From Elko to England
A Nevada buckaroo on the B-17
February 16th, 2016 Skyway, Washington
It was a classic dreary Northwest day on February 15th, 2016. It was raining and overcast, or in aviator’s gibberish 2000 scattered 5000 broken. In reality, there was a continuous coverage of clouds as far as the eye could see in every direction. An old gentleman in a wheelchair sat sound asleep at the corner window of a room His legs draped in a handmade quilt blanket his mother had made some 100 years before. The man was slender with almost a full head of hair as he slumped over snoring. A rain gutter clogged with Evergreen needles made tinking sounds as it overflowed at his corner window. On the nightstand sat a picture of his entire family during a holiday get together. His wife of 70 years had blessed him with 4 girls and 2 boys. They had met at the University of Washington while he was earning a degree in aerospace engineering on the GI Bill. There were 4 generations and over 70 family members in the picture. It was the last picture taken before Becky passed.
His now senior citizen children had chosen this run down assisted living facility for it’s solid reputation, awesome view of Boeing Field and convenience to Interstate 5. When Becky passed, Milton’s health deteriorated quickly. He would devolve from a high functioning man that still drove a car and went on walks with the dog to a person that lost a lifelong loved one. , He began to not eat, wash or leave the house. He would simply sit in a chair. Dementia would set in rapidly. Soon he was so weak that he began to stumble when he walked. The family had enough when he would wet himself instead of going to the restroom. His youngest son did all he could to help his father, but it soon became clear that he needed fulltime care. Milton had purchased a long-term care policy for him and his wife several years before. It was now a matter of finding a place that suited their fancy. A task that was quite difficult given the demographics of today and the tsunami of human products related to our penchants for the nuclear family.
Miltie who had now advanced from dementia to the advanced throes of ALS did not recognize his own children until he was briefed a little. . He was always busy thinking of the B-17s and B-24s taking off at the British airfield down below. In reality, the airplanes were freshly manufactured Boeing jets getting flight tested out of Boeing Field. The present was gone. All that was left at this stage of the game was the spring and summer of 1944. He was ready for the mission and waited daily for the call from the squadron commander. “They better have cleaned the cockpit windows and greased the 50 cals” he would stammer.
Each visit from his children was the same. They would say “hello daddy.” He would ask them their names and tell them that he had children their age. He would then talk about his wife and how she must be visiting her mother. Of course, he would then ask if they knew what happened to that German farm girl. Each time, the children would say something like, ” we think she is Ok,” or something to distract him from his view of the airfield below. With the regularity of a postman, his next move was to remove his pair of donated toy binoculars from beneath his blanketed wheelchair and turn to watch the bombers. “That one.” he would say, ” is headed to Germany.” Next, he would ask if the squadron commander would be doing the briefing today. In another moment, he would be sound asleep.
A few moments later, a robust and pleasant looking Ethiopian immigrant female healthcare worker would come into the room and ask the Captain to finish his food. ” Captain Jones”, she would yell, “you need to finish your chow!” “We can’t let you go out on a mission on an empty stomach”, she would strongly suggest. Milt would immediately gobble up the asparagus in cheese sauce and tasty piece of freshly baked halibut.
She would ask him if he is comfortable while adjusting his blanket and laying a warm hand on his shoulder. Under this woman’s care, Milton had thrived. His family loved her and sometimes gave her money on the side for her genuine hard work and caring demeanor. This day, Milt’s daughter would grab and grasp the caregiver’s hand, slip her several of one hundred dollar bills and close her hands upon it while telling her how thankful she was for caring for her father. The money would go a long way for the $15 an hour immigrant woman with 3 kids and a very expensive 2 bedroom apartment in Renton.
Her name was Ayana or Beautiful Flower in her native language. Every day she would figure out a way to positively touch the older folks in her charge. Her heart was large and her eyes were deep with a gorgeous light hazel color. She was quite vigilant and demanded eye contact. One would be rewarded with a sparkle of goodness and approval as one peered into her soul. Ayana liked people. Her teeth were white and she presented a genuinely sincere and broad beautiful smile. Her personality was infectious and wonderfully positive and pleasant. Many sought refuge, strength, and warmth from her kind demeanor and deep affectionate eyes. She shared her character and warmth freely. She would always make solid eye contact and generate a large smile for the children of the elderly in her care. She would then tell how well Milton is eating and causing trouble with all the other gals. Ayana always talked respectfully and called people by Mr. or Mrs. Behavior learned from growing up in the poverty of East Africa and working as a hostess at an upscale Hotel. She was on a first name basis with Milt’s children and could remember everyone’s name down to the great-grandchildren.
Ayana loved America. She had waited in line to immigrate for close to a decade. She had been sponsored by a Boeing support employee who had been working a 737 maintenance problem in Addis Ababa. Once in America, she applied her robust first generation immigrant work ethic immediately. During job interviews, she only presented a positive demeanor and would always follow up. She never took no for an answer. She figured she just needed to work a little harder at being accepted. It wasn’t long before she found employment at a senior assisted living facility in Skyway, Washington.
Ayana worked hard so her children could live in a decent home and attend good schools. She also demanded hard work from her kids. She knew that her children could compete for the American dream if they were educated, disciplined, respectful to others, and brought a vocational game to the table. She insisted that her children respect their teachers and pay attention. Born and raised in East Africa, she was a product of a strong and pleasant hardworking family. A family that had to compete hard in order to stay out of the throes of poverty. She was very foreign and immune to the alienation and negative conditioning that many in America have descended into. She simply did not understand or care to dabble in it. To her, it was a failure in character and something she had exclusive control over. For Ayana, her conditioning and tribulations in East Africa made exploiting the America Dream simply a piece of cake.
After a meeting lasting no longer than an hour or so, Miltie’s daughter would say goodbye and make her way to the exit. Of course, the 91-year-old would then return to the window and scan the airfield with his prized toy binoculars. Below, Interstate 5 would be a parking lot as Boeing aerospace workers headed home to Tacoma. The haze of water vapor and flashing red lights would continue on for hours.
Milton Buford Kost joined the Army Air Corp in the June 1943 after graduating from high school. Like many enlisted, he was chosen to be an aviator candidate, because he was fit, smart and had natural air sense. It did help that his father was an engine mechanic at a local airport in a farming community in Eastern Washington state. It also helped that he maintained a 3.8 GPA average and had 100 hours of single-engine pilot time. The airport had a tiny runway and only one hangar. Its main customer base was a crop dusting outfit with several aircraft and a few rich farmers that liked to fly. When there were no airplanes to work on, Milt’s father would be the go-to guy when it came to fixing tractors, combines, and farm implements. Milt’s father also maintained a portable welding rig on an old Ford pickup along with a machine shop with lathe and mill. During the harvest season, Milt and his father would be very busy fixing machines in the field. As payment during the great depression, many times Milt’s dad would bring home a side of naturally fed beef, some chickens or a bushel of produce. Back then a man’s handshake was all that was needed.
Once in awhile, after an engine overhaul, a paying customer would ask if Miltie would like a ride in their newly repaired crop duster. Every time, his father would decline. “Not today son,” he would say. You see his father had been working in the aviation field since WW1. He had seen Liberty engines fail in flight and send the flimsy wood and fabric Bi-plane flat spinning back to earth. He was there during the barnstorming days when every WW1 aviator was a daredevil. Each with their own surplus WW1 bi-plane. Many met with a tragic end. He did not trust the aviation skills of most pilots of the era, and would be damned if he sent his son up with any of them.
Of course, the shop foreman finally talked the father into letting 10 year old Miltie fly with him on a test flight of a new Stearman he had worked on, so from then on, Miltie had the aviation bug. From then on, it was all about being a pilot. A pilot that had excellent mechanical aptitude. By the time Miltie was 16, he could inspect and repair every aspect of an aircraft from rigging flight controls to rebuilding the top end of a Stearman 75 Pratt and Whitney radial engine. By the time he finished high school, he had a pilot’s license and close to 100 hours in his log book.
His father wanted Milton to attend the university instead of working in the boom or bust small aviation field. He had to keep his grades up or his father would not let him perform the test flights. As soon as he graduated from high school the Army Air Corp recruited him, sent him to officer basic training and straight to flight school.
After the war, Milt went back to the old airfield his dad worked at. Being a creature of the Great Depression, Miltie had sent his mother almost every single penny he had made during the war. He had not reached 21 years old, and obtaining a post-WWII flying job was impossible given the surplus of Army Air Corps pilots. Milt wanted to pick up where he left off at the airfield, however, his father would not allow him at the airfield until he had completed a degree on the GI Bill.
Milt applied and was accepted to UW for the Fall of 1945 school year. He was among the first WWII veterans to attend the college on the GI Bill. Instead of staying in the dormitory, Milt purchased a huge old dilapidated 6 bedroom house owner contract with the money he had earned during the war. He would use the GI Bill money to make the payments while he washed dishes at the university cafeteria or wrenched on cars in his garage. During the summer months, he would operate a Stearman cropduster for a company in Eastern Washington. After a while, the house would be full of Army Aircorps veterans attending school.
Milt would meet Rebecca in January 1946. She was a daughter of a farmer outside Ellensburg. They had made eye contact when he was busing tables at the school’s cafeteria. Rebecca was a full-on Irish/ German redhead with big blue sparkling eyes and the body and honest nature of a hard-working farm girl. From that moment on, they would become inseparable. They would marry in the summer. The oldest Son would be born In May 1947.
Becky would give Miltie 6 children. The oldest would be a boy and lose his life flying as a young co-pilot on the B-52 during Nixon’s bombing of Hanoi. His aircraft would be struck at the windscreen by an SA2.
When Milt graduated from college, he worked at Boeing and started at the bottom as a draftsman. He would rise to an engineer, however, he lost interest in working for a large corporation by his 10th year. During those 10 years, however, he had invested in rental homes, and amassed over 20 properties. He would also, start a business rebuilding radial engines.
In 1947, his father found him a military surplus damaged Stearman and picked it up for pennies on the dollar. They would eventually get a hold of 3 aircraft and dominate crop dusting east of the Cascades. Soon, his radial engine business began to take off and he quit Boeing. During the late 1960’s, or “will the last person leaving Seattle turn out the lights,” Milton purchased 10 more homes via foreclosure in Kirkland, Bellevue, and Redmond. He also purchased several auctioned tax lien land parcels in Woodinville. He then purchased foreclosed property in Tacoma in 2009. By the time he was 85, he was making an average of $48,000 a month off of 40 properties. In 2009, Milt pulled all of his savings from the bank and buried it on his 100-acre farm. He would deal in cash for the next 4 years and bury as much as he could.. I guess .15% savings interest was simply not good enough.
Once, Milt and Rebecca had raised their children, they bought 100 acres in the Key Peninsula and started a subsistence farm of their own. 10 acres would be dedicated to organically grown vegetables. Every spring and fall, Rebecca would be running around on her John Deere, excavating, plowing, planting and harvesting. Every fall would find her cellar full of freshly canned goods. 4 big freezers full of naturally fed beef. The cellar floor covered with freshly picked potatoes. Whenever the children came to visit, they would always leave with fresh zucchini, potatoes, lettuce, corn on the cob, or some packaged up ground beef. When the family had their yearly potluck picnic in August, Rebecca would cook up a huge pot of her spaghetti made from her homegrown tomatoes. During Thanksgiving, it was her homemade pumpkin pie with all homemade ingredients. At Christmas time, the family feasted on every manner of cookie, cake, and pie. The Christmas tree would be littered with over 100 gifts for the children. During the summer months, the children would spend time on the farm playing in the forest. Soon, there was a quad track and a remote pup tent camp where the kids could act out a “lord of the flies episode.” A neighborhood kid played piggy.
Milt was a lifelong learner and became infatuated with alternative energy. The farm was blessed with a spring on the side of a large hill. The spring had a 40 foot fall. Milt built a retaining pond at the spring and installed a water generator that charged a massive bank of used car batteries. During the Northwest rainy season, he had electricity from the water turbine generator and electricity from a wind turbine and a 15000-watt solar panel array. With an extremely well-insulated home and LED lighting, Milt and Rebecca only needed a little propane for cooking. Milt built an elaborate boiler system that used biomass from the 100 acres. The wood would be harvested from dead trees on the property. The house was also heated and cooled by solar, wind, or water turbine power via low wattage high seer mini-split systems, which were powered by several 3000-watt pure sine wave inverters. In the Northwest winter, a solar array is almost useless during overcast days. The well house was also run by solar panels, water turbine or wind power via an inverter system. On good days, the water would be pumped into a 5000-gallon holding tank at the top of a hill. When conditions were perfect, solar, wind and water turbine power would produce 25000 watts of power. Soon old car batteries would be replaced by 3 Tesla power walls. Milt would then figure out how to use the TTesla’sbattery bank to power the house at night. All electrical items were powered by alternative energy to include Milt’s Tesla charging station for his Tesla Model S., In essence, they lived completely off the grid with power to spare.
The well water was pure and used the latest filter and no salt water softening technology. To Milt and Becky, there was nothing like a glass of pure spring water, In fact, Milt and Rebecca never purchased sugar drinks for their kids ever. Becky had earned a degree in home economics and only fed her children nonprocessed natural food and vegetables. All of her children and grandchildren were fit and avoided health issues related to bad eating habits.
Milt would put all his properties in a trust for his children. His youngest son would end up maintaining all the properties. Milt would only need a little money from rents every month and the rest went into the trust. He lived and spent money like it was 1935. As a creature of the “Greatest Generation,” Milt remembered the poverty of the 1930’s and eating oatmeal three times a day. He saved for his future, as well as for everyone in his family. He would also instill work ethic and saving for the future in every one of his children. Milton was old school. To him and most of his generation, taking welfare or creating debt was shameful. When Rebecca passed away, Milt would insist on staying at his farm. Within a few months, he had deteriorated from the loss of his wife and was showing signs of dementia. The children decided he needed full-time care and placed him in an assisted living situation. Within a few months, doctors had determined that he had mid-stage ALS. Milt would live a year after the passing of his wife of 70 years. Over 200 people would show up at his funeral. He would be buried with his wife at the Washington State Veterans cemetery outside Spokane. He would leave his children taken care of. After his wake, the children were given a map showing where he had buried $5 million in cash. The IRS did not get a penny.
They understood that one never sells an income-producing property or spend the nest egg. One just passes the nest egg from generation to generation.
The WWII generation is truly our “Greatest Generation!” They lived through the hardships of the Great Depression where only 1 in 4 people were fully employed. They would grow the American GDP from $90 billion in 1939 to $270 billion by 1945. They would defeat the NAZI and the Japanese empires, and secure freedom for much of the world. They were a generation that believed in the American Dream. Their efforts would propel the USA into superpower status and the economic powerhouse for the free world. The Greatest Generation worked hard, saved, and sought never to take a free handout from the government.
Today, half the Democratic party are full on socialists that feel they are entitled to every aspect of the American Dream without lifting a finger. Personal accountability has given way to social labeling and placing blame on others. Communication in a free society has devolved into intolerance, forced conformity, violence, and alienation. If one does not vote for liberal dogma, one is labeled a racist, a biggot, and every term the liberal left can think of. The free press is now owned by special interest and continually spews directed hate gibberish, lies and propaganda. The so-called free press has devolved to a commiserative liberal chat room that regurgitates ineptitude, stupidity, and lies. Pride in our nation’s history has been replaced with hate-filled revision and shaming. History witnessed these same behaviors on the streets of Munich during the 1920s and 1930s. A social media burning of the books if you will. As always America’s liberal left is more closely aligned with dysfunctional European style socialism and fascism. The things we went to war against.
Today, defending the Western character, the Bill of Rights, and the Constitution are vital to our future. Defending the family and our right to religious freedom is vital. We cannot allow our individual freedoms as guaranteed by the Founders and the Republic to go the way of the Obama administration, where sodomy has been elevated to the sanctity of marriage between a man and a woman. Where the politics of what bathroom to use is more important than securing the border. Where illegals have more right to life liberty and the pursuit of happiness in American than the beating hearts of the innocent unborn.
The K12 education system is more interested in turning the school system into LGBT recruitment centers and basic training for gender confusion. Instead of teaching reading, writing and arithmetic, liberals demand that our children be conditioned to gender dysphoria and the objectives of the LGBT movement. In Washington state, the conditioning starts on the first day a 5-year-old shows up for class. Symbols of Christ replaced with symbols of the LGBT movement as early as Kindergarten. Christian morals and beliefs systems replaced with “anus based spirituality and rectum worship.” Morals of a thousand years replaced with liberal moral relativism. Then again sodomy and moral decadence are expressions in a free society. However, the liberals want to turn it into a way of life for everyone. You must conform.
It takes a village has morphed into liberal re-education concentration camps that teach decadence and conformity instead of vocational skills, logic, and critical thinking skills or credit management.
Liberal education dogma is seeking to totally circumvent the role of the family in raising children. It takes a village is really code words for liberal indoctrination.
The pursuit of happiness has given way to free housing, free food stamps, free Social Security, free health care, and free education demands. Many do not want to work for the American Dream, they just want it handed to them on a platter off the backs of others. Today, a welfare recipient’s standard of living and income stream is much higher than an American that works for a living in a service-based economy. The rise of the welfare elite class. Unmarried mothers get a free 4 bedroom house. The boyfriend will show up later in a new car.
Legal female immigrants from Mexico with children have it down to a science. They remain unmarried in the USA so they can get government welfare benefits. The husband then shows up, gets a job, and buys a house. They never declare married status and use government benefits to pay the mortgage on the house. The liberals in the state governments never follow up so there are literally millions of legal immigrants that are getting lifetime checks for nothing. They will pay very little into the US social net. They then sell the home for a profit and move back to Mexico. They get their social security checks at mailboxes across the border. The smarter ones use direct deposit.
America cherishes it’s legal immigrant population, however, many come here to simply abuse the system. But then again, one is considered a racist if one pitches a bitch.
America has the most extensive legal immigrant program in the world!
In order to bolster their voter roles, Democrats want open borders and offer freebies to all illegal immigrants.
Democrats will blame Trump for children in cages when Obama did it en masse.
Democrats will defend the children of illegal immigrants that cross the border illegally with coyotes while demanding that all Americans have access to birth control and “fetus killing stations!” Unbelievable!
The American Dream is not a government program. It is the fire within each of us. It is the desire to love, be successful and raise beloved families in a free society. It is an environment that allows individuals to prosper via their own accord in the greatest country on earth.
Somewhere in England 1943
It was a dreary and rainy day in England. It was 2000 scattered and 5000 broken. Runway visibility was more than a mile. The rain dripped from the trailing edge of a P-51 Mustang’s wing. An older mechanic had the engine cowling open and was inspecting the Merlin engine’s supercharger system “Ya, I think the supercharger lines may be lo0se”, Milt told the greasy overalls mechanic, “go ahead and check the torque on all the fittings!” Milt went on and told the mechanic how the last Mustang he flew had a hard time getting to altitude because the boost would not come up. “Here it is sir.” the mechanic declared! “Looks like the intercooler bolts need to be shimmed a bit because they are bottoming out on the threads, it must be leaking under boost,” he added! ” Hmm I think I will go ahead and snug up these valve covers too, it looks like a little oil is getting on the exhaust manifolds,” the mechanic suggested. “OK, then,” Milt uttered, “I am headed back to the Ops briefing room, I will be back at showtime, go ahead and run up the motor and check the boost when you have tightened everything up, oh and top the fuel off too, we are going far into Germany today!” “No shit sir” the seasoned mechanic muttered to himself, You got it sir, see ya in a few!
“Oh, and go ahead and inform the maintenance chief about the loose bolts, I have a feeling he will want to inspect the entire fleet’” Lt. Jones reiterated! “Will do sir,” the mechanic answered, “ya, we have been getting engines that are using different intercoolers with different thread lengths, ” We have found that simply putting two washers under the fastener fixes the problem, but we just received this bird the other day, and this will be it’s the first sortie with us, I will go ahead and put a wrench on all the connections and make sure she is tight, safety wired, and airworthy sir, we have got it handled!” “damn, this guy sounds like my dad,” Lt. Jones thought to himself.