Bill's Stories about Things and Stuff

[crossmember]

This is Jillian.  She didn't know how deep the  water was, she  didn't care, all she knew was  that there was nothing between her an that brand nnew muddy hole but about a foot of aaaair.

Edited October 25, 2017 by crossmember

[crossmember]

A guy, a Houston Oiler, wanted to buy a car we had in the museum. It was a 1938 Cadillac roadster, with custom coach work by Brunn. Custom coach work is taking a production car and creating someone that Cadillac never intended the car to be. they cut the steel body off the car, and re-bodied it in aluminum.
A guy named Mike--something had come over one evening to look at the car. He requested a magnet to map the bondo. You use like a refrigerator magnet on a strap of some kind, and you can map bondo like you had X-ray vision. Eric's brother gave the guy a magnet, and he went out ot check the car. He came back in a few minutes later mumbling about the fact that the car must be all bondo. I said, "Jim, dammit, you gave him the wrong magnet, he needs the aluminum magnet." Jim handed him a magnet with a different color strap, and he went out the door. About three or four paces out the door foul obsceneties started drifting back through the door, something about he didn't like being made a fool of.
By the time the guy came back in to throw the magnet at us, he had cooled off.

[crossmember]

Often my uncle's unit bivouaced by towns that offered liquid and carnal refreshment. My uncle was hot-footing it to town one day to partake of some of these refreshments when a German ground attack aircraft thought he may offer some amusement. My uncle is caught on an open road by an open field. My uncle sees an open hole in the field, ran to it and jumped in, right on top of some Frenchman that had been dead for about a week, and not covered.

Any port in a storm, right?

One day while he was up front with the FO and fire control officer. The Lt. tapped him on the shoulder and pointed down in the valley.
Riding along, happy and carefree, was a German courier on a motorcycle. In front of the courier was a pre-indexed crossroad.

The Lt. called in the fire mission, one round for zero, checked his watch, and after awhile yelled fire. The courier, the motorcycle, and that eight inch round hit that intersection at the same time. Major case of over-kill, but the Lt. proved he was very good at his job.

 

 

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[crossmember]

When I received my orders for Korea it was for me to travel to Oakland, Calif., to the Oakland Naval Station, for a three week cruise on the USS Mann. The day before we were due to depart they discovered they had no troop commander on the ship. They found a colonel with my first and last name scheduled to fly out of Travis AFB. I met him as I was going to the plane and he was leaving. I'm glad I was not in his unit in Korea cause I was getting on the plane to travel with his wife. Sitting there at Travis was a Constellation, belonging to S.L.I.C.K. Airlines. We're about to have an Asian adventure, being flown by Smiling Jack. (any of you old guys remember him?

Engine catches on fire better than half way to Hawaii, being a civilian charter flight, we land at Honolulu. They didn't have another plane on the island so they put us up at the Moana Hotel on Waikiki Beach. For two days we partied til we puked.

From there to Wake for re-fuel, then on to Yokohama. At Yokohama they told me to get on that bus and I did. It was the bus to the R&R barracks in downtown Yokohama. Took them three days to find me.

Then on a C-124 and on to Korea. Virtually an empty plane. From Kimpo AFB by truck to the First Cav Div Repo Depo, and there the real luck took over.

We got up one morning and joined about sixteen hundred other guys also waiting for their assignments. They start calling off duty assignments, and they get worse and worse. They work down to combat engineers, the guys who were their to re-arrange the mine-fields, and they still haven't called my name. I figure the only thing left is the key keepers to the gates of hell. At this point there are three other guys and me. Next, Fifteenth Administration Company, Postal Division. No guard duty, no CQ, no nada. A true case of falling into a septic tank and coming out smelling like lilac water.

Edited October 27, 2017 by crossmember

[crossmember]

 

[XSIV4S]

19 minutes ago, crossmember said:

 

Custom car for the guy who created imoges

[crossmember]

I STOLE MY BROTHER'S AIRPLANE

Two things allow me to tell this story.  One is the statute of limitations has long since expired, and two, I survived.  One day I wanted to go flying and my brother was out of town, but his plane was not.

The plane was a little mongrel Cessnaa 140 built from three or four planes.  The wing was      a fabric Cessna wing and the engine was a Continental with over 100hp.  It wasn't ragged and the FAA certified it as totally safe.  It was still a cute little mongrel.  Our airport had a 6800ft runway in dry weather and a 4800ft runway after a rain.

The hardest thing was prop starting the engine.  I had prop started the engine lots of times but never without someone in the plane holding the brake.  I had all the runway  I could possibly  use so i put on throttle, pulled back on the wheel slightly til it fle, at which time I applied more climb.  After I got tired of having fun I lined up on the runway and reversed the process.

[crossmember]

my personal portrait of Geronimo

[crossmember]

My next door neighbor on the west side of Tulsa had a 1950 Ford pick up sitting in his yard. It had an ultra straight body, decent paint, bad tires, and a deader'n hell flathead six cylinder engine, 
the wiring was totally rotted away, also. When I asked the price he said fifteen bucks if I'd drag it off his property that day. I think the city was on his ass. Anyway, I did a spring service on his air conditioner in lieu of the fifteen bucks. I had a salvage yard that owed me a favor so he gave me a set of Chrysler Imperial wheels with almost new tires, size 8:20-15.
Same salvage had a 1950 For sedan with six cylinder and overdrive that had been set up for demolition derby. First time it got hit one of the doors flew open and it was dis-qualified. For that car I turned fifteen engines into clean cast for the guy.
After I got it running I wired up two switches, one for ignition and one for starter. I drove it to work, and then home, and ran a trickle all night. I did this while I tried to find someone to wire it. finally I took a 59 Chevy electrical manual and eliminated every circuit I didn't plan to use. Using what was left I wired the truck, converting it to 12vdc-negative ground. I used s 53 Pontiac 6v horn set. I included turn signals. I was a right tidy truck.
I used American Bosch wiper with built in park. I used a 64 Ford truck heat / defrost. I mounted an aftermarket radio/tape player in the glove box. When I took it to the rat-bastard safety inspection guy he gave me a hard time. I had to go back twice whit he tried to nit=pick it to death. Finally it comes time to blow the horn, that 53 Pontiac 6v running on 12v horn, that incredibly loud horn. He crawled up into the engine compartment and was face to face with that horn bugle, and he told me to blow the horn. I'm still proud of how innocent I managed to look when he picked his ass up off the ground.

[crossmember]

 

 

Who invented the backup sensor?
I bet you think it was Ford, maybe GM, how about Chrysler, No, then how about Mercedes Benz? or possibly the French or Italians.
No! It was a Chinese farmer!
Lots of the newer cars have a Back-Up Sensor that warns the driver before the rear bumper actually comes in contact with something
Surprising it was not developed by modern automotive engineers using the latest technology. It was disclosed recently that the first to develop the Back-Up-Sensor was a Chinese Farmer.
His invention was simple and effective. It emits a high-pitch squeal when the vehicle backs into something.
Here's his first prototype

[crossmember]

Bill Powell shared Wild Child Media's photo.

June 27

 

 

[crossmember]

 

[crossmember]

Since it is Sunday morning I am going to share a little prayer with you. It will be especialy meaningful to those of you who are, like me, in need of smaller statures.

THE DIETER'S PRAYER

LORD GRANT ME THE STRENGTH
THAT I MAY NOT FALL
INTO THE CLUTCHES OF CHOLESTEROL.

THE ROAD TO HELL IS PAVED WITH BUTTER,
CAKE IS CURSED, CREAM IS AWFUL
AND SATAN IS HIDING IN EVERY WAFFLE.

BEELZEBUB IS A CHOCOLATE DROP, 
LUCIFER IS A LOLLIPOP.

TEACH ME THE EVIL'S OF HOLLANDAISE,
OF PASTA AND GOBS OF MAYONNAISE,
AND CRISP FRIED CHICKEN FROM THE SOUTH.

IF YOU LOVE ME LORD, SHUT MY MOUTH...

REV TOM WALSH

[crossmember]

This a story about one of the people affected by the Detroit riots in 1967. I won't give his name because he is rather famous in the automotive world and I don't want to piss him off. I will name him Jay.

The story starts at the Waterford Hills road racing course north of Detroit. Jay and a friend had finished with the day's racing and were heading back toward Detroit. Jay was driving a competition XKE and his friend was in a racing Corvette, and they were heading home, down I-75 at 150 MPH. The engine in Jay's Jag gave up the ghost and cratered. They started towing the car towad Canada, to a friend's shop with the hot rod Corvette. They were making a hell of a noise with the Vette as a tow car, and partying at every black bar they passed in Detroit, and were treated well. They towed the Jag across the river into Canada, finishing about four thirty or five AM. When they turned around and headed back toward Detroit the sky was red, the riots had erupted about four AM.

Since the riot did not involve them they went to a mansion they rented only to find the land lord was trying to take over the house and get rid of them, armed with a .22 rifle. Jay and his friends decided to make a commando raid on the house and take it back. Jay approached the house armed with a forty five. He crept along the front wall to the front door. In his drunken stupor he felt his ears starting to ring, and suddenly realized he was resting his shoulder against the door bell. While he was trying to sort that out their neighbor got his attention and told Jay and his friends to hide in his house because the gates of hell were about to open. It seems the neighbor across the street had seen the landloard with the gun and had called the state police. When Jay got to his neighbor's house he started hearing cars, trucks, and a tank.

The police and militia lined up in front of the house and announced the occupants should surrender or they would fire. After a while, getting no response, they opened fire. Pistols, rifles, machine guns, and whatever else would maked a noise and fling lead.

After a bit they stopped firing to give the occupants another chance. The landlord, thing all the firing was from Jay and his friends, pointed his .22 out the window and went 'TINK', and they fired the tank gun, plus another ten thousand rounds from all the other guns. The land lord finally gave up and they realized he wasn't a rioter, he was just stupid.

Jay's Jaguar XK-120 was parked out front, and suffered not a hit. His friend's Corvette, however, was shot to rag dolls. They captured what of their possessions they could and sneaked away.

The mansion, when they got around to it, was real easy to demolish.

[crossmember]

the Marines can have the Navy read theirs for them

 

[crossmember]

Some of these may come in handy.....

[crossmember]

Isn't it amazing the things we are able to get up and walk, or at least hobble, away from. When I was a small kid, before we got smart and moved to Ariz, we lived in Mississippi. Across the road, on the edge of a small swamp, was a log dead fall. Actually it was an arranged land fall as they had done a clearance cut of some trees and had bulldozed them into a pile. To us that pile of trees resembled an old pirate ship, and so it became one. The remaining trees looked just like the forest in the Tarzan movies we enjoyed so much. We cut vines loose and used those to swing on, across vast expanses of water, or small cypress knees during the summer. When I went back a year and a half later everything looked the same. I grabbed a vine and started a trip across a mud bog. I neglected to remember an important fact. Vines grow from the bottom up, and the bottom is where we cut them. About half way across that poor old deader'n hell vine parted from the tree and I hit the ground flat of my back, hauling ass. When, after about half an hour, I could breathe again, I decided tilting cows would be more fun

About the dumbest thing we did there was to make bows and arrows, arrows with fire hardened tips. We would also make spears. Our bows looked kind of crude and funky, but they would put one of our fire hardened arrows right through an outhouse wall. The thing that makes me surprised we're still alive from this little adventure is that we would go into the swamp, find and alligator wallow, and follow him into the water. We had a craving for alligator shoes. Luckily, probably, our flailing around in the water never attracted one. This was the Pearl River Swamp separating LA and Miss.

[crossmember]

 

[crossmember]

Edited November 2, 2017 by crossmember

[crossmember]

[crossmember]

 

[crossmember]

A group of German armor officers were asked after the what they thought was th most lethal tank in WWII.  They all agreed it as probably the Sherman Firefly.  Its Britih 17 pound (76.2mm) could peneetrate  233mm of armor  at 1000 meters

[crossmember]

Did you hear about the guy who saw a guy in his shed at three AM, and called 911? He was told to not confront the guy, just hide in the house. He was told they did not have a car to spare, and they would be there the following morning to count what he'd lost. He thought about that awhile, called the police back and told them not to hurry cause he'd killed the bastard.

About ten minutes later fifteen cars came up the road, sirens wailing and lights blazing. They flew into the yard, caught the bad guy and arrested him, and turned to the home owner all indignant and told him he said he'd killed the guy. You lied.

He told them he thought they had no cars to spare. They lied.

[crossmember]

Working with my uncle at the Inspiration copper mine was a guy named Arkie, a consumate liar. He was telling some story that was way out in the left field of possibility, much less truth.As he was drawing a breath my uncle broke in and said, "let me tell you about my nephew's hunting trip over the weekend."

"He was up in the Cherry Creek country, across the lake from Roosevelt Dam. He had climbed up in a tree to get the lay of the land. While he was in the tree a big five point buck walked directly under him. (back east it would be a ten point) He thought, what a shot, six feet straight down. He was shooting a P-14 Enfield, and it got balky, wouldn't shoot. After thinking it over, he hung the rifle on a branch, pulled his skinning knife, and dropped down on that deer's back and proceeded to cut his throat. He'd brought the dull skinner, and it wouldn't penetrate the deer's skin. He rode that deer, and every time he passed a rock he would whet that knife. He liked a wet stone so he had to keep some spit handy.

He rode that deer til the knife was sharp, cut the deer's throat, and rode it til it bled to death."

[crossmember]

My uncle Jim Edmund used to captain a boat like one I saw at the car and boat show Sunday. Actually the boat I saw was a model.
My uncle's boat was a sixty three foot converted air/sea rescue boat, powered by two monster packard engines that ran on 125 octane aviation gas. Up by the bow was a little generator motor that you were supposed to start and run an evacuation fan that sucked any gas fumes from the engine compartment. Failing to do so was to risk being included in tomorrow's obituary. It took a full load from a tank truck to fill the tanks, and you couldn't go a great distance with that much fuel. Being on a sixty five foot speed boat is way cool.
My second cousin, on the other hand, was not as clever as my uncle. He had a similar boat, and one morning could not be bothered with the standard check list, and hit the main starter button first. They identified him by his wedding band and some dental work. Most pilots, of small planes and large, will agree that check lists are your friend.
In his effort to join the Darwin award program he took out boats on either side of him.