"A Real Job"

[Gort]

You know, some people still don't understand why military personnel do what they do for a living. This exchange between Senators John Glenn and Sen. Howard Metzenbaum is worth reading. Not only is it a pretty impressive impromptu speech, but it's also a good example of one man's explanation of why men and women in the Uniformed Services do what they do for a living. This an example of what those who have never served, think of the Military.

Senator Metzenbaum to Senator Glenn: "How can you run for Senate when you've never held a real "job"?"

Senator Glenn: "I served 23 years in the United States Marine Corps. I served through two wars. I flew 149 missions. My plane was hit by antiaircraft fire on 12 different occasions. I was in the space program. It wasn't my checkbook; it was my Life on the line.

It was not a nine to five job where I took time off to take the daily cash receipts to the bank. I ask you to go with me ... as I went the other day to a Veterans Hospital and look at those men with their mangled bodies in the eye and tell them they didn't hold a job.

You go with me to the space program and go as I have gone to the widows and orphans of Ed White and Gus Grissom and Roger Chaffee and you look those kids in the eye and tell them that their dad didn't hold a job.

You go with me on Memorial Day coming up and you stand in Arlington National Cemetery, where I have more friends than I'd like to remember and you watch those waving flags. You stand there, and you think about this nation, and you tell me that those people didn't have a job.

I'll tell you, Howard Metzenbaum, you should be on your knees every day of your life thanking God that there were some men - SOME MEN - who held a job. And they required a dedication to purpose and a love of country and a dedication to duty that was more important than life itself. And their self-sacrifice is what made this country possible --- I HAVE HELD A JOB, HOWARD! --- "What about you?"










This guy writes for Sports Illustrated.

On a Wing and a Prayer, by Rick Reilly

Now this message is for America's most famous athletes: Someday you
may be invited to fly in the back-seat of one of your country's most
powerful fighter jets. Many of you already have -- John
Elway, John Stockton, Tiger Woods to name a few. If you get this
opportunity, let me urge you, with the greatest sincerity....Move
to Guam instead. Change your name. Fake your own death. Whatever
you do, do not go. Why do I say this? Because I know. The U.S. Navy
invited me to try it. I was thrilled. I was pumped. I was toast!

I should've known when they told me my pilot would be Chip (Biff)
King of fighter Squadron 213 at Naval Air Station Oceana in Virginia
Beach. Whatever you're thinking a Top Gun named Chip (Biff)
King looks like, triple it. He's about six-foot, tan, ice-blue
eyes, wavy surfer hair, finger-crippling handshake -- the kind of
man who wrestles dyspeptic alligators in his leisure time. If you see this
man, run the other way. Fast. Biff King was born to fly. His
father, Jack King, was for years the voice of NASA missions. ("T-minus
15 seconds and counting...." Remember?). Chip would charge
neighborhood kids a quarter each to hear his dad. Jack would wake
up from naps surrounded by nine-year-olds waiting for him to say, "We
have a liftoff."

Biff was to fly me in an F-14D Tomcat, a ridiculously powerful $60
million weapon with nearly as much thrust as weight, not unlike Colin
Montgomerie. I was worried about getting airsick, so the
night before the flight I asked Biff if there was something I
should eat the next morning. "Bananas," he said. "For the potassium?"
I asked. "No," Biff said, "because they taste about the same coming up
as they do going down."

The next morning, out on the tarmac, I had on my flight suit with
my name sewn over the left breast. (No call sign -- like Crash or
Sticky or Lead foot - but, still, very cool.) I carried my helmet in the
crook of my arm, as Biff had instructed. If ever in my life I had a
chance to nail Nicole Kidman, that was it.

A fighter pilot named "Psycho" gave me a safety briefing and then
fastened me into my ejection seat, which, when employed, would "egress"
me out of the plane at such a velocity that I would be
immediately knocked unconscious from the G-forces. Just as I was
thinking about aborting the flight, the canopy closed over me, and
Biff gave the ground crew a thumbs-up. In minutes we were firing
nose up at 600 mph. We leveled out and then canopy-rolled over
another F-14. Those 20 minutes were the rush of my life.

Unfortunately, the ride lasted 80 minutes. It was like being on the
roller coaster at Six Flags. Only without rails. We did barrel rolls,
snap rolls, loops, yanks and banks. We dived, rose high and dived
again, sometimes with a vertical velocity of 10,000 feet per
whatever. We chased another F-14, and it chased us. We broke the
speed of sound. Sea was sky and sky was sea. Flying at 200 feet we did
90-degree turns at 550 mph, creating a G-force of 6.5, which is to
say I felt as if 6.5 times my body weight was smashing against me.

And I egressed the bananas. I egressed the pizza from the night
before. And the lunch before that. I egressed a box of Milk Duds
from the sixth grade. I made Linda Blair look polite. Because of the
G's, I was egressing stuff that did not even want to be egressed. I
went through not one airsick bag, but two. Biff said I passed out.
Twice. I was coated in sweat. At one point, as we were coming in
upside down in a banked curve on a mock bombing target and the G's
were flattening me like a tortilla and I was in and out of
consciousness, I realized I was the first person in history to "throw
down."

I used to know cool. Cool was Elway throwing a touchdown pass, or
Norman making a five-iron bite. But now I really know cool. Cool is
guys like Biff, men with cast-iron stomachs and Freon nerves. I
wouldn't go up there again for Derek Jeter's black book, but I'm glad
Biff does every day, and for less a year than a rookie reliever makes
in a home stand.

A week later, when the spins finally stopped, Biff called. He said
he and the fighter pilots had the perfect call sign for me. Said he'd
send it on a patch for my flight suit.

What is it? I asked.

"Two Bags."



I served for 11 years, thankfully was never in a war, I support my country, and if there is a way to keep peace, make the world safer without war, I'd go for it. I doubt it will happen between GW Bush, Saddam, and N. Korea.

I wish our soldiers well, and hope everyone who isn't a soldier sees what they are willing to give up for your "freedom". Agree or disagree with the reasons for military action, these soldiers answer the call, respect them for what they do for you.

My .02 c worth.

Toplack

[Sarvis]

Damn. You have no idea how much I wanted to be a fighter pilot when I was a kid. Too bad you can't fly if you need glasses, or I'd have joined the Air Force. :(

[Ensis]

Damn. You have no idea how much I wanted to be a fighter pilot when I was a kid. Too bad you can't fly if you need glasses, or I'd have joined the Air Force. :(

You have to have i think 20/200 correctable vision or something like that to fly, at least in the army.. forget all that aviation crap tho, you can wear whatever glasses you want and jump out of a high performance aircraft.

Man up, join the airborne :)