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.

Goodfellows52: Flying into the past

Goodfellows52: Flying into the past: Anthony stands next to a pair of jet engines at the air show


A Corsair sits next to a trainer


A p-40 Tomahawk and the f...

Flying into the past

Anthony stands next to a pair of jet engines at the air show 

A Corsair sits next to a trainer

A P-40 Tomahawk and the firepower, below, of the B-25 Mitchell.

The Blue Angels sit ready to go.

BRUNSWICK — Anthony and I were walking toward the car when a formation of vintage World War II planes passed loudly overhead. We suddenly felt like extras on the movie set of "Tora, Tora, Tora," an exceptional movie about the bombing of Pearl Harbor.

Watching the planes overhead triggered a conversation between a father and son about Pearl Harbor. Not many people to get to see these magnificent planes from the past stream across the open sky— unless you attend an air show.

Pilots fly out of the past and into the present in planes that gave America an edge during a world war where air superiority played a huge role in ending a global conflict.

Watching these remarkable relics from yesteryear maneuver without the slightest hint of wear and tear is a privilege and a history lesson worth learning. How these exceptional pilots keep these 60-year-old crates airborne is a testament to endurance and patriotic pride.

And yet, there they were — an all-star lineup from World War II that included a well-maintained Corsair, a fearless Japanese Zero, and two B-25 Mitchell medium bombers, roaming the skies and dazzling thousands of spectators at the Great State of Maine Air Show on a hot and humid Saturday afternoon.

For years, the former Brunswick Naval Air Base (now called Brunswick Landing) was responsible for organizing this aviation event, but when the base closed, a private enterprise produced this year's event.

Anthony and I have been attending the Brunswick air shows for the past six years, and it never ever gets old — no matter who is running the show. It's a chance to get up close and personal with military hardware and an opportunity to meet these adept pilots.

Right now, as Hurricane Irene, turned tropical storm, lashes Maine on Sunday, we were wise to attend Saturday's event. The show was cancelled Sunday.

We examined a number of World War II planes, including the firepower of a pair of B-25 Mitchells. There were also A-10 Thunderbolts - Vietnam leftovers that  have been refurbished and continue to play a major role in close combat support in the Middle East. The entire aircraft was built around the A-10's 2,000-pound Gatling gun.

Another big draw is the Blue Angels, featuring pilots who light up the sky in their F/A-18 Hornets. Besides aircraft, there were several military vehicles on hand and displays of jet engines.

For this father and son, it was an opportunity to watch these "oldies but goodies" streak overhead and remind us of a nation that looked to the skies to preserve its way of life during World War II.

Goodfellows52: Tidal wave of changes

Goodfellows52: Tidal wave of changes: "Popham Beach's landscape has taken a beating thanks to the Morse River, punishing winter storms and global warming.


The beach's ..."

Tidal wave of changes

Popham Beach's landscape has taken a beating thanks to the Morse River, punishing winter storms and global warming.

The beach's nemsis: Erosion

"Just as the wave cannot exist for itself, but is ever a part of the heaving surface of the ocean, so must I never live my life for itself, but always in the experience which is going on around me."                                                                                             -  Albert Schweitzer

PHIPPSBURG, Maine - There has been several tense moments when I was bushwhacked by Popham Beach's shifting landscape, rough surf and dangerous undertow and riptide.

Right now, this spectacular shoreline has taken a beating thanks to punishing winter storms and the meandering Morse River, putting beachgoers at risk during high tide. If you don't respect Popham's overpowering surf, then you might find yourself in harm's way.

According to a friendly officer on beach patrol, a woman was recently swept out to sea in July, and a helicopter was summoned from Cape Cod to rescue her. But she was lucky: The tide swept her back to shore.

We usually visit Popham twice during the summer to take on this beach's battering waves and visit its two historic forts, Popham and Baldwin. There is also a small island that is accessible when the tide recedes. It is a challenging and precarious climb to the top, but the view of the entire beach is simply awesome. But one slip on the backside of this island means a 30-foot plunge into turbulent waters and certain peril. Waves are constantly slapping the island, and I believe it would be impossible to survive the surf.

The wild waves are enticing to two surfer dudes like my son and me. We prefer low tide and a mile walk to the water that is usually shrouded in a morning fog. We trudge through the soft and sinking sand and eventually disappear into the mist. The water is usually cold, not like the tepid waters at Old Orchard Beach.

For the next couple of hours, Anthony and I are swept away by powerful waves. We notice hundreds of small fish darting around our legs, but we quickly figure out what is driving the tiny creatures toward the shallow water. Large stripers, which are feeding on the smaller creatures, make their presence known when they dive out the water. It is spectacular sight to see these big fish launching themselves in the air.

There are two instances where I found myself in a dangerous predicament at Popham. Anthony was just six when I stopped paying attention to the rising tide. We had a boogie board with us. I rushed back to shore, but the water was already waste high for my 6-foot-3 frame and over Anthony's head. 

We were in trouble. 

I told Anthony to climb on top of the board and I dragged both of us to safety despite a riptide and undertow that almost caused me to go dead in the water. When he was a toddler, I carried him off the island when the tied started coming in, making it an arduous trek back to the beach.

That is the danger with Popham Beach. The tides can sneak in and trap you from behind as the water fills the deep gullies chiseled out by storms and the Morse River.

Those treacherous moments with my son occurred a decade ago when the landscape was easy to navigate as a swimmer. Today, Popham's shoreline has changed dramatically thanks to the Morse River, which has cut closer to the shoreline over the years, wiping out defensive dunes and threatening the new bathhouse installed next to the beach. Coastal storms and global warming also chewed up Popham, but the Morse River has rerouted itself away from the spectacular beach, preventing further erosion, which is great news for beach lovers.

But whatever treacherous changes have taken place at Popham, Anthony and I will always return to visit and traverse the beach's hacked-up landscape to take a crack at Popham's uncompromising waves.

Goodfellows52: Surf's up

Goodfellows52: Surf's up: "'We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch — we are going back from whence we came.' ..."

Malignant cells

AUBURN, Maine - My wife and I were waiting patiently at a clinic in a hospital. We brought our books (Kindles, E-Readers and iBooks are dirty words in our house) because we are patrons of the printed word.

We believe in being quite in close quarters, and when I speak with my wife in the next seat, we whisper out of respect for patients who also sit in silence.

I was reading about the origins of the Boston Red Sox, giving me the perfect excuse to ignore a TV daytime talk show host's interview with another narcissistic celebrity. We were engrossed in our reading when this annoying voice erupted and disrupted our concentration, making me lose my place in the book.

The volume grew as this impolite person let the entire room in on her cell phone conversation, which went on for nearly 15 minutes. What about leaving the room? How about: "I can't talk now" or "I will call you back." Something short and sweet, giving the rest of us a break from your nonsense.

I am not a nosey person. We are a "please and thank you" family who respects the privacy of others. I didn't need to know her business. I thought about politely telling our babbling roomy to be quiet, reaching for a can of Mace or requesting a bucket of water to drown out the conversation and destroy the phone - sort of a two-for-one deal.

There is no escaping these annoying, self-centered cell phone users whose ranks grow each day. All you need to do to join them is to be rude and become oblivious to your fellow man.

I understand we move in a world of instant communication and cell phones can be handy in emergencies and checking on our children.

Still, I can't count the number of times when a distracted driver, with a cell phone in one hand and the wheel of a two-ton SUV in the other, nearly knocking me off the road. When I use a horn to express my dismay, these inattentive drivers certainly don't mind telling me I am No. 1 with the usual hand sign that often triggers road rage. 

I have been privy to numerous cell phone conversations in a grocery market. I learned about Uncle George doing a 5-to-10 stint at Folsom State Prison for knocking over a bank while I tossed coffee into my carriage. I witnessed customers talking on the phone as they slowly reach for their wallet to pay the bill at the register. I watch in horror as a driver texts at 60 miles per hour with a car full of children. I can't believe people have a phone to their ear at the beach, on a hike or walking down the street.

Shut the damn thing off, will you please!

I don't know how to text and I don't want to learn because I hate looking down on the world. I welcome face-to-face conversations with my next-door neighbors. I was raised on a street where 17 of my relatives lived. Hot nights were spent on porches discussing the Vietnam war or the weather.

And I don't want a phone call in the car when Eric Clapton's "I feel free" is playing on the radio.

I snicker when people confess that they couldn't survive without a cell phone. We went without a mobile phone for four years and somehow we made it through the rain and kept our point of view.

Last summer, I went overboard and purchased a $10 TracPhone and spent another $20 for 60 minutes, which lasted four months.

The extent of my conversations usually goes like this:

"Hello?' I answer.

"Hi Tony, we need milk," said my wife.

"OK, I will pick up a gallon on the way home. Love ya, bye," I say.

I am off the phone in less than a minute. Besides, what could I possibly add to that conversation.

And I didn't annoy a soul during that brief call.

Goodfellows52: Stepping into Maine's past

Goodfellows52: Stepping into Maine's past: "PHIPPSBURG, Maine — There are two huge granite and cement relics from the past that can't be ignored when you visit Popham Beach..."

Stepping into Maine's past

The way to the top

The long road to the top

The observatory tower. It is a massive structure.

A view of a section of the fort. Note the command post at the top.

Fort Baldwin shows its wear and tear.

A window to the past

This where one of the big guns stood.

A fireplace to take the chill out of a cold sea breeze.

PHIPPSBURG, Maine — There are two huge granite and cement relics that can't be ignored when you visit Popham Beach.

One behemoth, Fort Popham, sits menacingly on the coast. The other garrison, stealthy Fort Baldwin, is just across the street from Fort Popham and is hidden on a hilltop overlooking the beach. 

For people who have a passion for history, these massive remnants were built to protect Maine's coast and won't cost you a dime as you spend a good hour touring these coastal fortifications. There is no charge for taking a peak inside the austere rooms or stand where an artillery battery was located.

Unfortunately, these structures have shown a lot of wear and tear and will probably need restoration to prevent these fortifications from crumbling into the ground.

After getting tossed about in Popham's wild surf, Anthony, my wife, Terri, and I break camp and drive down the end of the beach to visit both forts. It has become a habit for us. For three students of history, making the 500-foot climb to visit Fort Baldwin or trudging up the second tier of Fort Popham is a treat and a good workout, too.

Fort Popham's massive 30-foot walls peppered with gun ports can be seen from the beach, but when you enter the fort, you are caught in a time warp dating back to Civil War. You will marvel at the huge blocks of granite used to construct the fort that has been around since 1862. My son and I would pack up our toy pistols and pretend we were repelling the Confederate army or worse — bloodthirsty pirates who were bent on sacking the town of Phippsburg. We aimed our toy weapons through the gun ports and ordered our imaginary artillery on the first floor of the structure to shell rebel ships sitting in the water just outside the fort.

According to www.travel.maine.info, Fort Popham housed 36 cannon, each weighing 25 tons and firing projectiles weighing up to 480 pounds.There are 20 musket ports on the second tier of the fort. This fort was garrisoned during the Spanish American War and World War I, too. But the construction of Fort Baldwin to house long-range artillery made Fort Popham obsolete.

From 1905 to 1912, workers poured tons of concrete to build Fort Baldwin on 38 acres of land high above the beach. The fort took its name from Colonial army engineer Jeduthan Baldwin. The fort consisted of three batteries, including Cogan with two three-inch guns, Hawley with two six-inch pedestal guns and Hardman with one six inch pedestal gun, according to www.visitmaine.com. Both forts were garrisoned by 200 soldiers from the 13th and 29th Coastal Artillery during World War I, and all three batteries were removed in 1924.

But Fort Baldwin was garrisoned again in World War II and was used as an observatory. The 8th Coast Artillery occupied the fort from 1941 to 1943 to watch for German boats.

Baldwin also has unique landmark — a 30- to 40-foot observatory tower that leaves you winded when you finally get to the top, but what a view of Fort Popham and the beach's surrounding landscape.

When you have seen enough of the forts, there is an old cannon on the beach next to Percy's General Store. I am not sure what make it is, but I am betting it is either a Rodman or a Dahlgren. Whatever the make or its age, this is still one menacing cannon, which sits facing the open waters of the Atlantic.

There are 25 forts in Maine and each fortification is unique in its design. These garrisons allow Anthony and I an opportunity to step back in time and learn about their roles in American history.