A Tribute to Ron Gray...

Ron and Dorothy Gray at the time I first met them

On September 16, 2007, I wrote an entry in this blog describing a visit to the home of Ron and Dorothy Gray in Bridgehampton, NY.  Later, in February of 2008, I wrote of a visit that Mary Ann and I made to Ron and Dorothy's home while Mary Ann spent a weekend with me in Connecticut.  My friendship with the Grays started when the Navy sent me to Groton, Connecticut, as Engineering Officer of the USS Maloy (DE-791), the last World War II era Buckley-class Destroyer Escort.  Ron Gray was the other half of the engineering department, the Damage Control Assistant.  We were also "roommates" in a tiny 10 ft. by 12 ft. stateroom in which he had the upper bunk and I, the lower.  It's fortunate that we really hit it off and became close friends.

Ron left the navy after we decommissioned the Maloy in 1965 and he and Dorothy and their daughter, Kristin, returned to Long Island.  There, he built a successful contracting and home construction business, Graystone Builders, Inc., in Bridgehampton, NY.

Ron describing some of the features of a home he had built
during my visit in 2007

One of many magnificent homes built by Graystone Builders, Inc.

I was fortunate enough to see some of the homes that he and Dorothy built.  They will remain as a lasting tribute to Ron.  Dorothy called yesterday to let me know that he passed away earlier this month.  He had been diagnosed with Parkinson's disease a few years ago and had suffered greatly.

Even though I hadn't seen Ron regularly for many years since we established our friendship, he had a strong influence on me.  From the moment I made his acquaintance in the close confines of a small combatant ship, three things were evident:

• Ron was loyal to a fault.  He never once to my knowledge failed in that trait.  He loved his country, navy ship, crew, family, friends with an undying passion.
• Ron Gray took immense pride in his work.  He was a perfectionist.  He demanded that same attitude from his subordinates.  Sloppy work was not tolerated.
• He was unflappable.  As Damage Control Assistant, Ron was responsible for firefighting and de-flooding, among other things.  When we ran drills or had actual incidents, Ron remained outwardly calm in the presence of danger and turmoil.
• He listened.  More than once, I noticed that he spent much more time eliciting information from others rather than dominating a conversation.  That's a very powerful personal trait.

I learned a lot from Ron and hopefully will not forget the lessons he shared with me.  Rest in peace, my Friend.  And may God comfort Dorothy and Kristin as they move on without your strong presence.

A Stormy Hiking Trip...

Picture of me taken on the Stormy Hiking Trip

It was the Fall of 1977.  I had been dating Margo Burge for only a few weeks after having been introduced by Jim and Linda Schmitt.  The Schmitts and I had known each other for several years and Jim had gone backpacking with me on numerous occasions.  It seemed perfectly fine then, when one evening after the Schmitts had hosted a nice meal for Margo and me, that the four of us decided to do a backpacking adventure together on Thanksgiving weekend.  Thanksgiving would fall on November 24th.  We'd drive to the Nantahala Outdoor Center in Wesser, North Carolina, and get a shuttle to Stecoah Gap on the Appalachian Trail.  Then we'd hike south toward the outdoor center, taking two days, and spending the night at the Sassafras Gap Shelter, about seven miles from our starting point.

A sign on the AT describing the section we hiked

We'd be hiking generally uphill the first day, going from 3,165 ft. elevation at Stecoah Gap to about 4,330 ft. at the shelter, on top of Cheoah Bald.  On the second day, we'd hike generally downhill, through a section that was known to be the steepest part of the AT at the time, the "Jump-Up," before concluding our hike with a hearty meal at the N.O.C. (2,051 ft. elev.)  It would be an easy two-day hike to introduce the girls to backpacking.

The next several weeks were spent planning for the trip, buying boots and packs for the ladies, and deciding what clothes to pack.  I told Margo that the weather in Western North Carolina could be quite dramatic in the Spring and Fall.  We'd need to prepare for balmy weather as well as extreme cold.  We included gloves, long underwear, hat, and a down jacket in our plan, as well as shorts.  Who knew what to expect?

On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, the excited hiking party left Pass Christian, Mississippi, in the Schmitt's car.  We arrived in Wesser late that night and stayed in the Motel that was part of the N.O.C.  The next morning we got up and had a hearty breakfast and got hooked up with our shuttle driver.  The weather was spectacular -- clear, sunny skies and temperature in the mid sixties -- perfect hiking weather.  We drove to Stecoah Gap, where the driver dropped us off with all our gear and we watched him disappear back down the two-lane road.  Our car would be waiting for us at our destination.

We were on the trail by 10:00 AM.  It wasn't long before I heard the first jibe, "I'm sure glad I packed a down jacket."  Followed not long after by, "I'm really going to need those warm gloves."  This got old in a hurry, but I kept my mouth shut.  I had seen on the bulletin board at the Outdoor Center that a cold front was coming through along with potential snow flurries and much lower temperatures.  It was good that no matter what, we would be prepared.

The view of Stecoah, NC from Cheoah Bald --
The view we never saw because of snow and fog

Along about 1:00 PM, it began to cloud over and the temperature started to drop.  Not long after that, we felt the first hint of drizzle.  We stopped and added a layer of clothing and put on ponchos.  Soon the drizzle had turned to sleet.  By the time we reached the top of Cheoah Bald, we were in a blinding snow storm.  According to our guidebook, there was a lookout point with a "spectacular view of the town of Stecoah, far below."  We saw snow.

After a short search, we located the shelter.  We tied our tarps across the open front of the structure to defend against the wind and snow.  By now, we had several layers of clothing on and no one was complaining about having brought so much.  

The current Sassafras Gap shelter that has long-since
replaced the one in which we froze

Not long after we arrived at the shelter, we heard voices and soon three men dressed in shorts and t-shirts appeared headed north, the direction from which we had come.  We told them they were still 6 miles from the parking lot where they informed us they had left their car.  We offered to let them stay with us and share clothing, sleeping bags and food, but they insisted on hiking on.  I have often wondered how they ever made it down that sometimes steep trail in the dark so lightly dressed.  It had to have been a miserable experience.

We put our sleeping bags close together so we could benefit from each other's body warmth.  After a very quick dinner of freeze-dried something, we decided to turn in, still talking about the northbound hikers.

As dawn greeted us, it was 17° F.  The wind had died down.  Our tarps had worked fairly well, but Jim and I had failed to put our boots inside our sleeping bags and they were frozen stiff as boards.  I was nominated to get up first and get a fire going in the now snow-filled fire pit.  We had had the foresight to gather some kindling and firewood when we found the shelter, so it wasn't long before we had a fire going.  We got our things thawed out, somewhat dried, and packed after a breakfast cooked on our trusty Svea 123 camp stoves (Do they even make those any more?)

After packing, we began our descent.  I think I made most of it on my fanny.  The rain before the snow had coated the ground with ice which was now snow-covered and treacherous.  It was a case of grabbing trees for stability as one slid down the steep leaf-covered icy incline.  We were too busy trying to remain upright to carry on much of a conversation, but at one point, Jim said to me, "I'm afraid the girls will never do this again."

Three or four hours later, the trail leveled out and before long we were sitting at a table in the warm dining room of the Nantahala Outdoor Center.  We ordered some homemade soup and bread.  Much to Jim's and my surprise Margo and Linda began talking about what equipment they would need for the next trip!  And there were many, many more.

Barin Field

William Mead Accepting His Promotion to
1st Lieutenant about June, 1960

My brother Bill was a Marine Corps aviator.  He went through the Naval Air Cadet (NAVCAD) program, accepting a Marine Corps commission in December 1959.  After serving in two Marine fighter squadrons (VMF-122 and VMF-235) and a Marine helicopter squadron (HMM-262), he found himself assigned to the Naval Training Command in Pensacola, Florida.  During his time in training squadrons VT-4 and VT-5, he became involved with Barin Field.  That's how this story begins. 

While serving in Training Wing 5, Bill was told that he would be operating out of Barin Field.  Officially, the correct title is "Naval Outlying Field (NOLF) Barin," located near Foley, Alabama.  According to Wikipedia, "An auxiliary airfield for NAS Pensacola and NAS Whiting Field, NOLF Barin originally consisted of twin airfield complexes. The West Field was established on the site of the original Foley Municipal Airport that was constructed in the mid-1930s and leased by the U.S. Navy in 1942. An adjoining parcel of 656 acres was also purchased by the Navy for construction of a similar, but not quite reverse, mirror image runway complex that would become known as the East Field.[2] On 2 July 1942, the new facility was designated Naval Auxiliary Air Station (NAAS) Barin Field in honor of Lt. Louis Theodore Barin (20 August 1890 – 12 June 1920), a Navy test pilot and one of the pilots of flying boat NC-1 during the Navy's transatlantic flight in May 1919.

Today, the East Field is still used as NOLF Barin, a satellite airfield for Training Air Wing FIVE (TRAWING 5) at NAS Whiting Field and Training Air Wing SIX (TRAWING 6) at NAS Pensacola. Two runways and the original centerfield flight line complex are still maintained, although the original 1940s/1950s-era hangars and control tower have been demolished and removed."

When my brother was first assigned to fly out of this once abandoned and then reactivated field, the hangars had long since been overgrown with kudzu, partially collapsed, and were unusable.  Essentially, there was a usable runway and a "temporary" structure that was used as an operations center.  It had all the appearances of a temporary setup.  On the runway was painted a section approximately the length of an aircraft carrier, the USS Lexington (CV-16) on which the trainees would make their first arrested landing at sea.

Barin Field East, showing the carrier landing zone
painted on the runway

When Bill was at Barin Field, student pilots were flying the North American T-28 "Trojan" aircraft.  They would prepare by making numerous simulated landings guided by a Landing Signals Officer (LSO) on that painted patch of runway.  Only when the trainers felt it was safe were they allowed to fly out into the Gulf of Mexico to land on the Lexington for the first time.

I once asked Bill if he had ever lost a student while at Barin Field.  He immediately got very emotional as he described a case in which a student was making a bad approach.  Bill advised the student to level out, circle the field, get back in the pattern, and try a new approach.  The student ignored his instruction, tried to tighten his turn toward the runway to save the approach, experienced a "low wing stall," and crashed.  (In descending turns, the lower wing stalls first.)  My brother wondered why the student had ignored his direction and he took the incident very personally.

Bill often talked about Mrs. Gruber's Boarding House in Foley, Alabama, where the staff and students ate lunch practically every day.  Apparently Mrs. Gruber took very good care of these future aviators whom she knew would probably be serving off the coast of Viet Nam in the not-too-distant future.

He also spoke of the informality observed at such a remote location.  At one point, the squadron was commanded by a Marine Corps Colonel who relaxed the dress code for the training staff.  Often, in the searing heat and stifling humidity, Bill went to work in fatigue shorts, a khaki t-shirt, and fatigue cap with his insignia.  No long trousers or pressed shirts were required.  This led to an amusing story that my brother enjoyed sharing.

It seems that a family from the Midwest was on their way to a Florida vacation in their private Beechcraft Bonanza.  They had refueled in Mobile and shortly after takeoff encountered engine trouble.  The pilot spotted the runway at Barin and made an emergency landing.  He taxied up to the shack and emerged to ask what airport he was at.  Entering the shack he noted that the walls were completely papered over with Playboy centerfolds.  No one was in any kind of proper military uniform.  When told that he had landed at a military base, he could not believe it.  They had to convince him of the fact.  That's how informal it appeared to an outsider, even though the officers and enlisted staff did their jobs in a very serious manner.

I never got to visit Barin Field while Bill was there.  I did get several rides in T-28s.  He was obligated to fly a minimum number of cross-country hours per month to maintain his "currency" and would often fly to Norman, Oklahoma, to visit me or take me to Pensacola for a weekend or holiday.  I miss the camaraderie that we enjoyed in those visits.

The 1950's Rock & Mineral Collection

I grew up in Schenectady, New York, exactly one block from the Union College campus.  As a kid, I played and rode my bike with friends all over the campus.  I grew up with many playmates who were the children of faculty members.  And, as I have written before, I got to know many faculty members personally.  As a result of one of these faculty friendships, I developed an early interest in rocks and minerals.  While I was still in junior high school, I was allowed to audit a freshman geology class being taught by Dr. Edward S.C. Smith.  Even before that opportunity, I had begun a small collection of rocks and minerals that exhibited the properties of a diode -- allowing electricity to pass in only one direction.  I used these minerals in building experimental crystal radio sets.

One day, while talking to Dr. Smith, I was lamenting the idea that I couldn't collect rocks from distant locations.  He asked why not.  After all, we had a mail system.  He suggested that I write a post card (Who remembers those?) to a company that controlled some mines from which I wanted samples.  He even helped me compose a brief message explaining my interest in rocks and minerals.  I think our first "target" was the New Jersey Zinc Company.  It was at the time the largest producer of Zinc in the country.  Several of their mines -- the Franklin Mine, Sterling Hill Mine, and Buckwheat Pit -- had been producing high-grade Zinc ore for over half a century.  In the area of the Franklin and Sterling Hill mines, 357 types of minerals are known to occur; these make up approximately 10% of all the minerals known to science.  Certainly they could spare a few ore samples.

Wurtzite Ore

 I was very specific in my request.  I had researched the rocks from which Zinc was smelted -- Zincite, Franklinite, Sphalerite, Smithsonite, Wurtzite and others.  I asked for them by name.  Off went my postcard in the mail.  And I waited impatiently for a response.

First came the letter.  It was signed by a senior official of the company.  He expressed admiration for my interest in geology.  He then informed me that two crates of ore samples, all labelled with the location from which they originated, were en route to my home.  Within a couple weeks, I opened the newly-arrived crates to find dozens of gleaming examples.  This became the core of my substantial rock and mineral collection.

I built several long shallow boxes out of thin plywood in which to mount my specimens and their labels.  And I began sending literally dozens of postcards over the next several months.  I'd pick an element, research its sources, determine who controlled the ore supplies, and send a few postcards.  More often than not, they resulted in boxes or crates full of mineral samples.

After I had saturated the U.S. suppliers of minerals, I began extending my requests into Canada.  It wasn't long before I was sending cards to Africa, South America, and even countries behind the iron curtain.  I recall samples arriving from both Poland and Czechoslovakia, both part of the Soviet bloc.

One example stands out in my memory.  I had read an article in Life magazine about a fellow named Charles Steen in Moab, Utah.  Mr. Steen had hit the jackpot, finding a rich uranium deposit during a time when the Atomic Energy Commission kept uranium prices artificially high so that valuable U.S. reserves would not be sold overseas.

Wikipedia describes it this way, "Despite the fact that his three sons, Johnny, Andy and Charles Jr. were all less than four years old and his wife was expecting another child, Steen borrowed $1,000 from his mother and headed for the Colorado Plateau, determined to strike it rich. After being in Colorado for several months the Steens moved into a tarpaper shack in Cisco, Utah. Steen and his family were struggling to get by and were often hungry so Charlie made the decision to move his family to Tucson, Arizona. Steen worked as a carpenter in Tucson for about a year before he returned to his claims in Utah. He and his family once again packed up and headed to their claims. This final trip back to Utah would be the most detrimental for the family because Minnie Lee, Steen's wife, contracted pneumonia, and her medical bills consumed the $350 remaining from the sale of Steen's trailer.

Steen could not afford the standard radiation-detecting equipment used by uranium prospectors - the Geiger counter. Instead, he used a secondhand diamond drill rig and his geologic training for his prospecting. At the time, each prospector had his own idiosyncratic theory about where to find uranium. The uranium industry was composed primarily of individual prospectors and geologists who would attempt to find a large deposit and either mine it for themselves or mine it for a large company (such as Union Carbide) who would transport the ore from the mine to the uranium mill where it could be converted into yellowcake. Steen's theory on uranium deposits was that they would collect in anticlinal structures in the same manner as oil, which others on the Plateau dismissed as "Steen's Folly."

On July 6, 1952, Steen hit it big but he didn't realize until three weeks later. He was drilling down through the layers of sandstone when his drill bit broke off at a depth of 197 feet, just 3 feet short of his goal. Finding this massive deposit of uranium ore only became apparent when he took a piece of the blackish core he found while drilling weeks earlier back to Cisco. He stopped to fill up his jeep and decided to have the core tested by a friend with a Geiger counter and they found that the piece made the Geiger counter needle go crazy. The high grade uranium deposit was located at Big Indian Wash of Lisbon Valley, southeast of Moab, Utah. (Coordinates: N 38.19000 W 109.26000). Sometimes recognized as one of the most important deposits of any kind found during the last century, Steen named the claim the "Mi Vida" mine (My Life). The Mi Vida mine was one of the first big strikes of the uranium boom. Steen made millions off his claims, and provoked a "Uranium Rush" of prospectors into the Four Corners region, similar to the Gold Rush of the 1850s in California."

Uraninite - a uranium ore like samples
I received from Charles Steen in the mid-50's

I sent one of my postcards to Mr. Steen, addressed personally to him.  I received a personal letter back, encouraging me in my interest in geology.  It turned out that he had earned a B.A. in geology in 1943 at the Texas College of Mines and Metallurgy (later the University of Texas at El Paso).  His letter was followed by several crates of ore samples, each in a small cloth bag that included its label.

When I got to high school, my collection had grown too big for our house and I kept part of it in a detached two-story garage building.  While at Mont Pleasant High School, I took a course in Earth Science under Donald Stone.  The school had a small collection of rocks and minerals which came under Mr. Stone's care.  After he was instrumental in my entering the Westinghouse Science Talent Search, I decided he would be a great custodian of my collection, which had grown to over 800 examples.  It took several trips with a school pickup truck to move the heavy boxes.

Mont Pleasant High School, Schenectady, New York

Several years later, long after Mr. Stone had retired, I stopped by Mont Pleasant to see if anyone was still thewre from my days as a student.  I asked about my rock and mineral collection, but no one was even aware of its existence.  Nonetheless, even if it is long gone, I wouldn't have traded the experience of assembling it for anything.