Steven K. Ladd's Blog, page 2
February 9, 2021
100 Reviews–Milestone!
Today I’m honored to announce a milestone: 100 Amazon Global Reviews of my book ‘From Phantom to Warthog.’
Here are my thoughts on the importance of reviewing the books you read:
OK, now I’ve written my book, Pen & Sword have published it, printed it and distributed it, and you, my friend, have purchased it. What now?
Well, with a bit of luck the next step involves you reading it and enjoying it immensely. Then, you can either loan it to a family member or friend, or carefully pack it up as a Christmas present (if you haven’t dog-eared the pages). Alternatively, you can put it on your shelf where it will rest, looking down on you, for all eternity.
Let me give you another alternative: Before you shuffle it on or relegate it to antiquity, reflect on the book you’ve just read and take the time to review it.
Your review won’t mean a great deal to you, but to a rookie author, it’s vitally important. It provides me with valuable feedback: did I appeal to readers as I’ve hoped I would? Are there important facts I left out or could have described better? Positive comments will be received with undying gratitude, constructive criticism will be accepted as exactly that—something to build upon. At my age a follow-up is less than likely, but you never know…….
Thank you for your continued support.
I’ve posted my reviews so far below and I’ll add to them as new ones arrive:
1. Click here for worldwide Amazon reviews
4.Click here for Andy Fraser’s Review of ‘Phantom to Warthog‘
5.Vietnam Veterans of America Review
Thanks again for your support, encouragement and patience!
December 21, 2020
CHRISTMAS HELP
Nevertheless, most Air Force folks, like their civilian counterparts have a little break to celebrate this most joyous of holidays (2020 is an obvious exception, but I really don’t want to go there.)
Christmas, as we know, is for the kids and, as I’ve mentioned in previous anecdotes, the Air Force puts a lot of stock in the welfare of its families. Virtually every unit will have some level of festivity for its members’ offspring and others.
So, it came to pass, when I was a Captain, toiling as an F-4 instructor pilot at Homestead Air Force Base in Florida, I was singled out because of a particular and conspicuous endowment: “Ladd’s pretty plump,” My Squadron Ops Officer Duke Terry observed, “he’s just right for this assignment.” No one argued with 6’ 4,” 230-pound Duke Terry, so I was undeniably “it.”
“It” as it turned out, was donning a heavy, bright red suit, fake whiskers and a cute little cap in South Florida’s 80 degree December temperature to play Old St Nick for more kids than I care to remember—not only were we hosting our own squadron rug rats (including a sizeable maintenance and support contingent) but the Old Man had invited an entire brigade of mainly Latino migrant worker’s kids to join the fun—and fun it was. I had a little help from my bright yellow friend in the background and my wife, Elaine, who was to graduate to full Elf status in due course (more later). The squadron crumb-snatchers had the time of their young lives, but the most moving feature of the day was the reaction of the Latino kids, who obviously hadn’t had a Santa Claus experience for a long time, if ever. They clung to Santa’s now-sweaty suit and accepted the trinkets he handed out with an enthusiasm not seen before or since by this apprentice Kriss Kringle.
As the years went on, I re-enacted my portrayal numerous times at a number of locations and formally enlisted Elaine as Elf in Germany, where one of the unit wives, Rosie Tatman fashioned a suitable costume for her. She proved to be a valuable addition to the performance in various venues–seated on a very cold wing as Santa was towed in (F-4) with sacks of goodies hanging from the bomb racks or taxied in (A-10) with the same configuration. At Nörvenich, where there were no prying senior eyes, we actually considered a fly-in, but thought the better of it.
Regardless of the delivery vehicle, the kids always got the best of Santa’s visit (although some of the male adults tried it on by sitting on the Elf’s lap instead of Santa’s—see the accompanying photo. Santa appears slightly miffed, no?). He got the Elf in the end, though.
Christmas may be a bit underwhelming for many of you this year, but search your memory, as I have here, and you’ll probably come up with something to lift your spirits.
Merry Christmas to you from Santa and Elf.
October 6, 2020
Progress & Reviews!
OK, now I’ve written my book, Pen & Sword have published it, printed it and distributed it, and you, my friend, have purchased it. What now?
Well, with a bit of luck the next step involves you reading it and enjoying it immensely. Then, you can either loan it to a family member or friend, or carefully pack it up as a Christmas present (if you haven’t dog-eared the pages). Alternatively, you can put it on your shelf where it will rest, looking down on you, for all eternity.
Let me give you another alternative: Before you shuffle it on or relegate it to antiquity, reflect on the book you’ve just read and take the time to review it.
Your review won’t mean a great deal to you, but to a rookie author, it’s vitally important. It provides me with valuable feedback: did I appeal to readers as I’ve hoped I would? Are there important facts I left out or could have described better? Positive comments will be received with undying gratitude, constructive criticism will be accepted as exactly that—something to build upon. At my age a follow-up is less than likely, but you never know…….
I’ve posted my reviews so far below and I’ll add to them as new ones arrive:
1. Click here for worldwide Amazon reviews
4.Click here for Andy Fraser’s Review of ‘Phantom to Warthog‘
PROGRESS
Just a quick update on the book rollout. Sales are brisk in the UK and Europe and I’m really looking forward to Amazon.com’s scheduled Stateside launch on Monday the 19th. Some US readers have already received a copy via the Book Depository, but I have no way of tracking numbers.
I’m ecstatic over the early reviews the book has garnered so far. You can read Amazon and Goodread reviews at the links above. Please add your review to the string when you’ve read your book!
Check the featured image at the beginning of this Blog–I’m adding photos as I receive them. It’s becoming quite a crowd!
Thanks again for your support, encouragement and patience!
Reviews!
OK, now I’ve written my book, Pen & Sword have published it, printed it and distributed it, and you, my friend, have purchased it. What now?
Well, with a bit of luck the next step involves you reading it and enjoying it immensely. Then, you can either loan it to a family member or friend, or carefully pack it up as a Christmas present (if you haven’t dog-eared the pages). Alternatively, you can put it on your shelf where it will rest, looking down on you, for all eternity.
Let me give you another alternative: Before you shuffle it on or relegate it to antiquity, reflect on the book you’ve just read and take the time to review it.
Your review won’t mean a great deal to you, but to a rookie author, it’s vitally important. It provides me with valuable feedback: did I appeal to readers as I’ve hoped I would? Are there important facts I left out or could have described better? Positive comments will be received with undying gratitude, constructive criticism will be accepted as exactly that—something to build upon. At my age a follow-up is less than likely, but you never know…….
I’ve posted my reviews so far below and I’ll add to them as new ones arrive:
1. Click here for worldwide Amazon reviews
4.Click here for Andy Fraser’s Review of ‘Phantom to Warthog‘
September 18, 2020
Launched! F-4 Phantom to A-10 Warthog
My book’s launched!! At least here in the UK it has.
I’ve just finished my cinematic debut with a short promotional video for my book, ‘Phantom to Warthog.’ I hope you enjoy it.
For those of you who are inspired to order a copy–yes I said ‘order’ not ‘pre-order,’ please visit my website. phantomtowarthog.com
If you live in the UK or Central Europe, you can order direct from my Publisher, Pen & SwordThey’re ready to put it in the post. Don’t forget to request a signature plate at checkout. US launch has lagged a bit, but it won’t be too long. Go to Casemate Books. Other retailers will take a little longer, both in the UK and US. The video reveals all.
As I’ve said on the video, I want to thank each and every one of you who have pre-ordered, ordered or are contemplating ordering my book. It’s not all about airplanes and I’m confident you’ll like it, no matter whether you’re male, female, young, old or liked/disliked ‘Top Gun’ there’s interest in the book for everyone.
Keep safe and well
https://phantomtowarthog.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/Steve-Video.mp4
August 26, 2020
My First Impartial Review
On the home stretch to publication, I’ve reached out to a few great old friends for their thoughts and feedback. Elaine liked it and so did my good buddies Tom and Pat M+10, but I recently established contact with Andy Fraser, who owns, edits and publishes a stable of excellent monthly local magazines here in England. He was interested in reviewing Phantom to Warthog and I jumped at the opportunity to have my book appraised by a media professional who wasn’t a wife, fellow flyer or long time drinking buddy. I sent him a bootleg PDF of the Book,and you’ll find the result below. Andy’s a Brit, so those of you on the western side of the Atlantic may experience the occasional translation crisis and there are a couple local references but I’m sure you’ll manage.
Andy’s review is comprehensive, and I urge you to take it all in–those of you who flew with me for years will understand why this book’s bit different–and why it’s not written only for you. I hope those who aren’t aviation fanatics, or indeed, have no interest at all in fighters, the military, or Top Gun movies will take five minutes to digest Andy’s assessment-you may just find an element or more than a few that interest you!
Click the link below to read Andy Fraser’s take on ‘From F-4 Phantom to A-10 Warthog:’
August 17, 2020
Brat Chat
BRAT CHAT
Ever since I finished writing my book (To be released next month) I’ve tried to emphasize that you don’t have to be an aviation enthusiast to enjoy it. There are a number of topics that don’t directly relate to the Air Force mission, but are nevertheless critical. One of these is the Military (read ‘Air Force’ in my case) family and a big part of any family, of course is their offspring.
U.S. Military dependents, as they are officially known, include spouses and children. Air Force wives deserve a book of their own, but in this Blog, I want to focus on ‘The Brats’ as we are known. I’m qualified to write about ‘em because I’m one of ‘em. Brats are like no other children on the planet. Sure, there are other kids that move around often because of their parents’ professions or other factors, but Brats are different because there are so many of us and we feel a bond between us unlike any other.
Being a Brat can be a treasure or a curse: My little brother Kim and I were outgoing and gregarious. We both made friends easily and so were readily adaptable to an environment that changed entirely every two or three years. My sister, Kathy, on the other hand was kind and gentle, but also shy and introverted. She was a loyal friend to have, but often, by the time she had developed a relationship or two, it was time for her or the ‘new’ friends to move on to the parents’ next assignment. This constant uprooting must have been devastating for her, but she overcame the disappointments, later married an Air Force NCO and raised two fine sons.
EDUCATION
Educational continuity, for most Brats, is wishful thinking. I can only lean on my own experience as a yardstick, but here goes: I cannot even attempt to recall all the elementary schools (Primary Schools for you Brits) I attended—I would estimate there were at least 8 of them, including a one-room country school. I then moved on to high school—and there were five of them between 1959 and 1962. This sequence is a challenge to understand, so I’ll elaborate.
I entered high school in my parents’ home town of Charlotte, Michigan while my dad was trying to find us a place to live in Germany. He succeeded halfway through my Freshman year and we headed to Europe. This was a far cry from the smooth and rapid trans-Atlantic journey available today. After hours of delay at the terminal, Mom, Kim, Kathy and I boarded a Military Air Transport Service C-118 (four propellers—not much airspeed) at Dover, Delaware and we lifted off for Goose Bay Labrador, the first refueling stop. Kim was only two, Kathy was seven and I was a ‘hyperactive twelve year old pain in the ass’ (Mom’s description, years later). She tried to control me enroute to Goose Bay but, failed miserably while I allegedly prowled the aisles at will annoying all and sundry. In desperation, she administered a healthy dose of her own Phenobarbital which had a similar effect to Rocky Marciano’s right hook and she worried for the rest of the flight whether she had killed me off. At least she fretted in peace. After three hours on the tarmac, refueling was finally completed at Goose Bay, we headed east to Prestwick, Scotland for pit stop #2 and another four hour delay while an engine was repaired. Then on into Rhein-Main, Germany where my dad welcomed a thoroughly exhausted family after a 22 hour ordeal. I was, by this time, showing signs of life, much to Mom’s relief.
I finished my interrupted freshman year at Bitburg American High School in Germany, but then, during the summer, our good friend and former ally, General de Gaulle decided he’d had enough of the Americans who saved his bacon in 1945 and ordered all American forces out of France. Why should that make a difference to us in Germany you may ask? Well, the planners decided that units based in France should relocate to Germany and replace units which, in turn, ,would reposition to the UK. My dad was an accounting & finance officer assigned to a Reconnaissance Wing destined for RAF Alconbury near Huntingdon in the UK. After packing our worldly goods, we loaded up the car and my brother Kim deftly fell off the roof, cracked his head and concussed. We diverted to the base hospital, got the all clear from the Doc and headed for the cross channel ferry to the UK.
Enter High School number three: Central High School, Bushy Park, London, a boarding school for Americans. The day after we arrived at Alconbury, dad loaded me and a steamer trunk in the car, dropped me off at Bushy Park (two weeks after the term had started) and I began fending for myself (a valuable skill set for Brats). As the students were primarily Brats or offspring of US Diplomatic Corps personnel, we came from all corners of the UK. The routine was as follows:
Board a bus at Alconbury (or any of the other numerous American bases in the UK) on Sunday for the trip to Bushy Park
Spend the week in an open bay barrack with bunk beds, finding all sorts of trouble to cause and reluctantly going to class during the day. Although London was very close, we were ‘confined to quarters’ and rarely had the opportunity to explore.
Get back on the bus on Friday after class for the three hour trip home.
I met my lifelong friend, Tom Hanton at Bushy, and that becomes a bit more interesting later.
During my year at Bushy Park, construction was completed on a new American High School at RAF Lakenheath, near Cambridge: High School number four. The busing and accommodation routine was much the same as above, but Lakenheath was much closer and the dorms were a vast improvement. We continued to border on delinquency as dorm students: Tom Hanton and I along with co-conspirators Dave Hickman and Art Fitzpatrick were ‘invited’ to sit out final exams and the Prom at home after incinerating an outhouse (which technically belonged to the Queen) next door to the new gym. Despite the magnificent spectacle produced by the conflagration, flying at the base was cancelled because fire trucks were dispatched from the flight line and someone shortly thereafter– ratted on us. End of story—except for my Dad’s wrath, which lasted for some considerable time (Allegedly, after a few drinks with friends, Dad and Mom were both able to shelve their seething anger and discuss the issue with great hilarity.)
Despite this blot on my otherwise spotless record (the moral here: don’t get caught), I passed my courses just in time to join the family on dad’s next assignment to The Pentagon in Washington D.C. and my senior year and graduation from High School number five: Annandale Virginia.
My High School hopping chronicle may not be a world’s record, but I’ll bet it’s among the top few. Attending a Department of Defense Dependent School (DODDS) was absolutely unique. All the activities you would expect to find in a US school of similar size—sports, extracurricular clubs, social life—in a foreign country managed by contracted US teachers and staff. All in all, I found it to be an extremely positive experience.
CULTURE
Today, sadly, we seem to be surrounded by skirmishes in a growing culture war. I don’t know if the situation has deteriorated since I was a kid, but as Brats, I can clearly remember being blissfully unaware of the poisons that swirl around us today. Being raised in a military family means you are a very small part of a highly disciplined team and this affects the values you embrace. From my earliest memories I played with Black, White, Oriental and Latino children of officers and enlisted personnel alike. We had a special name for these companions: we called them all ‘The Kids.’ No elaboration; no exclusions; no discrimination. This mutual respect (and natural color blindness) was a result of the values our parents bestowed on us and those values grew from the professional relationships our folks had with their Black, White, Oriental, and Latino colleagues.
I won’t be so bold as to proclaim there’s no racism, misogyny, or bias in the military, but I will state that a military unit simply cannot function in a situation where systemic bias of any kind exists.
We Brats were fortunate to grow up in such an atmosphere. Shame it isn’t universal.
PRIDE
In the ‘50s and ‘60s when I was in my youth, there was a lot going on—much of it disturbing. On the 15th of October, 1962 my dad headed off to work in the War Room of the Pentagon just like he did every day of the week. This time, he didn’t come home for supper and we didn’t see him again for two weeks. On that day, a U-2 Reconnaissance jet photographed several Soviet SS4 nuclear missiles in Cuba and almost immediately, we stood on the brink of nuclear war. The world held its collective breath.
I went to Annandale High School as usual that day. A lively Virginia suburb of Washington DC, Annandale was home for thousands of US Government employees, many of them military members. A totally different mood prevailed on that autumn Monday and I remember noting just how many of my schoolmates were Brats–you could tell because they were decidedly more jittery than the others.
The Crisis escalated and the tension at home, at school and everywhere you looked was palpable. I don’t intend to claim that Military Brats had a corner on apprehension. Everyone was seriously anxious. What I will say is that, as a Brat, I think I felt just a bit more directly involved than my contemporaries whose parents were civilians. After all, my dad was spending the week working in the Soviets’ number one target.
I’m not going to give you a history lesson here, if you’re below a certain age, Google it—I think you’ll find it fascinating. The Russians, blinked first; and on Sunday, October 28th, Russian Premier Khrushchev announced the dismantling of Soviet missiles in Cuba and did not insist on his demands concerning the removal of U.S. missiles from Turkey.
The next day, dad finally returned home from the Pentagon and while the world breathed a sigh of relief, I felt something stronger: Pride in my dad’s contribution, pride in the US military, and pride in my country. I know it’s not fashionable to reflect this way today, but I’m an old man now and don’t much care about the consequences. I’ll bet a lot of Brats felt exactly the same way at the end of October, 1962. Just sayin’
MOVING
Seeing the world is one of the great pleasures of being in the military. Packing up everything you own every couple years to go see the next part of the world IMHO is one of its most frustrating experiences. A treasure and a curse all wrapped up in the same package.
For many Brats, however, the curse was mitigated. When we moved, for example, my parents recognized that we three were far more trouble than we were worth and after involving us in some very mild sorting of our belongings, we were ‘disappeared’ while the tedium of packing and moving occurred. I’m not sure what they did with Kathy and Kim, but I was ‘encouraged’ to go play baseball, head for the swimming pool, take in a double feature at the movie theatre, or indeed, make myself scarce in any way possible. Sometimes, depending on the size of the move, this could go on for two or three days! I was always welcomed home for dinner, bedded down and breakfasted the following day, but before the packers showed up, I was shuffled off to do something far more enjoyable.
It’s unfortunate I could never find a way to replicate this delightful diversion when I pursued my own career years later. I was never at my happiest when forced to join my wife in orchestrating the packing and moving. Spoiled by my Brat experience.
A SALUTE TO THE BRATS
There’s no doubt things have changed immensely since Mom, Kim, Kathy and I were following my dad all over the planet as children/adolescents. The life I knew as a Brat would be anathema to many, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Lifelong friendships were made, and opportunities to experience other cultures and people are unsurpassed. Who else experienced hitting the bowling alley or playing baseball in the morning followed by a good ol’ American hamburger for lunch; then out the main gate straight into Britain, Germany, Spain, Turkey or dozens of other places we may have called ‘home.’ We were challenged, but we were also blessed.
I believe most Brats would agree we are what we are because of the challenges, triumphs and yes, failures we experienced as a result of the environment we grew up in. Some of us flourished; others struggled mightily, but it’s hard to deny being a Brat means something special. I’m very proud to be one of them.
(Featured photo above: Art Fitzpatrick, the Author and Tom Hanton. 3/4 of the fabled ‘Outhouse Quartet.’ Lakenheath American High School dormitory 1961)
July 15, 2020
Bits I Left Out
Anyone who’s ever written a book of memoirs will have experienced this reaction, shortly after the work has gone to the printers: “Why didn’t I include this anecdote, (that brief remembrance, the other pithy tale) in the book”? Well, it’s too late now, Sport, but like most disappointments, there is a way to recover. I’m starting this regular Blog feature on my website that will hopefully capture some of the memorable moments that I forgot the first time around. They may be humorous, tragic, or somewhere in between and they’ll certainly cover both the Phantom and Warthog eras of my career. I hope you’ll enjoy them.
Carrier Landings
First out of the box is another of the many extracurricular recreations that kept us all from being dull boys. In the book, I’ve discussed Dead Bug, Crud, and Sockey, but inexplicably left out carrier landings. All of these activities were normally carried out in an Officers’ Club bar, but occasionally spilled over into off-base commercial establishments where we were normally ejected for taking part.
A bit of background for carrier landings. The Phantom was originally built for the Navy which employed them to operate from aircraft carriers. Consequently, the Phantom was equipped with a tail hook–600 lbs. of pig iron lashed to the underside of the aircraft below the tail. Before landing, the hook was lowered and, on touchdown, ideally it would grab one of a number of cables strung across the ship’s deck, bringing 20 tons of Phantom to an abrupt halt (lest it slid off the end of the deck—not a pleasant outcome).
The Friday night happy hour pastime that replicated this operational necessity was about as close to a carrier as we Air Force fighter pilots were going to get, so we approached it with great enthusiasm (often generated by copious quantities of beer). The sequence of events went something like this:
Fighter pilots gathered in the club (or better yet, a now-forbidden den of iniquity once known as the Stag Bar–this wonderful sanctuary has now been relegated to history through the combined efforts of the Officers’ Wives’ Clubs and a politically correct leadership. R.I.P.).
Beer was consumed, war stories and other lies were told and, as the evening moved on, inhibitions disappeared, testosterone levels rose dramatically, and normally docile individuals became aggressive and intrepid. The stage was set.
A long , low table was located (or fashioned from shorter tables pushed together) and this structure was then referred to as ‘The Deck.’
The Deck was ‘foamed’ with lavish quantities of beer, both the approach corridor to the deck and the departure end were cleared of potentially lethal furnishings for reasons which will shortly become clear.
At this point, there were options: the Deck could either be completely clear of obstacles or participants could string a series of rolled up towels, discarded flight suits, etc across the deck, replicating carrier’s cables.
The event commenced: Each pilot accelerated to full tilt down the approach corridor, culminating in a head first dive onto the deck. Depending on the Deck configuration, the pilot would either hook the approach end table top immediately with his toes or, if there were cables available, snag one of these, again with the toes. Use of hands was never permitted.
Failure to hook table top or cable, as on an actual carrier, resulted in sliding off the departure end at a great rate, head first.
Most of these events were ‘safeguarded’ by crash and smash crews, who were ready with pitchers of beer to extinguish post-crash fires, etc. Broken bones, facial contusions and so forth were generally ignored until the end of the adventure.
There’s more to come on the ‘Bits I Left Out’ Blog. Please come back often and thanks in advance for your support.
June 27, 2020
UK Armed Forces Day 27 June 2020
Respect to my British Brothers-in-Arms today. We’ve been shoulder to shoulder ever since Yorktown in 1781 (Well, most of the time–let’s just forget about that little misunderstanding in 1812).
Here’s to the partnership.
Cheers!
Signed Copy? Updated Solution!
When you receive your copy of From F-4 Phantom to A-10 Warthog…………………………………………………………………
No matter where you are or who you purchased your book from, to request a genuine signature plate for your copy follow the checklist below:
1. Draft an email to info@frontline-books.com
2. Use ‘Phantom to Warthog Signature Plates’ as your subject
3. Provide your COMPLETE postal address, including post or Zip Code
4. Hit the ‘send’ button and enjoy your read while waiting for the Plate to arrive
Thanks for your support!
Steve
