BERJAYA

My “Greater Santini”

Posted on July 7, 2026 by jenorv

Every fighter squadron has its legends.

Some earn their reputations because they are fearless in combat. Others because they are gifted pilots. A few become larger than life, the men everyone notices the moment they walk into the room.

For me, that man was Keith Connolly.

From the day I met him, he possessed the confidence and presence that seemed to define the fighter pilot mystique. He was an exceptional aviator, a natural leader, and one of those rare people who made difficult things look effortless. If Hollywood had wanted to cast the quintessential fighter jock, Keith could have walked onto the set without changing a thing.

Years later, I watched the History Channel’s Vietnam in HD. The program featured an Air Force fighter pilot whose combat story was central to the narrative. I recognized him immediately. I sent Keith an email asking if it really was him. He had never mentioned to any of us that he would be appearing in a nationally televised documentary.

His reply was vintage Keith.

“It was.”

Nothing more. No boasting. No stories. Just quiet confidence.

But while Keith’s flying skills were remarkable, they were not what I admired most.

Vietnam tested more than courage in the cockpit. Long deployments and the strain of war tested marriages and families as well. I saw too many officers who failed those tests. It seemed to me that Keith never did. Through it all he remained devoted to Pat and to his family. In a profession where courage was expected, Keith reminded me that integrity mattered just as much.

One incident, seemingly insignificant compared to combat, told me more about his character than any mission ever could.

Bonnie, our infant daughter Melissa and sister Amy, and I were driving to Alabama so I could attend Air Command and Staff College. During an overnight stop in North Carolina, I was playing with Melissa on the motel bed. I had removed my glasses and was teasing her by “beeping” her nose.

She decided to return the favor.

Her tiny finger missed my nose and caught my eye instead, tearing my cornea with her fingernail. The pain was immediate. We drove to a nearby emergency clinic, but then realized that Shaw Air Force Base was only a short distance away.

Keith was now the commander of Shaw—a brigadier general. I was still a major. We had not seen Keith and Pat in nearly five years.

We called.

Without hesitation, Keith and Pat told us to come to Shaw. They welcomed us into their home, kept us there over the weekend, and made certain I could be examined by a flight surgeon before we continued our trip. They wanted to be sure my eye had not suffered permanent damage.

Not once did rank matter.

Keith wasn’t helping a major because he was a general. He was helping an old friend because that’s simply who he was.

That memory has stayed with me ever since.

Years later, in 2003, I found myself facing another pressing question.

I emailed Keith to ask how he made the remarkable homemade salsa he always seemed to have at gatherings. Without hesitation, he sent me the recipe.

Looking back, that simple exchange makes me smile.

The same man who had flown fighters over North Vietnam, commanded an Air Force base, appeared in a nationally televised documentary, and cared for old friends without regard to rank was perfectly happy to share his salsa recipe.

That was Keith.

When most people hear the title The Great Santini, they think of Pat Conroy’s unforgettable Marine aviator—a gifted pilot whose brilliance was overshadowed by his flaws.

Keith was my Great Santini for entirely different reasons.

He possessed the confidence, skill, and commanding presence that made fighter pilots legendary. But unlike the fictional Santini, his greatness rested on something deeper. It rested on humility, fidelity, generosity, and quiet decency.

Those qualities are rarer than exceptional flying ability.

I have known many remarkable military officers during my lifetime. I have admired many of them. But only a handful became heroes in the fullest sense of the word—not because of their rank or decorations, but because of the people they chose to be.

Keith was one of them.

If I were asked to describe him in a single sentence, it would be this:

He was the kind of man every fighter pilot hoped to fly with, every commander hoped to become, and every friend was fortunate enough to know.

He was my Greater Santini.

Posted in American History | Tagged Alaska, f-4-pilot, Fighter Pilot, history, history-channel, military, Vietnam | Leave a comment

Opening the Bicentennial Box

Posted on July 3, 2026 by jenorv

This week, we opened a small wooden box that we kept for more than fifty years. We called it the Bicentennial Box because it held keepsakes from America’s 200th birthday in 1976. The plan was to keep it sealed until 2076, so our grandchildren—or maybe even great- grandchildren—could open it on the nation’s 300th birthday. But as America marks its 250th anniversary this year, our family’s curiosity got the better of us. We voted, and the decision to open it won. My son-in-law had the honor of using a hammer to finally pry open the lid.

It’s probably no surprise that we had a Bicentennial Box. Growing up in Hannibal, New York, in the 1950s, the Fourth of July was always special. Every year, fireworks lit up the sky over Fair Haven, a small village about eight miles away on Lake Ontario. Our house sat on a hill, so from our backyard we could see the distant bursts of color just above the horizon. Each Independence Day, our family gathered outside to watch those small flashes of red, white, and blue against the summer sky.

Fifty-three years ago, in 1973, I spent the Fourth of July flying combat missions over Cambodia.
In my journal that day, I wrote:

“4 July 1973: To celebrate today, I am again off to Cambodia to drop some firecrackers and sparklers. I will be glad when the war ends, but it appears that they will be stepping things up now that we have to be out of Cambodia in August.”

That was the main event of the day. I don’t remember anything else about that Fourth of July—no baseball games, no picnics, no family gatherings. Just another combat mission. After my combat tour ended, I was sent to Alaska. In Anchorage, the Fourth of July fireworks didn’t begin until about 12:30 in the morning. In the Alaskan summer, the sun barely sets, dipping below the horizon just long enough for a brief twilight before rising again around 2 a.m.

The fighter squadron I joined had a thoughtful tradition: returning combat veterans didn’t have to stand air defense alert on holidays during their first year back home. Since crews normally stood alert around the clock, this was a welcome and unexpected gift. That first Independence Day after the war was nothing like the one I had spent over Cambodia. The fireworks came after midnight, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that I was home in the United States, beside my wife, celebrating the nation’s birthday in peace.

In addition to flying, part of my assignment was serving as an ex officio member of the Anchorage Bicentennial Commission. That might sound unusual for a fighter navigator, but anyone who has served in the military knows you rarely have just one job. Besides flying, officers are assigned all sorts of additional duties. One of mine was serving as historian for Elmendorf Air Force Base. Because of that, I became involved with the Anchorage Bicentennial Commission as the country prepared to celebrate its 200th birthday in 1976. Serving on the Bicentennial Commission planted the seed for the Bicentennial Box.

The commission encouraged community events, preserved local history, and helped Alaskans celebrate the Bicentennial. Being part of those discussions showed me that this anniversary was more than just another Fourth of July. It was a rare opportunity to preserve memories for future generations. That idea stayed with my wife Bonnie and me. It inspired us to collect keepsakes in a small wooden box, seal it, and label it The Bicentennial Box, with instructions not to open it until America’s 300th birthday in 2076. Of course, like many good intentions, things didn’t go as planned. Curiosity won, and we opened the box fifty years early. So, what was inside?

My daughter jokingly suggested platform shoes and bell-bottoms, or maybe a disco tape. Bonnie was convinced we had tucked away a record of the 1972 Nixon campaign song, “Nixon’s the One”, a slogan that took on a very different meaning after Watergate. As for me, I honestly had no idea what Bonnie and I had considered important enough to preserve in the box until 2076.

Inside, we found a stack of Anchorage Daily News newspapers with Bicentennial stories, a couple of Avon Bicentennial cologne bottles (remember “Avon calling?”), commemorative coins, a collection of Bicentennial-themed magazines, copies of history articles I had written for the base newspaper, and photographs of our house, our yard, and our dog proudly posing beside her red, white, and blue doghouse. There was also an almanac, a letter we had written to our future relatives, and one item that genuinely surprised me: a copy of Mad Magazine with Alfred E. Neuman on the cover, styled after Gilbert Stuart’s famous portrait of George Washington.

Looking back, saving Mad for the future somehow feels exactly right. Over the past fifty years,
our country—and our family—has experienced triumphs, disappointments, unexpected turns,
and more than a little absurdity. Alfred E. Neuman’s famous grin seems to capture all of it.
“What, me worry?” may not be the official motto of the last half-century, but at times it certainly
felt like it.

Maybe that small wooden box held more than just keepsakes. It held a moment from when we were young, when the future seemed far away, and America was celebrating its 200th birthday with hope. Today, the future we imagined has become part of our past. Every now and then, it is good to open the box and look back—not to dwell on the past, but to appreciate the journey that brought us here.

Posted in American History | Tagged 250th Birthday USA, 4th of July, Alaska, america, Bicentennial, Elmendorf AFB, history, Independence Day, memories | 1 Comment

Why I wear a Veterans Shirt

Posted on June 22, 2026 by jenorv

I wear a shirt to the Y every day which identifies me as a Vietnam Vet who flew the F-4. I have my reasons which I will share, but I wondered why do vets wear shirts that proclaim their service.

So I asked my old friend AI and this is what I learned: :

Pride in Service: For many people, serving in the military is one of the most important experiences of their lives. Wearing a veteran shirt is a way to show pride in having served their country.
Connection and Camaraderie: Veteran shirts often help start conversations with other veterans. Even a simple shirt can lead to shared stories, memories, and friendships built on common experiences.
Honoring Their Unit or Branch: Many shirts feature a specific branch, unit, ship, aircraft, or conflict, such as Vietnam, Iraq, or Afghanistan. Wearing these shirts helps keep the memory of that service and the people who served together alive.
Recognition and Appreciation – Some veterans appreciate public recognition. A “Thank you for your service” reminds them that their sacrifices are valued.
Remembering Those Who Didn’t Come Home: For many veterans, wearing this apparel is less about themselves and more about honoring those who did not return, keeping their memory alive.
Identity and Life Experience: Military service often shapes a person’s values, character, and perspective. Even many years later, being a veteran is still an important part of who they are.

All of these are valid reasons. For me, wearing a veteran shirt serves two purposes.

Like many Vietnam veterans, I did not openly identify myself as a veteran for years because of the reception many of us received when we returned home. In fact, it took me more than forty years to speak publicly about my military service. Part of the reason was that I felt I hadn’t done very much. Although I flew combat missions over Cambodia, I saw myself as being in the minor leagues compared to the fighter crews who flew over Hanoi. In my mind, they were in the majors. As a result, I devalued my own service and experiences.

In 2016, I sat in the back seat of an F-4 Phantom at the National Museum of the Air Force, and memories I had long tucked away began to stir. A year later, those memories came flooding back when I visited David Garbe’s remarkable restoration of an F-4 cockpit. As I sat there reliving a small part of my past, David treated my service with a level of respect that caught me by surprise. He saw value in what I had done when I could not.

In many ways, David helped me understand something I had missed for decades. He showed me that I should celebrate what I had done rather than regret what I had not done. That realization opened a door that had been closed for more than forty years and allowed me to finally embrace my service as part of who I am.

Over time, I came to realize that service is not measured by comparing ourselves to others. We each answered our country’s call and did the job we were asked to do. Wearing a veteran shirt today is not about seeking recognition; it is about acknowledging that service, honoring those who served alongside me, and letting other veterans know they are not alone.

Posted in Air Force, American History, Cambodia bombing 1973, F-4 Phantom II, F4 Phantom II, F4 PhantomII, Military history, Veterans, Vietnam War | Tagged history, Memorial Day, military, Veterans, Vietnam War | Leave a comment

Survival and Rescue

Posted on April 18, 2026 by jenorv

The recent rescue of the colonel weapons systems officer who ejected over Iran felt very personal to me. I spent six years as a weapons systems officer in the back seat of the F-4 Phantom II, flying combat missions in Southeast Asia and logging about 1,000 hours in that role. Thinking about this, I realized that many people might not know what a weapons systems officer does or how we were trained to survive after ejecting from a plane and avoid capture.

Weapons Systems Officer (WSO, pronounced by many as Wizzo): If you have seen the movie Top Gun, you were introduced to Goose, the Navy’s version of a WSO, known as the RIO (radar intercept officer). While the RIO and WSO share similar responsibilities, the RIO is a crewmember. I had full controls and flew the F-4 in both combat and peacetime. My primary duties included managing radar, operating and guiding air-to-air and air-to-ground weapons such as missiles and laser-guided bombs, and using targeting systems to locate, track, and engage enemy threats. I also handled radio communications and used electronic tools to evade enemy defenses. Although my flight training and role differed from that of the pilot’s, we both received basic emergency procedures training, including ejection protocols and survival on the ground.

Basic Survival after ejection: SERE (Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape) took place in the wilderness of Washington state. We were taken into the field and walked for several days while trying to avoid instructors. In the field, we learned how to use camouflage, communicate, and make tools and equipment from what we found. We also learned to build a shelter from a parachute, identify safe plants to eat, and find clean water. One memory from the trek stands out. We stood on a ridgeline, looking down into a valley ahead. Our goal was to reach a distant ridge where we would meet instructors acting as partisans. Besides moving over tough land, part of our training was to avoid a group of instructors. This hiding was very hard and tiring, and after two days in the wild, giving up (self-initiated elimination) seemed increasingly tempting. That was the point: to push you to the point of giving up, but to also give you the confidence and tools to keep going and succeed to avoid being taken prisoner of war (POW).

POW training was tough. To prepare, I had to get through an obstacle course in the dark. I had to crawl under barbed wire, cross barbed wire fences, climb over pits, and handle various challenges. Instructors fired shots and set off explosions as I negotiated the course. After that, I spent three days in a mock POW camp for intense training. The instructors acted as captors, using interrogation and psychological tactics to try to break me. That was my experience preparing for combat and the possibility of capture. I went through sleep deprivation, had limited food, and experienced both physical and mental stress to simulate real captivity. A lot of what happened there is still classified, but if you watch war movies, you can get an idea of what POW training was like.

During my 23-year career, I completed four survival schools: Basic, Jungle for ejection in Southeast Asia, Water for ejection over the sea, and Arctic, since I spent four years flying out of Elmendorf AFB in Anchorage, Alaska. Each course was challenging in its own way, but together they provided some of the most valuable training I received in the Air Force. These experiences prepared me to survive in tough conditions, whether during war or in peacetime.

Some in the news media called the colonel WSO’s weekend rescue a miracle, but it was not. It was the result of relentless training. He was prepared for ejection and survival, just as the rescue teams were ready to find him. This mission is a testament to the American military’s unwavering preparation. Long before he found himself over Iran, the colonel had already faced these challenges in training. He knew exactly what to do, how to handle it, and he did it with resolve. Congratulations to him and everyone who made his rescue possible

Posted in American History | Tagged Air Force, F-4 WSO, history, John Norvell, Norvell History, SERE, Survival training, Vietnam War | 2 Comments

The Initiation

Posted on March 30, 2026 by jenorv

There comes a moment in a man’s life when everything changes. For me, that moment arrived at Luke Air Force Base in October 1972. After nearly 10 months as a nav student in the Air Force, I was now a graduate-rated navigator, ready for the next step: my initiation into the world of the fighter pilot.

Initiation is the correct word.

On the runway, the Aircraft Commander Instructor Pilot (IP) advanced the throttles to military power, moved past the detente into afterburner, and released the brakes. The Phantom accelerated rapidly. From my position in the back, the sensation was akin to being strapped to a shell and launched from a cannon. At 70 knots (KTS), I called off; the rudder became effective, and the aircraft transitioned from nose gear steering. We lifted off promptly. All procedures were followed, at least from my perspective. While the nav trainer typically cruised at approximately 180 KTS, the F-4 became airborne at that speed and routinely cruised between 350 and 450 KTS. The pace was so rapid that I found myself constantly trying to keep up. Although it was not as overwhelming as my initial navigation flights, it was clear that I still had much to learn.

As the G-suit inflated around my legs, I experienced another new sensation. Seated securely in the F-4, I moved with the aircraft as it turned to port, climbed, and dove over the Arizona desert. The experience felt like the best roller coaster I had ever ridden, offering a true sense of freedom in flight. In that moment, I understood why I had worked so hard to reach flight training. When I look back, I remember the child’s poem: “How does it feel to go up in the air, up in the air so blue?” The answer is simple—it felt amazing. Flying was actually fun, which was a new experience for me.

In navigation school, flying was always serious and tough. But now, I was discovering a whole new world above the clouds. I finally saw how the radar worked with real targets, and all those hours in the simulator started to make sense. My confidence grew, and I began to believe I could really do this job well. To be honest, I was a bit cocky and maybe even a little euphoric. It felt great to be a GIB, and even better to be flying in a Phantom over the Arizona desert.

Then the true initation moment: the instructor told me, “You’ve got the stick.”

And I shook the stick, saying, “I’ve got the stick.”

I tried to sound confident—but to be honest, it had never dawned on me that I would be flying the bird on the first ride. I found myself, just a kid from rural upstate New York, tightly gripping the stick of a top-level fighter. Even now, years later, it’s tough to describe exactly how I felt in that moment. Pride, awe, excitement, and a huge adrenaline rush all hit me at once and kept me buzzing well into the night—my wife still remembers it.

But there was more to it. When I was younger, I dreamed of becoming a fighter pilot. My eyesight kept me from reaching that goal, but I never gave up. I was determined to fly and felt a strong desire to join that brotherhood. I wasn’t the only one who felt this way. Many GIBs shared that same passion. We each had our own journey to get there. Not everyone took the same path to the rear cockpit. Some tried to become pilots but didn’t make it, so they ended up going to navigator school. Like me, some were older.

In military aviation, everyone follows a defined path: you begin as a student, earn your wings, qualify on a specific aircraft, join a squadron, and, if you excel, become an instructor. Each advancement brings new responsibilities and challenges. Looking back now, I see how it all worked. It would not be easy to be part of this select group. I needed to master flying the Phantom from the back seat, and I took every opportunity to fly, gradually developing the skills required to serve as a member of the F-4 crew.

This initiation was only the first step.

Posted in American History | Tagged Air Force, F-4 GIB, F-4 training, GIB, Luke AFB, military-life, Navigator Training | 1 Comment

Two Mentors

Posted on February 27, 2026 by jenorv

I was lucky to have two men that guided my Air Force career, many don’t even have one.

The first was Major Theodore “Ted” Shorack, Jr. He was lost on 9 June 1966 over North Vietnam while on a rescue mission of an F-105 pilot. His body was never recovered. He is a hero to me.

But I first met him as an ROTC student at Hobart College in the Finger Lakes area of New York. Major Theodore James Shorack, Jr. was born in Grand Rapids, Minnesota, March 6, 1929. On July 9, 1951, Ted enlisted in the USAF and went to Lackland AFB, San Antonio, Texas for basic training, he did well and qualified for officers’ training school; on, Dec. 12, 1952, he was commissioned as 2nd lieutenant in the USAF. He received his “wings” December 1956. He then went to Texas, flying the F-86 D and later was assigned to Sembach, Germany 66th Tac Rec Wing, 303rd Sq., flying the RF-84 F. In April 1958 he was given a regular commission in the USAF. When the RF-84 was replaced by the RF-101 the 303rd Sq. was transferred to Laon, France. At Laon, December 12, 1959 he was promoted to Captain. He extended his 3-year tour one year and instructed in the T-33 at Laon that year. Next, he had a four-year ROTC assignment at Hobart College, Geneva, arriving in 1962. There, he was an assistant professor of Air Science. In 1965 he volunteered for service in Vietnam.

If there were ever a man who exemplified what it meant to be a good officer, it was Ted. He had a military bearing and a positive attitude that motivated young men. Ted was approachable and often counseled all the Hobart men, my college, who went to him for advice and help, whether they were in ROTC or not. Further, he was active in the local community and well-liked by his neighbors.

Ted once told me that he could always count on me to get the job done. He gave me confidence in my abilities, whereas, at home, I seemed never to do anything right. And Ted encouraged me to pursue a career as a pilot. In the future, the air force would be my sanctuary where I was determined to succeed. And I did. I overcame much to achieve my flying career after many setbacks. I ended up in the backseat of the hottest fighter in the Air Force and went on to have a promising career as a GIB, achieving the rank of lieutenant colonel.

Eight years later in Alaska, about halfway through my time at Elmendorf from 1974 to 1978, I met Colonel Keith Connolly (born June 9, 1934, in Sioux City, Iowa, and died December 24, 2025).

Inspired to become a fighter pilot while in eighth grade after hearing a pilot speak at career day, Keith knew early what he wanted to do in life. In 1956, he entered the U.S. Air Force Aviation Cadet Program, earning his pilot wings and a commission as a second lieutenant. He was assigned to Williams Air Force Base, Arizona, for F-86 advanced gunnery training. While there, he learned the fundamentals of being a fighter pilot .

Keith truly was a force of nature and the kind of pilot everyone looked up to. Before coming to Elmendorf, I spent a year in combat, where the atmosphere was always serious. Keith was different—he brought humor to work every day and made sure everyone felt it. Back then, I was a captain leading the Exercise Plans Branch of the 21st Composite Wing, and later I became Director of Plans. I grew in these roles because Keith encouraged me and believed I could take on more responsibility.

Keith was a mentor to me, even if he never had that official title. A real mentor gets to know you, understands your goals, and checks in to see how you’re doing. They don’t just give you answers—they help you learn to stand on your own and build strong, lasting relationships. Keith did all of that for me. He never treated me like I was just a low-ranking captain. Our relationship was closer than any other captain I knew had with a full colonel. I worked hard, and as I took on more responsibility, Keith supported me every step of the way.

Keith had the biggest impact on me. He taught me honor, respect, integrity, friendship, loyalty, camaraderie, and dedication. He showed me what it means to lead and to treat others with dignity. I learned so much from him, and those lessons became the core of who I am. Later, I started guiding others, sharing the same values that Keith had given me.

Can any man be more blessed?

Posted in Air Force, Air Force lingo, American History | Tagged Air Force, Alaska, history, Norvell History, Vietnam War | Leave a comment

Christmas Past touches us still

Posted on December 13, 2025 by jenorv

Christmas is truly a time for reflection.

This year, we took a nostalgic journey by revisiting all our old holiday videos. I started filming Christmas morning in 1977, the year our daughter was born in Alaska. At first, I used Super 8mm Kodak silent films. Then, in 1983, we transitioned to videotape, allowing us to finally hear the laughter and joy of our family celebrations. One memorable moment was captured when my sister decorated the tree alongside our daughters, while my mother and aunt looked on. This scene takes us back in time; all of them gone nearly a quarter of a century. The quality of those early recordings is not great; our first camera struggled with low light and produced somewhat ghostly images. Yet, they are filled with warmth and the spirit of the season.

In 1987, we made a significant upgrade to a better video camera (the old one had died). A few years ago, I started condensing our Christmas videos into about 15 minutes of highlights. Now on DVDs, these highlights take us on a journey through the years from 1977 to 2002. Watching them is an emotional experience. We see our daughters grow from toddlers into teenagers and, ultimately, confident women at William Smith. It’s like witnessing a time-lapse of our lives, illustrating how we transitioned from newlyweds to a couple with over 40 years of cherished memories. This journey captures the essence of our evolution into what we now smilingly call “older” folks.

Christmas 2012 Canandaigua – Rear Obie, Mel’s husband, Bob Amy’s husband, Front Melissa, Bonnie, me, and Amy

We also read some of our annual Christmas letters to family and friends. These often began with “nothing much happened this year.” It’s a sentiment many folks can relate to. These letters capture small yet meaningful moments in our lives. They provide a comforting sense of continuity, reminding us that, despite the ups and downs of the year, there is strength in our everyday experiences. It is these little moments that emphasize the special connections that bind us together.

We had one additional holiday tradition for many years. It all started in 1971 when I received a 12-inch stand-up Santa Claus Christmas card from friends I met while serving in the Air Force. Although the card was meant as a joke, it was for a 5-year-old, it made me smile. Inspired by this, I decided to continue the tradition each year, sending Santa back to his sender. From 1972 onwards, as my military service took me from combat to different places, Santa visited and witnessed all the changes in our lives. Each year he carried a new message, until there was hardly any space left to write.

Unfortunately, 10 years ago, Santa didn’t come. My friend, the original sender, had passed away. However, I managed to locate his former wife and sons, and one of them had the original card. So, Santa made one last trip to us in 2016, 45 years after he first came. He was faded and wrinkled but brought back his messages and memories. Although my friend is gone, looking at Santa reminds me of him and how a joke became a precious tradition. Every Christmas was special when Santa arrived.

Looking back, our holidays were filled with thoughtful gifts and the excitement of children (and adults) in beautifully decorated spaces. We treasure these memories and are thankful for the wonderful people and events they represent. This blend of nostalgia and gratitude underscores their significance. No matter how challenging a year may be, Christmas brings hope. The rich tapestry of holiday memories reminds us that we were blessed.

Posted in American History, Christmas, Christmas Card traditions, Christmas Cards sent back and forth, Christmas letter | Tagged Christmas, family, Holiday, Holidays, writing | Leave a comment

The Strangest Thanksgiving Ever!

Posted on November 26, 2025 by jenorv

Everyone has a mental image of Thanksgiving that is right out of a Norman Rockwell painting: the family around the table, Dad carving the turkey, the children beautifully dressed and smiling.

Well not all Thanksgivings are like that.

I have spent Thanksgiving in Thailand eating gummy fondue and bagels heated on a hotplate, Thanksgiving in Alaska on alert, and Thanksgiving with folks who were mad at each other and not speaking – that was pretty weird– and Thanksgivings with family members who were always eager to share their opinions on my life and how it was going. But the absolutely strangest Thanksgiving was in California in 1972.

My wife and I had just been married and it was our first Thanksgiving. I was in training to fly the F4 in Arizona and we decided to go to California to visit a captain and his wife who were at an Air Force Base, down near Yosemite National Park. They were people I had known in flying training. We had a nice visit and since we were close to Yosemite, our friend said that we should drive over to the park and sightsee. It was decided that we would do it on Thanksgiving day and his wife would stay home and prepare the meal, as she didn’t want to go. We set off in the morning with the plan that we would be back at 5 p.m for dinner. It was a beautiful day and we spent it surrounded by the magnificence of Yosemite.

At about 5 p.m. we returned to their quarters on base, expecting that dinner was ready – WRONG.

She had not even started the meal. Not only that– she hadn’t even put the bird in the oven. Don’t ask me why, I have no clue – the story was not clear then and it is not clear now, something about shopping etc, and then waiting until we got home. It didn’t make sense then and it certainly doesn’t 42 years later. We even took their two year old child with us so she could have the day free to herself.

Well, as any adult knows, you do not cook a turkey in 1 hour or 2 hours or even 3 hours, usually it takes about 5 hours. Let’s see 5 p.m. plus 5 hours brings us to 10 p.m. And that is when dinner was finally served after my wife pitched in and helped.

Now we hadn’t eaten anything since about noon at Yosemite and it was 10 p.m. We were famished.

Did I mention there were no snacks to munch on while we waited for FIVE HOURS FOR DINNER.

We loaded our plates and literally inhaled it, no time for pleasantries, no comments about the food, no comments period.

I have never, never before or after, seen people eat so fast.

We shoveled it in –I think it was now about 10:07 at this point, or maybe 10:05, (as I said I have never seen people eat so fast).

And then it was time for refills.

Eating at so fast a pace meant that the “we were full signal” had not quite reached our brains. As we tucked into that second big plate, it hit our stomachs. I don’t remember much after that as we sat in a food-induced stupor. And then it was time for bed.

We left the next day.

Oh well at least Yosemite was beautiful.

PS: The couple we visited later divorced and we now think that the wife had a special Thanksgiving guest while we were away and it wasn’t the Turkey.

Posted in Air Force, American History, American holidays, Family History, Norvell Family History, Thanksgiving, Yosemite | Tagged Air Force, Strange Thanksgivings, Thanksgiving, Yosemite | Leave a comment

Mr. and Mrs. Halloween

Posted on October 25, 2025 by jenorv

If you’ve known me for a while, you know Halloween is my favorite holiday. My Halloween memories began when I was about five years old. I can still vividly picture my dad carrying what seemed like a gigantic pumpkin. We sat together at the table while he carved it into a Jack-o’-Lantern. The soft, golden light of a late fall afternoon streamed through the kitchen windows, creating an atmosphere that only October can offer. It was a beautiful moment, clearly in my mind. My dad, an Army Master Sergeant who fought in World War II, was preparing to head overseas again during the Korean War, which made this moment even more poignant. As the years passed, Halloween transformed from the simple act of carving pumpkins into something much more.

Like many childhood memories, this transformation began in elementary school. Growing up in the 1950s in Hannibal, a small town near Oswego, I found Halloween to be the most significant holiday of the year. The streets, cloaked in darkness and lined with age-worn gravestones from the nearby cemetery, created an eerie backdrop for the celebration. At school, we celebrated with parties and games, and our teachers surprised us by donning costumes that added to the special atmosphere of the day.

As evening fell, small groups of children gathered, eagerly anticipating the highlight of the night: trick-or-treating. Some of the younger kids engaged in harmless pranks, like soaping windows. Meanwhile, the teenagers hoisted an old wagon high up the town flagpole, a sight that greeted us the next day as we passed by on the school bus. Caught up in the spirit of the night, my friend and I crafted a makeshift scarecrow using tattered clothes and hay, hanging it from a gnarled tree branch in hopes of startling unsuspecting drivers. Halloween nights were a perfect blend of creativity and harmless mischief in our small town.

As adults, my wife Bonnie and I fully embraced Halloween. Each year, we host an open house, and our guests are always amazed by the extensive collection of Halloween items we’ve gathered or received over the past 53 years. When I say “received,” I really mean it. I’ve even gotten Halloween decorations as gifts for my birthday and Christmas. Sometimes friends drop by and say, “We saw this and thought of you.” They often bring us new items during our Halloween open house as well. What can I say? Our home has rightfully earned the nickname “The Halloween House.” When we meet new people and mention that we live in the “Halloween House”, they usually smile, aware of our reputation.

We love creating elaborate displays in our yard that get everyone into the holiday spirit. Before the pandemic, we set up a spooky graveyard in our front yard, complete with homemade gravestones. In 2008, Channel 13 in Rochester featured our display on the morning news just before Halloween. These days, we’ve replaced the gravestones with a cheerful pumpkin patch, featuring a friendly ghost with a Jack-o’-Lantern head. During their visit, the Channel 13 host aptly called us “Mr. and Mrs. Halloween.”

So, if you’re in Canandaigua on Halloween night and wondering where to find us, just ask — everyone will know.

Posted in American History, Halloween, New York, New York State History | Tagged autumn, fall, Halloween, Holidays, lifestyle | Leave a comment

Dancing with the Devil

Posted on September 15, 2025 by jenorv

During our F-4 upgrade training, our Instructor Pilots (IPs) warned us about the dangers of complacency. Taking things for granted could lead to serious accidents. But complaceny was not the only issue.

In the fall of 1972 at Luke Air Force Base, a German F-104 student pilot crashed during a practice bombing mission. The investigation found that he experienced target fixation, where he focused on the target to the exclusion of everything else. Target fixation occured when someone concentrated on a singular, often distracting or dangerous element, driven by the expectation of success. The student likely became complacent after flying the mission multiple times, which ultimately led to disaster. We referred to such outcomes as “Buying the Farm,” meaning to crash or die. This was certainly not our goal.

When I think about the dangers of flying, I remember the line, “Ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?” This is a famous quote from The Joker, played by Jack Nicholson, in the 1989 movie Batman. It asks whether someone has ever taken a dangerous risk or flirted with evil. I, like many others who flew in the Phantom, have “danced with the devil.” I was fortunate; others were not.

SEA sorties witnessed many incidents of danger. In my own squadron, the 13 TFS, as if to prove the point about “buying the farm”, a crew ferrying an F-4 from Ubon had to bail out when the plane came apart. The aircraft crashed into a Thai village.

I had a different experience that could have resulted in disaster. On July 22, 1973, we began our bombing mission like usual. I was flying with an experienced pilot. Our aircraft, an F-4E 237, received clearance, and we started the takeoff. This was a combat mission and we had about 18,000 pounds of Mark 82s hanging from the bird. We climbed into the sky, flew over the klong, and turned. Everything felt normal as we reached 1,000 feet and continued to climb. Suddenly, our plane lurched violently to the right. At that point, we were around 7,000 feet, but we quickly dropped, losing about 1,000 feet instantly. Our wingman, who was catching up to us, held back to see what was happening.

We had two options: either get the aircraft over an uninhabited area and eject, or try to stabilize the aircraft and fly it for about an hour to burn off fuel before jettisoning the bombs. The AC decided that we would remain with the bird for now. The next 40 minutes felt long, but fortunately, nothing serious happened. We dumped the fuel, jettisoned the bombs, and landed safely. That was my first close call in the air, but I knew the risk was always present on any flight.

While I was in Alaska, several accidents involved F-4 aircraft. On February 18, 1971, an F-4E crew crashed while approaching Elmendorf Air Force Base. They ejected safely and were rescued from Cook Inlet, but the cause of the crash is unknown. In December 1973, an F-4 on a routine training mission turned into a cloud and simply disappeared. It was never found. On May 1, 1974, another F-4 crashed during its approach to Eielson Air Force Base. Then, on January 24, 1976, two F-4s flew through a cloud of volcanic ash from Mount St. Augustine, which had erupted the day before. The ash damaged the aircraft, making it impossible to see out of the front windscreen. In February 1977, an F-4 crashed while approaching Elmendorf. The crew ejected and was rescued from the icy waters of Cook Inlet, but the cause of this accident was also undetermined.

In early spring 1977, while returning from a training mission near King Salmon, we encountered a fuel problem. The AC noticed the problem, but there were no fumes or signs of fuel venting from the wing. Possible explanations included internal fuel not transferring from the wings to the main tank or fuel flowing back into the wing tanks. The cold weather in Alaska affected the F-4 in ways that weren’t obvious during pre-flight checks, unlike the hot climates of Luke or Thailand. Looking out from the rear cockpit, I saw we were over a desolate area, about 150 miles from Elmendorf. We worked the problem using our checklists and other emergency procedures and in the end, the situation seemed to resolve itself.

The incidents illustrate that flying inherently involves risks, often likened in my mind to “Dancing with the Devil.” Minor events can escalate into significant problems, and an excessive focus on a single target can lead to a catastrophic outcome. Complacency was a real threat. While flying in a jet offered opportunities that most Americans may never experience, it is important to recognize that these experiences can also carry substantial consequences.

Posted in 13 TFS, 43 TFS, Air Force lingo, Alaska, Alaskan Air Command, American History, F-4 Phantom II, F4 emergency, F4 Phantom II, F4 PhantomII, Fighter Aircraft, Fighter pilot lingo, Fighter pilot slang, Udorn RTAFB, Vietnam War | Tagged aircraft, aviation, history, military, travel | Leave a comment

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