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Sunday Kind of Love

February 1, 2011

When I was fourteen my brother Skippy gave me a crystal radio for Christmas. He made it himself and handed it to me with nonchalance like it was nothing. He was like that and he taught me that understating is a gratifying manner.

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Such Heroes are few

January 29, 2011

I just finished reading Fighter Pilot by Robin Olds. That giant of a man (6’4”) was a twenty-four carat Pied Piper who fought his way from being an all American football player at West Point to wearing the star of a brigadier on his shoulder. It took thirty years. In-between those years, some of his flying exploits were enough to scare the very sky he flew in, and force the most dreaded lightning bolts back into the shelter of their clouded sheaths. At lease that’s the way I always thought of him. He shot down 9 German fighters in WW- 2 and flew high cover for the troops as they stormed the beaches at Normandy. He was twenty-two years old.

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From my Memoir - The thrill of the Chase

January 26, 2011

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This is going to get me in trouble

January 21, 2011

Pentagon figures show that combat loses by the U S Air Force during the Vietnam conflict were 1,695 aircraft. That doesn’t include another 442 planes that were lost due to systems malfunction, weather and other non-combat situations. By far, the greatest losses were fighters, with 1,239 being shot down or otherwise destroyed by direct enemy action. Army, Navy, Marine and South Vietnam Air Force losses are not included.

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Expensive memories

January 19, 2011

In my memoir, The Thrill of the Chase, I told the story about getting a spanking in junior high for running across some stupid desks. Then that night my father gave me a spanking at home because I’d gotten a spanking at school. Usually I didn’t get more than one a day. Twice was rare and it was kind of an unwritten rule. So if I got a licking in the morning I could relax and be my normal self for the rest of the day.

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Mrs. Rockefeller goes vogue

January 18, 2011

One day about 1975 David Rockefeller and his wife Peggy came into our gallery. They were occasional visitors to Santa Fe and while they didn’t buy much from us it was fun to chat with them as they wandered through our space.

Mrs. Rockefeller was interested in the fifty or so pairs of beaded Indian moccasins that were hanging from the ceiling in one of our rooms. Most of the moccasins were late 19th century and all were stuffed with tissue paper that helped preserve their form. And they were in pretty good shape considering they had previously been worn by teepee Indians around the mountains in Montana and Wyoming.

Well, Mrs. Rockefeller sat down and pointed out several pairs that she would like to look at. We thought it was a little funny when she started removing the tissue and trying the moccasins on. No one had ever done that with us before because those things were antique collector pieces, and they weren’t cheap. Soon, tissue paper and beaded moccasins littered the floor.

Finally Mrs. Rockefeller found a pair of Blackfoot moccasins that she liked. A giant smile rose from her face as she paced back and forth testing the fit. “There,” she said, picking up her designer shoes and dropping them in a trash can by the desk. Everyone was calm as she wrote a check and headed for the door with her bewildered husband in tow. But when the screen slammed there was a wild dash as three stampeding female bodies flung across the room and clanked upon that poor little trash can. No one was seriously hurt but it was so funny. I’m glad my wife wasn’t there because she might have been killed.

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