SERE (1993)

Survival, Evasion, Resistance, Escape -- that's what's drummed into your head during the AF survival school which is mandatory before donning the flight suit and actually 'flying' as part of an aircrew. It's not necessary for passengers ;)

Whilst dominating the NCO Academy class at RAF Upton (Map), UK in January 1993, I fell in love with England during my 6 weeks there. Nominated for the Commmandant's Award (top 1% of the class), I lost to my competitor but managed to garner a Distinguished Graduate award anyway. I only mention this because both my supervisor and first shirt decided to go to the Germany NCOA graduation in which none of the Iraklion Air Station (IAS) students won a bloody thing. Two of us (out of three) UK graduates won awards - neener, neener, neener! The supervisors and first shirt mainly went for the beer in Germany, I'm sure.

PME ribbon

Upon my return to Crete, after tossing my award on the first shirt's desk with an acerbic 'thank you for your support', I submitted the paperwork to volunteer for airborne duties as we IAS ground-borne 20875As were transferring to RAF Mildenhall either as flight crew or ground. There were very few ground slots so it made sense to go over 'to the dark side' as I wittily called airborne status after years of grousing about the megalomaniac airborne linguists. I understand that healthy teasing is inherent between the two species (ground vs airborne) but damn, they just seemed so FULL of themselves!

At the Highland Laddy, Crete

My application was approved and PCS orders arrived shortly thereafter. I would depart Crete in April, attend SERE school in May, and report to RAF Mildenhall in June. Departing Crete wasn't that easy as high winds kept the commercial airlines from landing/taking off from Iraklion. So the powers-that-be bundled us onto the 12-hr ferry ride to Athens. Oh yay!

Business class tickets due to the length of the flight from Europe to San Francisco -- nice! I was traveling with an airman who knew people there so he was set for getting out and about the town. Making the acquaintance of a cute guy during the flight guaranteed my night out as well. Quite a bit of carousing and some sightseeing shortened the layover in SF (no, nothing lascivious happened other than some kissing)... mid-morning flight to Spokane, WA and the scary prospect of SERE school.

It wasn't a dormitory like we had on Crete (or anywhere else I've been) -- this place was like a hotel! Each room had two twin beds, cable TV, kitchen, and a shared bathroom between rooms. I lucked out and didn't have a room-mate (which facilitated quite a bit of misbehavior on my part). MAID service, fer crissakes -- as if we couldn't keep our rooms up to par by ourselves! Didn't complain, though, as it also facilitated a bit more misbehavior on my part).

SERE school

I was a TSgt, 32 yrs old, and in okay physical shape but I kept wondering if this arduous course would kill me as I'd heard quite a few horror stories of how awful it is. I mean, really, really horrible 'and then they do THIS to you' type stuff to include compromising photos and facts from former spouses, one-nighters, whatever. Anything to get the psychological upper-hand, or so my sources told me.

A few captains, some young lieutenants, one old(er) guy (MSgt), some SSgts, and a bunch of airmen comprised our class. My schedule was one week of water survival, two weeks off, then two weeks of ground and advanced beatings (an affectionate term for the intel portion of survial school). During the two weeks off, I was technically on detail but due to my rank, that only involved stumbling to the admin desk to check in at 0730 every morning (note the stumbling remark).

Water survival

I shan't bore you with a myriad of details of each course of instruction -- no need to cause glazed over eyes! But I had fun in water survival (actually had to tow a taller guy to the life raft in the giant pool we used whilst being bombarded by multiple water cannons) and spent my off hours at the Final Point (NCO club/bar)... ;) There were a few dalliances here and there including the tall bloke I towed to the life raft -- hee! And that occurred before I rescused his arse in the water!  One interesting thing I learned was that sharks and barracudas are attracted to shiny bits which sucks for the officers with their pretty shiny bars!

Love this tattoo!

Decided to rent a car during part of my two-week break between classes to do some shopping and sightseeing in Spokane with newly-made friends. I was also at the gymn every day to increase my aerobic endurance for the next portion. In an effort (most likely ineffective) to psych out the SERE instructors, I applied a temporary tatoo of a black panther clawing up my forearm (ha!) and read every POW book available at the library while cycling like mad on an exercise bike. I guess I was using my Girl Scout training of 'always be prepared'!

The ground course started with classroom instruction and exercises such as parachute landing falls (I sucked at this -- had to go into a small room with an instructor to practice falling on my left side. Still sucked as I did a three-point landing of feet, butt, head during the final versus the five-point PLF). Of course, during the two-week break and this portion of the class, I was garnering as much information as I could from people coming back from the field. Although honor-bound not to divulge much, a few six-packs and Domino's Pizza loosened the tongues of some graduates ;)

Tasty 'shrooms!

Rucksacks were packed according to the checklist (oh yay, Meals Ready to Eat -- yummy!) and camouflage laundry bags were placed over our heads during the drive to the training ground. We were out there for at least five days learning how to live off the land, signal rescue squads, read a terrain map, evade capture, erect shelters, etc. My squirrel snare was constructed large enough to capture a moose as I had no intention of bagging let alone EATING a squirrel. The guys decided to shelter me, the only femme in my squad, when one of my mates had to kill the school-supplied rabbit. I didn't EAT any of that poor bunny although I had to make a feeble attempt at skinning it with my lovely survival knife to pass the objective. Morel mushrooms were burgeoning so I'd collect an entire BDU shirt of them to add to whatever MRE looked somewhat appetizing. Nor did I eat any bugs as I declared myself a vegetarian ;) I really liked my instructor -- how he put up with us, I will never understand. A picture of the two of us was taken by Airman magazine and as soon as my scanner is operational again, I'll upload it for y'all!

For the final evasion, the entire class was reunited during the evening. Me and three other femmes shared a structure (and gossip) before getting ready at oh-dark-thirty to evade the evil forces aligned against us. I was off with two guys and maybe was 'free' for ten minutes before capture. Lovely. So now I'm a POW and trust me, these guys do not treat us femmes with kid gloves.

It sucked. The POW camp sucked for however many (probably three) days. Being in solitary was fine, though! And being selected for the 'rape' was also not a biggie (come on, like how many times have I been married?? You think you SCARE ME??) as I was whipping off my BDUs faster than the instructors thought possible. Saved by an 'opportune' arrival of a senior evil forces guy, of course. Whatev. Interrogations sucked the most of all!!! However, the absolute best bit was when all of us were lined up near the POW commandant's tower listening to him extol the virtues of his forces compared to we weak Americans. He bellowed 'ABOUT FACE' which we instinctively did -- and there's Old Glory waving beautifully in the breeze. Not a dry eye amongst us. I still well up with tears when I think about it. Talk about PSYCHOLOGICAL manipulation!! Some of the students refused to shake the hands of the instructors on our way out to freedom (and beer and pizza!). Unprofessional much??

In fact, my girlfriends had pizza and beer waiting for me after a long, hot shower to remove over a week's worth of grime, sweat, and camouflage face paint ;)

I really liked most of survival school but the inadvertently amusing 'advanced beatings' part cannot be discussed. Suffice to say that when I awoke half-way through that week, I screamed during morning ablutions as I'd developed a bladder infection during the week in the field. Antibiotics were prescribed and cranberry juice was suggested (does it matter that I mixed it with vodka?) to help speed the healing. Having that little ailment did not help during the nastier objectives.

A Royal Navy lieutenant commander had observed some of my beatings, errr, interrogations. He asked me out on a date once I was settled in England -- and yes, I did!! It was a bit amusing that when he'd call me  at my squadron, the person who answered would scream 'the Royal Navy is on the phone for you' -- like the entire fleet?? One guy, you wankers!!

Standby for re-transmission when I can post some pics!!

Burger King - 1977-1978

Part of the deal I made with the 'rents for finishing high school in Miami was to find a job. My former jobs consisted of gas monkey at the step-monster's cut-rate gas station, selling hay and feed from a semi-trailer on our property, and housecleaning for an Orthodox Jewish family. Not much of a resume but really, what is expected of a 16-yr-old? The other part of the deal was to find a place to stay.

My great-grandmother bought me a 1970 Chevelle Malibu that was owned by a little old lady who had a minor fender bender and wanted $100 for the car. I promptly fell in love with that white gas guzzler -- it was a great first car!

My step-brother knew of a woman with a 3-bdrm house (with a POOL!) that was within several blocks of my high school -- renting one room was $25 a week. So that part of the deal was fulfilled. Walking to school -- good!

There was a Burger King in Westchester about five blocks from my high school -- so I sallied forth early one summer morning to the emporium and asked for an application. The manager, Afzal, was very, very nice during the interview and immediately hired me at a bit above minimum wage. Since this was 1 of 3 research and development BKs (BK was headquartered in Miami), anything new came to this store for trials. I was hired as 'The Hostess'. A new concept to improve the dining experience. Oh My Goddess!

Originally, Afzal envisioned me in a long evening dress swanning about the dining area and catering to the demands of the patrons. But no, instead the uniform was the butt-ugly red and yellow polyster pant suit and a poufy hat. With white shoes. And these were high-water pants as yep, not many 5'10" femmes were employed with BK. Sigh.

I was (and am still) quite shy so I dreaded my first day interacting with the BK customers. Ewwwwwww! I was outfitted with a little wicker basket filled with BK crowns (to place on the heads of the kids), whatever new toy was out that week (piccolos and bouncy balls are all I remember), condiments, sugar, stirrers, blah, blah. I had to go to each table and ensure the customer's meal was 'their way', clean up after they left, and just hostessed for 4.5 hours a day. One free meal a day so I invented the triple whopper before it became a recent menu item ;)

My high school was just one of  four nearby schools and the lunch rush was un-fricking-real. One of the high schools was a Catholic boys school and I became a favorite of the shot-put team (I have no idea why). They even bought me t-shirts (one said 'bite-sized Mounds' and I can't remember the other). No, I didn't date any of them but I did become very good friends with two of the boys. I was R's 'fiance' during his school's mandatory marriage counseling class! Funny!!

The hostess program didn't seem to pan out so I was thus moved inside the kitchen to begin learning every station. First -- learning the flame broiler. Simply place the frozen whopper and burger patties on the conveyer, wait for them to move thru the grill, then place the cooked patties in a large warming bin. There was a broiler station on the whopper side and one on the cheese side. Wasn't difficult but I did hate counting the broken or gnarled meat remnants at the end of the shift to estimate how many patties were lost. Bleah. Covered in grease by the time my shift ended, I couldn't wait to get home to shower! Second -- running to/fm the huge walk-in freezers to man-handle the 50lb boxes of frozen meat to the broiler area. I did slide on a bun rack once and landed on my arse. No damage other than my pride!

I quickly mastered the broil, moved to drinks (piece of cake), fry station (more grease and some burns), then assembly (whopper side first then cheese side). I had a grease pencil with which I would keep track of the called-in orders since we all know everyone has to 'have it your way'. The counter peeps would call their orders over a microphone, either the whopper or the cheese side would assemble whatever was required and then shoot it down the chute for pick-up. We'd also keep a steady supply of 'regular' whoppers, burgers, frys, etc to maintain. The cheese side was responsible for the speciality items and thus, was the last of the kitchen crew stations to master.

Ugliest uniform EVER!

We changed uniforms in late 1977 to a dark brown pantsuit with striking orange and red stripes down the side. And a much better hat than that poufy red and yellow monstosity. Still with the white shoes. Ugh. At least these pants seemed longer! I was sent to the front to learn dispensing and picking up drive-through orders but refused to call any order in over the scary microphone. Until the day my coworker had laryngitis so I HAD to. The kitchen staff applauded when I finally stammered out my very first order. It got much better after the first time, of course. I liked working the cash registers as counting out change was easy due to years of being a gas monkey ;)  Plus, I met some amazingly nice people, loved the BK crew, and truly enjoyed working there. Did I tell you that we also shot two commercials at my BK?? No lines for the regular crew as we were just background -- even funnier was the BK Corporation dudes bringing us McDonald's breakfast before the shoot!!

As I mentioned, this store was a research and development and the new stuff would come to us to gauge the public reaction. The chicken sandwich? We had it first! Steak sandwich with onion rings on top? Yep, we had that. Fried shrimp? No, you don't remember that?? I guess it didn't make the cut! We also started the ice cream sundae (part of the drinks station -- right up there with covered in grease is also covered in strawberry toppings or exploded milkshake -- yuck). I was chosen with a few other of Miami's finest BK hostesses to the grand opening of a store up in ORLANDO! The BK corporation drove us up there to man three or four outside sundae stations -- OMG. It was cold (I think this was November 1977) and eventually sticky (due to the sundae toppings and exploding soft serve ice cream).

The other big thing in 1977 was the release of Star Wars. It certainly wasn't called 'Episode IV' back then -- it was simply the most magnificent, astonishing, cool as hell movie EVER! I went to see it every day with my Catholic school friends for about two weeks. We could recite all the movielines, imitate Chewie's growl, imitate the Tie fighters screech, oh yeah, we were geeks before we knew what geeks were! My best girlfriend and I named ourselves C3Leigh-O (that was me) and R2B2 (that was her). She chose Luke but I hankered after Han. Win, win!! R2B2 was also renting the third bedroom at the same house so we were roomies as well as besties going to the same school! Her place of employment was K-Mart across the street from my BK.

During the summer, BK was giving away Star Wars glasses (collect all 4!), posters, and probably something else that I cannot remember. I had every Star Wars offering safely stashed at home and wish I still had them -- sigh.

I loved my little (fake) gold 'one year' BK pin. Wish I still had that as well -- sigh.

About half-way through my senior year, I was promoted to 'production manager' which meant I could wear black pants with a white shirt -- and black shoes!! NO HAT!!!! I was so excited! It wasn't only a pay raise but some cool additional responsiblities as well! One of which was 'opening' which meant getting to the store at 8AM on a SUNDAY to prep for opening at 10AM. Bags of lettuce placed in trays and refrigerated. Boxes of tomatoes and onions sliced, saran-wrapped, and refrigerated. Drink dispensers filled. Broiler started. Fry station filled. Gallons of pickles placed in their holders, saran-wrapped, and refrigerated. Lots more that I can't (or won't!) recall but suffice to say, it was exhausting but fun! My partner, a blonde-haired dude, would play raucous music on the radio to keep us entertained during prep. We'd also microwave a small cup of chocolate shake for a hot chocolate treat during the mild Miami winter -- hee! Oh wow, I found a wiki page that says the only recorded snow flurries in Miami occured January 19, 1977!! I REMEMBER that!! I was in my junior year at high school and we all ran to the windows to see this white stuff falling from the sky. One recorded snow event

Afzal left to manage another store, a new manager came in (nice guy) for awhile and then -- the worst boss ever. Okay, not really, just the worst BK boss I ever had. I contracted conjunctivitis and didn't come into work for several days 'cos who wants an employee with icky stuff oozing out of their eyes?? So this jerk FIRED me. I think it had more to do with my rebuffing his approaches rather than my minor illness. I promptly went to work for my former manager at another BK. But that was starting out at rock bottom -- no vaunted production manager status.

So -- my relationship with BK fizzled to an end during the winter of 1978. I had graduated high school and was attending MDCC originally to fulfill the requirements to become an assistant manager. But no. I decided to walk into a recruitment office in the strip mall across from the BK... and the USAF was the first office I went to. You know the rest of the story ;)

My First House on Crete (1981)

I don’t know if it was due to the 1.5 yrs in technical school compared to the shorter analyst and signal ops schools or the 6-yr initial enlistment but I was approved for the off-base housing list within months of my arrival at IAS in SEP80. My ex-husband-to-be, TW, was already residing off-base due to the ‘being married’ bit. Whatev.

Thank the goddess we had the Blue Goose bus back then to run us to Iraklion and The Ville. POVs seemed to be in short supply and those who were smart enough to bring a car over to Crete, were quite popular with the party crowd.  I didn’t really get out much from the dorms despite a few jaunts to The Ville with one boyfriend (who also had a house in Little America – Kokkini Hani) and Iraklion with another boyfriend (who eventually broke my heart into itsy bitsy bits).

The housing office took a scraggly crew of us aboard the Blue Goose to view available houses in MAR81. I really liked a pretty little house in The Ville which actually had – gasp – a telephone but without reliable transportation for shift work, that was a no-go. Same with a few offerings in Iraklion. And as the lyrics to REO Speedwagon’s ‘Keep on Lovin’ You’ twirled repeatedly through my brain, whom do I see trudging along the Old Road? The boyfriend who was breaking my heart.

I clearly remember the cold chill that ran its course through me. I resolutely turned away from the bus window and tried to concentrate on the burgeoning Cretan spring. Daffodils, almond blossoms, lavender, and little thickets of white flowers – plus the gorgeous sky-scraping outline of snow-covered Mt Ida – surely that would distract my sad sack self! Those sights did help a wee bit but the dread of returning to the dorms, acting nonchalant, and knowing that I would have to face said boyfriend on flight the next day kept nibbling at my mind. 

I survived working with the horrid boyfriend and augmented to other flights every chance I could. Other than a brief altercation where he pushed me down a flight of stairs in the women’s dorm, no biggie. But that was much later during the summer of 1981 -- enough of that memory!

Within a week or two of that housing trip, as luck would have it, a tiny house in Little America became available almost immediately thanks to an alert from my network of connections off-base. $100 a month? Doable! Saltwater pool? Excellent! Able, Baker, Charlie, and day whore neighbors? Great!!!

As I had inherited a disgustingly large (for a 20-yr-old) amount of money from my great-grandmother in NOV80, my first order of business was getting top-of-the-line stereo equipment. Remember those huge Pioneer speakers with the little green ‘volume’ lights along the top edge? I LOVED those speakers! A receiver, a turntable, and maybe a cassette player rounded out the entertainment acquisitions. Scrounged a sofa from a PCS-ing couple. The prior tenants left a wardrobe and sold me their transformers. Bookshelves were made from concrete blocks and 2X4s (painted black so they’d look cooler). Can’t remember whom I got the ‘glitter’ 220V lamp from but I loved that thing. Mine had a red base with gold glitter bits but you get the idea!

I bought a ton of flokatis, onyx ornamental tables, lamps, wall hangings, and other stuff from the very accommodating Greek vendor. Finally, a ten-speed bike to ride to/fm base made the transition complete. Of course, if I could scrounge a ride with one of my great Little America neighbors, that was even better. Laundry day also required something other than the ten-speed!

This was a small house – not as small as the nearby corrugated iron one-room with kitchen and bathroom ‘villas’ but it was still small. Opening the bathroom door meant swinging the door against the sink, stepping into the square shower, stepping back onto the tile after swinging the door shut. Pain in the ass! The shower water pressure was equal to a Water-Pic or so it seemed. Annoying for a long-haired femme!

I loved the little front porch and the backyard filled with bright red geraniums.  A few lonely pines sounded lovely when the wind swept through my screen-less french windows. I had an almost perfect view of Dia from the house and the stone wall separating the pool from the stony beach. Little America was THE place to be as far as I was concerned!

My Little Pony -- Twiggy (1970-1976)

Like most young girls, I was obsessed with horses. I read every Walter Farley ‘Black Stallion’ book (17 of ‘em!) and even ‘won’ a 4^th grade writing essay because I lightly traced and shaded a rearing horse on my submission based on the ‘Island Stallion’ book also by Farley. Pegasus was my favorite Greek myth and I even read Westerns just to get more of feel for equines. Yep, I loved reading and ‘riting (and ‘rithmetic a wee bit) all through my school years. But I digress…

In 1970, approximately around the Thanksgiving holiday, my step-father did the only nice thing EVER for me…. He got a pony in exchange for an excavation job in Swampwater (near Sweetwater where I lived)… gotta love those Everglades names! I was 10 years old and so was the sway-backed chestnut and white pinto pony. Ahhhh, she was a beauty! I promptly named her Twiggy. I don’t know why as she didn’t resemble a twig or a 60s super-model in the slightest.

I outgrew Twiggy within a year or two so she more resembled Odin’s horse, Sleipnir, with 6 legs versus 8 when I rode. But I still loved to parade her about as hey, she’s my pony! One of my neighbors, Tammy, had to get the other larger pony at the same farm as I acquired Twiggy. Her pony certainly was not as pretty as mine and unfortunately, it was named Jughead, so probably wasn’t as smart as Twiggy. It irked me that Tammy just had to get a pony as well. Humph. However, she moved to Swampwater so I remained as the Sweetwater pony-owning princess.

Me, Twiggy, T, and Jughead

I remember putting a Santa hat on Twiggy and bringing her in the front door on Christmas – hey, she’s a member of the family too! She was small enough to fit but my Mom was not enthused about having a pony in the living room.

As I worked at the step-fathers cut-rate gas station starting at about the same time I got Twiggy, I didn’t have time to ride her during the summer months as I worked 12-hour days (oi, labor laws! Where was a good child labor advocate when I needed one?). I tethered Twiggy to a post outside the gas station and she promptly ate all the grass to a nub. I got in trouble for that. During the school year, I was up at 5AM to muck out her stall and paddock area (a bit difficult to see horse dumplings in the dark but I managed). I’d usually place a tether ring and long lead in the 10 acre field across from my house and let Twiggy eat maiden cane to her heart’s content. Talk about a fat pony!! I hoped I remembered to water her enough back then… sigh.

Twiggy loved grilled cheese sandwiches, peanut butter sandwiches, and Purina cat food when she could coax some out of me. I would feed her before work (a bucket of oats and a slice of hay) and she’d then whinny at my Mom in order to get MORE food. Little piggy Twiggy!

She had a bad habit of immediately rolling in the dirt after I washed her which sucked as her long tail and mane would then look like crap. I applied horse fly repellant to her during the summer months as those buggers would leave long streaks of blood on her flanks. Twiggy and I went on a few rides with other horse peeps but it was sad that she was the smallest and couldn’t keep up. Not that it mattered because she was the prettiest little pony EVER!

Me and Twiggy -- SEP72

I even tried to breed her with a stallion pony named Pedro. Pedro belonged to the farm across the street from the gas station where I would hang out when not working (smile). This farm used to quarter a small circus during the winter months and I sometimes smile thinking about trumpeting elephants and roaring big cats easily heard in my bedroom. Twiggy would have nothing to do with Pedro and actually bitch-slapped him when he got too close – I don’t know what to call it when a horse smacks another with its front hoof. Experiment – fail. Admittedly, I knew nothing about breeding equines but no one else seemed to know either.

Pretty Twiggy!

I made friends with an older guy who would come into the gas station regularly. He had a beautiful quarter horse named Belinda also was also stabled at the farm across the street. I would ride Twiggy over to Mr Gray’s house and then ride Belinda… was Twiggy jealous? Probably!  I started bringing my friends over to his house because I could sense that he was lonely. Mr Gray was my best friend up til his death when I was 14 or 15… he had a Labrador (Black Dog), tame turtles, several lovebirds, 2 green parrots, and a bunch of cool stuff from his years at Pan Am to look at in his house. He’d always have Yoo-hoos and pastries for us kids to eat and no one even thought about child molestation or the inappropriateness of a bunch of kids at an older man’s house. When Mr Gray died, my school friend, Robin, got the lovely Belinda. I suspect it was because she sucked up to Mr Gray’s relatives and I didn’t – despite the fact that I rode Belinda for years. Oh well… just another lesson in ‘do not trust people’ at an early age.

Me and Belinda

Twiggy was inadvertently the reason I met my first ‘real’ boyfriend – a Sweetwater cop. I was almost 16 years old or so and the parents were up in Tennessee building their house. I think my step-grandmother was ‘babysitting’ me at the time (ugh).  It was raining that day so I went out to the field to check on Twiggy. I about died when a cop wearing a yellow slicker stepped out from a clump of maiden cane and asked me whose horse it was. I thought the entire police crew knew Twiggy as she would sometimes break free and go trotting around the neighborhood eating whatever her pony heart desired.  The Sweetwater cops would show up at 2AM or so and ask me to get her – only a bunch of carrots or a handful of sugar cubes would entice Twiggy close enough for me to grab her halter.

I think it was sometime late in the summer of 1976, just after I told my parents that I was not going to Tennessee and finish high school in their podunk town – nuh uh, no way – that I finally lost my little pony. The parents were gone to finish building or moving into their house. Surprisingly, I had noticed that Twiggy wasn’t on her lead and shortly after that,  I received a phone call that Twiggy had been found in Swampwater and was transported to fricking Hialeah ‘holding pen’ or whatever. Miles away from Sweetwater. And so much for my thinking all the cops knew who the vagrant pony Twiggy belonged to. No car, no horse trailer, no one around to help me get my Twiggy back. I wince every time I remember abandoning my pony and hope with all my heart that she was adopted by a nice family and lived her remaining years noshing on her favorite treats.

I will upload photos of me and Twiggy as well as Belinda, Tammy, and Jughead WHENEVER I get my Epson Artisan 810 All-In-One piece of crap to scan! 

Belinda and her former rider, Twiggy and me

Long ago

May as well begin at the very beginning, aye? I was born in Miami at General Hospital on John Lennon's birthday (seems entertainment was in my future). My mother's maiden name was Bette Davis and my father's name was Raymond Massey; the actor, Raymond Massey, appeared on the TV series Doctor Kildaire.

However, other than providing entertainment at my expense, I've not pursued my supposed calling to either Hollywood or Abbey Road.

How to begin

This is an entirely self-centered blog to regale my friends with odd bits and pieces of my life. Enjoy!