earliest appointment we have is in ten days,” was the response I received when I told them my issue. Ten days.

“That’s a long time without a car,” I told her.

“Ten days. Do you want to make the appointment?” she responded.

So much for Toyota loyalty. Maybe now was the time to stop driving. But my wife certainly isn’t going to ferry me around. And she has her own schedule of places to go. My dilemma was the one we all go through, do I spend another large sum of money on a car that is reaching the end of its life expectancy?! Some people run their cars for 20, 30, or more years and hundreds of thousands of miles. Good for them. Good for their cars. But for me, I’m pretty sure the big battery in my hybrid was giving up the ghost and replacement was $2,500+ not including labor. And even if I did replace the big battery, who knew what was next. Sigh. A familiar internal debate. As much as I love new gadgets, I really loved my old Hybrid Highlander…the perfect ride for me. Think, think, think.

"No,” I told her. The internal debate was over, I traded it in. I’m sure it will be taken to a farm somewhere to join other SUVs helping out and enjoying life out in the wild. I wonder why warranties don’t extend to 10, even 20 years. Perhaps because car manufacturers can’t “warrant” how drivers will use or abuse the machines. Squeaky parts, stiff ride, failing functions, crummy fuel, sticky oil, unexpected starts & stops…all part of the aging game.

We have a new car. With a five year warranty. But, then what. Oh.

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Lee Halvorsen Lee Halvorsen

I Don’t Scream Anymore

Mt Assisi Garden

I don’t scream anymore
With death just out the door.
I smile and sink deep inside
Mind seeking right, eyes open wide. 

Burn the books, call for war
Make it tough for all to score
Let voter access freely slide
So your wagon is the only ride. 

But know that deep inside
Somewhere is a rising tide
Of fairness, human to the core.
So, I don’t scream anymore.

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Lee Halvorsen Lee Halvorsen

Songbirds & Snakes

Inside Union Station, Washington, DC

I finished Suzanne Collins’ “The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes,” a prequel to the Hunger Games books. Before I started to read it, I binge watched all four of the Hunger Games movies, but NOT the movie from this book. This book was so different from what I expected that halfway through I watched the last movie in the series again…what I was reading seemed inconsistent with the storyline in the movies. Granted, books are usually different than the movie but this felt so divergent I wanted to ensure I hadn’t misremembered what I’d seen.

The Hunger Games world is a dystopian view of the U.S. and the prequel was no different except the murderous Game itself was still in its infancy. The protagonist of the novel was Coriolanus Snow at 18 years old. In the Hunger Games book trilogy, Snow was president of the country and evil personified. In "The Ballad,” he was a teenager struggling with his identity, society, economics, racism, and tradition. As a reader, I empathized with Snow and felt sympathy for him as he struggled through life, and, struggle he did. Snow was part of a formerly wealthy and respected family however family fortune and reputation had decreased dramatically and Snow was at risk of not attending university and being forced out of his family’s ancestral home. He was appointed a Hunger Games mentor to a “tribute” from impoverished District 12. The tribute’s name was Lucy Gray.

Snow struggled with his self confidence, with his view on how his peers viewed him, and with his undisclosed financial emergency. He believed if “his” Lucy Gray won the Games, he would be rewarded with cash for his tuition and family home. Lucy Gray was a small girl, not physically strong and unlikely to survive by brute force. Snow and Gray began a relationship…perhaps a metaphor for Snow’s relationship with his world.

I was struck by the power of social media in the book…how misinformation and disinformation shaped the opinions and actions of the populace…the mob. (Not too different than what it’s like in today’s America.) The oligarchical nature of the Capitol suppressed intellectual and financial growth in the Districts. A caste system had been formed with physical, psychological, and spiritual divides among the residents of Panem. The Capitol maintained order through power and media control…armed “peace keepers” were everywhere and an inner circle maintained total control of a Big Brother like television system. However, Snow discovered that in the Districts, few televisions were available and the message of the games wasn’t well known. He and Lucy Gray manipulated the media and won the Game, Snow discovered the power of the media on the masses and the potential benefit to the Capitol. He began to institutionalize the role of media in the Games.

In our family discussions of the book, I was a bit off track from the majority view. “Too sympathetic!” was one comment. Apparently, I was identifying too closely with the protagonist, Snow, and missing the evil texture of his existence. Maybe. But. He was 18 and the world is a different place when you’re 18. And, he’d been raised in a caste system where he was at the top of the food chain and at risk of losing that position. His parents were dead so family support came from his cousin and grandmother. It was a societal norm to oppress those different than you. So…in my reader’s mind, Snow had nothing worthwhile (by my standards), he was living a shallow life which was quickly falling apart. His relationship with Lucy Gray seemed a positive force, he was learning about personal things, learning to care about someone besides himself, and learning to help others. But, was the response, all that he did for Lucy Gray, he was really doing just for himself, not her. He used her. Probably. Maybe. Hmmm…but, Lucy Gray used him. Her sweet disposition, her music, her personna was captivating, addictive, alluring. For Snow, and, for me, the reader.

I didn’t have a clue how the book would end. In fact, I’m still anxious about the ending even though I finished reading it. I want more. I guess that’s what a prequel does.

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Lee Halvorsen Lee Halvorsen

Drugstores

Soda Fountain, Baltimore Museum of Industry

The Wayback Machine was kicked into overdrive when I started thinking about Huron College. Our teen years are usually indelibly imprinted or forever erased, I have some of both. Do you remember “Soda Fountains?” I am pretty sure that my first “date” was to a soda fountain, 7th grade, I think. I had a crush on a girl named Mary and asked her to join me after school for a soda at the drugstore. And…she did!! I very distinctly remember being nervous as hell but also wanting to show how cool and sophisticated I was so I ordered a chocolate coke. Chocolate syrup in the bottom of the glass, cola drawn from the tap at the bar, and a long straw to stir and sip. Yep…I was cool. Not. I was 13 years old and imaginative.

The drug store was Miller’s Drugstore in the 300 block of Dakota Avenue, next door (I think) to Smith Jewelry. Miller’s was the epitome of an old time drug store, not like today’s CVS, Walgreen’s, etc. I remember four drugstores in town, Miller’s, Humphrey’s (of Hubert fame), Lewis Drug, and Perriton Drug & Jewelry. In Miller’s, there were shelves of health paraphernalia, a pharmacist in a caged enclosure, and a magnificent soda fountain with ice creams, sodas, sprinkles, and other sweet magic things. If I remember correctly, Humphrey’s also had a “snack bar” but it was not the classic Soda Fountain. My date and I sipped on our exotic sodas and I probably quivered like a leaf in the wind, but it was fun, and, memorable. We had one more “date” like this and then either her mother or mine changed the ground rules and after school hours became more “regimented.”

Today’s drugstores are different. The world is different. We are an aging population. Health science has increased exponentially. To keep us oldsters alive, mobile, and alert, drugs are imperative and so pharmacies today are crushed with demand as well as diversity of available medications. Remember when pharmacists had time to talk with their customers? Not so much anymore in chain pharmacies. The retail margins are so low in the industry that some pharmaceutical technician salaries are barely above minimum wage. Pharmacists often “supervise” four or so technicians who are actually pulling the pills and doing the insurance process. I understand the burnout rate for pharmacists and their technicians is increasing…they are slammed by demand and the chains can’t charge more than insurance allows and insurers negotiate huge discounts…which is a completely different post. Anyway. I empathize with pharmacists, they’re under extreme pressure in the middle of an extraordinarily complex process among Pharma, doctors, corporate, and lastly…us.

But, I had that date. Terror, excitement…oh, what a time. Smile.

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Lee Halvorsen Lee Halvorsen

Huron College, What If I’d…

Composite, time, words, and me

Huron College was my home town’s institution of higher education. The campus was large, well manicured, with Ivy League like buildings and located close to downtown. I say “large” because by my 1950’s standards…Huron only had about 14,000 people…large was not Manhattan large. When I was growing up, the campus exuded learning and class. The student body was never large, a few hundred at most, but the school had a good reputation for academics and sports. And, as a little kid, the majesty of the buildings was intriguing. Laying in bed last night, I went down the rabbit hole of “What if…”

I’m not sure I was tuned into college as a teenager. As a baby boomer, I was used to the “I Like Ike” slogans and economic growth of the times. I was sheltered from racism, politics, and most forms of hate. In the 9th grade, I started playing in a Garage Band, “The Bird Dogs,” and music became my life. Well, music and girls. My parents hadn’t gone to college. My mom didn’t work when I was growing up. My dad had done quite well without a college degree, he was General Manager of Armour & Company meat packing, the town’s largest employer. So college wasn’t a thing on my mind. My parents looked at it differently, they insisted I take the ACT or SAT or whatever it was and so I did. What did I think I’d do with my life?!

When I was 17 years old, the Bird Dogs won a multi-state Battle of the Bands and subsequently interviewed by the local newspaper, “The Daily Plainsman.” One of the questions they asked each of us was, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I thought for less than a nanosecond and replied, “An architect.” What the hell was I thinking? I didn’t want to be an architect but was intrigued by architecture, after all, I’d visited San Diego, Minneapolis, and Los Angeles and their buildings were truly grand. I thought, how cool would it be to actually design such things. But, what the hell! No, for me it was back to girls and music. I did not know what I wanted to do, except to continue playing with the Bird Dogs. However, comma, a war was on and the draft was a real thing. A horrifying thing. Graduate from high school, get drafted or go to college. So college was in my future. At least I’d be older when I went to war.

My girlfriend was a year younger and wanted to be a journalist. She’d picked South Dakota State University since they had a great Journalism program and so I picked it, too. Off I went. Alone. Reserve Officer Training Corps (ROTC) was a MANDATORY thing for males for the first two years at a state school. I joined because I had to join. At the end of my sophomore year I signed up for advanced ROTC and a scholarship that committed me to two more years in ROTC and at least four years of active duty as an Air Force officer. Keep in mind, I had never been in any kind of airplane. None. Nada. Never. But…Americans were getting killed everyday in Vietnam and the draft…it was alive and well. I did not want to join the Army, so, the Air Force it was. I’d waited and waited to commit, there was talk of a Draft Lottery where you’d know your odds of getting called up. But alas, I had to commit or lose my scholarship and slot in the ROTC class. The lottery was held a short time after I’d signed, my number was 274. I would not have been called. So what if I’d stayed in Huron and gone to Huron College… Playing the “What If” game in my head… The Bird Dogs would have fizzled out. Buns, the drummer, was the only then current member that went to college. The others were in the wind. Canada. Alaska. Wherever. It would have been just me trying to figure life out.

During my high school years I looked up to three men and probably would have tried to emulate them in lifestyles and professions in my adult life. They were Joe Stahl, Ken Larson, and Bob Callahan. Joe worked at Armour’s for my dad so as much as I admired him, I could never work in a place where my dad and I co-existed. I admired Ken a lot but didn’t have the skill and knowledge he had working with his hands and doubted I ever would. That left Bob Callahan, my teacher and acting coach in high school. He and I connected and I think I would have followed him into the teaching profession. And, I would have been happy because, well, because, I enjoy teaching and I wouldn’t know the difference. But my current life did happen. I have three kids, one grandchild, and am very happy. Very. But, I still have that vision of Huron College, Voorhees Hall.

From my 1967 graduating class, we lost two classmates in Vietnam, Roger Porter and Dick Plate. The draft was a real thing. Huron College closed many years ago. All gone.

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Lee Halvorsen Lee Halvorsen

Imagine, Me, a Treaty Negotiator

OV-10 Bronco in the Air Force Museum in Dayton

I’ve never told my kids about one of the coolest things I did while on active duty in the Air Force. (My USAF career ended before they were were born.) They knew I flew airplanes and Diane told them I had “an attitude” when we first met, but other than the occasional “I remember when…” story, they really don’t know much about what I did. This post, in the off chance they might read it, fills part of that gap. I’m hazy on some of the details but I think the story is overall accurate.

Flashback to late 1988. I was a Lieutenant Colonel assigned to International Program Management in the Pentagon. I’d been working with The Netherlands (and other European Air Forces) for a couple of years helping them buy and support their F-16 fighter aircraft systems. I’d flown the F-16, was familiar with operational and logistics issues and they valued my experience. One day I received a request to meet with the Dutch Attaché, Col Sneke, at their embassy in DC. I was surprised, I was on the minion level compared to him but, what the heck, sure.

We met, he had a proposition…create a joint USAF and Dutch F-16 training program in the US. Holland would shut down their own program. He and his staff had it worked out…it was very expensive for a small country to maintain a training squadron and infrastructure diluting the operational capabilities of their Air Force. The USAF had a joint US/German F-4 training course at George AFB, CA, and Sneke proposed a similar operation for the Dutch F-16 at George. The Dutch would provide some aircraft, pilots and support personnel, the USAF would provide the lion’s share. US and Dutch students would train together as they might fight together. The George AFB program was run by the USAF’s Tactical Air Command (TAC), now Air Combat Command and Sneke wanted a similar setup. I was enthusiastic about the concept but told him I had less than a year left on active duty and so for continuity, we had to move quickly. Well, as quickly as bureaucracies can manage.

Colonel Sneke had access to the highest levels of Pentagon and TAC. He spent quite a bit of time talking with the very top staff but did not get the response he was hoping for. The USAF was not willing to start another joint fighter training program. Well…not the active duty Air Force, the Air National Guard was a different story. Colonel Sneke and the Arizona Air National Guard came to a conceptual agreement about creating the joint F-16 program at Tucson International Airport, (now the 162 Fighter Wing). USAF HQ and Arizona agreed and off we went. Lots of moving parts to this agreement and most of them were handled directly between the Air Guard and the Dutch. My role was to negotiate the treaty to make it legal.

Yep, this sort of thing didn’t just happen. Sharing airframes and pilots was one thing, flying high performance, armed aircraft over foreign lands is different. Since the Dutch pilots and aircraft were to be “permanently” stationed in the US, specific parameters needed to be worked out, similar to what our forces were living with when they were stationed in Europe. The Pentagon & the State Department decided that the best way forward was to negotiate an Amendment to the current Status of Forces Agreement (SOFA). The SOFA, with the other types of military agreements, establishes the rights and privileges of foreign personnel in a host country in support of the larger security arrangement and generally defines the host country’s responsibility. Somebody way up the food chain in the US government gave me a “warrant” to negotiate the modification to the SOFA with Holland. I was given a team of lawyers, accountants, Air Guard reps, and more. By the time we started, I had only a few weeks left on active duty but even more importantly, a critical budget decision in Holland had to be made and conclusion of the negotiations was the linchpin. Site of the negotiations was the Dutch Embassy in DC.

I was pleased to find my counterpart on the Dutch team was Colonel Benno Hemler. Col Hemler was the principal Dutch representative on many of the senior Multinational Fighter Program committees and knew the processes and people well. I had and have, a great deal of respect for him. But, he was a tough negotiator so I knew we would have a spirited time. Col Sneke was not directly involved but was always very close. Benno had only one or two people on his team, I would bring 3 or 4 each day depending on the sections under discussion. We’d finish in the late afternoon, go back to the Pentagon and debrief the senior people who were following the project. There were no cell phones.

We had pages and pages and pages to go through, suggest modifications, discuss and decide. In theory, I had the authority to decide on language, in practice, I knew I needed to take disputes back to the Pentagon for guidance. Most of the time, though, Benno and I hammered out or slogged through the minutiae to get the right language for both countries. But, it was taking a long time. Benno received a call from The Netherlands, his wife had been diagnosed with cancer and might have surgery. He chose to stay in the negotiations. During one particularly intense week, tensions were high among all the team members and we took breaks every hour or so to discuss things “in the margins” as well as just to take a breath. Col Sneke was not happy with our progress. Benno and I believed we were on track. During the break, Col Sneke told me I had a phone call. It was my general officer back at the Pentagon chewing me out for not expediting the negotiations. He suggested I hurry things up, he explained he had called because Col Sneke had called him complaining about the “lack of progress.”

I went back into the conference room, told my team to pack up their stuff, we were leaving. Benno asked why. I told him my general apparently thought I was mishandling the negotiations and I felt the lack of confidence was enough to compel my withdrawal. I told him this had started with a call from his embassy. By the time my team got back to the Pentagon, someone from the Dutch Embassy had called and said that progress was being made and that the US team should not be changed. My general challenged us to stay on track. I was happy. Until…

We finally found a clause in the SOFA upon which we could NOT agree. Significantly not agree. We went back and forth with options and alternatives but both sides were firm, neither willing to give an inch. And the clause was critical…under the SOFA with US forces flying over Holland, if there’s an accident, the host country (Holland) would pay for all the damages and the US would have no liability. Since that was the way it was over Dutch soil, that is what the Dutch wanted for RNLAF pilots flying over US soil. When I took this position back to the Pentagon, they said no…Holland had to pay for all damages, the US would pay for none. US policy people were not willing to budge. The Dutch were not willing to budge. The deal was near collapse. Sneke was very unhappy. Benno was firm. I was getting “short”…not much time left in the USAF.

After a couple of frustrating days trading ideas over this clause, I was back in the Pentagon in the evening in a meeting with my general and a senior DoD attorney, Susan Ludlow-McMurray. She’d been involved in the background since the beginning of negotiations and was very experienced in complex international agreements. After my dismal status update, we discussed alternatives that had already been rejected, paced the room, and then Susan said, “Why not just leave the clause out?” Perhaps this was the ultimate in “kick the can down the road” philosophy, but her point was, the issues won’t change should something happen but the people dealing with an event would be more familiar with the actual operation and not be dealing with a concept. The general and I heartily agreed. She called higher ups. It was approved.

The next day I went back to the embassy and proposed the exclusion, Benno thought, nodded his head. We were done. My last task in the Air Force.

That joint training program is still alive and well in Tucson but now it’s not just Dutch and US, it’s an international training program. I’m proud to have been a small, but unknown part of that project. One of the cooler things I think I’ve ever done.

The OV-10 image above was taken in the Air Force Museum in Dayton, OH. Of all the airplanes I flew in the USAF, I had the most fun in the OV-10. And actually, I’m pretty sure that this was one of the airframes I flew.

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