Well, I thought I would be able to have a really cool post this week from the Licensing Expo we attended. My travel computer thought otherwise, and was refusing to talk to my keyboard. I appreciate all of you, but I couldn't compose a complete post by pecking at the on-screen keyboard. That, at least, is fixed.
But this week got a lot more complicated. My father-in-law took a turn for the worse and landed in the hospital. He was released on Thursday but had to go to a care facility, where he passed away in the early hours of Father's Day, Needless to say, we have been a bit distracted, and our travel plans were thrown into chaos. It appears we will be going home for now (there will be no funeral, per his wishes) and making a trip back to see the family a bit later in the year.
In the 39 years I have been a part of this family Jim made me feel loved and accepted from Day One; I know that is not always the way with in-laws, and I have been forever grateful for this wonderful man
For now I would like to share with you a tribute Steve posted this morning:
My dad, Jim York passed away last night after a long fight with dementia, the fight you can't (yet) win.
Dad was a flying man. He was a flight engineer in the Air Force in Korea, and flew psyops missions behind enemy lines to drop leaflets and occasional parachuting spies.
He returned to the US and finished his service crewing a test B-29 that flew over bombing ranges testing fuel tanks, by lowering (full) self-sealing fuel tanks out of the bomb bay on an arm, shooting them with their own machine guns, and seeing if they caught on fire. If they did, they were then supposed to put the fire out, haul them back into the bomb bay, and bring them back for study. If they couldnt, they COULD drop them on the range, but it was "discouraged."
He was a trained aircraft mechanic and worked as a civilian fixing all manner of planes and helicopters, often as a contractor for the army.
He eventually got a job with #BellHelicopter as a Field Service Representative, meaning he flew all over the world advising customers on using and maintaining their helicopters.
He rubbed elbows with billionaires. He delivered a helicopter to one in Germany who paid the balance owed to Bell with a suitcase of cash. And he was entertained by another on his private island off Australia.
But he also lived embedded with combat pilots, and in Vietnam he stayed in a quonset hut where he had a bed made out of sandbags and runway plating, so he could roll under it for protection during mortar attacks.
He was fired at while trying to sneak past the coast of Honduras while showing off a new helicopter in South America. He investigated crashes, flew with Air America, the CIA's private airline, survived hurricanes, flew to offshore oil rigs, and saw empires fall. He barely escaped the fall of Teheran in a tale that is very similar to the movie "Argo."
He wasn't a trained engineer, but he was a self taught one. When Bell had a vibration problem with their new 222 helicopter they couldn't fix, dad was the one they called back to the factory to fix it.
He finished his time til retirement with Bell working mostly state-side, civilian contracts, which were a LITTLE less exciting. But dad was at heart a plain talking farm boy, utterly unimpressed with wealth or celebrity. He could drink with the best of them and with his county-boy manner often served as a brand ambassador with the rich and famous.
This is Jim in his natural habitat: next to an airplane. (Or in it!)
He once sat next to Emilio Estevez on a cross country airline flight. It was Estevez who geeked out over dad as he was fascinated with helicopters. They had a good time talking, and Estevez invited him to watch the Lakers play from his box seat and meet his then girlfriend and Laker Girl, Paula Abdul. Dad turned him down. He didn't care about sports, and just wanted to get home. He had no idea Estevez was a famous actor until my mom figured it out the next day.
The 222 was kind of dad's personal helicopter model, and he flew around to show it off to potential customers. When it was chosen to play the titular super-helicopter on the TV show, #Airwolf, dad was sent to the set to offer advice. He wasn't impressed with the fake guns and rockets they put on his sleek, beautiful helicopter, but he liked to watch the show I guess.
Dad wasn't a braggart, and while he could tell a great story over a business lunch, we, his family, didn't hear a lot of these things until much later. He didn't want to scare mom. Ironically, it was my wife, Christina York, who heard a lot of them (especially the Teheran story) when they bonded over morning coffee. I'm sure there are many others we'll just never hear about.
Dad is gone now. I imagine at the end, an aircraft would have arrived to take him off to the great beyond. I thought it might have been his own plane, an F-24 Fairchild that he crash landed upside down in a farmer's field when a defective connecting rod snapped just after takeoff. (He and a passenger walked away unharmed.) Or maybe his beloved 222. Or...
It's Airwolf. It will come in and land, Jan Michael Vincent and Ernest Borgnine at the controls (Dad won't be impressed). He'll climb in, and they'll take off.
They'll offer him a thermos of good coffee. He'll complain about all the fake Hollywood stuff, and they'll say, "Nah, it's all real now. Want to go supersonic?"
He'll say, "well, I just might. Can I fly?"
"Sure."
He'll take the controls, push that special button on the stick, and jet flames will shoot out the back.
Cue that theme music...
Steve added this later: The trouble with telling old stories is that sometimes the details get confused. I got an important one twisted. Wrong brother. It was Charlie Sheen, not Emilio Estevez. Sheen had just been in "Platoon" (which dad had never heard of) and had developed his enthusiasm for helicopters there. In reflection I think I confligrated Paula Abdul myself. I stand corrected.