Goodfellows52: Wings of Eagles

Goodfellows52: Wings of Eagles: The B-17 bomber sits on the runway at Lewiston-Auburn airport. This Constellation is being used as spare parts to rebuil...

Wings of Eagles

The B-17 bomber sits on the runway at Lewiston-Auburn airport. 

This Constellation is being used as spare parts to rebuild another one in a hangar.

AUBURN, Maine — This is not the first time these flying relics have touched down at Lewiston-Auburn airport.

Whenever these birds of prey from World War II pay a visit to the Twin Cities, we grab a camera and stroll the tarmac to marvel at these leftovers from a past that fills the pages of every standard U.S. history textbook.

Last week, a B-17 and a P-51 Mustang rumbled into central Maine. I have seen and toured the cockpits of these World War II planes on several occasions. The detailed nose art on these World War II stalwarts is striking. I am still amazed at the awesome firepower of this four-engine bomber's .50-caliber machine guns that line the plane from top to bottom. How they persuaded a man to cram himself into the ball turret located under the belly of the plane is baffling to me. The only thing separating the gunner from a 10,000-foot drop to the ground is the ball-turret's glass.

I am a 6-foot-3, 300-pound man who cannot squeeze myself into the pilot's seat. The only section of the plane that I feel comfortable standing up is the waist-gunner's station. These planes were not built for big men with girth, but the pilots who flew these American bombers are larger than life. Imagine spending hours strapped into a cockpit while withering enemy fire from the ground and in the air whizzes past your aircraft as you concentrate on dropping a payload of 500-pound bombs on an obscure target.

Two exceptional films were made about B-17s. Spending a few hours watching the "Memphis Bell" or  my favorite, "Twelve O'clock High," is one way to get to know America's powerhouse bomber and the strategic roll it played during World War II.

"Twelve O'Clock High" is an excellent drama that focuses on American pilots during the daylight bombing campaign over Nazi Germany. Gregory Peck and Dean Jagger deliver Academy-Award winning performances and bring to life the dangers that these courageous pilots were exposed to during their daily missions.

Whenever I tour these planes, I often think of my uncle, Retired major B.J. Murano, who flew B-24s in World War II and jets in the Korean conflict. I don't know how this brave man came back in one piece after serving in two major wars.

Restoring the past

Restoration of a Lockheed Constellation continues at Lewiston-Auburn airport. After we paid homage to the B-17, we got a sneak peek at the restoration project of a L-1649 Starliner at one of the large hangars. The other Constellation, which is still sitting on the runway, is being cannibalized and used for parts. Watching these skilled men take apart an aircraft and modernized this behemoth from the 1960s is a real eye-opener and a lesson in ingenuity.

Taking the chill out of Autumn

The Great Falls Balloon Festival - a sight to behold

The Sea Dogs at Hadlock Field in Portland

AUBURN, Maine — Winter's emissary, Autumn, announced itself when it blew into town with its frosty air and brisk temperatures on a bright Friday morning. Trees swayed in 40-mile-per-hour cold winds, which swept away three days of stifling humidity.

I closed all the windows to seal in the heat and ignored the thermostat. Flipping on the furnace is a no-no in September because the sun heats our house to 75 degrees on cool days. And thanks to price-gouging oil companies, I won't consider burning oil until October. Call me cheap or a concerned environmentalist who has been forced to conserve fuel thanks to overpaid CEOs and greedy speculators. I have my trusty wood stove on standby and all my wood is stacked, cut and ready to burn when Old Man Winter engulfs New England in an icy embrace for the next five months.

But I do have a treasure trove of warm memories of a summer to take chill out this family's bones. Pictures of the Great Falls Balloon Festival and our trip to watch the Portland Sea Dogs play baseball at Hadlock Field in Portland will make winter bearable.

Away all balloons

For the past 19 years, the Twin Cities have hosted a balloon festival in late August. The weekend event draws thousands of spectators from all over and is a sight to behold when, if the steamy weather cooperates, dozens of giant balloons crowd the skies during the six launches. The early-morning flights are the best. The weather is cool and the threat of thunderstorms is minimal, guaranteeing an eye-opening launch on a bright summer morning.

My son took our camera and raced around the streets of Lewiston and Auburn on a Saturday morning, snapping nearly 80 photos, which were included in a slide show. Some people go for the entertainment, the shopping booths and fast food, but for me, the unique balloons lifting off with apprehensive passengers is worth jumping out bed at 5:30 in the morning.

Sometimes, if we are not up for a morning launch, balloons will drift by our home and a blast fire from their loud propane burners will wake us. I will run to the door and watch the low-flying airships hover over us. From what I have been told, if they are forced to land in your yard, they will present the homeowner with a bottle of champagne for an unscheduled landing.

But what really makes these large balloons so unique is their sizes and shapes. The behemoths can make the sun disappear as they drift over head.

Evening launches draw larger crowds at Railroad Park, but when there is a threat of thunder, balloon pilots will stand down and not risk putting their passengers in harm's way.

Going to the Dogs

Can't afford a $300 day at Fenway Park? Apprehensive about taking your life into your own hands when driving around Boston? Scared of getting mugged when taking the "T" to Fenway? Paying for watered-down beer at $10 a pop astound you? Worried that 

the guy next you will light up a three-foot stogie and smother you in cloud of a second-hand smoke?

Save money, time and avoid Boston's insanity and visit Hadlock Field in Portland to checkout the Sea Dogs. This is great entertainment at an affordable price without playing bumper cars with Massachusetts drivers. Parking is a jaw-dropping $5 to watch the Double-A players man a diamond. 

Look, competing with Friendly Fenway on any level is a lesson in futility. And Boston's glamour is a tough act to follow even though I think Portland is a great little city with so much to do without going broke.

I confess I am a Mass Hole who grew up 10 miles from Fenway's finest. When you attend a game at Fenway, it  feels like you have entered another country. This is one of the few old parks left in Major League Baseball where you don't feel like you are watching a team from the cliffs of the Grand Canyon. There's an intimacy about the park, but I also get that feeling from Hadlock Field. I enjoy the Dogs' sideshows in between innings and their numerous raffles. It really feels like the old days when the pros did the same thing for fans.

But making it a day at Fenway Park means taking out a small loan at the bank. Parking is $25 and ticket prices can make a grown baseball fan cry, and then there is the cost of food and drink. Throw in gas money for the long commute and you really got yourself a ball game for the price of about $300 for a father and son who love America's pastime.

Attending a Sea Dogs game won't blast a hole in your bank account. Ticket prices are reasonable and so isn't the food and drink. Sure, it's Double-A ball and Hadlock isn't Fenway and Portland can't compete with Boston, but who really cares when it comes to watching baseball. And there is a replica of the Green Monster at Hadlock, which isn't so astounding because the Dogs are a minor league affiliate of the Boston Red Sox.

But if you have $60 in your wallet and your son or daughter wants to watch a baseball game at a cozy park, then you have just enough cash to hit one out of the park at Hadlock Field.

So take them all out to the ball game without going broke.

Fenway Park can wait.

Goodfellows52: The day the earth stood still

Goodfellows52: The day the earth stood still: AUBURN — Anthony was occupied with his Hot Wheels cars and "Barney" was driving me batty when I flipped the channel to NBC to check on th...

The day the earth stood still

AUBURN — Anthony was occupied with his Hot Wheels cars and "Barney" was driving me batty when I flipped the channel to NBC to check on the world on a warm Tuesday morning.

The image that appeared on my TV startled me. There was a gapping hole in one of the Twin Towers in New York City. I began hearing about a plane smashing into the tower at 8:46 a.m. The tower was billowing with smoke and obscuring the top of the building. I also learned people were trapped on the top floors. I knew a small plane could have not inflicted a wide blast in this super structure. There was no doubt an airliner had plowed into the building at great velocity.

I sat up on the couch and was thankful Anthony paid no attention to the television as he drove his cars along the coffee table littered with toys. My wife, Terri, was teaching at school. 

I could see flames leaping out of the punctured tower. I wondered how long the building would stand up to the blazing heat before it collapsed. People were leaping from the building to escape the flames and smoke. I realized rescuing these poor souls was impossible due to the damage and thick smoke that covered the top of the tower.

Newscaster Katie Couric was trying ascertain what was going on when I saw Flight 175 out Logan Airport in Boston appear in the background as Couric was speaking and slam into the South Tower at 9:02 a.m. 

A week later I discoveed that Peter Morgan Goodrich, a Bates College graduate and All-American track star was on Flight 175.

And it was only then that I realized I had witnessed his murder.

I wrote three stories about this fine young man and spoke with his extraordinary parents over the course of a decade. Goodrich's mother, Sally, passed away in December of 2010. She was a remarkable woman who established a foundation in his name.

Both towers were burning when I reached for the phone to call my mother in Massachusetts. My dad was still teaching school. We spoke for a few moments when I decided to phone my sister, Roxanne, who was rushing her husband to a hospital because of his bad back.

I called my mom again, but dialed the wrong number. For the next five minutes, I was talking to a stranger about the attacks in New York City. We didn't know each other or exchange names, but for those five minutes, two strangers comforted each other while the Big Apple burned and became the epicenter of terrorist attacks.

For the next hour, I kept Anthony busy while I kept one an eye on the television. I couldn't leave the room. New York City was a smoldering mess and reports were surfacing that the Pentagon was also rammed by an airliner at 9:37 a.m., and another plane was heading toward the White House. But thanks to the heroic efforts of Flight 93 passengers, who rushed the cockpit, the plane nosedived in Shanksville, Penn. at 10:03 and never reached its intended target.

I knew it wouldn't be long before both towers crumbled to the ground. I thought about those helpless souls stranded on the top floors, knowing that rescues would never come. I went over and hugged my son tight. I was feeling numb from the turmoil that was spreading across the nation.

At 9:59, the South Tower shattered and roared as it fell to the ground. I watched fleeing bystanders running down narrow streets as huge clouds of dust engulfed people. Nearly a half hour later, the other tower collapsed, sending another whirlwind of dirt that turned day into night. Office papers littered the streets as bystanders encased in gray dust coughed and cried.

I looked at my five-year-old who figured out that something awful happened on September 11, 2001. He drew a picture at preschool the next day depicting one of the towers crashing to earth. I still have the drawing.

I scooped him up and decided to grab a slice a pizza somewhere and stay away from the television set. We walked into a pizza joint and quietly sat down. People ate in silence. It was the quietest meal I have ever eaten in my life.

My wife finally got home and I called the newspaper to see if they wanted me in the newsroom early. Reporters and editors had already put out an extra edition on the streets around 2 p.m.

The sports department had a light night. We put our section together early and left. The editorial staff in news would have a long night. 

I went home and turned on the television. All three major networks were televising the rescue efforts and would continue broadcasting reports for the next five days, interrupting regular programming. The reports were grim. I couldn't sleep because of the attacks. I wondered what the future held for our nation and its children like my son.

 It has been 10 years since the Twin Towers plummeted to the ground. Along the way, the United States has fought three separate conflicts in the Middle East and is still wallowing in a Depression, but the memories off 9/11 never fade.

The next day at preschool I talked with frightened parents as we crowded into the hallway. I hugged Anthony one more time in the classroom before getting into my car. The calamity of Tuesday's attacks flooded every radio station on the dial. I thought about the nearly 3,000 victims scattered across New York City, Washington D.C., and Shanksville, Penn.

The Associated Press has been moving the list of victims over the wire in small takes. New stories have surfaced on this 10-year anniversary of 9/11. The Internet is saturated with video footage of the attacks.

The controversy and finger-pointing goes on, construction at Ground Zero continues, and conflicts in the Middle East rage without resolution. And now, New York City and Washington D.C. is on full alert and bracing for a terrorist attack.

But it doesn't take an anniversary to remind me of what we all lost on that warm Tuesday morning.