After months of house hunting, mortgage applications, moving company disasters, long-distance commuting (sorta), unanticipated major home repairs, government administrivia and last-minute projects at work, I’m finally retired. Again.
I’ve told folks for years that the eight months after I retired from the Army were the best months of my life. While that’s only a slight exaggeration, not working for those eight months was wonderful. I could see a movie in the middle of the day, schedule medical appointments at my convenience, go to a real, actual bank and make a real, actual deposit with a real, actual teller – all without taking a single minute off from work.
It didn’t suck.
So here I am once again, one month post-retirement. Things are mostly settled in and I’m finally starting to learn my way around the area. I have an Ohio driver’s license and Ohio plates on my car. I guess I’m committed, huh?
In my former neighborhood in Prince William County, one of our neighbors, also a government retiree of some sort, told me that I would surely suffer “Potomac fever,” (not to be confused with Potomac horse fever) described as an overwhelming desire to return to the NCR and engage in professional inside-the-beltway shenanigans. He figured that I’d need to get back to the rough and tumble of life as part of or at least adjacent to the Federal government; that I would feel unsettled outside of it all.
I’m pleased to report that I have not even experienced a Potomac sniffle let alone a fever of any kind.
Yup, this time I think I got it right.
I’m still getting up early in the morning, but instead of engaging in a minimum 60-minute commute in occasionally high-speed and mostly no-speed DC traffic, I’m making the occasional breakfasts for the boys and seeing them off to their new schools. I’m driving the 1.8 miles to Einstein Brothers Bagels over on The Strip, as I have learned it’s called, and bringing home a baker’s dozen pretzel bagels, but only on Mondays when they have a reduced price on such things. If I need dog food, I can travel the 1.8-mile trip to PetSmart. Milk is a paltry .6 miles away. Even the movies are just .2 mile further than the milk. I can walk to the Cinemark’s ten screens and if I’m ambitious, I can walk another .9-ish miles to ANOTHER ten screens.
Unlike living in Woodbridge, EVERYTHING is close by.
I do miss my colleagues at the Turner-Fairbank Highway Research Center, particularly those on my team: Lisa, Dawn, Maria and TaM. To all of you, thanks for making the experience of working there such a positive one. Especially my team leader, Lisa Shuler. Your support over these last five years was phenomenal and I appreciate your leadership, candor, kindness and compassion.
Apologies go out to Dr. Jim Shurbutt who worked in the cubicle next to me. He never complained when I was loudly editing video, hearing the same audio over and over and over again through the cubicle walls. He tolerated me talking to myself through the editing process and swearing at Adobe Premiere to do what the hell I thought I’d told it to do. He put up with a lot of that and deserves some kind of medal ‘r something.
Turner-Fairbank Highway Research Center
The Center is a collection of engineers, chemists, computer programmers, behavioral psychologists and… Well, let’s just say it’s a multi-disciplined collection of people with advanced degrees all of whom are engaged in making the highways and bridges here in the U.S. and around the world cheaper to build and safer to drive. I would love to be able to send a shout out to all of you by name. I am honored to have been welcomed into your world and to have worked with this great collection of minds. Thanks for all that you do.
Oh! One other thank you to local resident Todd Herberghs. Todd and I worked together back in DC and now he’s a telecommuter. He sold me on this area when I came to do the home inspection. Todd, you were right – this area has a lot to offer its residents. We need to get together again now that I’m here full-time.
Bottom line: I’m doing well. No regrets on the retirement and I am convinced that despite the obstacles in getting here, this is going to work out just fine.
And I don’t even need to be vaccinated for Potomac fever. Looks as though I’m already immune.
I do not intend to debate who touched whom first or the truth of the CNN reporter “… placing his hands on a young woman…”. Everyone can decide for themselves from the plethora of imagery out there.
To establish blame for this incident misses the greater point.
One of the tenets of good public affairs work is the relationship an organization or individual holds with the press. For example, the Department of Defense provides office space in the Pentagon for the press. Through repeated access to familiar faces and agencies, this encourages the establishment of positive relationships built on long-term trust between DoD officials and the reporters in the Pentagon press corps. Such positive relationships facilitate the dissemination of truthful information from the government to the press, and helps to mitigate the adversarial relationship inherent to such relationships.
Bottom line: treating the press well because you have a long-standing trustworthy relationship helps your story be told accurately, fairly and in a timely fashion. It’s in the best interest of the agency.
A mess kit. Yes, this was how the Army used to eat.
Conversely, an antagonistic relationship between the government and the press limits the ability of the government to put out accurate information. If you’re pissing in a reporter’s mess kit, it makes sense that the reporter, being human, will be just as aggressive and antagonistic in return.
It is incumbent upon both the press and the spokesperson to conduct themselves with proper decorum. And I will not excuse Acosta’s showboating, as my good friend Hank Minitrez characterized it. Some may disagree with the characterization, but even if that was not his intent, he does come off that way.
And this is not the first time that a President has had a contentious relationship with a reporter. Here’s an excerpt from an article in Houstonia that sums up the friction between President Richard Nixon and Dan Rather, then of CBS News:
“On March 19, 1974, Nixon stopped at Jones Hall on a national tour during the height of the Watergate scandal, making public appearances in an attempt to salvage his administration and reputation. ‘The president had received a warm reception in Chicago a few days earlier,’ wrote Ray Miller in his legendary 1982 history of the city, Houston. ‘He came to Houston to appear before a group he expected to be every bit as friendly.’ Unfortunately for Nixon, Houston-born and bred Dan Rather, then CBS’s White House correspondent, was in the audience that night.”
Here’s my take. Having been the spokesperson on occasion and attending many, many press briefings over my career, I always felt that it was my responsibility to present my messages in the most professional way I could. It was my job to keep the conversation professional so that I could tell the story I was there to tell. I was lucky that I never had to deal with a belligerent reporter, but I was prepared to.
I expect that the government spokesperson to bear the burden of sucking up their private feelings and biases regardless of how a reporter behaves. I expect the spokesperson to rise above the bad behavior and take the high road. At the very least, move on and deal with the belligerent off-camera. In my opinion, that’s the best – the only way to make sure your voice is heard.
Reporting at the White House should be aggressive. The Fourth Estate’s job is the keep an eye on the goings-on in government. Lord knows Congress won’t do it, so it’s up to the press.
Was Acosta showboating? Does it really matter?
I’ll excuse an aggressive reporter long before I’ll excuse an aggressive spokesperson. It’s the reporter’s job to be aggressive, not the spokesperson’s.
When the press is denigrated, minimized, or censored for any reason I get concerned. The Fourth Estate is the last line of defense against a government gone awry. The press NEEDS to be supported and encouraged to ask tough, embarrassing, even damning questions of our government officials when warranted. I’ll give the benefit of the doubt to the press any day if the spokesperson refuses to take the high road as I expect them to. And the high road doesn’t seem to be this administration’s strong suit.
Here’s another in a series of posts I’m going to make when I find some of these treasures. Some will be captioned, others will not. The only criteria for posting in this series is that:
a.) I’m in the photo or…
b.) … I took the photo.
In the summer of 2017, Nate, Garrett and I went on a biking tour of the National Mall in Washington, DC. We stopped at all the sights – and there are many. Here’s some select snapshots from the trip including the Lincoln Memorial, The White House, The Ohio column at the World War II Memorial and the Capitol.
Here’s a video of the ride. It’s 15 minutes long and the battery gave out, but it captures the event.
I was sitting at a soccer game last year and turned my head to see this dog relaxing on the sidelines. Glad I had my good camera with me!
The solar eclipse in August of last year swept across the United States. Prior to this event, no solar eclipse had been visible across the entire contiguous United States since June 8, 1918; not since the February 1979 eclipse had a total eclipse been visible from anywhere in the mainland United States. The path of totality touched 14 states, and the rest of the U.S. had a partial eclipse.*
The boys and I road-tripped to South Carolina to the home of Lisa Shuler, who graciously hosted us for the event. This is an edited version of the photo I took at totality. The only change was to add color to the corona, as that’s what most people expect. However, the actual corona was pure white.
This is an oldie but goodie. I shot this in 2009 at the Dog Paddle in our community pool. At the end of summer upon the closure of the pool to humans, the pool is open for one day for dogs to come splash around and enjoy the water. These two were observing the action from a comfortable distance.
* Most of this paragraph was excerpted from the Wikipedia Page.
Nearly every year, I have. It always refreshes my memory far too realistically and emotionally. Just now, I re-read it and I realized that’s the whole reason I re-post this in the first place — so that I don’t forget how I felt that day. So at the risk of being repetitive, here it is. — Dan
I wrote this back in 2009 in response to all the “Where were you when 9/11 happened?” questions and recollections that were being circulated around the Internet. I’ve reposted it many times in the hope that I’ll continue to recall not just the horrific facts of that day’s events, but the feelings with which I associate it. To this day whenever I hear replays of the news broadcasts of that day, the feelings, anguish and anger can be nearly overwhelming.
Even though I wasn’t near any of the three places that were scarred forever by the acts of a few, 9/11/2001 changed my life in ways that I could not have imagined then and which I sometimes don’t believe even now. Regardless, I will never shake the feelings that 9/11 evokes in me nor do I ever want to. More importantly, I wish that all of us could share the unity, resolve and dedication to our nation and our common defense that we all felt in the days and weeks following that awful day in 2001.
Thanks for reading.
“So, do you think the Army’s going to call you up because of this?”
“I sure as hell hope so.”
That was the big question my supervisor at the E! Channel asked me on 9/11. While I did eventually get called up, I’d gladly give up all the financial and professional gains which resulted if it had never happened. But that’s not what these words are going to be about.
I was awakened that morning by a phone call from my mother-in-law who told us in frantic, disjointed words that something bad was happening. As a native New Yorker, she was understandably shaken at learning that Manhattan was under attack. The message was related to me by my spouse at the time who slammed into the bedroom and shook me awake and said “Wake up! The Pentagon’s under attack!”
I got up, rushed to the TV in a groggy stupor and saw the story as it was unfolding, still in chaos. Information was rolling into news agencies willy-nilly and much of what was heard and reported was unconfirmed. I dressed and hurried to work in the Wilshire District in LA, near the La Brea Tar Pits. The streets of Los Angeles were relatively deserted – not empty as they were during the LA riots in 1992. But it was clear that people were staying home. Businesses closed for the day and many more operated on essential staff only. Which is why I was going to work.
When I arrived at E!, I could see that many of the national cable networks which shared our satellite space had either gone dark or were carrying coverage from one of the big three networks. It was at that moment that the enormity and the immediate practical impact of this event on this Nation became apparent. Even broadcast commerce stopped for a time – shopping networks were carrying round the clock news coverage. Sports channels and others had full-screen graphics up telling people to tune to a network broadcast and follow the news.
One of the positive things about working at a TV network with all measure of high-tech TV equipment is that we could monitor as many TV stations as we had monitors. And we had plenty. CNN, Fox, ABC, NBC, CBS, MSNBC all raced to get pictures and firsthand accounts of the unfolding tragedy on the air. I flipped back and forth from moment to moment and channel to channel trying to find the best pictures. No one had a lock on the best, so it was back and forth from channel to channel.
As for what I was doing in between times, E! was trying to decide whether to take coverage from a major news network or stay with the on-air schedule without regard to the situation. My job was to design on-screen graphics in support of either option. Ultimately, E! chose to stay with their own programming rather than switch to one of the majors. I will not debate that decision, but I will observe on my own behalf that I had no interest in entertainment fluff at that point, and I couldn’t imagine anyone else feeling differently.
From the moment it sank in just what was going on, my heart was heavy, but my fists clenched in preparation. When my terrific boss, Ken Mason, asked me if I was going to get called up, not only did I hope so, but I was hoping it would be within the hour. For the rest of the day, most of us sat in network control going about our business with about as much feeling as the machines supporting us. It was quiet and the sounds of our air signal were mixed with the sounds of the coverage coming from ancillary equipment racks where the carnage of the day was being replayed over and over.
I would be many months before I actually got called up and reported here to Washington, D.C. in January, 2002. I spent the next 71 months assigned to the Pentagon in various assignments, some 9/11 related and others not.
A year after the attacks, our office moved into the rebuilt section of the Pentagon and shortly thereafter, the small indoor memorial and chapel was opened. Whenever I thought I was being unfairly put upon, I’d stroll the 30 seconds down the E-ring to the 9/11 memorial and stand for a minute or two.
It gave me perspective in two profound ways. It made me recognize that getting picked on that day wasn’t really so bad, and that any one of these people whose biography and photo were in one of two books would give anything to be in my predicament. Alive. Within reach of those about whom they cared. And it humbled me. Standing there for only a moment made me remember why I was there and that I had better do the best job I could.
Eight years have passed since the attack on our Nation. Today, while driving into my civilian job, I listened to replays of the coverage from that day and remember what it felt like that day. How shocked and horrified. How angry. How resolute. I suspect that will never change. I suspect that I’ll always feel the intense mix of emotions on this day. And I’ll fight back the tears on this day just as I did on this day eight years ago.
For many, the feelings we experienced that day have already escaped us, relegating the horror of the day to a collection of historical facts, figures and stately memorials to those who perished. It is right that we recall the facts and honor those who were murdered that day. However, it is my wish that somehow the shock, horror, anger and resolution I felt – that most everyone felt that morning – stay with us and unite us as it did on 9/11 and in the shadows of that day.
Eight years hence, we find ourselves a divided Nation when in truth, there’s so very much more about us that is alike than those things which divide us.
I wish we weren’t so divided and I have no solution as to how to unite us. I just know that we have it in us. The days following September 11, 2001 were some of America’s finest.
Remember what that was like. Not just today on this horrific anniversary. But every day.
Most of you know that in a previous life, I was an actor. You can see how successful I was by my long-term employment with the government. Back then, I did a lot of stage plays and I admit it, I’m a huge ham. I love stage because you can be broad and loud and all those things that are far tougher to do on film. I was never very good at subtlety.
In the fall, at the urging of #1 son, Jonathon Wolfe, I jumped into the amateur radio field, which in the vernacular is called ham radio:
a : a showy performer; especially : an actor performing in an exaggerated theatrical style
b : a licensed operator of an amateur radio station
Guilty on both counts.
I like figuring technology out. I like the process of tinkering around with it until I either make it work of get so frustrated that I ask for help. Amateur radio fills that particular need for me. Radio transmission theory is a bottomless pit of learning opportunities and over my head much of the time, even though I have a background in technology from my college days, my time running broadcasting stations and networks, and my time in the U.S. Army Signal Corps. (Pro Patria Vigilans, bitches!)
In the few months since I got my license and ventured out into the radio frequency ether, I’ve made some observations. Let me be clear: these are observations – not criticisms. Here we go.
1. There are two schools of thought when it comes to ham radio license exams: Learn the material and take the test, or just memorize the test questions and answers (there are hundreds of ’em) and learn as you go. I’m kind of OK with either because learning by doing is a time-honored tradition.
I assumed that everyone in this hobby was as equally delighted as I was to figure stuff out on their own. I assumed that this was one of the reasons we all get into the hobby in the first place.
There is a subsection of folks like me who are perfectly fine, for example, taking eight weeks to learn how to program a DMR radio. No exaggeration, it took me eight weeks before I made my first call on purpose. Perhaps it’s because of my advancing age that I’m more patient now than I used to be. And get off my lawn!
There’s also a subsection of operators who want the easy solutions yesterday. (I suspect that these are the kinds of people that want the answer from their computer BEFORE they hit the ENTER key.)
2. People are people everywhere. I’ve made this observation about every country I’ve physically visited and the international amateur radio community is no exception. I’ve talked on the radio with people from several different countries. I marvel at the universality of the experience among the operators I hear on the air. Korea, Canada, The Philippines, Australia, the UK, South America. It really shouldn’t surprise me how similar we humans are to our brethren ham operators around the world, but it did. It reinforces my contention that people are people no matter where you go. Governments may suck – and most do – but people are people everywhere. I find that very comforting.
3. There are assholes on the air just like in real life. About a month or so ago, after having become somewhat comfortable talking to people on the air, I stumbled into a talk group on DMR, one of the many digital standards. It was one of my very first times on DMR. A talk group is just like it sounds – a chat room where people actually talk with one another instead of typing back and forth. There was a verbal knock-down-drag-out war of words going on between a few individuals and it was loud, rude and the primary instigator would not shut up. I was horrified because in the months since I had gotten my license, I’d only experienced hugely warm welcomes and willingness to help from everyone particularly to the new guys like me.
I should have expected that it wouldn’t all be sunshine and blue skies, but that first experience on DMR was shocking in its contrast to my other limited experiences. I almost didn’t go back. I did, of course, go back to that talk group as well as other ones and have had some wonderful conversations with folks on DMR. But yikes! If I’d have heard that first, I would have a very different perspective on the amateur radio community.
A KWM-2. I used to see these in Army MARS stations quite regularly.
4. My introduction to ham radio was in the 1960’s. My childhood friend’s dad, Nathan Vance, was K8TMX. (How I’ve remembered his name and call sign all these years still surprises me.) Mr. Vance was in the middle of a conversation on his ham radio and must have seen me standing there with wide eyed amazement at the buttons and dials of an old-school Collins KWM-2. He took pity on me and let me talk on his radio to some South American country, as I recall. This being the 1960’s, he conducted his conversation with his fellow operator without the benefit of the internet to get him there. His radio was connected to a HUGE antenna in the backyard, and he communicated directly with the other operator.
Today, computers, digital radios and the Internet have really changed the landscape. Today’s digital standards like DMR, D-STAR and others rely on the Internet to get you out of the county. Some claim that using Internet back haul for amateur radio is cheating – not “pure” amateur radio. Then again, the nice thing about this digital world is that it’s instant gratification. With digital standards, you can start talking world-wide today. Right now.
I get the guys who say it’s cheating. They contend the purest form of amateur radio is totally self-reliant. Speaking candidly, I kinda fall into that camp myself. But with limited resources and real estate, I can’t set up a big antenna for talking around the world directly – my back yard isn’t big enough and my homeowners association probably wouldn’t let me if it were. Using these digital standards, which require far less power and shorter antennas, allows me to overcome the space and HOA obstacles that otherwise would limit the people I could reach. (One more thing about the digital standards – transmissions made in digital mode are clearer and are MUCH easier to hear for a guy like me who should be wearing hearing aids, but isn’t. This turned out to be a bigger deal for me than I thought it would be.)
5. For a guy like me who loves tinkering with tech, it’s addicting. As I already mentioned, amateur radio is a bottomless pit of learning opportunities in everything from rules and regulations to antenna physics and Earth-Moon-Earth communication. I’ll never run out of things to study and learn, if I’m so motivated. The downside to this is that you want to buy every damned radio or device you can lay your hands on not because you need it, but because it’s fun. That can get pricey and a little restraint goes a long way. (Ok, a LOT of restraint for me. I admit it.)
6. Unlike the Citizen’s Band radios, hams don’t use handles. We have names. Mine’s Dan, thank you very much. I like the lack of anonymity that hams insist upon. Yes, there’s potential for subterfuge and deceit, but particularly with the digital standards, it’s virtually impossible to hide your identity. It makes you responsible for how one conducts oneself on the air. Comparing that to Facebook or Twitter, I find this strikingly refreshing.
7. You can always find someone to talk to. (See #2 above.) If you’re willing to look around, and you’re not mic shy, (yes, that’s a thing) you can always find someone to talk with. There are a zillion frequencies out there and someone’s talking on at least one or two. There are a zillion standards both digital and analog that operators are using on these zillion frequencies. And there’s a zillion talkgroups, reflectors or repeaters on which someone is talking about something right now. Maybe not in your language, but they’re talking. Bottom line: there’s no excuse for saying “there’s no one on the air!” If you want to talk, there are a zillion ways to find someone just like you who wants to talk, too.
As I mentioned at the top, my son, Jonathon, got me started on this whole ham radio thing with a casual text message:
JW: “Hey, sir, do you have a HAM license?”
DW: “I do not. I used to carry a commercial radio operators license, but that was long before your arrival on my planet. …”
That’s what started it all. I have Jonathon to thank for planting the idea in my head. Since then, I’ve taken two tests, got my General Class license, and talked to lots of fellow operators around the country and around the world. I’m grateful for his offhand comment that motivated me to do something that I had always wanted to do but didn’t.
I’m still getting up early in the morning, but instead of engaging in a minimum 60-minute commute in occasionally high-speed and mostly no-speed DC traffic, I’m making the occasional breakfasts for the boys and seeing them off to their new schools. I’m driving the 1.8 miles to Einstein Brothers Bagels over on The Strip, as I have learned it’s called, and bringing home a baker’s dozen pretzel bagels, but only on Mondays when they have a reduced price on such things. If I need dog food, I can travel the 1.8-mile trip to PetSmart. Milk is a paltry .6 miles away. Even the movies are just .2 mile further than the milk. I can walk to the Cinemark’s ten screens and if I’m ambitious, I can walk another .9-ish miles to ANOTHER ten screens.
Apologies go out to Dr. Jim Shurbutt who worked in the cubicle next to me. He never complained when I was loudly editing video, hearing the same audio over and over and over again through the cubicle walls. He tolerated me talking to myself through the editing process and swearing at Adobe Premiere to do what the hell I thought I’d told it to do. He put up with a lot of that and deserves some kind of medal ‘r something.
