Elemental Bonds–The Quest Line

Hey guys, it's just me, John - better known as Gourgon from Out Of Mana on the Steamwheedle Cartel Server. I thought I'd give you a little insight on the new quest line called "Elemental Bonds" that is coming in patch 4.2 - I had to play it in the PTR to get this info, so keep in mind that sometimes things change between PTR and release into the actual game. 

Okay; here we go, 4.2 is upon us, and there are a ton of changes headed our way, some you’ll like and some you won’t. What I’m going do here is an article called, "Elemental Bonds" as I do the quests in the PTR so you have some idea what to expect when 4.2 is finally launched, which looks like it could still be as much as 6 weeks down the road, but you know Blizzard, they could decide to release it next week.

This series is to save Thrall, who has been captured and is being held hostage by Elementals.

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After several emails to Blizzard over a course of two weeks I was finally able to log into the WoW PTR. Which in itself took forever, as well as not being able to stay logged in or have any control over my character due to excessive lag and the whole thing just crashing every 2 minutes. However when all that finally ended, which I might add was not until the next day, I had the choice of playing either Glaster that I had copied over to PTR with whatever gold and bank items he had, or a premade level 85 toon maxed out with the item level 378 gear, (and it's some cool looking gear) plus all professions maxed to 525, except fishing and archeology, they still want you to suffer with those two. The pre-made toon; a level 85 hunter named, "Gourgon of course", came with Jewel Crafting, and Enchanting as well as his bags full of all the raw gems, and all the enchanting mats necessary to make whatever enchants you need. And trust me you need them, because the premade toons gear has nary an enchant nor gem. He did however come with some recipes, but not all the ones I really needed. And did I know where to go and find the ones I did need? Hell no, Glaster just as Gourgon are hunter - gatherers, you know; Unedgimicated Huntards. So after almost another day of running around looking for recipes, and learning how to use them, I finally got his gear all gemmed and enchanted. The specs on the gear (Too much Mastery) were all wrong for A Marksmanship Hunter, however a little reforging took care of that. But all that said after resetting Gourgon’s talent tree and glyphs, and with his shiny new 378 gear, I finally ventured out into this new world of PTR, only to find that it’s the same old Azeroth we all know and love, or hate, take your pick. Even the damage from Deathwing is still there. And you know all those little dudes clambering around, running up and down ladders, swinging their hammers repairing all the damage? Well guess what? They haven’t fixed a thing, and they’ve had since before Christmas, all I can figure is it must be some union thing; if these guys worked for me I would have fired them a long time ago.

But all joking aside, when playing the PTR remember it is a test realm and you have to expect that there are going to be problems from time to time while all the bugs are worked out.

Okay, enough of the rant let’s get down to the business of why I decided to play PTR in the first place. #1 – is to discover new content such as quests, and the new instance "Firelands". The #2 reason it to find out whatever changes have been made to our characters, good or bad. And yes ShadowPaul the Pallies at least for now are still alive and kicking.

The first quest to grab is on the hero’s call board and is called – Guardians of Hyjal – “Firelands Invasion,” - the second is from Naraat The Earthspeaker, at the Eastern Earthshrine. Since both of the quests take you to Mount Hyjal; which by the way now comes with a handy portal back to Stormwind, I flew down and had a little chat with Thrall, wow this dude gets around. I turned in the first quest and he gave me another called – The Mordrassil Summit and after a somewhat lengthy cinematic Thrall is gone, (I don’t want to ruin it for you so I’ll let you discover why when 4.2 hits,) you then turn in the quest you'll pick up two new ones that kick off a quest line just as the ones we just did in Stranglethorn, but thankfully not as hokey.

Well that’s it for now, I'll start the next post in this series with – Into The Slashing Winds, a quest that takes you to the Southernmost tip of Neferset, in Uldum; where you talk with an Elemental named Cyclonas. Oh the suspense, I can’t wait.

Part 2
 

Overview of Quest series – “Elemental Bonds” 
 

What was to be an auspicious event at the ancient World Tree in Nordrassil, has ended in tragedy. There, members of the Cenarion Circle and Earthen Ring, including former War Chief Thrall, had gathered with the noble Dragon Aspects to unite their powers and restore Nordrassil for the good of Azeroth. Yet word has now spread that a shadowy Twilight's Hammer agent interrupted the ceremony and struck down Thrall with dark magic’s... casting his spirit into the four domains of the Elemental Plane. If these terrible rumors hold true, the Earthen Ring—indeed; all of Azeroth--has lost one of its greatest champions.

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As I said earlier the first quest in the “ Elemental Bonds “series is called “ Guardians of Hyjal – Firelands Invasion, and is picked up from the Hero’s Call Board, and takes you to the Eastern Earthshrine where you turn in the quest and pick up, “The Call Of The World Shaman.”For this quest you have to make use the portal to Mt. Hyjal and turn the quest in to Thrall, who gives you the next quest, “The Nordrassil Summit. “ and after a somewhat lengthy cinematic you get the next quest called “Into The Slashing winds” that ports you to Uldum to talk with a Wind Elemental called, Cyclonas, who ultimately gives you the actual first quest to free Thrall called, :Elemental Bonds: Doubt. It seems like a lot of running around before you pick up the actual first quest, however is goes by fast. Once you get to Mt. Hyjal form there on you are ported to each of your destinations cutting down on the time it takes to complete the quests.

I’m not going to go into each of the encounters because they are for the most part pretty much the same, so instead here is a list of all the quests. Not including the first quest “Guardians of Hyjal – Firelands Invasion” there are 11 quests in the series, here is a list of all the quests as well as the npc’s stats you’ll be fighting.

1. The Call of the World-Shaman – Hyjal – Talk to Thrall

2. The Nordrassil Summit – Watch Cinematic

3. Into Slashing Winds – Go to, Uldum

4. Elemental Bonds: Doubt – Throne of the Four Winds

Essence of Doubt – 77490 Health

Shadow of Doubt – 309 K Health

5. Into Coaxing Tides Travel to the Abyssal Breach – Talk to Hydrius

6. Elemental Bonds: Desire – Abyssal Breach

Tides of Longing – 77490 Health

Vortex of Longing – 542 K Health

7. Into Constant Earth – Travel to Deepholm and talk to Therazane

8. Elemental Bonds: Patience – Deepholm

Element of Patience – 77490 Health

Cornerstone of Patience – 348 K Health

9. Into Unrelenting Fire – Travel to Firelands, talk to Aggra

10. Elemental Bonds: Fury - Firelands

Seeds of Fury – 77490 Health

Flame of Fury – 542 K Health

11. Elemental Bonds: The Vow – Mt Hyjal

From the time you complete the first fight “Elemental Bonds: Doubt” the remaining encounters are pretty much the same. You port from area to area, fight the elementals, free Thrall, who is immediately taken captive again and is waiting for you help in the next quest.

NOTE: For all of you that are using a pet to hold agro, be sure and keep it constantly healed, for if he should die; you will soon follow.

The whole thing is pretty much a tank and spank, and being able to keep agro off you. I don’t know how it works with a group, I didn’t try it that way, however when 4.2 is finally released It might be a good idea to give it a shot.

The End
 

The entire quest line can be completed in about an hour and in the end you’ll glean well over 100 Gold, as well as being able to choose from one of four item level 365 back pieces suited to your class and spec. Not bad for an hour’s work, plus its a load of fun. As a matter of fact it is probably one of the best quest lines Blizzard has come up with in a long time. I hope you all have as much fun with this as I did.
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© 2011  By; J. Francis  All rights reserved.

Too Many Books

Too Many Books

Reading a post a friend made on a writer’s website about paring down the size of her office reminded me of when I had to face this task many years ago. In her post she talked about having too many books, and how disposing of them, would be like saying goodbye to an old friend. However I think books are akin to money, you can never have too much, or too many of either. When it comes to money it is always being recycled in one fashion or another. We earn it, we spend it, and some of it ends up in a bank to be saved. When we spend it, it  finds its way into someone else’s pocket, think of the quarters that someone painted blue and red onetime, they found their way all over the world. The same is true when we bank our money, the bank in one way or another recycles it back into the economy where it finds its way into yet someone else’s pocket. But how about those books, what becomes of them when we are ready to recycle

 My Reply

I had the same problem with books many years ago, and packed up well over 200 and drove them to a sailor's shelter in, Newport Rhode Island. I have often wondered in what parts of the world some of them might have ended up. It also gave me an idea for a short story, one about a particular book picked up by a seafarer, dropped off in another port only to be picked up again and again to continue its journey around the world. Oh the stories that book would have to tell.

What I neglected to mention in my reply was that in many of the books I had added several pages in the beginning as well as in the end, and in each started an entry of one sort or another, as well as adding my name and address in hopes that as the books were passed on from one to another entries would be made charting its course around the world, and that eventually one might find it way home to tell of its journey. Oh yes; what a story these books would now have to tell then.

Although none were ever returned, I was from the beginning left with so many questions as I parted with my old friends. I suppose first and foremost was; would any one of them  ever be picked up and carried off to begin some great adventure? Then the rest of the questions filled my daydreaming head. Who would pick them up? Since their new home was a shelter for traveling sailors, who were they, where did they come from, where would their journey take them from here? Would the new owner speak only English, or as a world traveler would he perhaps unlike me, be multi lingual?

 There is however  somewhat of a happy ending for at least one of my old friends. Several years later I received a letter from a sailor in Singapore that had picked up one of  several copies  of Moby Dick I had donated and he told how he had carried it all over the world with him. That in itself was rather apropos  I thought. In his letter he talked about how with English not being his first language, (ah another question answered) as well as other commitments, it had taken him over two years to complete the book. He also told how he was now going to pass the book onto a friend sailing around the world to begin yet another journey. One can only wonder,  if I wait long  enough might I someday learn of Moby Dicks latest adventures. Perhaps this time filled with additional intrigue, and romance? I guess only time will tell.

Hay River Project

An action packed adventure.

In the scientific community a theory existed that Neanderthal man didn’t just die out and was simply replaced my modern man. Some, a few; theorized that the two species, were able to, and did in fact interbreed producing what we now refer to as modern man. In 2010 DNA testing completed on over 2000 individuals from Europe and Asia proved conclusively that at least four percent of the Earth’s population is in fact directly descended from Neanderthal.

However; in September of 2002 a handful of scientists who for lack of concrete evidence opposed this theory and while on an archeological dig in Canada’s Northwest Territories stumbled into a secret world buried deep below the surface where it had remained hidden for over ten thousand years. A discovery that was about to shatter all theories as well as remove all doubt in their minds about where modern man came from. 

Dr. Matthew Prichard and friends would soon embark on the quest of a lifetime, delving into a world they know nothing about, a world whose knowledge could never be disclosed, a world whose knowledge could mean disaster to all.

Exercising Our Brains

 As a senior citizen on the downhill side of 70, one would think computers would be somewhat of a mystery. However my curiosity and fascination with computers began in the early 1980’s with the Texas Instrument TI-99, for those of you that don’t remember that particular model, be thankful; because the term, user friendly had not yet been coined. However this article is not about the computers themselves, but rather an area I had never ventured into; computer games, after all, they were something for kids to become totally addicted to, not adults, and especially not senior citizens. As parents and grandparents we are supposed to be the ones with enough wisdom to explain the perils of the time spent at these user friendly machines, rather than having an older daughter tell you; “Dad you spend way too much time playing that stupid game. What kind of an influence do you think that has on the kids?”

And yes, I discovered MMORPG’s, (Massively multiplayer online role-playing games), what a mouth full. MMORPG’s are simply games that one can purchase, download to their computer, and pay a monthly fee to play. The more popular games can be the most expensive to purchase, and cost in the area of $15.00 a month to play. Which one can justify the monthly fee by rationalizing that it’s rather inexpensive when you consider that $15.00 or so gives you 24/7 for an entire month’s entertainment. Hey, you can’t even go to a movie for that today; forget about seeing it over and over for an entire month, anytime of the day or night for that initial free. 

So where am I going with all this? Am I defending the hours, and hours of time spent in front of a computer, playing online games with your online community and friends who can be scattered across the country, and even around the world? Yes I am, or at least I hope I will be able to make some sense out of it as far as senior citizens go.

Computer games range in difficultly to play and master from extremely simple, to extremely complex, so complex that at first you think you would never be able to master them. This is something only kids can master, after all their brains are like sponges and they learn fast. You’re right in that thinking to some degree, as kids we do tend to learn faster, and learn and learn until we hit an age where we simply don’t need, or want to learn any more. We have learned all that we need to take us through the rest of our lives. All the years of learning, all the years of that thinking; we don’t have to do it anymore; well my friends this is the thinking that makes our brains stagnate, and after time learning new tasks becomes much more difficult. It’s no different than becoming physically docile and having our muscles waste away, so we exercise daily to stay in shape and prevent that from happening.  What about our brains? What happens when we become mentally docile? How do we exercise our brains to prevent that from happening? Thinking to our brains, is akin to physical exercise for our muscles. Thinking is how we exercise our brains. Ok; see where I’m headed?

I either write on a daily basis for anyone willing to pay my fee, or can be found working on my own projects, articles and short stories, or one of three novels I have in the works. With the research and reading and actual writing involved in putting an article or story together, one would think that’s a lot of exercise for our brains, and to some extent you’re right. But what about learning new tasks? I may have learned something I didn’t know before, like exactly how high Mt. Washington is, or how deep the Japanese Trench is, however I learned that using skills I have already polished over the years, not by learning new ones.

On the other hand; I am still very involved in computer games, ( yes at 67 years old) and what I’ve discovered is they keep you thinking every second, and the more complex games take a lot more thought and concentration, thus making you exercise that grey matter to its maximum potential. It’s mental exercise; and a lot of it. As I mentioned; computer games keep you thinking, plus there is so much to remember, ah, another key, memory. My memory is as I remember it 25 years ago, (no pun there) and those moments of CRS are for the most part a thing of the past. Can I attribute this all to computer games? Absolutely not, although my day is filled with mental exercise in one form or another, whether it be writing, research, or playing an MMORPG’s. What I’m trying to illustrate here is not that you run out and purchase an expensive gaming computer, but rather find some sort of mental exercise that suits you. Reading a few hours a day, writing if you’re so inclined and yes; if you really want to challenge that grey matter try an MMORPG.  And who knows, as some articles and research show, mental exercise can ward off the early onset of Alzheimer’s disease.  We exercise to stay fit and healthy, why not exercise our brains to the same extent?

J. Francis © 2011

The Flying Fool

It was February 1964, I was a young Army pilot recently out of flight school and assigned to Company A Fourth Aviation Battalion out of Fort Lewis Washington. Our sole mission in life was to administer aerial support to The Army’s war games, wherever they happened to be. This in preparation for our eventual deployment to some part of the world where we would be involved in yet another skirmish, but that’s a few other stories down the road. Then word came down we had been invited to take part in a joint, Army, Air Force Maneuver called Exercise Desert Strike, being held in the California Desert. Desert Strike, which history says, was the largest Desert Warfare Maneuver since General George Patton trained his tank forces in the same area in 1942. That in preparation for the invasion of, North Africa. Well we weren’t going to invade Africa, but we did invade the small California desert town of Needles, and in total, an area that covered some 13 million acres spread over California, Nevada, and Arizona. This invasion involved over one hundred thousand military personnel, ninety thousand Army, and ten thousand Air Force. Not to mention 780 aircraft, 7000 wheeled vehicles, and 1000 tanks. And cost the American taxpayer a mere 60 million 1964 U.S. Dollars. Why the desert? It would have made more sense playing the game in the coastal swamp areas of Florid and Louisiana for our eventual deployment to Vietnam, rather than in the middle of the treeless desert. However, who am I to say? We were well received by the local population who I am certain viewed the invading force as a boon to the economy they had not seen since the days of General George Patton. Our unit was stationed adjacent to the runway at the Needles Municipal Airport, where the Army Corps of Engineers carved up the desert sand and laid down perforated metal plates called, PSP, or Marsden Matting, as our runways and helipads. They also constructed a village of tents reminiscent of a scene from Mash. Rather than the 4077, we dubbed it Camp Rickenbacker, after the famous aviator Eddy Rickenbacker, although most of us were too young to remember who he was, but hey; it sounded good. Now as tents go these were the ultimate in comfort. They were big enough to hold up to ten men, they had wooden floors to keep the snakes and scorpions out, (it would have been nice if the snakes, and scorpions had read the manual) and had pot bellied stoves operated by gasoline for heat. And yes, the desert gets cold at night in February. We would wake up in the morning and find ice-sickles hanging from the lister bags. (Canvas water bags hanging from a tripod) While the shower stalls were under construction, (the same type that was seen in many episodes of the 4077) the Army arranged for us to shower at the local High School. And this is where my story begins. Ψ By our fourth day in the desert we were all well aware our need for showers. Even with the freezing temperatures at night, nonetheless by 11:00am, daytime temperatures had already reached the 90’s and would soon top 100 degrees. And running around in that heat, well let’s just say it made you sweat. We were part of the advanced party overseeing construction of our new desert home, and as yet had no command center in place; this made communications with the brass at Fort Lewis just a little slow to say the least. (This was before cell phones and fax machines) It was several days after the invasion of Needles, before we found a note in the latest mailbag from Fort Lewis telling of the arrangements they made for us to shower at the local High School. (Good thing we found it.) The plan was simple, pack as many guys as we could in the back of a ¾-ton pick-up truck and go take our showers. Now you have to remember, most of us especially the younger pilots hadn’t seen the inside of a High School in at least six years, and in the case of the older guys it was many more than that. So believe me when I tell you that we had our reservations. Did it take someone from the Pentagon to negotiate this deal? What did they get us into? First we invade their town, now their High School. Would there be enemy forces waiting to repel our advance? We had no idea what to expect, or how we would be accepted or viewed. However, as some famous President once said. “There is nothing to fear, but fear itself.” And as we soon discovered, he was right.(that’s probably why he was elected president) By the end of the first night we had made a few new friends, had a gym to work out in, and a place to play basketball. Even if it did end up with the high school students making us look like a bunch of beginners. As they say all good things must come to an end, the night was all too soon over and it was time for us to go back to our desert dwellings, and once again be soldiers and pilots playing war games. But that would give us ample time to plan tomorrow night’s strategy against the Needles High School Basketball Team. We said our goodbyes, picked up our belongings, and headed for the truck, the sight of which reminded us that we were still in the Army. Bill Howell was the first to arrive at the truck, and as he opened the canvas flap to allow access to its bed we were shocked to find there were now more of us than we originally started out with. Were these new recruits? No, much to our surprise several of the High School senior girls decided to take up residence in the back of the truck and were refusing to vacate until we had shown them Camp Rickenbacker. I remember hearing Bill Howell say. “Oh glory” I wasn’t sure at first what he meant by that, but then Bill did have a way with words. The more we insisted they remove themselves the more they refused. It was decision time. Should we destroy the goodwill we had spent all evening trying to establish? Or on the other hand as emissaries of the United States Army, stay in good graces with the locals, and extend to them the courtesy of a personal tour of Camp Rickenbacker. I’m not sure if it was Bill Howell’s “Oh Glory” or what, but the latter won out. “Ooh Glory.” By the end of that evening we had made several more new friends, and I had met the girl of my dreams. She would be my soul mate, the mother of my children and grandchildren; we would grow old together, and comfort one another through all of life’s little trials. Morgan as I will call her for benefit of the story was a Mojave Indian and lived on the reservation where I ultimately ended up spending all of my free time, and was accepted into her family as one of them. (No, she didn’t live in a teepee. I did, remember?) Her father had even given me an Indian name that I discovered many years later, loosely translated to, “that young flying fool.” One of the attributes of Army Aircraft is their ability to land on almost any unimproved surface, In other words, if it looks okay, land on it. Therefore the dirt roads running through the reservation became my own personal landing field. I spent as much time with my L-19 Bird Dog at the reservation giving Morgan’s family and friends free rides and an occasional flying lesson, as I spent playing war games. At one point we were short handed and I needed a bombardier, call it an epiphany or whatever you want, but I flew out to the reservation and picked up Morgan’s dad. With a few minutes of instructions I had him dropping little one-pound flower sacks out of the open side door of the Bird Dog. I don’t know if it was my flying, or his dropping, but the flour sacks were right on target. They hit their designated marks as I flew over the enemy convoy, then the tents in their compound. All the while flying no more than fifty feet over their heads. That’s more than likely where he came up with the Flying Fool. Time was growing short, my unit would be leaving Needles on June 1, Morgan would be graduating from High School in the middle of the month and I wouldn’t be there to see it, so we had to make the best of what time we had left. I had no idea what would happen to our relationship after I went back to Fort Lewis. It was too far to go on a weekend pass, although perhaps I could take some leave time. But for now we just had to take advantage of what time we had left. Then came a surprise, they were sending me to, Blythe California, where I would be living on an Air Conditioned Red Cross train, while representing the U.S. Army in their weeklong Harvest Festival. How would I survive without Morgan for a week? “I wouldn’t.” I thought. The answer was simple. Get her a uniform, put on an extra pair of my lieutenants bars, and make her a nurse, then put her in the L-19 and go to Blythe, and it worked like a charm. We even entered a contest and were crowned King and Queen of the festival, at which point we received all the amenities due a royal couple. However, as I said earlier, “all good things must come to an end.” In addition, by the time the week in Blythe was over, my stay in California was almost over. The following week flew by (no pun intended) and it was time for me to leave for Fort Lewis. Saying goodbye was the hardest thing I had ever done in my young life, and I know it was no easier on Morgan, or her family for that matter. I still to this day think I saw a tear in her father’s eye. Which years later he would deny. (Hint hint) It wasn’t long after I got back to Washington, that I received orders for Vietnam. It happened so fast I had no way of contacting Morgan; they had no phone so all I could do was write and explain the situation, and pray she wouldn’t forget me. I knew in my heart that I could never forget her; the whole situation was tearing me apart. While in Flight School, I qualified to fly the Grumman OV-1 Mohawk, which was the Army’s only fixed wing combat aircraft; and as a result this had me all over Vietnam, which made staying in touch with home on a regular basis almost impossible. Consequently I lost touch with everyone. Then what seemed to be inevitable for so many pilots. When I least expected it, I was shot down, and spent the next year of my life in a military hospital. Four and a half months of which I was in a coma, the remaining months in rehabilitation healing from the injuries both physical and mental. The remainder of the time was spent learning how to walk again. Which took all most as long as it did the first time we learn to walk after birth. The difference being the first time I stood, I took off on a run, not so this time. When I was finally released from the hospital I discovered none of my personnel effects had found their way back home from Vietnam, that included Morgan’s address which by this time I couldn’t remember. I guess that’s understandable, with the events of the preceding year I was lucky I could remember my own name and address. As time passed memories faded and I ended up in another relationship that was at best rocky from the start. Looking back, I think at least part of it was my fault. When things got out of hand and more than I could deal with I found myself mentally comparing my wife to Morgan, and Morgan always won out. But then, who can compare to our first love? Another twenty years passed by which time my marriage had ended and I was retiring from the Army. My military career was ending at Fort Lewis; right where it had began all those years earlier. It had come full circle. Or had it? I had one more thing to do before I could get on with the rest of my life. I knew in my mind and in my heart that the effort would be fruitless; nonetheless I made the decision to at the very least, make an attempt to find Morgan. If for no other reason to see where life had taken her, and if successful make some sort of a feeble attempt at explaining my disappearance. Retirement day arrived; I packed a few things in the surplus Mohawk I had purchased and spent the past five years restoring and headed south. It was late in the afternoon when I arrived at the Needles Municipal Airport , and after answering a thousand questions about the Mohawk, and reminiscing well into the evening, the invasion of 1964; I decided to enlist the help of the local pilots in my quest for Morgan. Surely someone could steer me in the right direction. That someone turned out to be a young Mojave Indian pilot who had listened intently to the conversation, as well as asking many questions of his own. What’s more, he had hair as red as mine had been at one time, and he bore the same first name. “Funny coincidence” I thought. “You must be the young flying fool, my mother and grandfather have told me so much about.” Then extending his hand, and with tears in his eyes he said. “I have waited all my life for the opportunity to say this. Hi dad; and how was your day?” As I shared his tears so many thoughts raced through my mind in such a short time I couldn’t keep track of them. The first of which, I had a son. What had his life had been like? As I queried his life, what seemed like a thousand questions followed from the both of us? Among other things, I discovered John had joined the Army after finishing college. He was now home on leave after just completing basic training, and would be leaving for Flight School at Fort Rucker Alabama, in two weeks. “It was destined,” he explained. (A few more tears.) Then the answer to the question that had brought me back to the desert. Morgan was well, and single; she for whatever reason had never married. “Can I see her I asked?” With a smile I wish you could have seen he answered. “I think we could arrange that dad.” Two phone calls and as many hours later, a face appeared that time had preserved just as I remembered it. The next few hours were as tearful as the previous, to say the least. Morgan explained that after not hearing from me for so long they had feared the worst, but never gave up hope that this day would arrive. Several months passed when I received orders from my soon to be Lieutenant son now in Flight School, that I should never leave their lives again. We hadn’t told John yet; but we had come to the same conclusion. And were married on my birthday in December of that year. As I write this we are closing in on our twentieth anniversary, Morgan is still teaching High School history. (She says she will never retire) I still operate a flight school at the airport, and John will be retiring from the Army in a few years, at which time he will take over the family business. We never had additional children, but were blessed with three beautiful, Grandchildren. The oldest, John the third is well on his way to becoming an accomplished pilot and plans to follow in his father, and grandfathers footsteps, as the third generation of young flying fools. The best part of not being perfect, is simply the joy that it brings to others. J. Francis.

A Fathers Gift

My first typewriter, a summers work.

As children growing up it was expected my sister and I would help out in the daily routine of running the family business. Somewhere in my mid-teens as school was about to come to a close for the summer months, I expressed an interest in finding a job for the duration. After all I was twelve, and if I could fly a plane, I could certainly hold down a full time summer job. My father; who I think after dwelling over the fact that he was about to lose half of his free labor force, came to me with an offer. “Work for me during vacation and I will pay you at the end of the summer.” He said. “Ah; money in the bank.” I thought. So work I did for nary a dime till summer drew to a close.


A week or so before it was time to go back to school, my father replaced the old typewriters In his office with the brand new style Underwood. As summer drew to a close and the time to return to school had arrived, as well as the long awaited payment for my labor. After finishing up the last day’s work ending my part of the bargain, I was called into his office to receive that long awaited compensation, which my father was holding in his hands. Proudly, if not somewhat reluctantly he passed on his old friend to me, along with a ream of paper, a box of assorted ribbons, paper clips, and my first stapler, well as well as the following statement. “This has served me well, and I know it will be with you for many years to come.”


Needless to say after expecting a pocket full of cash, not my father’s old typewrite; I was a little disappointed to say the least. However as fathers usually are, in his infinite wisdom he was right. His prized possession that could miraculously put word to paper by touching the right combination of keys, somehow without auto correct, or spell check Undy, always knew what I wanted to say, and had found a new best friend in me. Furthermore, as some friends often do she tagged along where ever I went. Undy followed me through High School, College, Flight School, Officers Candidate School, then eventually on to Cambodia and Vietnam, where together we wrote and published our very first articles. Because of the circumstances of war, Undy never made it home, however I hope she was able to find a new best friend and again will be putting words on paper, this time; perhaps in a new language.

THE BIG THREE

Well snails may be slow but given enough time they will reach their destination, and after a start again stop again journey that lasted sixty years; so has the Citroen 2CV Tin Snail. Designed in the 1930’s and ready for production 1n 1939, but because of material shortages due to the 2nd World War, it didn’t see dealers showrooms for almost another ten years. However, from 1948 on it would be produced for some 42 years until 1990, with minimal design changes. During that time several new models were introduced, including a pickup truck, and a four wheel drive version of the original CV2. (You can see photos of both vehicles at the end of this article.)

The vehicle was the brainchild of, Pierre-Jules Boulanger, since the French economy was, and for the most part still is, based on agriculture, his vision was to remove the rural farm peasants from the horse and buggy, and move them into the new age of the automobile, and do it at a price that everyone could afford. After interviewing 10,000 potential customers in what must have been one of the first ever examples of mass market research. Boulanger’s instructions to his engineers were simple. “It had to be able to carry a basket of eggs across a ploughed field, accommodate a tall man wearing a hat and be drivable by a farmer wearing clogs who had little or no experience of maintaining a motor car. As far as image went, Boulanger's memo added: "I confirm to you that the looks don't really bother me."

With a top speed of 37mph, this little gem got something just over 50mpg. I’m not sure if that was with, or without the basket of eggs, but a gas guzzler it was not. And according to, Auto Express UK, their about to do it again.

The redesigned Citroën 2CV, will be ready for the auto shows sometime in 2009, and will likely be a diesel-electric hybrid with high mpg and low emissions.

So you ask? What does all this have to do with the title of this article, The Big Three? Well for one, I simply got carried away with the snail. And two, I have a hard time saying “hello” in less than 350 words or so. However; there is a number three. Yep, You got it; The Big Three. Not so big now, are they? Although Ford seems to be holding its own for the moment, General Motors, and more especially Chrysler are all but finished as being associated with what is the saying? Chevrolet and apple pie? Now it will be more like, Crepes Suzette, and the American Tax Payer. Sound harsh? It is, but it didn’t have to be that way. And if you’ll pardon my French, where the hell are the Lee Iacocca’s when you need them?

There was a lesson to be learned from what Pierre-Jules Boulanger, did with Citroen, in 1949. His little auto for the peasants, bailed out a financially ailing Citroen, and put them in the black. Lee Iacocca did it again in 1979 when he approached The United States Government and asked for a loan guarantee, which he received and was able to repay seven years early than agreed to. Both did this by producing a line of vehicles for the masses. Vehicles that almost anyone could afford. Cheap to buy, and cheap to operate.

So what happened? The economy saw a few years of prosperity, and the lessons learned went by the wayside. Now they’re going to try and save it all by downsizing. Closing plants, laying off what will in the end be thousands of employees, and selling out to foreign auto makers. Why not do as Boulanger did, simply put the question to The American Auto Buyer? Ask them what they want, ask them what they need. They, (The Big Three) may be surprised with the answer. I know it’s too late for General Motors, and Chrysler, at this point if either of them come out of this whole it will be a miracle. And if they do, unless they remember the lessons of Pierre-Jules Boulanger, and Lido Anthony Iacocca, they will only be biding their time.

I don’t propose they build vehicles with a top speed of 37 mph, and canvas tops. But with today’s technology they can produce a car for the masses, cheap to buy, and cheap to operate, just as Boulanger, and Iacocca did. Only this time; don’t forget the lesson.

© 2010 J. Francis All Rights reserved