111: HIGHWAY TO THE DANGER ZONE

“Revvin’ up your engine; Listen to her howlin’ roar. Metal under tension; Beggin’ you to touch and go. Highway to the danger zone. Ride into the danger zone”.

It was Tuesday July 16, 2019 and the three of us were anxious to make the three-mile drive from the Suburban Extended Stay Hotel to the Naval Air Station Pensacola; which was home to the world famous Blue Angels. At the entrance to the Naval base, there was already a line of vehicles waiting to get in at 8:15am; which was 45 minutes before the museum opened and over three hours before the Blue Angels’ practice session was slated to start. I heard my photographer tell his wife that there were only three practice sessions scheduled for the month of July; the exercises on the 2nd and 3rd were cancelled due to weather – which made the one that we were about to witness the only practice of the month.

Once we were on the base, we had a 30-minute wait to enter the National Naval Aviation Museum. Normally a half-hour delay doesn’t seem terribly long, but the 90-degree temperature was making it uncomfortable for everyone in line. The air conditioning inside the museum was a godsend; but the fact that there was no fee to visit the gallery of aircraft or to watch the Blue Angels practice was even better. My photographer and his wife wandered around the museum and looked at some of the 150-plus aircraft that were on display in the building. Two months earlier I saw the Wright Flyer, The Spirit of St. Louis, and Glamorous Glennis at the National Air and Space Museum in Washington. Although the planes in this Naval museum had been meticulously restored and looked cool, they didn’t hold any historical significance; which for me, diminished the “wow factor”. Perhaps the only vehicle that impressed me was the Skylab 2 Command Module that took astronauts Charles Conrad, Jr., Joseph P. Kerwin, and Paul J. Weitz into space to repair the damaged Skylab – the first orbital U.S. space station.

We killed nearly two hours inside the museum until it was time to make the long trek out to the flight line. As the three of us exited the building, the extreme heat of the late morning immediately consumed my two companions. While Tom and Vicki got lucky when they rented two of the last remaining handful of plastic folding chairs that were available, there was no shade in which to escape the Sun’s rays. At precisely 11:30am, the first four of the half dozen blue and gold McDonnell-Douglas F/A-18 Hornet jets took to the air. A minute or two later, two more planes went airborne; although we heard that one of the solo pilots had experienced mechanical problems with the landing gear of his jet and he would not engage in the show unless those issues were resolved. For roughly 45 minutes, the Blue Angels practiced their precision routine; a show that they’ve been doing since 1946 for more than 500 million spectators. From an opening in the camera case, I had a great view as the jets flew over with a thunderous roar of power; as well as to the cheers of the crowd. With each pass of the planes, my photographer snapped as many images as he could. Let’s take a look at the Blue Angels practice through the lens of Tom’s Nikon.

The old saying “Practice makes perfect” was never more meaningful than it was at the Naval Air Station in Pensacola. Even though the Blue Angels routine was considered a “practice”, it was nearly identical to the maneuvers those pilots do in their actual shows.  I knew that my photographer and his wife enjoyed the 45-minute demonstration; and for me, the show instilled a sense of American pride, patriotism, and an overall appreciation for the talent that each pilot possessed.  They truly rode the highway to the danger zone.  While those Naval aviators made their stunts look easy and routine, there was no doubt a huge amount of calculated danger with each “trick”.  Hopefully no one ever loses sight of the fact that 27 pilots have perished during the 73 years that the Blues have been performing; which is about 10% of the 261 pilots in the squadron’s history.  That’s one out of every ten Blue Angels pilots; as well as one pilot death every three years.  The last Blue Angels pilot to die while performing was Marine Captain Jeff Kuss who lost his life when his Hornet crashed during practice on June 2, 2016 in Smyrna, Tennessee.  The performance that we had witnessed was conducted just over three years since Kuss’ fatality.  With resin for brains, it makes it hard for me to process statistics; but it doesn’t take an Einstein bobble head to figure out that the Blue Angels were overdue for another fatal plane crash.  While I was extremely happy that a tragedy didn’t occur while the three of us watched; I left the light line with the hopes that there will never be another Blue Angels crash.

When we returned to the sun-scorched Highlander that was parked near the museum, Vicki couldn’t activate the vehicle’s air conditioner fast enough.  I laughed to myself when I heard Tom say out loud: “I knew Florida was called the Sunshine State, but someone underestimated that a bit.  Florida should be known as the Sunbaked State – stick a fork in us, I think we’re done!”  We left Pensacola behind as we travelled Highway 90 towards Mobile, Alabama; my companions searched for antique shops all along the way.  With no specific shops mapped-out, Tom and Vicki referred to their method as “freestyling”; a phrase they borrowed from the ‘American Pickers’ TV show.  At one point during our 125-mile ride along the Southern part of Alabama and into Mississippi, Vicki secured hotel reservations for that night; and it was a place that I was excited to stay.  Not only did she get us a room at the Biloxi, Mississippi Hard Rock Hotel and Casino, I heard her tell my photographer that we had a room with a view of the Gulf of Mexico.  For me, the rest of the day was special because I had never been to the state of Mississippi, nor had I ever seen the Gulf of Mexico either.  But the icing on the cake, at least for me, was I knew the Hard Rock Café was filled with Rock and Roll memorabilia and I couldn’t wait to see their collection.

We arrived at the Hard Rock Hotel at roughly 3:15pm, but it was nearly “four bells” by the time Tom and Vicki had the Highlander unpacked and all their stuff lugged up to our eighth-floor room.  While I was anxious to see some of the Rock and Roll mementos that were on display throughout the complex, my photographer had other ideas.  He and his wife had their sights set on attending a Minor League Baseball game; the first game of a double header between the hometown Biloxi Shuckers and the Chattanooga Lookouts was slated to start at 5:30pm.  Originally the date was scheduled as a single game, but heavy rain from Hurricane Barry postponed the previous day’s contest – which created the twin bill. MGM Park, which was the home of the Milwaukee Brewer’s Double-A Southern League team, was located about a half-mile West of our hotel. The three of us made the hike along Beach Boulevard to the stadium in about 15 minutes.

At the ballpark, Tom purchased our seats which were located along the first base line and luckily for us, the seats were in the shade.  Shortly after we paid a visit to the stadium’s pro-shop where my photographer bought a Biloxi Shuckers baseball hat, the first of a pair of seven-inning games got underway.  I remained in the camera case while Tom shoveled several hot dogs into his face for dinner; while Vicki had a dog and a beer of her own.  From time to time during the game, I heard my photographer complain that there wasn’t a lot of action; he was bored and extremely hot.  As a matter of fact, the biggest highlight that kept Tom’s interest was Shuckers’ starting pitcher Trey Supak had a no-hitter intact.  When the game entered the final frame with Biloxi holding a commanding 8-0 lead, Supak needed just three outs to complete his “no-no”.  After the first two Lookouts’ hitters were retired, Reds’ prospect Jose Siri hit a “seeing-eye single” up the middle to break up Supak’s bid for immortality.  Biloxi’s 6’ 5” 240-pound right-hander finished with a one-hit complete game shutout.

MGM Park was only four years old and looked similar to other Minor League ballparks around the country. The noticeable exception, however, was the impressive MGM Beau Rivage Hotel and Casino stood prominently past the right-centerfield fence.  At the conclusion of the first game, my photographer and his wife strolled around the stadium’s concourse for a few minutes before they made the decision to walk back to their hotel.  The three of us likely would have stayed for the second game, but the heat had become unbearable. As twilight hit the Gulf Coast area, Tom snapped a few photos of the ballpark before he turned his camera towards the 112-foot tall guitar that stood in front of our hotel.  When that guitar was built in 2005, it was the tallest Hard Rock sign in the world.

I thought for sure when we returned to the hotel that my photographer would leave me in our room while he and his wife gambled in the casino. But that didn’t happen. Tom and Vicki never went into the casino. Instead, we wandered the building and looked at the huge collection of Rock and Roll memorabilia that was on display. Of course, my photographer’s number one focus was KISS items; but he only found a pair of pants once worn by guitarist Vinnie Vincent. After we saw a Michigan connection with a guitar played and signed by Bob Seger, we stumbled upon one of the coolest stage outfits I had ever seen in person. It was the full 1975 costume worn by the piano pounding madman himself – Elton John.

We returned to our room around 8:30pm and Tom placed me on the window ledge where I spent the night. For a few hours, I watched all shapes and sizes of people as they swam in the pool below. When the room’s lights were turned off and I stood alone in the darkness, I couldn’t help but envision Elton John as he wore the stage outfit I saw downstairs. The crowd in the packed arena went wild as Elton’s fingers tickled the ivories and his mouth pressed against the piano’s microphone: “The biggest kick I ever got, was doing a thing called the Crocodile Rock. While the other kids were Rocking ‘Round the Clock, we were hopping and bopping to the Crocodile Rock.” I found it ironic that Elton’s song from his 1973 ‘Don’t Shoot Me I’m Only The Piano Player’ album was running rampant in my mind. Earlier, I had heard my photographer say that after our visit to Jefferson Davis’ home in the morning that we were going on an afternoon swamp boat tour in Louisiana. In that swamp, we would get a close look at some alligators. I wasn’t quite sure what the difference between crocodiles and alligators was, I only hoped that they didn’t like the taste of resin.

“My biggest kick couldn’t get much greater, after our home tour of the rebel traitor. Even though I wanted to rock with a croc, I’d have to settle for a Cajun gator. La, la la la la la.” Don’t shoot me, I’m only the bobble head!