Air Force morale!
Well, as it turns out, the ladies and gents of the Air Force were hosting a big to-do at the Armour Heights Officers' Mess last night. They did it up nicely.
Crud matches in the basement - boisterous, I was told, but not Combat Crud, which makes Rollerball look like lawn bowling. A Puke-A-Tron (AKA Bárány chair) in one of the rooms. A chance to try on various paraphernalia associated with flying - helmets, G-suits, parachute harnesses, the works.
But the pièce de résistance was the Hornet simulators from Air Combat Zone. Very cool set up they've got. The first match-up of the evening was the acting Commandant of the College - a Navy captain - against a BGen pilot whose name escapes me. Chopper guy. Anyhow, the pilot...let's just say his flight path had an unplanned intersection with the horizon. I reminded him that the record for low flight cannot be beaten, only tied. Another fine officer added helpfully that Hornets don't have skids. Corny, but we got a few laughs out of it.
A surprising number of students - majors and light colonels - brought their families to the event, and the kids had a blast with all the activities. One of the things I like about this mess is the age of its patrons: it's not tame by any stretch of the imagination, but it's got a family-friendliness and maturity that you don't get everywhere.
Of course, maturity doesn't mean a lack of humour or fun...
The highlight of the evening, though, was the piano burning. Yes, you heard that right - it's a great Air Force tradition.
As the story goes - or as the story I like best goes - there was a fine piano-playing gent in the RAF in WWII who entertained his mates in the mess each evening throughout the war, no matter the dreadful losses they suffered. He kept them going with his music. Then one day he too went "missing, presumed dead." His buds rightly drank what was left on his tab at the mess, then decided that if he couldn't play the piano anymore, nobody would. They dragged the thing outside and burnt it to a cinder.
And so the tradition began.
Of course, the one burnt at the mess last night was an old and decrepit piano. The kids were kept back and there was a fire-hose attached to a hydrant and manned by a willing and able crew. All safe as mother's milk...but what a spectacle.
There were two other wonderful points in the evening for me, both involving American officers.
A retired member of the mess decided to donate a piece of artwork he had to an American pilot on exchange at the College. It showed Spitfires from the Eagle Squadron of the RAF in WWII. It was given with a gracious speech, and received with another. The print will hang in a USAF mess, with honour and gratitude, as befits a gift between allies.
Later in the evening, a number of friends and I tried to buy ourselves a beer at the bar. I know, I know: BIG surprise. Well, we were quite pleased to learn that our round of beer was already paid for by a cadre of U.S. officers up from Fort Leavenworth for the week, who had laid quite a bit of money on the bar to pay for a few rounds for everyone. Mighty gentlemanly of them, especially given the fact that they were the guests in our country and not the other way around. Classy.
Not everything about the evening was classy. Some of it was just plain fun: at some point in the evening I got tagged. In the most conspicuous way. I didn't mind a bit.
Per Ardua Ad Astra!
* photos of the burning piano and my bald dome were taken by Sgt Bill McLeod
Crud matches in the basement - boisterous, I was told, but not Combat Crud, which makes Rollerball look like lawn bowling. A Puke-A-Tron (AKA Bárány chair) in one of the rooms. A chance to try on various paraphernalia associated with flying - helmets, G-suits, parachute harnesses, the works.
But the pièce de résistance was the Hornet simulators from Air Combat Zone. Very cool set up they've got. The first match-up of the evening was the acting Commandant of the College - a Navy captain - against a BGen pilot whose name escapes me. Chopper guy. Anyhow, the pilot...let's just say his flight path had an unplanned intersection with the horizon. I reminded him that the record for low flight cannot be beaten, only tied. Another fine officer added helpfully that Hornets don't have skids. Corny, but we got a few laughs out of it.
A surprising number of students - majors and light colonels - brought their families to the event, and the kids had a blast with all the activities. One of the things I like about this mess is the age of its patrons: it's not tame by any stretch of the imagination, but it's got a family-friendliness and maturity that you don't get everywhere.
Of course, maturity doesn't mean a lack of humour or fun...
The highlight of the evening, though, was the piano burning. Yes, you heard that right - it's a great Air Force tradition.
As the story goes - or as the story I like best goes - there was a fine piano-playing gent in the RAF in WWII who entertained his mates in the mess each evening throughout the war, no matter the dreadful losses they suffered. He kept them going with his music. Then one day he too went "missing, presumed dead." His buds rightly drank what was left on his tab at the mess, then decided that if he couldn't play the piano anymore, nobody would. They dragged the thing outside and burnt it to a cinder.
And so the tradition began.
Of course, the one burnt at the mess last night was an old and decrepit piano. The kids were kept back and there was a fire-hose attached to a hydrant and manned by a willing and able crew. All safe as mother's milk...but what a spectacle.
There were two other wonderful points in the evening for me, both involving American officers.
A retired member of the mess decided to donate a piece of artwork he had to an American pilot on exchange at the College. It showed Spitfires from the Eagle Squadron of the RAF in WWII. It was given with a gracious speech, and received with another. The print will hang in a USAF mess, with honour and gratitude, as befits a gift between allies.
Later in the evening, a number of friends and I tried to buy ourselves a beer at the bar. I know, I know: BIG surprise. Well, we were quite pleased to learn that our round of beer was already paid for by a cadre of U.S. officers up from Fort Leavenworth for the week, who had laid quite a bit of money on the bar to pay for a few rounds for everyone. Mighty gentlemanly of them, especially given the fact that they were the guests in our country and not the other way around. Classy.
Not everything about the evening was classy. Some of it was just plain fun: at some point in the evening I got tagged. In the most conspicuous way. I didn't mind a bit.
Per Ardua Ad Astra!
* photos of the burning piano and my bald dome were taken by Sgt Bill McLeod
posted by Babbling Brooks at 1:22 p.m.
5 Comments:
Per Ardua Ad Astra!
Apt, since that is the state motto of Kansas, wherein Fort Leavenworth resides.
Oh, once we had messes like that - until the sunken-chested pencil-necked Generals and their pinch-nosed wives took over in the 80's.
Fooey.
Well, BB, a lot of women say bald men are sexy. :-)
... and that was a nice story of the RAF fighter pilot-pianist. Sweet and poignant. A Warrior's death in a noble cause and a very fitting tribute from his comrades. He bought the final round and in their gesture, they paid heartfelt respects. I'd like to think he looked down on them from Heaven, had a good laugh and gave the boys a salute.
I think I'm still sore from the last game of Combat Crud I played, and that was ten years ago.
"Per Ardua Ad Astra"
Loose translation - "It's a long walk to the cinema"!
(RAF base cinemas were all called 'Astra')
Post a Comment
<< Home