|
The average age of the Infantryman is 19 years. He is a short haired,
tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is considered by society as
half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears, not old enough to buy a beer,
but old enough to die for his country. He never really cared much for work and
he would rather wax his own car than wash his father's; but he has never
collected unemployment either.
He's a recent High School graduate; he was probably an average student, pursued
some form of sport activities, drives a ten year old jalopy, and has a steady
girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left, or swears to be waiting
when he returns from half a world away.
He listens to rock and roll or hip hop or rap or jazz or swing and 155mm
Howitzers. He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home because he
is working or fighting from before dawn to well after dusk.
He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him, but he can field
strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less-in the dark. He can recite
to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one
effectively if he must.
He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional. He
can march until he is told to stop or stop until he is told to march.
He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without spirit
or individual dignity.
He is self-sufficient. He has two sets of fatigues: he washes one and wears the
other. He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry. He sometimes forgets to
brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend
his own clothes, and fix his own hurts. If you're thirsty, he'll share his water
with you; if you are hungry, his food. He'll even split his ammunition with you
in the midst of battle when you run low. He has learned to use his hands like
weapons and weapons like they were his hands. He can save your life - or take
it, because that is his job.
He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay and still find
ironic humor in it all. He has wept in public and in private, for friends who
have fallen in combat and is unashamed.
He feels every note of the National Anthem vibrate through his body while at
rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to 'square-away' those
around him who haven't bothered to stand, remove their hat, or even stop
talking. In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, he defends their
right to be disrespectful.
Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-grandfather, he is paying the
price for our freedom. Beardless or not, he is not a boy. He is the American
Fighting Man that has kept this country free for over 200 years. He has asked
nothing in return, except our friendship and understanding.
Remember him, always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with
his blood.
God Bless
America
,
be proud of the
USA
[return to News Table of Contents]
Code of the West:
Don't let so much reality into your life
that there's no room left for dreamin'.
This is an Editorial written by an American
citizen,
published in a Tampa Newspaper.
I am tired of this nation worrying about
whether
we
are offending some individual or their culture.
Since
the terrorist attacks on Sept. 11, we have
experienced
a surge in patriotism by the majority of
Americans. However, the dust from the attacks had barely
settled
when the "politically correct" crowd began
complaining
about the possibility that our patriotism was
offending others.
I am not against immigration, nor do I hold a
grudge
against anyone who is seeking a better life by coming
to America. Our population is almost entirely comprised of descendants
of immigrants.
However, there are a few things that those who
have
recently come to our country, and apparently some
born here, need to understand. This idea of America
being a multi cultural community has served only to dilute our
sovereignty and our national identity. As Americans, we have our own
culture, our own society, our own language and our own
lifestyle.
This
culture has been developed over centuries of
struggles, trials, and victories by millions of
men and women who have sought freedom. We speak ENGLISH, not Spanish,
Arabic, Chinese, Japanese, Russian, or any other language.
Therefore, if you wish to become part of our society, learn the
language!
"In God We Trust" is our national motto. This is
not
some Christian, right wing, political slogan. We
adopted this motto because Christian men and women, on
Christian principles, founded this nation, and this is
clearly documented. It is certainly appropriate to
display it on the walls of our schools. If God offends you, then I suggest you
consider another part of the
world as your new home, because God is part of our
culture.
If Stars and Stripes offend you, or you don't like
Uncle Sam, then you should seriously consider a move
to another part of this planet. We are happy with our culture and have no
desire to change, and we really
don't care how you did things where you came from.
This is OUR COUNTRY, our land, and our lifestyle. Our First Amendment gives
every citizen the right to
express his opinion and we will allow you every opportunity to do so. But,
once you are done complaining, whining, and
griping about our flag, our pledge, our national motto, or our way of
life, I highly encourage you to take advantage of one
other great American freedom; THE RIGHT TO LEAVE.
I
AM THE FLAG OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
I
am the flag of the United States of America.
My name is Old Glory.
I
fly atop the world's tallest buildings.
I stand watch in America's halls of justice.
I
fly majestically over institutions of learning.
I stand guard with power in the world.
Look
up and see me.
I stand for peace, honor, truth and justice.
I
stand for freedom.
I am confident.
I
am arrogant.
I am proud.
When
I am flown with my fellow banners,
my head is a little higher, my colors a
little truer.
I
bow to no one!
I am recognized all over the world.
I
am worshipped - I am saluted.
I am loved - I am revered.
I
am respected - and I am feared.
I have fought in every battle of every war
for more then 200 years.
I
was flown at Valley Forge, Gettysburg, Shiloh and Appomattox.
I was there at San Juan Hill, the trenches of
France,
in
the Argonne Forest, Anzio, Rome and the beaches
of Normandy, Guam. Okinawa, Korea and
KheSan,
Saigon,
Vietnam know me, I was there.
I led my troops,
I
was dirty, battleworn and tired,
but my soldiers cheered me,
and
I was proud.
I have been burned, torn and trampled on the
streets of
countries
I have helped set free.
It does not hurt, for I am invincible.
I
have been soiled upon, burned, torn
and trampled on the streets of my country.
And
when it's by those whom I've served in battle -- it hurts.
But I shall overcome -- for I am strong.
I
have slipped the bonds of Earth
and stood watch over the uncharted frontiers
of
space
from my vantage point on the moon.
I have borne silent witness to all of
America's finest hours.
But
my finest hours are yet to come.
When I am torn into strips and used as
bandages
for
my wounded comrades on the battlefield;
when I am flown at half-mast to honor my
soldier;
or
when I lie in the trembling arms of a grieving parent
at the grave of their fallen son or daughter, I am
proud.
MY
NAME IS OLD GLORY
LONG MAY I WAVE.
DEAR
GOD IN HEAVEN
LONG MAY I WAVE.
[return to News Table of Contents]
She had been shopping with her Mom in Wal-Mart.
She must
have been 6 years old, this beautiful brown haired, freckle-faced image of
innocence.
It was pouring outside.
The kind of rain that gushes over the
tops of rain gutters, so much in a hurry to hit the Earth
it has no time to
flow out the spout.
We all stood there under the awning , just inside the
door of the Wal-Mart.
We waited, some patiently, some irritated because
nature messed up their hurried day.
The rainfall had an effect, though. It
kind of mesmerized us ...
we stood there, lost in the sound and the sight
of the heavens washing away the dirt and dust of the world.
Her voice was
so sweet as it broke the hypnotic trance we were caught in.
"Mom,
let's run through the rain," she said.
"What?" Mom asked.
"Let's run through the rain!" She repeated.
"No Honey. We'll
wait until it slows down a bit," Mom replied.
This young child waited about another minute and
repeated:
"Mom, Let's run through the rain."
"We'll get
soaked if we do," Mom said.
"No we won't, Mom. That's not what
you said this morning,"
the young girl said as she tugged at her
Mom's arm.
"This morning? When did I say we could run through the rain
and not get wet?"
"Don't you remember?
When you were talking to
daddy about his cancer.
You said, 'If God can get us through this, ! He can
get us through anything!"
The entire crowd was dead silent.
You couldn't hear
anything but the rain.
We all stood silently.
No one came or left.
Mom
paused and thought for a moment about what she would say.
Some would laugh
it off and scold her for being silly.
Some might even pretend to ignore
what was said.
But this was a moment of affirmation in a young child's
life.
"Honey, you are absolutely right. Let's run through
the rain.
If God let's us get wet, well, maybe we just need washing."
Then off they ran!
We all stood watching, smiling and laughing as they
darted past the cars and through the puddles.
They even took the long way.
They got soaked.
But they were followed by a few who screamed and laughed
like children on the way to their cars, and yes, I did.
I ran. I got wet. I
needed washing.
Circumstances or people can take away your material
possessions, your money, even your health.
But no one can ever take away
your precious memories.....
So, don't forget to make time and make memories every
day.
To everything there is a season and a time to every
purpose under heaven.
Ecclesiastes 3:1
I hope your day includes taking time to run in the rain!
You need it, and so do those closest to you.
[return to News Table of Contents]
US
Geezers
(This came from a Navy man from the Korean War Era, who
now lives in Michigan.)
Old Geezers are easy to spot --this is slang for an old
man.
But at sporting events, during the playing of the
National
Anthem, they hold their caps over their hearts and sing
without
embarrassment. They know the words and believe in them.
You see, Old Geezers remember World War-I, the
Depression, World War-II, Pearl Harbor, Guadalcanal,
Normandy and Hitler. They remember the Atomic Age,
the Korean War, The Cold War, the Jet Age and the
Moon Landing --not to forget VietNam.
If you bump into a "Geezer" on the narrow
sidewalk,
he'll apologize. Pass a "Geezer" on the street,
he'll
smile and nod, tip his hat or cap to a lady.
"Geezers"
trust strangers and are courtly to ladies.
They hold the door for the next person and always when
walking, make sure the lady is on the inside for
protection.
"Geezers" do get embarrassed if someone curses
in front
of ladies and children, and they don't like violence and
filth of
television and in the movis.
"Geezers" have moral courage.
"Geezers" seldom brag
unless it's
about the grandchildren, a Little Leaguer or a musical
recital.
This country needs "Geezers" with their decent
values
and common sense. We need them now more than ever
before. It's the "Geezers" who know our great
country
is protected, not by politicians or police, but more by
the young men and women in the military serving their
country in foreign lands, just as they did, without a
thought
except to do a good job, the best you can and to get
home to loved ones.
Let's Thank God for the Old Geezers you know.
[return to News Table of Contents]
Our
(the U.S.A.) Flag
It is the soldier, not the reporter,
who has given us freedom of the press.
It is the soldier, not the poet,
who has given us freedom of speech.
It is the soldier, not the campus organizer,
who has given us the freedom to demonstrate.
It is the soldier, not the lawyer,
who has given us the right to a fair trial.
It is the soldier,
who salutes the flag,
who serves under the flag,
and whose coffin is draped by the flag,
who allows the protester to burn the flag.
A protest raged on a courthouse lawn,
Round a makeshift stage they charged on,
Fifteen hundred or more they say,
Had come to burn a Flag that day.
A boy held up the folded Flag,
Cursed it, and called it a dirty rag.
An OLD MAN pushed through the angry crowd,
With a rusty shotgun shouldered proud.
His uniform jacket was old and tight,
He had polished each button, shiny and bright.
He crossed that stage with a soldier's grace,
Until he and the boy stood face to face.
"FREEDOM OF SPEECH," the OLD MAN said,
'is worth dying for, good men are dead,
So you can stand on this courthouse lawn,
And talk us down from dusk to dawn,
But before any Flag gets burned today,
This OLD MAN IS GOING TO HAVE HIS SAY!!
My father died on a foreign shore,
In a war they said would end all war.
But Tommy and I wasn't even full grown,
Before we fought in a war of our own.
And Tommy died on Iwo Jima's beach,
In the shadow of a hill he couldn't quite reach
Where five good men raised this Flag so high,
That the WHOLE WORLD COULD SEE IT FLY.
I got this bum leg that I still drag,
Fighting for this same old Flag.
Now there's but one shot in this old gun,
So now it's time to decide which one,
Which one of you will follow our lead,
To stand and die for what you believe?
For as sure as there is a rising sun,
You'll burn in Hell 'fore this Flag burns, son."
Now this riot never came to pass
The crowd got quiet and that can of gas,
Got set aside as they walked away
To talk about what they had heard this day.
And the boy who had called it a "dirty rag,"
Handed the OLD SOLDIER the folded Flag.
So the battle of the Flag this day was won
By a tired OLD SOLDIER with a rusty gun,
Who for one last time, had to show to some,
THIS FLAG MAY FADE, YET THESE COLORS DON'T RUN
[return to News Table of Contents]
At the prodding of my friends, I
am writing this story. My name is Mildred Hondorf.
I am a former elementary school music teacher from Des Moines, Iowa.
I've always supplemented my income by teaching piano
lessons-something I've done for over 30 years. Over the years I found that
children have many levels of musical ability. I've never had the pleasure
of having a protégé though I have taught some talented students. However
I've also had my share of what I call "musically challenged"
pupils.
One such student was Robby.
Robby was 11 years old when his mother (a single mom) dropped him
off for his first piano lesson. I prefer that students (especially boys!)
begin at an earlier age, which I explained to Robby. But Robby said that it
had always been his mother's dream to hear him play the piano. So I took
him as a student. Well, Robby began with his piano lessons and from the
beginning I thought it was a hopeless endeavor.
As much as Robby tried, he lacked the sense of tone and basic rhythm
needed to excel. But he
dutifully reviewed his scales and some elementary pieces that I require all
my students to learn. Over the months he tried and tried while I listened
and cringed and tried to encourage him.
At the end of each weekly lesson he'd always say,
"My Mom's going to hear me play some day." But it seemed
hopeless. He just did not have any inborn ability. I only knew his mother
from a distance as she dropped Robby off or waited in her aged car to pick
him up. She always waved and smiled but never stopped in. Then one day
Robby stopped coming to our lessons. I thought about calling him but
assumed, because of his lack of ability, that he had decided to pursue
something else. I also was
glad that he stopped coming. He was a bad advertisement for my teaching!
Several weeks later I mailed to the student's homes a
flyer on the upcoming recital. To my surprise Robby (who received a flyer)
asked me if he could be in the recital. I told him that the recital was for
current pupils and because he had dropped out he really did not qualify. He
said that his Mom had been sick and unable to take him to piano lessons but
he was still practicing. "Miss Hondorf...I've just got to play!"
he insisted.
I don't know what led me to allow him to play in the
recital. Maybe it was his
insistence or maybe it was something inside of me saying that it would be
all right. The night for the recital came. The high school gymnasium was
packed with parents, friends and relatives. I put Robby up last in the
program before I was to come up and thank all the students and play a
finishing piece. I thought that any damage he would do would come at the
end of the program and I could always salvage his poor performance through
my "curtain closer."
Well, the recital went off without a hitch. The
students had been practicing and it showed. Then Robby came up on stage.
His clothes were wrinkled and his hair looked like he'd run an eggbeater
through it. "Why didn't he dress up like the other students?" I
thought. "Why didn't his mother at least make him comb his hair for
this special night?" Robby pulled out the piano bench and he began. I
was surprised when he announced that he had chosen Mozart's Concerto #21 in
C Major. I was not prepared for what I heard next. His fingers were light
on the keys; they even danced nimbly on the ivories.
He went from pianissimo to fortissimo...from allegro to virtuoso.
His suspended chords that Mozart demands were magnificent!
Never had I heard Mozart played so well by people his
age. After six and a half minutes he ended in a grand crescendo and
everyone was on their feet in wild applause.
Overcome and in tears I ran up on stage and put my arms around Robby
in joy. "I've never heard
you play like that Robby! How'd you do it?" Through the microphone
Robby explained: "Well, Miss Hondorf... remember I told you my Mom was
sick? Well actually she had cancer and passed away this morning.
And well... she was born deaf so tonight was the first time she ever
heard me play. I wanted to make it special."
There wasn't a dry eye in the house that evening. As
the people from Social Services led Robby from the stage to be placed into
foster care I noticed that even their eyes were red and puffy and I thought
to myself how much richer my life had been for taking Robby as my pupil.
No, I've never had a protégé but that night I became
a protégé... of Robby's. He was the teacher and I was the pupil.
For it is he that taught me the meaning of perseverance and love and
believing in yourself and maybe even taking a chance on someone and you
don't know why.
This is especially meaningful to me since, after
serving in Desert Storm Robby was killed in the senseless bombing of the
Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City in April of 1995, where
he was reportedly... playing the piano.
And now, a footnote:
We all have thousands of opportunities a day to help realize God's
plan. So many seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us
with a choice: Do we pass along a spark of the Divine? Or do we pass up
that opportunity, and leave the world a bit colder in the process?
[return to News Table of Contents]
TAPS - the history behind the song
I was unaware of the history associated with Taps. I
knew it came about in 1862 but did not know all the History of the haunting
song, "Taps". It's
the song that gives us that lump in our throats and usually creates tears
in our eyes. But, do you know the story behind the song? If not, I think
you will be pleased to find out about its humble beginnings.
Reportedly, it all began in 1862 during the Civil War
when Union Army Captain Robert Ellicombe was with his men near Harrison's
Landing in Virginia. The Confederate Army was on the other side of the
narrow strip of land. During the night, Captain Ellicombe heard the moans
of a soldier who lay severely wounded on the field. Not knowing if it was a
Union or Confederate soldier, the Captain decided to risk his life and
bring the stricken man back for medical attention. Crawling on his stomach
through the gunfire, the Captain reached the stricken soldier and began
pulling him toward his encampment. When the Captain finally reached his own
lines, he discovered it was actually a Confederate soldier, but the soldier
was dead.
The Captain lit a lantern and suddenly caught his
breath and went numb with shock. In the dim light, he saw the face of the
soldier. It was his son. The boy had been studying music in the South when
the war broke out. Without telling his father, the boy enlisted in the
Confederate Army.
The following morning, heartbroken, the father asked
permission of his superiors to give his son a full military burial despite
his enemy status. His request was only partially granted. The Captain had
asked if he could have a group of Army band members play a funeral dirge
for his son at the funeral. The request was turned down since the soldier
was a Confederate. But out of
respect for the father they did say they could give him one musician. The
Captain chose a bugler. He asked the bugler to play a series of musical
notes he had found on a piece of paper in the pocket of his son's uniform.
This wish was granted.
The haunting melody we now know as "Taps"
used at military funerals, was born: “Day is done, gone the sun, from
the lakes, from the hills, from the sky. All is well, safely rest. God is
nigh. Fading light, dims the sight, and a star, gems the sky, gleaming
bright, from afar, drawing nigh, fall the night. Thanks and praise, for our
days, neath the Sun, neath the stars, neath the sky, as we go, this we
know, God is nigh.”
[return to News Table of Contents]
Let's see if I understand how America works
lately . . .
If a woman burns her thighs on the hot coffee she was holding in her lap
while driving, she blames the restaurant.
If your teen-age son kills himself, you blame the rock 'n' roll music or
musician he liked.
If you smoke three packs a day for 40 years and die of lung cancer, your
family blames the tobacco company.
If your daughter gets pregnant by the football captain you blame the school
for poor sex education.
If your neighbor crashes into a tree while driving home drunk, you blame
the bartender.
If your cousin gets AIDS because the needle he used to shoot up with heroin
was dirty, you blame the government for not providing clean ones.
If your grandchildren are brats without manners, you blame television.
If your friend is shot by a deranged madman, you blame the gun
manufacturer.
And if a crazed person breaks into the cockpit and tries to kill the pilots
at 35,000 feet, and the passengers kill him instead, the mother of the
deceased blames the airline.
I must have lived too long to understand the world as it is anymore.
So if I die while my old, wrinkled ass is parked in front of this computer,
I want you to blame Bill Gates, OK?
[return to News Table of Contents]
Kids
views on Marriage, etc.
(As answered by elementary school
students)
HOW DO YOU DECIDE WHO TO MARRY?
You got to find somebody who likes
the same stuff. Like, if you like sports, she should like it that
you like sports, and she should keep the chips and dip coming. -
Alan, age 10
No person really decides
before they grow up who they're going to marry. God decides it all way
before, and you get to find out later who you're stuck with. -Kirsten, age
10
WHAT IS THE RIGHT AGE TO GET MARRIED?
Twenty-three is the best age because
you know the person FOREVER by then. - Camille, age 10
No age is good to get married
at. You got to be a fool to get married. - Freddie, age 6
HOW CAN A STRANGER TELL IF TWO PEOPLE ARE MARRIED?
You might have to guess, based on
whether they seem to be yelling at the same kids. - Derrick, age
8
WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR MOM AND DAD HAVE IN COMMON?
Both don't want any more kids. - Lori, age 8
WHAT DO MOST PEOPLE DO ON A DATE?
Dates are for having fun, and people
should use them to get to know each other. Even boys have
something to say if you listen long enough. - Lynnette, age 8
On the first date, they just
tell each other lies, and that usually gets them interested
enough to go for a second date. - Martin, age 10
WHAT WOULD YOU DO ON A FIRST DATE THAT WAS TURNING
SOUR?
I'd run home and play dead. The next
day I would call all the newspapers and make sure they wrote
about me in all the dead columns. - Craig, age 9
WHEN IS
IT OKAY TO KISS SOMEONE?
When
they're rich. - Pam, age 7
The
law says you have to be eighteen, so I wouldn't want to mess with
that. - Curt, age 7
The rule goes like this: If
you kiss someone, then you should marry them and have kids with
them. It's the right thing to do. - Howard, age 8
IS IT
BETTER TO BE SINGLE OR MARRIED?
It's better for girls to be single
but not for boys. Boys need someone to clean up after them.
-Anita, age 9
HOW WOULD THE WORLD BE DIFFERENT IF PEOPLE DIDN'T
GET MARRIED?
There sure would be a lot of kids to
explain, wouldn't there? - Kelvin, age 8
HOW
WOULD YOU MAKE A MARRIAGE WORK?
Tell your wife that
she looks pretty even if she looks like a truck. Ricky, age 10
[return to News Table of Contents]
Warning
to Male Beer Drinkers...
Yesterday
scientists announced to the world the alarming results of a
recent
analysis that found the presence of female hormones in beer. This
comes
as a cruel blow to all men. It is advised that if you are male
between
the ages of 18 and 85 you may need to seek medical assistance
to
assess
your beer consumption.
WARNING:
Drinking beer eventually turns men into women.
THE
TEST: 100 men were fed 8 pints of beer each within a 1 hour
period.
THE
RESULT: 100% of the men:
- Gained
weight
- Talked
excessively without making sense
- Became
overly emotional
- Couldn't
drive
- Failed
to think rationally
- Argued
over nothing
- Had
to sit down while urinating
- Refused
to apologize when wrong
NOTE:
No further testing is planned.
[return to News Table of Contents]
Taking
the wife hunting...
[return to News Table of Contents]
A
Candle loses nothing by lighting another candle!
And they call some of these people
"retarded"...
A few years ago, at the Seattle
Special Olympics, nine contestants, all physically or mentally disabled,
assembled at the starting line for the 100-yard dash. At the gun, they all
started out, not exactly in a dash, but with a relish to run the race to
the finish and win. All, that is, except one little boy who stumbled on the
asphalt, tumbled over a couple of times, and began to cry.
The other eight heard the boy cry.
They slowed down and looked back. Then they all turned around and went
back...every one of them.
One girl with Down's Syndrome bent
down and kissed him and said, "This will make it better."
Then all nine linked arms and walked together to the finish line.
Everyone in the stadium stood, and
the cheering went on for several minutes.
People who were there are still telling the story.
Why?
Because deep down we know this one thing: What matters in this life
is more than winning for ourselves. What matters in this life is helping
others win, even if it means slowing down and changing our course.
"A candle loses nothing by
lighting another candle."
[return to News Table of Contents]
Are
you blessed?
If you have food in the refrigerator, clothes on your back, a roof overhead and a place to sleep ... you are richer than 75% of this world.
If you have money in the bank, in your wallet, and spare change in a dish someplace ... you are among the top 8% of the world's wealthy.
If you woke up this morning with more health than illness ... you are more blessed than the million who will not survive this week.
If you have never experienced the danger of battle, the loneliness of imprisonment, the agony of torture, or the pangs of starvation... you are ahead of 500 million people in the world.
If you can attend a church meeting without fear of harassment, arrest, torture, or death ... you are more blessed than three billion people in the world.
If your parents are still alive and still married ... you are very rare, even in the United States.
If you hold up your head with a smile on your face and are truly thankful ... you are blessed because the majority can, but most do not.
If you can hold someone's hand, hug them or even touch them on the shoulder ... you are blessed because you can offer healing touch.
If you can read this message, you just received a double blessing in that someone was thinking of you, and furthermore, you are more blessed than over two billion people in the world that cannot read at all.
And if you pilot a powered parachute...heck, even the Angels envy you!
Have a good day, count your blessings!
[return to News Table of Contents]
Owners/Operators of all AUF Aircraft fitted direct drive engines employing
Warp Drive Propellers
Background:
The AUF has been advised by Thruster UK of cracking found in 6 hubs and in
the aluminium roots of two blades of Warp Drive propellers of aircraft fitted
with Jabiru engines. Initially, Thruster in the UK raised a Mandatory Service
Bulletin No TAS/SB07 requiring that All Thruster aircraft fitted with Jabiru
2200A engines be visually checked before each flight and that they should not be
flown with that propeller if any cracking is found. The matter was referred to
The UK CAA who issued a Mandatory directive requiring compliance with the
Thruster UK Bulletin. http://www.ultralightnews.ca/advisories1/warpdrivepropfailure2.htm
[return to News Table of Contents]
Shock tubes installed on the PC2000 or Sky Rascal before May 2002 should
be checked for the updated modification. Without this modification to
the lower section of the Shock tube insert, the lower section may twist
itself out of its container, and disengage; causing the rear suspension to
drop-down.
[return to News Table of Contents]
This recall only affects Six Chuters that are flying the APCO model MK
IV. Apparently the unique thrust orientation of the Six Chuter
requires modifications to the 'A' lines of the canopy - the lines need to be
shorten about 25mm's. This modification (labeled MK IV/1) is NOT a
safety issue - it is only related to improved canopy handling!
[return to News Table of Contents]
Date: Wed, 29 May 2002
From: "Q" <powerchutes@bendcable.com>
Subject: warning to Six Chuter flyers
My friend was flying his 1997 SR7 a few days ago when the bolt that holds
the CG adjustment tube U bracket to the main frame rails broke. This is the
bolt that goes through the fiberglass seat structure, through the frame rail,
and through the U bracket. Needless to say when that happened his center of
gravity got way out of whack in a hurry as the outrigger tube swung back. As
he was heading toward the ground he tried to pull the outrigger tube forward
but didn't have the strength. He suffered a sprained ankle in the incident.
We had the local A&P look at the remaining part of the bolt and he
thought it might have been one of those counterfeit AN bolts that were going
around about 1996. The head was stamped with "MAX". Anyway I suggest
all Six Chuter flyers have a look at the bolt in that location.
Q
[return to News Table of Contents]
| WELCOME...
"UL-PPC Guide & Training Manual" are