(r)evolution

Tiananmen Remembered

Commemorating the June 4, 1989 Tiananmen Massacre with my girls at a candlelight vigil in Hong Kong on the eve of the 1997 handover. (Reuters/Dylan Martinez)

 

Fighting the Flying Circus

My grandfather, Alden Sherry was an aviator in WWI, flying SPAD-13 bi-planes with the 94th Aero Squadron of Capt. Eddie Rickenbacker, flying daily sorties against the "Flying Circus" of Baron Manfred von Richthofen, also known as the Red Baron.

He had to drive before he could fly. When he told his mother at 17 that he wanted to leave Cornell and join the Marines, she refused. So he volunteered to be an ambulance driver for the Red Cross instead. By February 1916, he was driving an ammunition truck at the Battle of Verdun.

He may have joined the ranks of US volunteer pilots in the "Lafayette Escadrille," which was officially part of the French military until the US entered the war in April 1917. At that point, it became the 94th U.S. Army Aero Squadron, known as the "Hat-in-the-Ring Squadron" for its distinctive insignia.

The squadron was located across the lines from the Flying Circus, and engaged the brightly-colored tri-plan Fokkers regularly, during sorties often aimed to do reconnaissance or shoot down or protect observation balloons. During one of these missions, on Sept. 26, 1918, Sherry and his wingman were attacked by eight Fokkers. The wingman died in the air, but Sherry crashed into no-man's-land and survived.

During the war, Sherry developed a lifetime friendship with Capt. Eddie Rickenbacker, the top American ace who became head of the Army Air Corps in WWII, and called Sherry back into service. As a staff officer and Rickenbacker's personal pilot, he traveled everywhere from North Africa to Moscow on high-level missions, experiencing a very different war from his eldest son, who was an Army infantryman.

Between the wars, he would occasionally host German aviators when they came through Syracuse,NY on business, an indication that even as the troops in the trenches were chewed up by the first industrialized war, the knights of the air clung to the last vestiges of the chivalric code.

I'd like to do more research on this someday. Materials available include:

1. A typewritten account by Sherry of his getting shot down and surviving, written shortly after the incident  Download Alden Sherry at War

2. Fighting the Flying Circus, Rickenbacker's WWI memoirs, which recount the same incident 

3. 1st Pursuit Group Records, the daily battle logs

4. Sherry's Silver Star Citation, for gallantry in action when downing a German bi-plane on October 18, 1918. (And a box of other medals, including the French Croix de Guerre and the British Burma Star)

5. A photo, purportedly taken from Sherry's cockpit, showing a dogfight under way

6. Numerous original photos and recreated images of SPAD-13s with 94th insignia

 

 

First surf of the year

Driving to the beach yesterday, the wind was so strong strong I saw a tree blow over and bounce off the guardrail. As I passed through Maryland,the radio advertised the lottery, reminding me that I had about the same chance of scoring anything surfable. I was shooting for a two-hour window where it looked as if the winds would blow directly offshore, as a storm retreated northwards. Even then, there was no guarantee the frigid Atlantic would welcome me.

I hit the jackpot. Arriving on the Delaware coast around 5 pm, the wind was still howling, but it was blowing straight into the face of the oncoming storm chop. What had been a washing machine was turning into a skate park, with waves ramping up in neat rows. Only one other guy out; we traded rides until it was too dark to see. 

I think I'll buy a lottery ticket on the way home.

Kiss Her Goodbye

Dropped Cici off at Johns Hopkins this week; another milestone. Lacrosse players and international students were able to move in a couple of days early. A caravan of SUVs pulled up outside Wollman hall. If it was a girl, the vehicle would be packed to the gills with boxes full of patterned things. If it was a guy, there would be an iPod speaker system, a Wii, a fan and one suitcase.

Best of both worlds for Cici in her suite overlooking "The Beach" -- her roomate is another freshman lax player, and her suitemates are from Asia, including a girl who went to Hong Kong International School with several of Cici's primary school classmates.

Turkey Bowl Homecoming

What makes a great Thanksgiving? Start with two Turkey Bowls to add friends, neighbors and sports to food and family. The first was soccer, in the neighborhood where I grew up. A childhood friend mentioned that the game -- started by all of our families in the early '70s -- was still going on. I showed up at the old field and sure enough, there were all the kids from the old gang -- the Mahaffies, the Byersdorfers, the Wilsons -- except all grown up with their own kids. Soccer in the rain and mud was plenty fun, even though fearless 10-year-old girls with ponytails kept stiripping away the ball and scoring on us parents.

That wrapped up just in time to head to Turtle Park, in what's my neighborhood now, for our bi-annual (Thanksgiving and Superbowl Sunday) father-son football game. I have daughters, but the fathers recruit all the help they can get with their sons now in 10th grade and some of them playing varsity ball. Lots more muddy fun.

Final Thanksgiving tip: Try organic, free-range turkey. For the first time in history even the leftovers tasted good.

Surfing in Maine

Okay, it wasn't exactly a surfing safari. Whole family in the truck, but at least the board was on top. Looked rather amusing when we parked in Tribeca for lunch, cutting through New York on the way from DC to New England. In R.I., pal Alan got up and hooked on the first try, on the gentle waves of Naragansett. Then on to Maine, where buddy Jim Sullivan, author of the excellent book Over the Moat, happens to live 2.5 miles from Higgins Beach, which must be the best surfing break in Maine. Had some amazing early-morning and late-evening sessions, bracketing family day trips filled with beauty and lobster.

In fact, the beauty was almost overwhelming; imagine being at the tip of Georgetown island, ocean on one side, rocky tidal stream on another, and cold-water lagoon on the third. Seagulls floating in the dry, 79-degree breeze, light so clear and crisp that it makes the wildflowers glow. Trip home via NH, VT and cousins in CT; a day is special if it starts with surfing and ends with motocross. But girls will remember the guy standing at the bow of a motorboat thrumbing down the Connecticut river between NH and VT who dropped his trunks and shouted "Live free or die."

Rhode Trip

Started the day in DC; spent the afternoon kayaking in Rhode Island's Narragansett Bay; back in DC by bedtime. Cheap flights make it feasible to deposit 10-year-old daughter with distant friend and return home in a day, but it's reassuring that they haven't destroyed the sense of place -- sharp accents and sharp features filled Tigger's diner in East Greenwich, and Del's frozen lemonade is a true delight. Paddled past the town of Quonset that shipped the eponymous huts to US military bases around the world starting in WWII; that reminded me of Marine Corps Platoon Leaders Class, but that's a story for another day. A more managable but nonetheless magical memory from the mid-90s: starting a summer day swimming in the Atlantic at Lewes, DE; driving to BWI, flying to LAX, and swimming in the Pacific that afternoon off Santa Monica. No wonder I'm always stoked.

Fountain of Youth

Cici celebrated her last day of 8th grade today by leaping into the fountain across from her Catholic school. The problem is, some teachers decided in the morning that this tradition should end, so that students wouldn't get flattened crossing the busy traffic circle to get to the fountain. But it takes more than that to stop a tradition, or rather, to stop a torrent of inspired 8th-graders. "We came out of Mass, said a prayer, then ran across the street and jumped in the fountain," Cici recounts. "It was full of algae and really slippery. It was so fun." Clearly, her education so far has been a success.

Landcruisers are forever

Biked past the house today of a guy who collects Toyota Landcruisers -- he had six or seven parked out front, including three old-style models from the 70s. They reminded me of the one I had in Vietnam, when I was based there as a reporter in the early 90s. It had been imported by the French Consulate in Saigon in 1973 and eventually made it to the French Embassy in Hanoi, where I bought it from a departing staffer. Once equiped with some steel mesh to keep the headlights from being stolen, and a couple of fans clipped above the windshield to provide air-conditioning, it was unstoppable. We strapped our two babies into Fisher-Price car seats, bound the seats to the back benches with rope, and were on our way, rattling over the rutted and mostly unpaved roads of northern Vietnam.

What a change that was from our first car in Hanoi -- a Lada I bought from the Tass correspondent. After driving it for two weeks, with the air-conditioner constantly causing it to overheat, handles coming off in your hand when you tried to crank the windows, and rattles everywhere, I understood why the Soviet Union collapsed. Fortunately...

Dogtown + 29

Saw an advance screening of The Lords of Dogtown tonight -- it's going to be the Blue Crush of skateboarding. Saw it with Mitch Temoche, my best buddy from Old School days. We were both 9th graders, recently transplanted from Bethesda, MD to Geneva, Switzerland when we met skateboarding. The sport was just arriving in Europe, we met a promoter, and we did demos all over the country. We soon had a pack of skate buddies, and like landlocked grommets everywhere, we ripped open each issue of Skateboarder magazine when it arrived in the mail, saw the stunts Alva, Peralta and Adams were inventing, and took off to try them. With a European twist, of course -- our favorite route flew through the city, shot under the train station, then down the middle of the main street heading to Pont du Mont Blanc. Once across the lake, we grabbed the backs of trams or buses for the uphill ride to the Parc des Eaux Vives, past the disapproving facades of Swiss banks lining the waterfront.

The Second Coming

Even with all the war and political news this year, the story that produced the biggest headlines in the Washington papers may have been the return of legendary football coach Joe Gibbs to the beleaguered Redskins. “The Return of the King” in giant type was typical; I don’t know how they’ll top that if Jesus Christ comes back tomorrow. Of course, the Redskins keep losing most Sundays, (but as always, we’ll get ‘em next year).   

-- excerpt from a letter to friends and family written around New Year's 2005

Sept. 11, 2001

Everyone remembers exactly where they were that morning; I was on the 22nd floor of the USA TODAY tower overlooking downtown Washington when the plane ploughed into the Pentagon, clearly visible across Arlington National Cemetery. Because a radio report said another plane was heading toward our building, my colleagues evacuated. I suppose I should have done the same -- after all, by then I was just a business guy building the travel website, and I hadn't done any journalism for more than two years -- but my bad habits from years as a foreign correspondent took over. All those obscure stories, filed with such great struggle (in Kompong Thom, Cambodia, in 1993 I had to sweep the crickets out of my suitcase-sized satellite phone dish, then connect my Tandy computer via accoustic couplers). Now here was the biggest story in the world, and I had phones, computers at my fingertips and a perfect view. I stayed, started writing the main story with the help of a late-arriving colleague, and kept updating it all day. I was grateful to have something to do that kept my mind off the overwhelming horror.

Nate Thayer vs. Pol Pot

As much as I loved reporting, the highlight of my years at the Far Eastern Economic Review was editing Nate Thayer, one of the greatest investigative reporters of his generation. Nate broke the story in 1997 that Cambodia's ex-dictator, Pol Pot, was still alive and had been purged from the Khmer Rouge, the movement responsible for the deaths of some 2 million Cambodians when it held power from 1975-1979. He followed up a few months later with the first interview with Pol Pot in 18 years, shedding light on how utopian leftism absorbed in university classrooms and cafes in Paris translated to genocide back in Cambodia. Pol Pot committed suicide after he heard Nate's report, picked up by the Khmer service of VOA, that the Khmer Rouge were about to turn him over to international authorities for trial.

In an era of instant communication, when scoops are matched in hours and sometimes minutes, the Pol Pot stories went unmatched for months. That's because Nate had spent years developing contacts within the Khmer Rouge, Thai intelligence, and elsewhere to gain this access, and seized an opening when the movement turned in upon itself. By no means a Khmer Rouge apologist, he presented a straight, unvarnished picture of the past and present, and confronted Pol Pot with the evidence that he was a mass murderer. With journalism dominated by repackaged content, reporters spoon-feed by anonymous sources with agendas, and few publications besides The New Yorker and The Atlantic willing to back long investigations, these stories stand as journalistic monuments I feel privileged to have helped build.

Words, words, words

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