tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80007022482773480992024-03-16T14:49:50.581-04:00The ThoughtspotOpinions on Christianity and biblical themes, some political commentary, occasional book reviews, and samples of humor and fiction writing (flash fiction pieces as well as excerpts from my novel-length works).C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.comBlogger341125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000702248277348099.post-19927264561714729712023-12-20T14:03:00.001-05:002023-12-20T14:08:34.633-05:00Review of Surprised by Doubt: How Disillusionment can Invite us to Deeper Faith, by Chatraw and Carson<p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Surprised-Doubt-Disillusionment-Invite-Deeper/dp/1587435594/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2G75GOFJWD1L8&keywords=surprised+by+doubt+jack+carson&qid=1703099280&sprefix=surprised+by+d%2Caps%2C119&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Surprised by Doubt: How Disillusionment can Invite us to Deeper Faith</a></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.25in;">This is a really
good book. It has several problems, which I’ll discuss last, but if
you just skim book reviews, I want to make my point early on: this is
indeed a good book and can be used effectively with those wrestling
with doubt.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp3wYv3OwG_X4zcjEzl9KWkEtDZEOm32XHV4452NrKURdjJMVfOr66upNlnR9DCUJ9fzHvUbcrbK4YXgKYYcAmMXNrQE-Mo7W1hPbiWvkdyC00oLd39k04BlVo3L_bxGaYXRB7vVW2HHiVmMXTxTs6HmmNlPKiFoQ8JityEHuGW1xuJGiyal2CTGWfOOM/s1569/Surprised%20by%20Doubt%20image.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1569" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp3wYv3OwG_X4zcjEzl9KWkEtDZEOm32XHV4452NrKURdjJMVfOr66upNlnR9DCUJ9fzHvUbcrbK4YXgKYYcAmMXNrQE-Mo7W1hPbiWvkdyC00oLd39k04BlVo3L_bxGaYXRB7vVW2HHiVmMXTxTs6HmmNlPKiFoQ8JityEHuGW1xuJGiyal2CTGWfOOM/s320/Surprised%20by%20Doubt%20image.jpg" width="204" /></a></div>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.25in;">As you might
guess, the title is a take-off on C. S. Lewis’s <em style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Surprised-Joy-Shape-Early-Life/dp/0062565435/ref=sr_1_1?crid=8RGYMRBT9U9P&keywords=surprised+by+joy+cs+lewis&qid=1703098695&sprefix=Surprised+by+Joy%2Caps%2C106&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Surprised byJoy</a></em><span style="text-indent: 0.25in;">. The similarities rise to more than just the title. The
authors quote Lewis frequently as they make their case for genuine
Christianity. Their writing style is warm and not overly
academic—also like Lewis’s. On balance the book is an invitation
to carefully rethink the issues that have provoked many moderns
toward skepticism, or even outright rejection, of the claims of the
Christian faith.</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.25in;">One thing that
adds to their credibility is that the authors themselves have
struggled with doubts about their own faith. Another is that they
honor questions and doubt without dismissing or belittling the
skeptic. Instead, they engage with the doubts. Another is their
humility: they freely admit they don’t have answers for all of the
questions. Carson and Chatraw make a case for mystery—that
unanswerable mystery should be expected when investigating a
sovereign God.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.25in;">I’m thankful
that they are going after base hits, not home runs—they admit
repeatedly that they cannot prove the existence of God or the claims
of the faith. Instead they are building a “wager” that the
Christian explanation of reality is far more likely than alternative
explanations.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.25in;">The principal
metaphor they employ for the Christian faith is that of a great house
with many rooms, each representing a different flavor of historic,
orthodox Christianity. Chatraw and Carson divide the book into three
sections: The Attic, Outside the House, and The Main Floor. The rooms
on the main floor all share the same load-bearing walls. The
load-bearing walls represent the unifying commonality of the
essentials of the orthodox faith. In other words, while each room
might differ on peripheral issues, if you’re on the main floor, you
are a legitimate, true Christian.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.25in;">In Part 1, the
first five chapters of the book, Chatraw and Carson flesh out the
metaphor, saying that some people have moved up to the attic and
erected new walls consisting of peripheral issues that the attic
dwellers insist are load-bearing. These individuals tend to say, “if
you don’t have the same walls I do, you’re not really a
Christian.” Like most attics, the ceiling is not high, and these
Christians have adopted a stooped posture, unable to stand up
straight. That stooped posture skews how they see others and how they
read the Bible.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.25in;">The authors
provide several examples of attic dwellers. Evangelicalism on the
left, with its nouveau catechisms of social justice and sexual/gender
doctrines gets a mention. Fundamentalism on the right, with its dogma
specifying the approved positions on culture (politics and political
parties, forms of entertainment, use of alcohol and tobacco) or
theology (eschatology, position on modern Israel, the ordinances,
church governance), occupies a large part of the authors’ concerns.
Some churches and fellowships (right and left) become vitriolic in
their insistence that all true believers must share their particular
distinctives.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.25in;">The authors’
chief concern in the book is for believers who grew up in an “attic
church” and have reached a point of disillusionment in which they
are ready to jettison the faith because they see these questionable
and peripheral issues being confidently elevated as though they are
essentials alongside the actual Gospel.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.25in;">In Part 2,
chapters six through nine, Chatraw and Carson encourage the reader to
examine closely the ground outside the house before jumping out of
the Attic window (the metaphor is escape, not suicide). Four
alternate philosophies are explored: the New Atheism, Optimistic
Skepticism, Open Spirituality, and Mythic Truth. Chatraw and Carson
drive the presumptions attached to each of these secular philosophies
to their logical conclusions, demonstrating that the ground outside
the house is not quite as inviting as it might first appear. Jumping
out the Attic window simply trades one set of problems for an even
worse set.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.25in;">In Part 3,
chapters ten through sixteen, Chatraw and Carson invite the reader
to come down to the main floor and have a look around. “Now, as we
turn to explore the main floor of the Christian house, we are asking
a different question: Does Christianity offer a better foundation,
better explanatory power, and a better way to live than the [outside]
spaces we explored in part 2” [93]? They employ three perspectives:
C. S. Lewis’s device of “Looking at” and “Looking Through,”
to which they add “Stepping In.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Looking at”
is a serious exploration of the historical evidences of the
resurrection in chapter ten. What explanation provides the best
understanding of the claim that Jesus was raised from the dead:
Fraud? Hallucinations? Chatraw and Carson provide multiple reasons
why the claims of Jesus’ resurrection are best explained by His
actual, historic, physical resurrection.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Next, in chapter
eleven, the reader is asked to look at the Person in the Center—Jesus
Himself. Are the four gospels credible? Did they misrepresent Jesus?
What kind of man was He? The authors point out that the gospels
present Jesus as one who challenged and scandalized the orthodoxies
of His day, rather than one whose ministry was calculated to win wide
approval.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.25in;">In chapter
twelve, we are invited to examine the load-bearing walls that are
absolutely essential to the integrity of the house over all. “This
brings us to the load-bearing walls of the Christian faith. Attic
Christianity mistakenly makes the house appear as though most of its
walls are load-bearing or at least integrally attached to the
load-bearing walls” [113]. The authors’ answer is to step back
and look at the historic creeds which have stood the test of time
over the centuries, such as the Apostles’ Creed. The Apostles’
Creed has been accepted by the Church at large as a legitimate
statement of faith for at least fifteen hundred years by believers in
different faith streams of Christianity. It provides common ground
for the Christian faith.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Moving to the
motif of “looking through,” in chapter thirteen the authors
explore Pascal’s critique of Descartes’ skeptical approach to
knowledge. In Pascal’s view, the human appreciation of and desire
for transcendent truth, beauty, and goodness is itself an argument
for God. Pascal’s “wager” is to “take all of the aspects of
human behavior into account, and ask this question: Where might true
joy be found” [131]?
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Chapter fourteen
suggests that justice, human dignity, beauty, and meaning are all
markers “gesturing toward a profound and mysterious meaning”
[140]. In the authors’ words, “Christianity provides a window
that makes sense of the world, including human nature and our deepest
aspirations” [134]</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.25in;">The third
perspective, “Stepping in,” occupies chapters fifteen and
sixteen. Chatraw and Carson suggest that the skeptic “try”
Christianity. “If you’d like to believe in Christianity, but
don’t think you can, you might be going about things the wrong way.
It could be that you have been trying to control contingencies in
order to achieve a certain kind of certainty, your own two-plus-two
approach to the God question” [147]. They provide three reasons for
staying on the “main floor” rather than bolting through the
window:</p>
<ul>
<li><p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in;">There are good reasons to take
the core claims of Christianity seriously [149];</p>
</li><li><p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in;">What other options do you have
[149]?</p>
</li><li><p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in;">Since we can’t opt out of
formative practices altogether, the question becomes which practices
best form us for flourishing [151].</p>
</li></ul>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.25in;">The chapter ends
with this hopeful sentence: “But the collective witness of his
people and the Scriptures is that those who humbly continue to seek
God will eventually find him” [153]. Chapter sixteen suggests the
spiritual practices the seeking skeptic should engage in: participate
in the sacred by observing birth, death, and marriage; commit to a
room on the main floor of the house that is serious about worship;
slow down and pray; meditate on Scripture; slow down to appreciate
the beauty of creation; and continue to look both at and along the
faith.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Though I believe
<em>Surprised by Doubt</em> is a helpful book to give someone who is
considering “deconverting” from the faith because of
disillusionment, I do have several concerns. For one, the authors
don’t consider the matter of recent creation to be one of the
load-bearing walls of the faith. It is presented as a (losing)
argument with science that contributes to the disillusionment of
doubting believers. But the doctrine of creation refuses to play
nice. Once you give ground on recent creation by accepting some
combination of theistic evolution or old-earth theories, you’ve
started pulling on a thread integrally connected to nearly every
major doctrine of Scripture. Besides, “science” is not speaking
with a unified voice on evolution and long ages: genuine empirical
science is calling into question major assumptions made by
evolutionists. “Received truth” like James Hutton’s principle
of uniformitarianism, the bedrock of evolutionary geology, is being
seriously challenged (even by secular geologists). Andrew Snelling’s
magisterial work <em><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Earths-Catastrophic-Past-Creation-published/dp/B00E6TC5Y0/ref=sr_1_2?crid=1Z42S9Y6VB0NM&keywords=earth%27s+catastrophic+past+snelling&qid=1703098910&sprefix=earth%27s+catast%2Caps%2C118&sr=8-2&ufe=app_do%3Aamzn1.fos.17d9e15d-4e43-4581-b373-0e5c1a776d5d" target="_blank">Earth's Catastrophic Past Geology, Creation and
the Flood</a></em> (two volumes) documents the modern scientific
discoveries that dispute doctrinaire evolutionism. Is the doctrine of
recent creation a load-bearing wall of the Gospel? Perhaps not, but
the loss of the doctrine throws a great deal of historic orthodoxy
into difficulty. Just like the authors were courageous to drive the
four secular philosophies to their logical conclusions, it might be
wise for them to do the same thing if one jettisons recent creation:
the resulting theological problems are daunting.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Like C. S.
Lewis, Chatraw and Carson also admit to the possibility of
universalism, as though the doctrine of eternal judgment is a
non-load-bearing wall. Despite the authors’ loyalty to historic
orthodoxy, apparently that’s a historic doctrine they have chosen
to overlook.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.25in;">My final concern
has to do with their closing advice—engage in spiritual
disciplines. For readers who are genuinely regenerated but are
struggling with doubts, that is precisely the right advice. Their
re-immersion into spiritual disciplines will eventually have its
intended effect. But for readers who are disillusioned because
they’ve never truly been regenerated (in other words, to whom 1
John 2:19 applies), Chatraw’s and Carson’s advice sounds like
preparationism—a highly disputed practice in orthodox circles. In
their own words: “Without claiming a mechanistic and universal
demonstration of the truth of Christianity through these practices,
in this chapter we’ve been inviting you to wager on Christianity by
developing habits that allow you to step into its light. If there is
a God and Christianity is true, these practices are some of the means
of experiencing his grace” [160].</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in; text-indent: 0.25in;">These problems
aside, I think this book can be greatly used of God for people who
are wrestling with doubts. The authors’ gentle tone and style, the
focus on the essentials, the easily understood metaphor, and the
excellent reasoning combine to make this a useful book. Four stars,
highly recommended.</p>C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000702248277348099.post-34544273567047165622023-10-06T12:00:00.003-04:002023-10-06T12:07:53.857-04:00<h1 style="text-align: center;">The Solo Flight</h1><h3 style="text-align: center;"> Lambert Field, MO, November 14, 1942 </h3><div> <em>[NOTE TO READERS: This is one of a series of short stories about my dad’s experiences in WW2, based on his letters, his diary, his pilot’s log book, and the many documents he saved from his time in the Navy, and other historical records. Individual conversations and scenes I have invented, though they are informed by the records in my possession.]</em></div><div><br /></div><div>I had to fly with one hand and blow my nose with the other. Depending on how fast your nose is running, that can be quite a trick, especially when it’s time to land. It was my very first solo flight—I could not have picked a worse time to get a bad cold. More on that in a minute. But first, the back story on how I wound up in the cockpit of that N3N-3 on November 14, 1942, at Lambert Field, Missouri.<p align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.2in; widows: 0;">
</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjb10XmGMeoYpERn0qCfiajCbstcgWgYjyZMUvBvrpYIP-a2GBA5xD59kPEQmE1aQuBOl3hQQ8KdoCFdCmaiFBsNY3Zb8KvTg9_Ja_23n7g73smenw18O_ZFi04fovLIBQG087C3yCUNMccrNNTQfHrqHLTQHDYTRv9cRet8BLe0_BEeQE1ORkzCJk9EF8" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1887" data-original-width="2831" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjb10XmGMeoYpERn0qCfiajCbstcgWgYjyZMUvBvrpYIP-a2GBA5xD59kPEQmE1aQuBOl3hQQ8KdoCFdCmaiFBsNY3Zb8KvTg9_Ja_23n7g73smenw18O_ZFi04fovLIBQG087C3yCUNMccrNNTQfHrqHLTQHDYTRv9cRet8BLe0_BEeQE1ORkzCJk9EF8=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Credit: Alan Wilson, Creative Commons License</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p>
I have wanted to fly since my very first airplane ride. It was 1928 and I was five years old. The Curtis JN-4 “Jenny” was a two-seater biplane, with controls at both places. Daddy put me in the front seat where he could keep an eye on me as he flew. I was bundled up and wearing goggles that were way too big for me. I probably looked like I had bug eyes. After buckling me in and giving me stern instructions, “Don’t touch <i>anything</i>!”, dad started that throaty Hispano-Suiza 8 engine. Being a boy, I wasn’t scared by the noise—I loved it. The noisier the better! As soon as the ship lifted off the ground, I was hooked. Whatever it took, whatever I had to do, someday my future was going to include a cockpit.
<br /><br />In 1928, dad (D. K. as he was known to his friends) was fully invested in the fledgling aviation industry. He had been a sophomore engineering major at Georgia Tech when the Great War interrupted his academic plans. He enlisted in the US Naval Reserve Force (USNRF) in June of 1918, when World War 1 was creating a lot of widows. Fortunately the war ended before he got to Europe. <br /><br /> Naval budgetary issues produced a massive drawdown of the military when the war ended, and dad was squeezed by it like everyone else. He was honorably discharged from the Navy in September of 1921. <br /><br /> As the years rolled and the Depression set in, work for most people became difficult to find. Thankfully, dad’s rare aviation skills kept him employed at one job or another. He was a certified flight instructor, a commercial-rated pilot, a certified aircraft mechanic, and a ground school instructor. For a time, dad was a salesman dealing with Aeromarine-Klemm aircraft and Salmson and LeBlond aircraft engines. I suppose dad could lay claim to being the first “equal-opportunity” instructor, because he taught both men and women to fly. <br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">**********</div><br /> So, there I am at Georgia Institute of Technology in my sophomore year, studying mechanical engineering. Late at night on December 7, 1941, my roommate and I were in the dorm studying for semester finals when we heard a news flash that Pearl Harbor had been attacked. We looked at each other across the room, snapped our books shut, and said, “Let’s get with it!” <br /><br /> He enlisted right away in the Army Air Corps. Unfortunately, I had to wait until May of ‘42, when I was old enough to enter the Navy Reserves in the aviation program. It did not occur to me at the time, but my dad had virtually the same experience at Georgia Tech in 1918. Same school and course of study, same navy, same intention to fly. Different war. <br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">**********</div><br /> “Greetings, gentlemen. You people can set your bags on the ground, right there,” said the grinning man as we got off the bus. We had pulled up to a building that looked a lot like a barracks. We were in Athens at the University of Georgia, where we would get pre-flight ground school instruction as well as physical training for strength conditioning. We were all a little anxious, not quite sure what to expect. Had it not been for that nervousness, I probably would have detected the malicious gleam in the man’s eye.
<br /><br />“No one will disturb them. Very well. Now, line up here behind me, gentlemen. Very good. Follow me, please.” <br /><br /> That was the last time he was polite to us for the next three months. As it turned out, he was our physical training (PT) drill instructor. We didn’t know that at the time, however. He simply had ambushed us as soon as we disembarked from the bus. <br /><br /> He took off running at a good clip. We all looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders. We’re in street shoes and traveling clothes. The man jogged about 20 yards, looked back and saw no one following. <br /><br /> “LADIES,” he barked, “I SAID, FOLLOW ME! NOW!” He turned and began running even faster. <div><br /></div><div><i>Oh, boy</i>, I thought. <i>What have I gotten myself in to</i>? There was a <i>reason </i>I chose naval aviation and not the army. I’d had enough of ground pounders in Army ROTC at Georgia Tech. I wanted to be a pilot, not a grunt! I didn’t think running or marching would be part of the package! Boy, was I wrong!
<br /><br />We began chasing after him in our street shoes and traveling duds. As he ran, he shouted at us, “You are in Company H, Platoon 2. Remember that, because when we post the training schedules, you will be responsible to be in the right place at the right time, dressed appropriately. Nobody here is your mama or poppa. You want to fly for the Navy? Well then, you will learn to be responsible starting right now. You WILL be on time for every event on your schedule. If you are even one second late to ANYTHING, I will bless you with an extra three mile run.” <br /><br /> He was merciful that day, if you count stopping short of killing us as merciful. We ran (at a near sprint) only two miles before he led us back to our luggage and the barracks that would be our home for the next three months. Some of the guys puked, and we all had blisters from running in our street shoes. It didn’t really bother me, because I was in pretty decent shape as a runner. At least, I thought I was. As it turned out, the PT did challenge me at times. <br /><br /> The physical requirements necessary to graduate out of ground school included a provision to swim twenty laps—one thousand meters—in under a certain amount of time. The pool was fifty meters long with ten lanes. There were enough of us taking the swimming test that they split the pool into two five-lane sections. One section had the swimmers being tested, the other side was reserved for warm-ups for the next cadre. They would alternate, side to side, in order to run the groups of swimmers through the tests faster. <br /><br /> Okay, I’m ashamed to admit this next part. As it happened, I was climbing out of the pool in lane six after having done a two-lap warmup at the same time as the cadre in lanes one through five was emerging from the pool at the end of their thousand-meter test. It wasn’t anything I had planned—it just happened. In all the noise and confusion, the ensign monitoring the swimming test marked me down as having completed the twenty laps. I never said a word. <br /><br /> We had to pick a sport to participate in during the three months, and frankly that was a good idea, as it gave us cadets a chance to let off some steam. Although soccer was tempting, I decided that boxing sounded like fun. I’ve never been much of a scrapper, and I figured I’d learn some useful moves and combinations in the manly art of fisticuffs. My enthusiasm for the sport lasted until my second sparring session. My partner was quite a bit more experienced than me and was teaching me how to block punches. Only I missed and he didn’t, resulting in a broken nose and blood all over the floor. <br /><br /> I was really good at math and physics which helped a lot in ground school. As a cadet whose dad had been a pilot practically since the beginning of flight, ground school was a piece of cake for me. I pretty much aced the classes. However, we didn’t do any actual flying in ground school so I was really glad when this phase of training came to an end. <br /><br /> On October 13, 1942, I graduated from Pre-Flight School and was ordered to Primary Flight School at Lambert Field in Missouri. That is where my actual flight training would begin. <br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">**********</div><br /> I arrived at Lambert two days before I had to report. I wanted to get the lay of the land and find my way around the base. It was unusually cold for late October, so one of my first stops was the commissary. I wanted to draw my issued gear before the next class of cadets arrived. I’d heard a few stories that the Navy was ramping up the training programs so quickly that the commissaries were running out of stock; some of the guys had to wait a week or two to get their stuff. <br /><br /> “What can I do you out of,” the civilian clerk asked with a lazy midwestern drawl. He looked a little older than me, maybe twenty four, twenty five. <br /><br /> “Huh?” <br /><br /> “Whaddayah here for?” the clerk asked with a tone that spoke of weary exasperation. <br /><br /> “Primary Flight Training,” I answered with some degree of pride. “I want to pick up my gear.” <br /><br /> “ID,” he said, holding his hand out. He checked my name against a list and nodded. “Gotcha right here, Cobb. You’re a little early, ain’tcha?” <br /><br /> I shrugged and nodded. As he disappeared into the aisles of shelves behind him to collect my gear, I noticed that he was limping. <br /><br /> “Didja hear that Ghormley’s out, Halsey’s in?” he called from somewhere back in the store room. <br /><br /> “What? Umm, no. I’ve heard of Admiral Halsey, but who is Ghormley?” <br /><br /> He walked back to the counter and set my gear down, pushing a requisition chit at me to sign. “Yeah,” he said, “happened a week or so ago. Ghormley was commanding in the south Pacific. Guess the brass didn’t like how he performed at Guadalcanal, so they turned the operation over to Halsey. Halsey will kick those Jap butts, for sure.” <br /><br /> He stared at me for a moment and shook his head. <br /><br /> “What?” I asked. <br /><br /> “Make the most of this, buddy. I’d love to be in your shoes right now. It’s a great opportunity to learn to fly and to serve the country. Count yourself fortunate. I tried to sign up—no one will take me. Club foot,” he explained. “So figured I could at least serve by clerking here at Lambert, keep ‘em from wasting some Navy puke on stuff a civie can do.” <br /><br /> “Thanks,” I nodded. “I’ll do my best.” <br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">**********</div><br /> “Cobb!” the flight instructor barked. “You’re with me. I’m Lieutenant Virnig. Let’s get you up in the air. Got your logbook?” <br /><br /> “Yes, sir.” <br /><br /> “Any air time yet?” he asked as we walked across the tarmac towards a bright yellow N3N-1 biplane. I’d heard dad chuckle about these airships, calling them the “Yellow Peril.” The “Peril” part wasn’t about the airplane—it was a solid ship that handled well—the peril part had to do with the fact that it was mostly used as a trainer, and student pilots weren’t the safest of fliers. <br /><br /> “Nine hours, sir, with my dad. He’s a flight instructor and former naval aviator.” <br /><br /> “What ship?” <br /><br /> “A Curtis Jenny. War surplus.” <br /><br /> “I’m impressed,” Virnig said. “The Jenny is a good airplane. Did your dad teach you anything about flying?” <br /><br /> “Ground school stuff only, sir. He said he didn’t want to teach me anything that the Navy might want me to unlearn. So those nine hours were just as a passenger.” <br /><br /> “You got a smart daddy, son. Did you log your nine hours?” <br /><br /> “No, sir.” <br /><br /> “Well, then, we’re starting from scratch.” <br /><br /> Virnig took the rear seat and put me in the front. We strapped in and took off with Virnig at the controls. We flew for about ninety minutes, during which he had me get the feel of the controls. I took the stick, tried the rudder pedals, and learned how to adjust the throttle. I was grinning the whole time. <br /><br /> Later that day we flew again, this time in an N3N-3. The N3N-3 was a slightly upgraded model from the N3N-1 and used the 240 horsepower Wright J-6-7 radial engine. The N3N-1 had the J-5, which only produced 220 horsepower. The N3N-3’s vertical stabilizer was a little different, too, and there were a few other minor changes. <br /><br /> On this hop Virnig began giving me basic instructions about recovering from stalls and spins. It’s a little nerve wracking when the airplane starts dropping like a brick. I was really glad Virnig had his hands on the controls. What he was teaching me is that, if you keep your cool, and know what to do, you can recover from these kinds of problems. It’s when you panic that stalls and spins become deadly. Toward the end of this flight, Virnig stalled the aircraft and turned the controls over to me to recover it. Well, I’m still alive, so I must have gotten something right. Virnig landed the ship, for which I was secretly thankful. <br /><br /> After we climbed out of the cockpit, he said, “You did okay today, Cobb. After the first couple of screw-ups, you got the hang of it.” <br /><br /> “Thanks, sir. It just kind of gives me the willies when we’re a thousand feet up, and the ship starts behaving like a cinder block.” <br /><br /> “Hey, if that doesn’t give you a shot of adrenalin, you’re not human. But you learn to master your fear and think your way out of the situation, pushing the nose down, applying the proper rudder. But if you lose your head, a stall or a spin will kill you. That’s why we always practice at altitude—the ground comes up awful fast and you need time to recover.” <br /><br /> I looked back at the aircraft as we walked toward the hangar. “So who makes these beauties, anyway, sir? Boeing? Martin? Grumman?” <br /><br /> “No, not the N3Ns. We do,” Virnig said. “We, meaning the Navy. There’s a factory in Philly that pumps ‘em out for us. Navy owns it—lock, stock, and barrel.” <br /><br /> “The Navy has its own factory? That’s odd. How did that happen?” <br /><br /> We stopped and turned, looking at the flight line of trainers parked on the tarmac. Virnig pulled out a Lucky Strike and his Zippo and lit up. After he exhaled a cloud of smoke, he looked at me. “It was WW1, Cobb. The Army soaked up all the private manufacturing capacity, so the Navy built it’s own factory. Things have changed since then. Now everyone is building for us: Grumman, Boeing, Douglass. Nuts, even outfits like Ford have turned their production lines from cars to bombers.” <br /><br /> “I reckon war changes everything. It sure changed my direction,” I said. <br /><br /> He nodded. “I reckon so. See you here tomorrow, 0900.” <br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">**********</div><br /> I could feel Virnig pushing the stick forward, even as I heard him shouting at me through the speaking tube. “Doggone it, Cobb! Push the stick forward. Otherwise you’ll never get the airspeed to lift off. It’s like you’re stalling the aircraft, even though we’re still on the ground!” <br /><br /> The N3N was wallowing down the runway, nose too high. Virnig took over before we ran out of runway. Once we got in the air, he gave the controls back to me. <br /><br /> “Remember your basics from ground school, son,” he said to me, noticeably calmer, as I started a climbing turn. “You need to achieve takeoff speed before the aircraft will lift off. When the plane’s nose is too high, it creates greater air resistance, and the airplane can’t achieve takeoff speed. The solution is to keep your nose low until you have plenty of airspeed to rotate.” <br /><br /> I nodded, showing that I’d heard him. This was my second takeoff today, and I’d made the same mistake on both of them. I was angry with myself and rattled. <br /><br /> Virnig could tell I was upset. “Take it around, land, then taxi back to the beginning of the runway, and let’s try again.” <br /><br /> I nodded again, checked the traffic around me, and got into the landing pattern. My landing was nothing to write home about, but it wasn’t terrible either. I taxied back to the beginning of the runway and stopped short, to let two students take off ahead of me. When it was my turn, I did a visual check for incoming traffic, and was rewarded with a “Good boy.” Jamming the throttle forward, I started rolling. Although it went against my natural inclination, I forced myself to push the stick forward, and held it there as the ship gained speed. <br /><br /> “Good, good, son. Not yet… not yet… okay now, ease the stick back a little. There! See how easy that was,” Virnig said through the voice tube. <br /><br /> I was grinning again. It was a much better takeoff, and I noticed how much more responsive to the controls the N3N was at the higher speed. <br /><br /> After another ninety minute hop and an acceptable landing, I taxied the N3N back to the flight line and shut her down. We both disembarked from the airplane, and I stood waiting, as Virnig wrote up the evaluation. <br /><br /> “You’re doing okay, Cobb, and you’re improving. We’ve got a lot to work on, but you catch on fast.”<p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div>“Yes, sir,” I responded, secretly disappointed. I’d thought that I’d be further along by now, but it was all turning out to be more complicated than I had ever imagined. It gave me a renewed appreciation for how skilled dad was in his Jenny. I was really wrestling with simple maneuvers like banking the airplane in a turn. But it <i>wasn’t</i> simple! When you bank, the airplane loses altitude unless you goose the throttle slightly or pull back on the stick. And if you don’t coordinate your pedal movements with your stick movement on turns, you wind up skidding instead of banking. When you level off, you have to retard the throttle or you’ll pick up speed, which causes the airplane to climb. <i>Will I ever master this?</i></div><div><i><br /></i> “Okay, son, you’re flying again on Tuesday. Meet me here at 0900.” </div><br /> “Yes, sir.”<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">**********</div><br />Over the next two weeks, I cringed as I saw Virnig’s comments on my evaluation sheets. <br /><br /> On November 4:<i> “Always fails to throttle back after leveling off. Can’t remember to push stick forward on takeoff.” </i><br /><br /> On November 11: <i>“Always takes off with left wing low. Breaks glide OK but doesn’t continue to bring stick back for a landing.” </i><br /><br /> This discouraging remark was on November 12: <i>“Has trouble keeping plane straight and wings level on takeoff. Tries hard but forgets to do the right thing at the right time.”</i><br /><br />I’ll tell you whose tail was dragging, and it wasn’t the N3N’s. It was mine. I was beginning to think I’d never be ready to solo. I even wondered if Virnig was going to wash me out of the program. <br /><br /> I got up on Friday morning and didn’t feel too spunky. I wondered if maybe I was coming down with something. I went for an early morning run, showered, geared up, and went to the cadets’ mess hall. Sat with a couple of my buddies, and we were all pretty down in the mouth about the instructor evaluations we were receiving. That actually cheered me up a little, knowing I wasn’t the only guy with my tail between my legs. <br /><br /> “You know what today is, guys?” Johnson asked mournfully. I’d finished breakfast and was about to head for the flight line. I was meeting Virnig at 0900 for today’s hop. <br /><br /> “Friday, genius. Why do you ask?” Carpenter answered. <br /><br /> “Yeah, but it’s Friday the 13th,” Johnson replied. “I don’t know about you guys, but I sure don’t need anymore bad luck in the cockpit.” <br /><br /> “That goes for me, too, Johnson,” I said. “I’ve had enough problems flying, I don’t need any new ones.” <br /><br /> Carpenter looked at me and said, “Buck up, Cobb. My dad used to say, ‘Son, any hop you can walk away from was a good hop.’” <br /><br /> I chuckled. “Think my daddy said the same thing to me.” I checked my watch. “Anyway, if you boys are scheduled at 0900, we’d better get a wiggle on.” <br /><br /> Virnig was waiting for me at our aircraft. “You ready, Cobb?” <br /><br /> “Yes, sir. Ready and rarin’.” I didn’t feel good, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. <br /><br /> “That’s the spirit. Show me some good stuff today, boy.” <br /><br /> He put me through my paces, and about the best thing I can say is that I didn’t crash the airplane. After we’d been up for just shy of an hour, he called to me through the speaking tube and told me to land and taxi to the flight line. I felt crushed, because he was ending our ninety minute session half an hour early. I wondered what I’d done wrong. <br /><br /> My landing was actually pretty good and so was my taxiing. When I cut the engine we both got out of the plane, and he marked his evaluation sheet. <br /><br /> “Want to know how you did, Cobb?” Virnig asked.<p></p>
“Yes, sir,” I said. I was already feeling worse physically, so I braced myself for what I was about to read. There were only three words: <i>“Safe for solo.”</i> I whooped loud enough to turn heads all the way down the line.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJdK_631gLkaDza6uOdGhYPPXGaJzWPFDfz8N9YDYvBra0HNo-DtQEUxCVRNmaAvJKeUzBPVlbwzRKSa0RoW9BLazyuYDXDzvDTHStTmZKCRaBXC_RPm7PI69c8xxDgstgkiCO84-Ft1tOa4l4EkHVVJzz-dr5wviK7L539gcPLEk5yNHdER3O1awAQkM/s769/Safe%20For%20Solo.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="653" data-original-width="769" height="337" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJdK_631gLkaDza6uOdGhYPPXGaJzWPFDfz8N9YDYvBra0HNo-DtQEUxCVRNmaAvJKeUzBPVlbwzRKSa0RoW9BLazyuYDXDzvDTHStTmZKCRaBXC_RPm7PI69c8xxDgstgkiCO84-Ft1tOa4l4EkHVVJzz-dr5wviK7L539gcPLEk5yNHdER3O1awAQkM/w397-h337/Safe%20For%20Solo.jpg" width="397" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Cobb family collection</td></tr></tbody></table>
<br /><br />Virnig grinned at me. “Go hit the head if you need to. Come back here immediately and wait for your check pilot. It’s going to be Lieutenant Rothchild. You’ll take him up for a check ride. He’ll have the final say as to whether you are ready to solo.” <br /><br /> I couldn’t believe it, but my check ride was nearly flawless. So much for bad luck on Friday the 13th. Rothchild approved me for solo and gave me an upcheck, meaning that he graduated me from Stage A flight training into the Stage B training. <br /><br /> Although I was riding on cloud nine, I felt awful physically. As soon as I could get away from the flight line I went to sick bay. The doctor checked me over and pronounced, “No flying for you until you’ve got this cold under control.”<p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“But sir, I’m supposed to solo tomorrow.” <br /><br /> “Yes, and I’m supposed to make admiral tomorrow, but that won’t happen either. It’s life, son, get used to it.” <br /><br /> I looked at him, then saw the captain’s bars on his coat on the hall tree. “Captain, sir, are you really about to be promoted?” <br /><br /> He rolled his eyes. “It was a joke, son, a little bit of sarcasm. You’re not going to fly tomorrow. If you think you’ve got a headache now, just wait till you’re at 3000 feet or so. It will hurt so bad you’ll probably black out, and that could really ruin your day.” <br /><br /> He gave me medicine, and I went straight back to the barracks and straight to bed. <br /><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;">**********</div><br />“Look, Doc, I’m feeling much, much better this morning. Headache is completely gone, and I have a lot more energy than I did yesterday.” <br /><br /> He looked at me, unimpressed. “Care for a kleenex, son? Your nose is dripping.” <br /><br /> I sneezed and blew my nose. “Doc, now it’s just a runny nose. You’ve got to let me fly.” <br /><br /> He just looked at me. <br /><br /> “Please, sir.” <br /><br /> The man must be a good poker player, because he just stared at me without answering, his face giving away nothing. He pointed to the kleenex box, and I blew my nose again. <br /><br /> “Listen, Doc, I… I’ll, um… Ah! I promise I won’t go any higher than 1500 feet. I’ll stay below that.” <br /><br /> He sighed. “You promise?” <br /><br /> “Yes, sir, scout’s honor.” It sounded dumb as I said it, but I was desperate. <br /><br /> “You’re in the Navy, son, not the Boy Scouts, and you’ve been entrusted with some very expensive equipment—only the good Lord knows why. <br /><br /> “If you break your promise, Cobb, I’ll throw you in the brig. Understood?” <br /><br /> “Yes, sir, absolutely.” <br /><br /> “Okay. You’re cleared to fly. But if you’re gonna crash, don’t run into anything important.” <br /><br /> “Got it, sir. And thank you.” <br /><br /> He just raised his eyebrows and shook his head. <br /><br /> Grinning, I turned to go. <br /><br /> “Hold up, Cobb.” <br /><br /> I turned around, “Sir?” <br /><br /> He pointed at the box of Kleenex. “Take it with you.” <br /><br /> And that is why I was flying with one hand and blowing my nose with the other for my first solo flight. I kept my promise to the doctor, and I graduated to the next stage of Primary Flight Training.<p></p>
<p align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.2in; widows: 0;">
<br />
</p></div></div>C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000702248277348099.post-43063756572963837492023-08-17T13:30:00.002-04:002023-08-17T13:32:02.287-04:00Book Review: The Toxic War on Masculinity<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6EXDYq5Fm0pDuqOekcWEeCJ7LJmlS009gb1tSjHvq20et7ihTL0Pombck5wco5RWIU8w6Jo-lqr_gMaM9SQaK7oAJT9KiYXLMGz6OIGz7ECG0LC8aZTQDJBMH2E9LAnPWQo6Y9NBQlZrRLZkue0U1gBsYDaLUUDoRifk0SJ_x4ZZMfYKxKZumu08VVi8/s927/Pearcey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="927" data-original-width="610" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6EXDYq5Fm0pDuqOekcWEeCJ7LJmlS009gb1tSjHvq20et7ihTL0Pombck5wco5RWIU8w6Jo-lqr_gMaM9SQaK7oAJT9KiYXLMGz6OIGz7ECG0LC8aZTQDJBMH2E9LAnPWQo6Y9NBQlZrRLZkue0U1gBsYDaLUUDoRifk0SJ_x4ZZMfYKxKZumu08VVi8/s320/Pearcey.jpg" width="211" /></a></div><br />Nancy Pearcey is one of the premier Christian thinkers of the modern age. At one time a student of Francis Schaeffer, she has extended and elucidated the thought of Schaeffer into the current cultural morass, particularly Schaeffer’s analysis of the secular idea of upper- versus lower-story truth. Also like Schaeffer, she does an excellent job of tracing the evolution of cultural trends through history, providing numerous footnotes—no less than 775 in <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Toxic-War-Masculinity-Christianity-Reconciles/dp/0801075734/ref=sr_1_1?crid=7XBZWJ6DSS5G&keywords=the+toxic+war+on+masculinity+nancy+r.+pearcey&qid=1692293363&sprefix=Toxic+war%2Caps%2C166&sr=8-1" target="_blank"><i>The Toxic War on Masculinity</i></a>. This excellent volume demonstrates that she does not shrink back from confronting both secular and Christian cultures with the sharp edge of her intellect. <br /><br />Pearcey begins with full disclosure as to why she wrote the book. Her father lived two different lives: in public a respected university professor and in private an angry, abusive father. After initially rejecting Christianity because of her father’s hypocrisy, a sojourn at L’Abri showed her what true Christianity looks like, resulting in her conversion to genuine Christianity. The book serves as her way of tracing the cultural and psychological factors that produced an abusive man like her father and the current broad-brushed societal tendency to attribute such bad behavior to all men. <br /><br />Chapter one is devoted to exploring where the modern culture is with regard to its view of men. Pearcey brings forward a contrast she’ll use in the rest of the book: “real men” versus “good men.” So-called real men kowtow to twisted cultural expectations of men (such as the expectation and encouragement of bad behavior), whereas good men pursue the best and most noble aspects of masculinity. <br /><br />Exploding the myths begins in the second chapter, in which she quotes suprising statistics regarding men and abuse and divorce. Pearcey examines the studies more closely and reveals that while nominal Christian men score in the highest category of abuse—which is what is usually reported in the media—committed evangelical Christian men actually score in the lowest (which you will never see in the media). <br /><br />In the third chapter, Pearcey unfolds what a truly biblical marriage looks like, along with biblical concepts of headship and submission. She demonstrates that it doesn’t look anything like the slanderous stereotypes of the secular culture. <br /><br />The second part of the book (nine chapters) traces “how the secular script turned toxic.” In these lavishly-documented chapters, Pearcey follows the progression—and destruction—of family life from the original agricultural model of every family member working together at home, through the Industrial Revolution that took men out of the home, thus weakening or eliminating the father’s beneficial influence. The absence of fathers (who were now working long hours in the factories) meant that they were not home to teach their sons skills and moral discipline and to mold them into responsible men. Absence from home and hearth left men open to temptations (particularly illicit sex and alcoholism) that before had been under better control. Men began behaving badly with the result that, comparatively, women were placed on a moral pedestal of righteousness. Men behaving badly, i.e. “real men,” became the expectation and somewhat of a self-fulfilling prophecy. Men lost interest in attending church, with the result that most of the attenders in the average church were women. <br /><br />Pearcey points out that one of the consequences of this terrible trajectory is that Christianity came to be seen as a religion of women. Men wanted nothing to do with it because it seemed feminized. The image of the “real man” became stamped in the culture; the “good man” was something no self-respecting man wanted to be part of. <br /><br />In chapter ten, Pearcey examines the reaction against feminized Christianity that developed in some quarters. A so-called “muscular Christianity” was promoted in order to redeem “manliness.” Churches began to host events of interest to men (fight clubs, gun giveaways, etc.) in an attempt to draw men back into the sanctuary. Fundamentalism got involved, with macho preachers engaging in violent antics on stage to assert that Christianity was for real men. Just as a pendulum that swings in one direction soon returns to the other, this began a backlash against women. Whereas in the 19th century women were thought of as superior, in the 20th century they began to be thought of as inferior—weak creatures whose primary responsibilities were bearing children and being subservient to their husbands. <br /><br />Secular culture rejected the polarizing fundamentalism. In chapter eleven, Pearcey unfolds the path that led to men (dads in particular) being presented by Hollywood as dimwits. Feminists poured gasoline on the fire: “men are unnecessary,” they claimed. Out of the resentment that developed on the male side came the playboy and pornography culture. <br /><br />It’s easy to critique culture—but advocating solutions is harder. Nancy Pearcey does a great job on the solution side in chapter twelve, entitled “Bringing Fathers Back: Fix the Workplace, Fix Your Family.” She gives many creative ways to bring the unity of the home, father and mother together, back to the fore. <br /><br />The third section of the book is basic triage: how to fix the problems that develop when “Christian Men Absorb the Secular Script.” Two excellent chapters are devoted to fixing broken marriages and dealing with abuse in Christian homes. <br /><br />Pearcey is the real deal: a Christian and biblical thinker, a scholar, and one who has suffered under an abusive father. She brings her intellect, her scholarship, her faith, and her experience to the table and shares it with the reader. The book includes a study guide at the end, suitable for individuals or groups. Nancy Pearcey’s <i>The Toxic War on Masculinity</i> is an outstanding book and well worth your time. <div><br /></div><div>Five stars—highly recommended.</div>C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000702248277348099.post-10285128261171479272023-07-24T16:28:00.002-04:002023-07-24T16:37:40.644-04:00Why Christians and parents should vote YES ON ISSUE #1 IN AUGUST and NO IN NOVEMBER<p>Ohioans have two opportunities to protect parental rights in the next
four months. In August, we must decide on Issue #1, an amendment that
will protect the Ohio Constitution from being too easily tampered
with. Issue #1 accomplishes that protection by raising the bar for
the passage of an amendment ballot initiative from fifty percent to
sixty. This helps to protect our Constitution from being crowbarred
by special interests and the progressive movement. I have already
exposed the deceptive claims of those opposing Issue #1 and have
written on why you should vote YES on Issue #1 in AUGUST. <a href="https://chcobb.blogspot.com/2023/07/dont-be-fooled-about-issue-1.html" target="_blank">You can read that article here</a>.</p>
<p>
In November, the ballot will contain another proposal to amend the
Ohio State Constitution. This amendment is entitled, <em>The Right to
Reproductive Freedom with Protections for Health and Safety</em>. I’m
urging Ohioans to VOTE NO to this amendment initiative IN NOVEMBER.
This amendment would be a disaster to parents and children if it
should pass.</p>
<p>
A brief examination of the actual text of the proposed amendment will
easily show why this amendment is a really, really bad idea. Here’s
the first paragraph:</p>
<ol type="A">
<li><p align="left" style="line-height: 108%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-right: 0.66in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="color: #282828;"><span style="font-size: small;">Every
</span></span><span style="color: #747779;"><span style="font-size: small;">i</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">ndiv</span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;">idual</span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">has
a right</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">to
</span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;">make</span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.7pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">and</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.7pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">carry
out</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.3pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">one</span></span><span style="color: #747779;"><span style="font-size: small;">'</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">s
own</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;">reproductive
decisions, </span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;">in</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">cl</span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;">udi</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">ng
</span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;">but
not </span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">limite</span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;">d
</span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;">to
</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">decis</span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;">i</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">ons
</span></span><span style="color: #282828;"><span style="font-size: small;">on:</span></span></span></p></li></ol>
<ol type="A">
<ol>
<li><p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">contrace</span></span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">p</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">t</span></span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">i</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">on;</span></span></span></span></p>
</li><li><p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.02in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;">fertility</span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">treatment;</span></span></span></span></p>
</li><li><p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.02in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;">continuing</span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.4pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">one's</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">own</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.6pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">pregnancy;</span></span></span></span></p>
</li><li><p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.02in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;">miscarriage</span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">care;</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.8pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.3pt;">a</span></span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.3pt;">nd</span></span></span></span></p>
</li><li><p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.03in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">abort</span></span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">i</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">on.</span></span></span></span></p></li></ol></ol>
<p style="break-before: auto; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 0; page-break-before: auto; widows: 0;">
Let’s examine it part by part:</p>
<ul>
<li><p style="break-before: auto; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 0; page-break-before: auto; widows: 0;">
Notice that while there are five specific areas of “reproductive
decisions” identified, the explicit language opens it up to other
not-identified areas of “reproductive decisions” when it says
“<em>including but not limited to</em>”. What might those other
areas include? Gender transition is one obvious answer.<br />
</p>
</li><li><p style="break-before: auto; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 0; page-break-before: auto; widows: 0;">
Notice that there is no definition of the age of the individual
covered by this amendment. It simply says, “every individual.”
According to this amendment, a minor, a child of any age, has the
right to “make and carry out” their own reproductive decisions.
This means your twelve-year-old daughter has a right to an abortion,
no matter what you as a parent might say or do. You are out of the
picture. It means your seven-year-old son has a right to decide to
transition as a girl—no matter what you as a parent might say or
do. <br />
<br />
Am I manipulating you with a scare tactic? No,
indeed. Haven’t you been reading the news about what is ALREADY
HAPPENING? Anyone who follows the news knows that the progressive
movement has been successful in erasing parent’s rights in the
matter of abortions, gender identity, and gender transitions of
their children, aided and abetted by progressive school boards.
School districts are hiding from parents their children’s attempts
to transition. Parents are being accused of child abuse if they
refuse to allow their children to transition, or if they even use
the “wrong” pronoun.<br />
<br />
No, this isn’t a scare
tactic—it’s a warning that in November, this erosion of parental
rights will become part of the Ohio Constitution. Unfortunately,
this is a matter in which past performance DOES guarantee future
results. <em> </em><em>Parents have no rights in this amendment</em>.
And because this is an amendment to the Constitution and not simply
normal legislation, if it passes, a court can rule that the
amendment <em>invalidates any prior legislation</em> recognizing
your rights as a parent in these areas.<br />
</p>
</li><li><p style="break-before: auto; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 0; page-break-before: auto; widows: 0;">
By the same token, this amendment makes abortion wide open for any
and every reason, at any and every point in pregnancy:<span>
</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span>“<i>Every
individual has a right to make and carry out one's own reproductive
decisions</i></span></span><span>”</span>.
The restriction placed on abortion in the case of fetal viability,
found later in paragraph B, is elastic: if the treating physician
believes the mother’s “health” is at stake, abortion is
permitted at any point of gestation. The expression, the mother’s
“health,” has not in recent years been restricted to her
physiological health but has been expanded to her mental and
emotional health. This suddenly becomes a “right” to abortion at
any point simply if the mother doesn’t want the child.<br />
</p>
</li></ul>
<p style="break-before: auto; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 0; page-break-before: auto; widows: 0;">
What about paragraph B? Here’s a portion of the actual text:</p>
<ol start="2" type="A">
<li><p align="left" style="line-height: 113%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-right: 0.09in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">The</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.9pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">S</span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;">tat</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">e
sha</span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;">l</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">l</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;">not,</span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.2pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;">directly
</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">or</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;">ind</span></span><span style="color: #7e646b;"><span style="font-size: small;">i</span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;">re</span></span><span style="color: #282828;"><span style="font-size: small;">ctly,</span></span><span style="color: #282828;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">burden,
penal</span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;">i</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">ze,</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">prohibit,</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.3pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">interfere
</span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;">with,
</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">or
discrim</span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;">in</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">ate
agains</span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;">t
</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">either:</span></span></span></p></li></ol>
<ol type="A">
<ol>
<li><p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;">An</span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.9pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">i</span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;">n</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">d</span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;">i</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">v</span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;">id</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">ual's
voluntary</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.3pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #282828;"><span style="font-size: small;">e</span></span><span style="color: #747779;"><span style="font-size: small;">x</span></span><span style="color: #282828;"><span style="font-size: small;">e</span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;">r</span></span><span style="color: #282828;"><span style="font-size: small;">cise</span></span><span style="color: #282828;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">of</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.2pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;">t</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">his</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.4pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">right</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;">or</span></span></span></span></p>
</li><li><p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.02in;">
<span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;">A</span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.9pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;">person</span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">or</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">entity</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.6pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">that</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -1pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">ass</span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;">is</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">ts</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.6pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">an</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.7pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;">individual</span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.3pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #282828;"><span style="font-size: small;">exercising</span></span><span style="color: #282828;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;">this</span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.6pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">r</span></span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">i</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">ght,</span></span></span></span></p></li></ol></ol>
<p align="left" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.73in; margin-right: 0.59in; text-indent: 0in;">
<span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">un</span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;">l</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">ess
</span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;">the</span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.8pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #282828;"><span style="font-size: small;">State</span></span><span style="color: #282828;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">demo</span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;">n</span></span><span style="color: #282828;"><span style="font-size: small;">s</span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;">trates
</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;">a</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">t
</span></span><span style="color: #282828;"><span style="font-size: small;">it</span></span><span style="color: #282828;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.2pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;">is
</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">usi</span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;">n</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">g
the least</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -1pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;">restrictive</span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.3pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;">m</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">eans
to advance the </span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;">in</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">dividual's
</span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;">health
</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">in
accordance with widely accepted and evide</span></span><span style="color: #5b5b5b;"><span style="font-size: small;">nc</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">e</span></span><span style="color: #070707;"><span style="font-size: small;">-</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">based
</span></span><span style="color: #282828;"><span style="font-size: small;">standards
</span></span><span style="color: #383838;"><span style="font-size: small;">of
</span></span><span style="color: #494949;"><span style="font-size: small;">care.</span></span></span><br />
</p>
<ul>
<li><p style="break-before: auto; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 0; page-break-before: auto; widows: 0;">
This means a school teacher, guidance counselor, or anyone else,
even a boyfriend, could assist your teenage daughter to get an
abortion without your knowledge and without your consent—even over
your opposition. It means some third party could seek to convince
and then assist your minor son or daughter to secretly attempt a
gender transition, without your permission and without your
knowledge They would face no legal consequences for it.</p>
</li></ul>
<p style="break-before: auto; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 0; page-break-before: auto; widows: 0;"> You might argue that these are extreme slippery-slope possibilities,
and that reasonable people would not interpret the law in this
wild-west fashion. You’re wrong about that, and I can easily prove
it.</p>
<p style="break-before: auto; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 0; page-break-before: auto; widows: 0;">
Think about this: when it was originally passed, <em>Title IX of the
Education Amendments Act of 1972</em> was intended to provide women
the same opportunity to participate in sports that men had. Those who
passed the law knew what a woman was. They never intended the law to
enable biological males to compete against women, use women’s
locker rooms and showers, etc. And look where we are now, precisely
because the progressives HAVE taken the language of the law to an
unimaginable extreme.</p>
<p style="break-before: auto; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 0; page-break-before: auto; widows: 0;">
Regarding the slippery-slope, what sane individual of twenty years
ago could have imagined “Drag Queen Story Hour,” or “men
chest-feeding babies,” or “pregnant people,” or custom-taylored
personal pronouns? Do you really think the progressive moment will
stop short of pressing the vague language of this bill all the way to
the breaking point? I don’t. They have ALREADY demonstrated they
will take the inches given to them and turn them into miles.</p>
<p style="break-before: auto; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 0; page-break-before: auto; widows: 0;">
For the sake of parents and children, this amendment must be
defeated. It will be easier to defeat if you VOTE YES ON ISSUE #1.</p>
<p style="break-before: auto; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 0; page-break-before: auto; widows: 0;">VOTE YES ON ISSUE #1 IN AUGUST!</p>
<p style="break-before: auto; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 0; page-break-before: auto; widows: 0;">
VOTE NO ON THE REPRODUCTIVE AMENDMENT IN NOVEMBER!</p><br /><p></p>C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000702248277348099.post-53961323094234694672023-07-19T22:01:00.004-04:002023-07-24T16:51:52.554-04:00Don't be fooled about Issue #1!<p> There is a great deal of confusion circulating in Darke County
regarding Issue #1. There’s also a great deal of deception about
it, but more on that in a moment.</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4jtbPoVbNQUwrlIhwg6VStPIZRwqbjdBszRJ8U4OTjEMDM2rguo0d6tc85cATWojuXpL5ERZaFtxDCCoDxSC2g2WleaxM1rslZhc1QnO1ZPb5VBTYDfs289C3IAotStQZBHK1NhBMLVz7qiPeoNn86e3B9pRZ8OlvWdlToTXNBqsEE0-jhg3DgB-5nBs/s1100/False1.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1100" data-original-width="850" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4jtbPoVbNQUwrlIhwg6VStPIZRwqbjdBszRJ8U4OTjEMDM2rguo0d6tc85cATWojuXpL5ERZaFtxDCCoDxSC2g2WleaxM1rslZhc1QnO1ZPb5VBTYDfs289C3IAotStQZBHK1NhBMLVz7qiPeoNn86e3B9pRZ8OlvWdlToTXNBqsEE0-jhg3DgB-5nBs/s320/False1.jpg" width="247" /></a></div><br />The progressives are
playing a two-step game with the Ohio Constitution: one step in
AUGUST (defeating Issue #1), and one step in NOVEMBER (passing the
<em>The Right to Reproductive Freedom with Protections for Health and
Safety</em> amendment to the Ohio Constitution).<p></p>
<p>Let’s talk about
the second step first, the NOVEMBER step.</p>
<p>The progressives are
proposing an amendment to the Ohio Constitution that will put
children and the unborn at risk. This amendment has the very real
potential of taking a child’s gender identity, medical gender
transition decisions, and abortion decisions, out of the hands of the
parents. The language of the amendment is intentionally very vague,
and open to wide-ranging interpretation. This amendment will be voted
on in NOVEMBER.</p>
<p>I will write a
second article in a few days explaining why this terrible
“<em>Reproductive Freedom</em>” amendment is an unmitigated
disaster for parents and children, and <em>must be defeated</em>. As
things stand now, all that is necessary for that terrible amendment
to become enshrined in the Ohio Constitution is a simple majority
vote (fifty percent plus one vote) in NOVEMBER.</p>
<p>Which brings us to
the first step. The progressives want to defeat Issue #1 in AUGUST.
They want you to vote NO to Issue #1. Why?</p>
<p>Because Issue #1
raises the bar for amending the Ohio Constitution. In other words, if
Issue #1 passes in AUGUST, it will make it harder to pass the
<em>Reproductive Freedom</em> amendment in November.</p>
<p>I’ll expose the
efforts to mislead the voters practiced by these people in just a
moment, but first I will state the matter simply:</p>
<p>YES on Issue #1 in
AUGUST will make it harder for the progressives to win in NOVEMBER.</p>
<p>NO on Issue #1 in
AUGUST will make it much easier for the progressives to win in
NOVEMBER.</p>
<p>Issue #1 is about
making it more difficult for special interests groups to trample on
the rights of the rest of us. At the present time, a mere majority
vote (fifty percent plus 1 vote) is all that is required to
permanently amend the Ohio Constitution. Issue #1 would have two
principal effects: it would raise the bar to sixty percent. It would
also make it more difficult to get a proposed amendment initiative on
the ballot, by requiring the signatures of at least five percent of
the voters in <i><u>every</u></i> county in the state (five percent
based on the total number of votes in the last gubernatorial election
in each particular county).</p>
<p>Before we expose the
basic dishonesty of the ad campaigns that the progressives are
publishing, let’s take a moment to understand the relationship of
the Ohio Constitution to legislative acts. The Constitution is the
citizen’s first line of defense against unwise, unfair, or
unconstitutional legislation. When a legal case is brought that
challenges a state law, the state judiciary uses the text and words
of the Constitution to determine whether the law in question should
be upheld, or struck down in whole or in part.</p>
<p>If citizens believe
that the Constitution is not adequately protecting their rights, or
believe that laws have been passed that are unjust, they can attempt
to gather enough signatures to put a constitutional amendment
initiative on the ballot to correct the problem. Once the amendment
is on the ballot, if a sufficient number of citizens vote for it, it
becomes part of the Constitution, providing boundaries around what
the Legislature may and may not enact.</p>
<p>A well-written
Constitution protects the rights of the citizens, including the
helpless and vulnerable, against powerful individuals or special
interests whose priorities collide with those of the citizens.
Consequently, the Constitution is not a document that should be
easily tinkered with. It should be protected by making it harder to
amend.</p>
<p>What about my
charges of deception?</p>
<p>#1. The League of
Women voters is posting an advertisement entitled, “<em>Protect
Ohio’s Constitution, Vote No on Issue 1.</em>” It is true that
the current Constitution can be amended by simple majority. Issue #1
would change that, raising the bar from 50% to 60%. The higher
requirement does a better job of protecting the Constitution from
powerful special interest groups. At the very least, League’s claim
is misleading. Voting down Issue #1 does not protect the
Constitution, but leaves it in its current state of vulnerability to
powerful, well-heeled special interest groups, like Planned
Parenthood and other sexual revolutionaries.</p>
<p>#2. That same ad
claims that passage of Issue #1 eliminates majority rule in Ohio. It
does not. Another ad claims that Issue #1 would allow 40% of voters
to “make decisions for the rest of us.” Totally false. Normal
legislative acts in Columbus would continue to pass with a <i><u>simple
majority</u></i>, as they do now. Issue #1 would not change that at
all.</p>
<p>If the progressives
want laws that favor their ideology, they can propose and pass them
in the Legislature with a simple majority vote. <em>Issue #1 will not
change that!</em> But they should not be allowed to tinker with the
Constitution on the basis of a simple majority. By the way, ask
yourself, why do the bylaws of the League of Women Voters require a
two-thirds vote to change them, when that same organization wants a
State Constitution protecting the rights of millions to be changed at
the whim of a simple majority? What happened to “one person, one
vote”?</p>
<p>And as long as we’re
talking about majority rule, ask yourself: has there ever been a time
in America where a majority oppressed a minority? How did that turn
out? Not good at all. Do you really think it’s a good thing to
enshrine that possibility of oppression in the Ohio State
Constitution? I don’t.</p>
<p>#3. That same ad
claims that Issue #1’s passage “will render the ability to
present a voter-led petition virtually impossible.” That’s a
totally false claim. Issue #1 only raises the bar regarding petitions
that propose to amend the Constitution—but not for other petitions.
The text of Issue #1 is explicit: “<em>Require that any initiative
petition filed on or after January 1, 2024 with the Secretary of
State </em><i><u>proposing to amend the Constitution</u></i><em> of
the State of Ohio be signed by at least five percent of the electors
of each county based on the total vote in the county for governor in
the last preceding election.</em>”</p>
<p>The problem for the
progressives is the requirement in Issue #1 that sufficient
signatures be collected from ALL of Ohio’s counties. Issue #1 does
in fact require that, <i><u>but it only applies to initiatives to
amend the Constitution</u></i>, not to other ballot initiatives. I
believe this portion of the Issue #1 language would actually benefit
all Ohioans, not just those in large cities. Ask yourself: does it
often wind up being the case that the voters in Columbus or
Cincinnati or even Dayton have a very different set of values from
the voters in Darke County? Do you want a few large cities to be able
to crowbar the state Constitution in liberal, progressive directions?
Wouldn’t it be more fair if ALL the counties of the state had a
voice as to whether or not an amendment initiative to the
Constitution was placed on the ballot? This is what Issue #1 would
accomplish.</p>
<p>I’m voting YES for
Issue #1, and so should you.</p>
<p><a href="https://chcobb.blogspot.com/2023/07/why-christians-and-parents-should-vote.html" target="_blank">In my next piece</a>, I
will explain the disaster that will face Ohio parents in November if
Issue #1 does not pass.</p>
<p align="center">VOTE
YES FOR ISSUE #1</p>
<p align="center">AND
SHARE THIS POST WITH YOUR FRIENDS!</p>C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000702248277348099.post-25113354186767052292023-06-20T21:50:00.006-04:002023-06-20T22:07:32.420-04:00Need a great beach book?<h2 style="text-align: left;"> Wondering what to read this summer? </h2><p>How
about some action-packed page-turners, exciting stories from a
Christian worldview? Both adults and teens will find these tales
fascinating. You
won’t have to wash your brains out after reading one of these
exciting novels—but you will find it hard to put them down. Of his
novels Cobb says, “<i>If I don’t make you miss your
bedtime, I’m not doing my job.</i>”
All titles are available locally (Greenville, OH) at the Bread of
Life Bookstore, or on Amazon in print and Kindle format. You can find
Cobb at <a href="https://chcobb.com." target="_blank">chcobb.com.</a></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju0gVdQNXU67hC6vfTGRHUVJrl6ZVXs6SwNMfE4CqH6jbo412dJnQCurUIaagCZ7kUcKO1jl_HuwSLA7Z3Rfy3uYHgs8nNr96eqofgOPhqktPRT4jpwW_IzgbtfVNkkj6CKyKoY7fD8IURkXYzzjNDGcIMHr_5dE1v-HmuxU5_EuK0ldnaSCaRGUWV2DQ/s977/FD%20Cover%20Image%20medium.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="977" data-original-width="600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju0gVdQNXU67hC6vfTGRHUVJrl6ZVXs6SwNMfE4CqH6jbo412dJnQCurUIaagCZ7kUcKO1jl_HuwSLA7Z3Rfy3uYHgs8nNr96eqofgOPhqktPRT4jpwW_IzgbtfVNkkj6CKyKoY7fD8IURkXYzzjNDGcIMHr_5dE1v-HmuxU5_EuK0ldnaSCaRGUWV2DQ/w246-h400/FD%20Cover%20Image%20medium.jpg" width="246" /></a></div><br /><h2 style="font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0000ee; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-variant-caps: small-caps;"><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Falcon-Down-Book-1-ebook/dp/B00DGL4736/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1687312543&sr=8-6" target="_blank">Falcon Down</a></i></span></span></h2>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(military/espionage thriller,
book one of four)</span></div>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>Sometimes
what you don’t know can hurt you!</b></i></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">The
chief test pilot for a highly classified F-16 weapons-development
project, Major Jacob “Falcon” Kelly is shot down and captured by
the Soviet Union in a hi-tech kidnapping during the Cold War. They
intend to interrogate him to learn the secrets of the new weapon. His
captors have detained him at a secret GRU facility in Siberia.
Holding on to him might prove difficult, however, because Kelly has
some skills of which they are unaware . . .</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><b>Kirkus
Reviews</b></span>: <i>“Cobb has clearly done his research on
multiple counts and, like Tom Clancy or Dale Brown, masterly
intertwines military technology and behavior into a tightly plotted
narrative in which every development follows logically and smoothly
from what came before. This deft touch extends to the characters . .
.”</i></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><h2 style="font-variant: small-caps; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Candidate-C-H-Cobb-ebook/dp/B01L831K24/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1HKR78OO4OVYX&keywords=C.+H.+Cobb&qid=1687311782&sprefix=c.+h.+cobb%2Caps%2C127&sr=8-1" target="_blank">The Candidate</a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyqv54tDvblDHLcs8A70ZvHs19CePy__eNCGZ2SoLK8d48HPecZssETrUwAuxdz9tBbtyMq6gFgzPHs41asqfwMY4jQva73tVPGyCq0OCG2PA00OiAKYpYPRV--1QVJMHXR29D9uoTL7F_oqqDut_Kf9YbrNfYgSLIhLNOR2N0eGVKMUqQsdu_lCAe8bs/s730/Candidate%20Front%20Cover%20for%20web.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="730" data-original-width="453" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyqv54tDvblDHLcs8A70ZvHs19CePy__eNCGZ2SoLK8d48HPecZssETrUwAuxdz9tBbtyMq6gFgzPHs41asqfwMY4jQva73tVPGyCq0OCG2PA00OiAKYpYPRV--1QVJMHXR29D9uoTL7F_oqqDut_Kf9YbrNfYgSLIhLNOR2N0eGVKMUqQsdu_lCAe8bs/w249-h400/Candidate%20Front%20Cover%20for%20web.jpg" width="249" /></a></div></b></i></span></h2><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(political thriller)</span></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><b>It
began as a blog. It became a political firestorm.</b></i></span>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Henry
Marshall is a principled Christian conservative blogger who is
convinced that both major parties have abandoned the Constitution.
His intention is to be nothing more than a political gadfly, but his
friends won’t allow him to stay on the sidelines, and his enemies
don’t intend to allow him to live.</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0.05in;"><b>Journalist/author TJ Martinell</b>:
<i>“Penned before the 2016 election cycle . . . , </i><span style="font-style: normal;">The
Candidate</span><i> is a political thriller that unwittingly earns a
place within the alternative history genre for its exploration of how
far a man can go armed only with a message – and how far those
within the establishment will go to stop him. . . . [M]any of the
aspects of the plot seem prophetic, rather than slightly fanciful.</i></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>A pastor by trade, Cobb’s writing
reflects extensive background knowledge of mainstream media,
political strategy, the military, and of course constitutional
history; . . . . The technical preciseness gives vital story subplots
a sense of authenticity and realism.”</i></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><br /></i></p>
<p style="break-before: page; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; page-break-before: always;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #0000ee;"><span style="font-variant-caps: small-caps;"></span><i style="font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-ligatures: normal;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Outlander-Chronicles-C-H-Cobb-ebook/dp/B006ERKU0I/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1687311782&sr=8-9;" target="_blank"><b>Outlander Chronicles: Phoenix</b></a></i></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL2a-1KVNO4Q9I7546Iav2x7vHc5BAd26ODZZKcVnbpT-ohY9cS0zJhjiwvr9iZrJaP5NPCJKhFCYgVhK01z4XTrmULIHajR3abmP1-HMnRr13AspcEZPkcI6iAmbTpWYOi7ImyPtPG9rcoVBlBYGoiSjG9oOk8ESisGcVAGAJ5IrZ_sjnLetDnDF42Vo/s943/outlander_600x900.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="943" data-original-width="600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL2a-1KVNO4Q9I7546Iav2x7vHc5BAd26ODZZKcVnbpT-ohY9cS0zJhjiwvr9iZrJaP5NPCJKhFCYgVhK01z4XTrmULIHajR3abmP1-HMnRr13AspcEZPkcI6iAmbTpWYOi7ImyPtPG9rcoVBlBYGoiSjG9oOk8ESisGcVAGAJ5IrZ_sjnLetDnDF42Vo/w255-h400/outlander_600x900.jpg" width="255" /></a></b></i></span></div><div style="font-variant: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(post-apocalyptic
action/adventure, book one of three)</span></div>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>From
the ashes of a world past . . .</b></i></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0.05in;">Eighty years after a smallpox
pandemic has reduced the global population to eight million, a young
man (Jacen Chester) experiences the tragic deaths of his entire
family and community. Wrestling with grief and anger, he commits
himself to establishing a new community (Phoenix) that will advance
beyond merely subsisting on the remains of the former world.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0.05in;">He meets a mysterious wanderer who
decides to help him accomplish his dream. Together the two gather a
small community and set their sights on the empty interior of the
continent—1800 miles away—where they can escape the murderous
gangs of the east and pursue their project in peace.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">But hatred and bitterness from within
and lethal attacks from without threaten to destroy the growing
Phoenix community. A painful lesson in forgiveness and tolerance is
required to save Phoenix from itself.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0.1in;"><b>Captivated Reading Book Blog:</b>
<i>“With two incredibly strong main characters, Phoenix tells a
story of a world lost and people who are desperate . . . I was
completely enthralled in this story from beginning to end.” </i>
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b>Amazon Reader Review:</b> “<i>I
loved reading this book and I can't wait for more of the story! It
gave me so much to think about, which I love in a book, and it was an
exciting read, too! It raised ideas I had never thought about before,
as well as presenting familiar ones in a new way. Cobb is very
effective at evoking a world that is both radically different from
our own, and also not so distant in possibility. . . . Although I
disagree with most of Cobb's views as I ascertain them from the
story, I really enjoyed the debates and discussions the characters
have, which I think says a lot about Cobb's talent as a writer as
well as his even-handedness as a thinker. . . . Bring out a sequel,
please!!!”</i>
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-variant: small-caps; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Prayer-Moses-C-H-Cobb-ebook/dp/B00HY3CF54/ref=sr_1_7?crid=1HKR78OO4OVYX&keywords=C.+H.+Cobb&qid=1687311782&sprefix=c.+h.+cobb%2Caps%2C127&sr=8-7" target="_blank">A
Prayer of Moses: </a></b></i><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Prayer-Moses-C-H-Cobb-ebook/dp/B00HY3CF54/ref=sr_1_7?crid=1HKR78OO4OVYX&keywords=C.+H.+Cobb&qid=1687311782&sprefix=c.+h.+cobb%2Caps%2C127&sr=8-7" target="_blank">A
Devotional Commentary of Psalm 90</a></b></i></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjchWfbzOgdjUItk_arHw5osdoU9UN5M6WGUV30eNnfHg9BcK-k2ZWU5WkoaV488K7cbVg5LhSFLsrQ9aFRd4MsjMjhxNsPpmBpEiF7x58EgLWtrG-XXREa8j89RICJ8hCd0fNguAUUdsADYKBvc0s_wb1pi1WFYBFNb_gQjqfX5kxt4wbQiQ5WRo_kPH8/s804/APOM%20for%20web.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="804" data-original-width="500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjchWfbzOgdjUItk_arHw5osdoU9UN5M6WGUV30eNnfHg9BcK-k2ZWU5WkoaV488K7cbVg5LhSFLsrQ9aFRd4MsjMjhxNsPpmBpEiF7x58EgLWtrG-XXREa8j89RICJ8hCd0fNguAUUdsADYKBvc0s_wb1pi1WFYBFNb_gQjqfX5kxt4wbQiQ5WRo_kPH8/w249-h400/APOM%20for%20web.jpg" width="249" /></a></b></i></span></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>
</b></i></span><span style="font-variant: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(non-fiction)</span></span></span><p></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><i><b>The
Church has rendered God safe. </b></i></span>
</p>
<p style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.05in;">His wrath is a
matter relegated to days of antiquity. It seems rare that we connect
the brevity and frailty of this existence with His overflowing anger
at sin. Unfortunately, having dispensed with His wrath we’ve also
diminished His holiness and His majesty, and made the Cross less
necessary.</p>
<p style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">This study invites
the reader to take a second look at God and His wrath—and His
Christ—through the eyes of Moses. Suitable for individuals or
groups.</p>
<p style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><b>John
L. Marshall, Ph.D, Christian Studies/History Department, Eastern
University: </b></span><i><b>“</b></i><i>Pastor Cobb's exposition
of Psalm 90 combines two sets of ingredients that make it a joy to
read: on the one hand, exegetical precision together with the sweep
of redemptive history; on the other, technical mastery with warm,
personal application. There are Scriptural studies in which the
author maintains a safe distance from the reader. Pastor Cobb allows
us to get to know him along with the text he is expounding. This, in
my opinion, is the best way to do pastoral theology.”</i></p>C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000702248277348099.post-70350714202417501092023-04-25T13:41:00.000-04:002023-04-25T13:41:45.837-04:00Review of Matthew Barrett's Simply Trinity<p>Review of <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Simply-Trinity-Unmanipulated-Father-Spirit/dp/154090007X/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2TX2T25XC93YU&keywords=simply+trinity+by+matthew+barrett&qid=1682444228&sprefix=Simply+Trinity%2Caps%2C105&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Simply Trinity:The Unmanipulated Father, Son, and Spirit</a></i>, by Matthew Barrett.</p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0.05in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgQGgkAOi6sX8pUSns7giF-_TJd0ZxqvYPzrkoZCQmSVF0b-q-OQMQghD1UBeJU1zaGSvy0yz81NDsFmw4_xZLFTZa1zIRtaOdu_dik2KtI0rK5u_PWcZ1fJDhxKTwMKAEe7fCQNFQw_Db7A672LXxmAKRDLeEFkmxzO3KSZqfiz5JgHUbR2C7feKpk" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3083" data-original-width="1910" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgQGgkAOi6sX8pUSns7giF-_TJd0ZxqvYPzrkoZCQmSVF0b-q-OQMQghD1UBeJU1zaGSvy0yz81NDsFmw4_xZLFTZa1zIRtaOdu_dik2KtI0rK5u_PWcZ1fJDhxKTwMKAEe7fCQNFQw_Db7A672LXxmAKRDLeEFkmxzO3KSZqfiz5JgHUbR2C7feKpk" width="149" /></a></div><br />This is a hard book to review. The author is attacking the view that Jesus Christ is, functionally, eternally subordinate to the Father even while being ontologically equal with Him. This view is known as eternal functional subordination (EFS). Barrett’s tone at the beginning was so unnecessarily off-putting to me that I had to get over my irritation before I was ready to fairly assess his argument. Eventually he was able to convince me.<br /><br /> As far as the positives go, Barrett is clearly an accomplished expert on the church fathers, both pre- and post- Nicene. His arguments are firmly grounded in logic, philosophy, and the historical development of the theology of the Trinity. The vast bulk of his assertions come from these quarters, less so from Scripture (though he handles the Scripture well). Unfortunately, Barrett dismisses opposing arguments that rise from Scripture by perjoratively labeling his opponents as “biblicist,” as though they were unaware of the context and larger narrative of Scripture.<br /><br /> Barrett’s main argument is that the only distinctions between the persons within the ontological Trinity (<i>ad intra</i>) are “eternal relations of origin:” the Father is unbegotten, the Father eternally begets (generates) the Son (meaning the Father eternally communicates to the Son His own essence and nature), and the Father and the Son spirate, or send forth, the Holy Spirit. Barrett admits to additional distinctions in the outward operations (<i>ad extra</i>) of the economic Trinity.<br /><br /> In chapter three, Barrett does a good job in tracing modern liberalism’s illegitimate reconstruction of the Trinity to fit their own agenda for society. But in my opinion, he wrongly accuses conservative, biblical theologians of doing the same thing: starting with their desired construct of social relations and then imposing that construct on the Trinity. This seems to me to be a grossly uncharitable charge: is it not possible that those theologians derive their view of the Trinity (even though incorrect) from their honest understanding of Scripture and then see analogs in human relationships? Barrett gets in the way of his own message repeatedly with accusations like this. Another example is found on page 36 where he throws out the accusation that <i>sola scriptura</i> has been interpreted as “me and my Bible alone.” This is unfortunate: Barrett’s debate is with theologians, not the average believer in the pew. Does he really think any credible theologian would hold such a silly view?<br /><br /> Occasionally Barrett appears to overstate his point. On page 104 we find this statement:<p></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0.05in;"></p><blockquote>For the first-century believer, to become a Christian was to embrace the salvation given and accomplished by none other than the triune God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit…. For these early Christians, to believe the gospel was to believe that the one God of Israel was triune. Anything less was simply not Christian. A gospel that was not trinitarian was no gospel at all.</blockquote> Well, yes. And, no. While belief that Jesus is the divine Son of God was (and is) crucial to salvation, there was still much confusion, even among believers, as to exactly how that truth was to be reconciled with the historic monotheism of the Jews. Barrett’s confident assertion flies in the face of 400 years of church history, in which godly men were seeking to untangle the mystery of the Trinity. Barrett seems to claim that the first century Christians had it all figured out. But does not the early history of the church record their debates, disagreements, and difficulty in fitting the pieces together?<br /><br /> On the other hand, there are places in which Barrett is able to condense his argument to a single, brilliant statement, and this constitutes a large part of the value of his book. For example, on page 123 Barrett states: “[Christ’s] eternal relation to the Father constitutes his redemptive mission to the world, but not vice versa. Get that order right, and we see the gospel in proper trinitarian perspective; get that order wrong, and we misuse the gospel to redefine the Trinity in eternity.”<br /><br /> In my view, Barrett makes his strongest argument against EFS on pages 138-9. He builds a case that to be one in essence but manifested in three persons, means of necessity that there cannot be three different wills. Because the three (persons) are one in essence, there can only be one unified (simple) will. The one shared will of the Trinity rises out of the one shared divine nature of the Trinity. The problem with EFS is this: if Christ is eternally submitted to the Father’s will (rather than sharing the one and same will), it implies that there are two different wills—the Father’s, and Christ’s—which would then argue for two different natures. This creates an untenable division in the ontological Trinity; such a thing cannot be.<br /><br /> Barrett makes another powerful argument on page 239:<br /><blockquote>But EFS is asking the wrong question. The right question is this: is submission <i>ad intra</i> or <i>ad extra</i>; is it intrinsic to the immanent Trinity, or is it something that occurs in the economy (in the context of salvation history)? Biblical Christian orthodoxy has always acknowledged that the economy of salvation involves the incarnate Son submitting to the mission his Father has given to him for the purpose of salvation.</blockquote> Barrett goes on to flesh out the thought. I think this is the point in which I finally allowed Barrett to sharpen my understanding, by understanding the Son’s submission to the Father to be connected to his redemptive mission but not to his eternal relation to the Father. Barrett deals with 1 Corinthians 15:24-28 on page 243, stating that it applies not to the Son in the form of God, but to the Son in the form of a servant: “The context is not the <i>immanent </i>Trinity but the <i>economy</i>, the redemptive mission of the incarnate Son.”<br /><br /> Like Barrett’s book, this review has already gone on too long. In conclusion I believe Barrett makes his principal point, demolishing EFS and asserting that the distinctions in the immanent Trinity have to do with eternal relations of origin. It is unfortunate that Barrett occasionally gets in his own way by unnecessary and uncharitable characterizations of people on the other side of the fence. For his excellent command of the early church fathers, Barrett gets five stars. For his at-times-uncharitable tone and the excessive length of the book and the sense of repetition, three stars. For the fact that he did ultimately convince me that my former position (EFS) on the Trinity was wrong, we’ll settle with four stars. Recommended.<br /><br /><br /> If you don’t have the time to read Barrett’s book, read Mike Riccardi’s excellent five-page blog post entitled, “<i><a href="https://thecripplegate.com/efs-redux-aiming-for-closure-on-the-trinity-debate/" target="_blank">EFS Redux: Aiming for Closure on the Trinity Debate</a></i>.” Google it. Riccardi gets right to the point (in five short pages), and his logic is unassailable. <p></p><p><br /></p>C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000702248277348099.post-58462194426526293442023-03-27T21:06:00.002-04:002023-03-27T21:06:58.543-04:00Book Review: The Myth of Voter SuppressionFred Lucas has the deep journalistic experience that qualifies him to write this book; his expertise is evident on every page. <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Myth-Voter-Suppression-Assault-Elections/dp/1637587856/ref=sr_1_1?crid=24BR4PIMTPA5Q&keywords=the+myth+of+voter+suppression&qid=1679965072&sprefix=The+Myth+of+Voter%2Caps%2C105&sr=8-1" target="_blank">The Myth of Voter Suppression</a></i> is an exhaustively documented treatment of the burning political question of the day: how can we ensure that each vote in an election has been cast by a legitimate, qualified voter without making the voting process so onerous that it keeps people from the polls? What becomes clear in the book is that not everyone has the same desire for fair and accurate elections. Kevin Roberts, the president of the <a href="https://www.heritage.org/" target="_blank">Heritage Foundation</a>, puts a real zinger in the foreword on page xiii: “That’s the Left’s real fear here: not that election integrity laws are evil, but that they are effective.”<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXzrQDfrOtPUn_GwXkcSKR4NWL9T1SHNp4qSZJuAPNXpN_omgka9m7fgCRmfXyVA-AQeWmg1ee04G1pETaoXd6M93fpr0MpU8wDtc0GmVyqxt1AuF9Ggh6IawUqVO9UpvDdQSDu-XP-q5xrvu89Z9dL4Iu2EILqPIKiENk3gNvm64pMdffA--I7wad/s814/Myth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="814" data-original-width="581" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXzrQDfrOtPUn_GwXkcSKR4NWL9T1SHNp4qSZJuAPNXpN_omgka9m7fgCRmfXyVA-AQeWmg1ee04G1pETaoXd6M93fpr0MpU8wDtc0GmVyqxt1AuF9Ggh6IawUqVO9UpvDdQSDu-XP-q5xrvu89Z9dL4Iu2EILqPIKiENk3gNvm64pMdffA--I7wad/s320/Myth.jpg" width="228" /></a></div><div><br />The need to secure the vote in a day of bitter political divisions is crucial. Some on the Left allege that any implementation of effective voter identification laws is actually a surreptitious attempt to suppress the vote of the poor, the under-privileged, and minorities. Such a charge deserves to be examined carefully and closely: Lucas does just that. His treatment of the subject is open handed in one respect: he exposes cheating on both the Democrat and Republican sides. It is the practice of the Left (which I must admit is generally Democrat) to oppose any attempt to secure the integrity of elections, calling such attempts “voter suppression.” Lucas coins a rather clumsy term he uses repeatedly to label these opponents: the “<i>voter suppression hysteria industrial complex</i>.” <br /><br />The book is written in two parts. Part 1 provides a history of the ways and means of fraud in elections, as well as legislative attempts to secure the vote. Lucas’ statement in the Introduction sets the tone and direction of the book: <br /><blockquote>“A war is being fought in this country. The battlefields are Congress, in state legislative chambers, and in the courts. At stake are American democracy and the integrity of elections. The two warring narratives overlap—voter fraud vs. voter suppression—and both have historical legitimacies. But regarding the current times, only one narrative has facts to support it. The other has only emotion and inflammatory rhetoric” [xxii].</blockquote>Chapter 1 explores the historical linkage between fraud and suppression. As he does repeatedly, Lucas demonstrates that legislative attempts to secure the vote since the bipartisan Voting Rights Act of 1965 have generally resulted in higher, not lower, turnouts—even among minorities. <br /><br />In Chapter 2, Lucas walks through the data and statistics from Arizona, Florida, Georgia, and Texas, exposing the lies that have been spun about “voter suppression” in those states. During President Biden’s January 2022 trip to Atlanta, Biden made the claim that Georgia’s efforts to put protections on the integrity of the vote were actually efforts to suppress the vote. Biden claimed, “It’s no longer about who gets to vote; it’s about making it harder to vote… It’s not hyperbole; this is a fact.” Lucas responds firmly, supplying data to back up his response to Biden’s claim: “It’s neither hyperbole nor fact. It’s demonstrably false” [31]. <br /><br />The author examines the data, in Chapter 3, regarding the historical voting practices of minorities to demonstrate that state-level voter ID laws have not negatively affected minority groups. Chapter 4 reveals the political forces arrayed against such common-sense efforts as purging the voter registration roles of people who have died or who have moved into a different district. Part 1 concludes with Chapter 5 detailing historical examples of the methods and attempts that have been aimed at tampering with an election. <br /><br />Part 2 studies various aspects of the 2020 election. Lucas does not necessarily believe the election was stolen. On page 94 he says, <br /><blockquote>“Although the full story of the 2020 election hasn’t been told, subsequent investigations have provided noteworthy discoveries. Trump has overplayed the significance of each new discovery as absolute proof that he was the real winner—which the discoveries don’t prove.”</blockquote>The anomalies of the 2020 election are explored in Chapter 6. Chapter 7 details various Democratic legislative attempts at the federal level that would make election fraud easier to commit. Chapter 8 exposes President Biden’s attempts to wrest the regulation of elections from the states to the federal government (whereas Article I, Section 4, Clause 1 of the US Constitution grants that power to the states). <br /><br /> Lucas examines Stacy Abrams in Chapter 9, and her multitudinous claims to the effect that the 2018 Georgia gubernatorial election was stolen from her. Lucas shows that she has enjoyed a rather lucrative career making such claims. “<i>Follow the money</i>” is the essence of Chapter 10, as Lucas uncovers the various organizations funding the opposition to voter identification and election integrity laws. Spoiler alert: they are all on the Left. <br /><br />The threads Lucas has traced in the book find their summary in the Conclusion, entitled “Stopping Tammany Hall 2.0.” He argues that legislative reform must happen at the level of individual states, and he explores several efforts that are underway. <br /><br />My copy of <i>The Myth of Voter Suppression</i> has 453 endnotes, each providing documentation enabling the reader to go back to the original sources to substantiate the factual claims presented in the book. Lucas concludes with this thought: <br /><blockquote>“History shows there have always been demagogues resisting changes to bring more integrity to elections. It’s important the public arm itself with the facts—both historical and contemporary. This is the only way to combat the lies of the new political machine” [178].</blockquote>For the citizen who wants to arm himself or herself with the facts, <i>The Myth of Voter Suppression</i> is a good place to start. Five stars, highly recommended. <br /><br /><i>[Full disclosure: I received a free PDF copy of the book from the author for the purposes of review. I was not compensated in any way for this review.]<br /></i><br /></div>C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000702248277348099.post-27116978302609685882023-03-09T22:03:00.005-05:002023-03-11T17:35:38.401-05:00The Hollandia Combat Air Patrol: Epilogue<h1 style="text-align: center;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 16pt;">The
Hollandia Combat Air Patrol Epilogue</span></h1>
<h3 style="break-after: avoid; break-before: auto; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: medium;">What
was fiction, what was fact?</span></span></h3><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqtalCr8W2VPMWKAicVd5aOTJVoOS2fFtBXTdv5eXNnL6qwR-Y6LVqoVNhjBD7N8ip78ifkWQknn8ItW6UBHATIBvp26IIpP31_qLh0vdvliFjIi8Y513Hu3tp9AZHa46VjKWurnMyQmLLcI5L-9fOdixFkV4Ol56woId-IOXNq6vuGrymQF7R7CgY/s1000/_Companions%20forever.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqtalCr8W2VPMWKAicVd5aOTJVoOS2fFtBXTdv5eXNnL6qwR-Y6LVqoVNhjBD7N8ip78ifkWQknn8ItW6UBHATIBvp26IIpP31_qLh0vdvliFjIi8Y513Hu3tp9AZHa46VjKWurnMyQmLLcI5L-9fOdixFkV4Ol56woId-IOXNq6vuGrymQF7R7CgY/w400-h266/_Companions%20forever.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lewis and Helen Cobb</td></tr></tbody></table>Lewis M. Cobb is my father, Helen is my mom. They were married in July of 45. Dad retired in 1966 as a Commander in the regular navy, having survived many, many carrier landings (his planes normally survived his landings, as well!). He served in combat in WW2, Korea, and Vietnam, on several different carriers. He passed away in 2011 after serving his country and his church with honor.<br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsVkIjodk-2edssmSR1IMKYW_h4AUfDI3c8UG-_LK1NmYvbV6id2eAj3XDlR5vKLXIaPRjxqCo5zZgQB2-mnRsN86o4sANJYwtx5Ovsa028gna63_6m2vdwAqj4iMxww3ize9wWhBViW-Idbz0q6L78y2f6H9GbTd-eUmvEQUTnUlZuNCCRJVCgx8t/s2000/Theater%20Map.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1453" data-original-width="2000" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsVkIjodk-2edssmSR1IMKYW_h4AUfDI3c8UG-_LK1NmYvbV6id2eAj3XDlR5vKLXIaPRjxqCo5zZgQB2-mnRsN86o4sANJYwtx5Ovsa028gna63_6m2vdwAqj4iMxww3ize9wWhBViW-Idbz0q6L78y2f6H9GbTd-eUmvEQUTnUlZuNCCRJVCgx8t/w400-h290/Theater%20Map.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Theater Map, showing movements of USS Yorktown in 1944</td></tr></tbody></table><div>The principal activity in the Hollandia Strike story is historical. On April 19, 1944, the carriers of Task Force 58 were softening up the defenses of Hollandia in preparation for landing the marines. </div><div><div><br /></div><div>All the data pertaining to aircraft (American and Japanese) are factual, including the positions of switches and controls. All the names in the entire story with the exception of Ray Wilson (whom I invented) are factual, including their positions and ranks in VF-5 on April 19, 1944. All of the dialog in the story is a product of my imagination but is based on research.</div><div><br /></div><div>I hope it is not too far off from how these pilots would have communicated at the time. My dad’s use of the word “swell” is quite accurate—it appears in his diary many times!<br /><br /> My apologies to actual pilots in case I managed to scramble some of the details. I’ll welcome your corrections.<br /><h3 style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://chcobb.blogspot.com/2023/03/the-hollandia-combat-air-patrol.html" target="_blank">In Chapter 1:</a></h3> The <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj284qY6EMqulU7l8zFsiWaLtFXcXQdWCsLAFwlxL9HrVbBsWwoy8660gaUBYQUHMR-3Ez1LjbFaYpetVLlnK9dc3R-BpVBs_khvQ40Zj_i_8flf_yzVvBm3TNWM-9cdG41CddUEk-gqOi4ZEe_qB2hSeY7MpJa2s0HynB8fq1u47o5ETM7_SPrhxng/s320/159_5992_r1.jpg" target="_blank">visit to the Udvar-Hazy Center</a> with my brother, L. M. Cobb, Jr., was real, complete with the Yorktown Hellcat hanging from the ceiling, The flashback was not real. I invented it as a means of launching us into dad’s world on April 19, 1944. <br /><br /> The Combat Air Patrol (CAP) in which my dad was launched is factual, and as near as I can tell from records the flyers named were actually flying with him. Several inbound bogies had been detected on radar. All the information on deck and launching operations is factual, to the best of my ability to research it.<br /><h3 style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://chcobb.blogspot.com/2023/03/the-hollandia-combat-air-patrol-part-2.html" target="_blank">In Chapter 2:</a></h3> The early-morning loss of the TBF by collision with a cruiser is actual, but according to dad's diary it happened on 4/22/44. I conflated it into the tale.<br /><br /> Dad’s initial concerns about Lieutenant Jones, followed by his tremendous respect for the man, are true, and are taken from various entries in dad’s diary. The entire story about Ray Watson is a fabrication, intended to make the historical point that naval doctrine was slow to shift from large surface engagements dominated by battleships to a carrier-based air war. This constituted a major shift in both budget and priority during WW2. I added this piece also to help the reader get the sense of urgency regarding finding the snooper before it found the carrier, which in fact would be a huge concern at the time.<br /><br /> The detection and shootdown of the Betty (two of them, actually) did occur on 4/19, but was accomplished by a different CAP, not dad’s. My tale of dad’s engagement with the Betty on his CAP was pure fiction. However, it is true that dad’s CAP was launched because of radar-detected bogies, they just did not locate them. Consequently, there was no damage on dad’s plane when he landed on the carrier.<br /><h3 style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://chcobb.blogspot.com/2023/03/the-hollandia-combat-air-patrol-part-3.html" target="_blank">In Chapter 3:</a></h3> As can be seen in the <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpJ5QlzFjHa7Vy1xB7fyZyVvXOyCRhpbEXqtYNDFbdsfB03BEPy0aMY1aItVu8ej5fPtdSVNBCWlC9AWH1T-Ynokv1L10yblgBSpcewT4EDP0eOCSOCGEGz1BiezmOe61Yg5SnaUMFV_EvJ57AbsPH8ywtfjLnjk3ZwgPu_BXdL41VrlaY01yK7-u_/s2000/1.jpg" target="_blank">photograph of the upside-down Hellcat</a>, dad did <i>not </i>jettison his drop tank—probably because everyone was anticipating a normal landing.</div><div><br /> The story of dad creaming a Hellcat a week before is factual (it occurred on 4/14/44), and I might turn it into another short story. The description of the weather during that event came from his diary.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4bi2aU807qsnCyewHr62xr7CRoDFyR6smF4Yxk_vsURbc-8dZ5IIse1syACZeERA67HueCKwAGbwmyi7eU_5lAUpDQ895uN6zRCT8nPbNyB-bEBHbZAVvp1Gq8WZrp90qlrIksBYVxbOhCJbWNUHxylrdmOvPmzljpzePuSk_Td9ExyZW6CfwxT5V/s3368/April%2021%20Plan%20of%20the%20Day.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3368" data-original-width="2000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4bi2aU807qsnCyewHr62xr7CRoDFyR6smF4Yxk_vsURbc-8dZ5IIse1syACZeERA67HueCKwAGbwmyi7eU_5lAUpDQ895uN6zRCT8nPbNyB-bEBHbZAVvp1Gq8WZrp90qlrIksBYVxbOhCJbWNUHxylrdmOvPmzljpzePuSk_Td9ExyZW6CfwxT5V/s320/April%2021%20Plan%20of%20the%20Day.jpg" width="190" /></a></div><div>It is very likely that there were several photo-recon TBFs launched on 4/19/22. I have an original copy of the Yorktown’s Air Group Plan of the Day for 4/21, showing such launches. Whether the TBFs actually interfered with the landing of dad’s CAP, I do not know. The photo-recon guys did have both landing and launch priority, however, as the Task Force needed reliable info to plan the next strike. Whether or not the carrier would have communicated to BLUE FLIGHT the way it did I don’t know. They very likely would have been using an early form of IFF (Identification Friend or Foe). <br /><br /> The various descriptions of operations in the Task Group (ditching, recovery of pilots, Bosun Chair, etc.) are pretty accurate, based on my research and discussions with dad. <br /><br /> And that brings us to The Crash. First—it actually happened. The photos are authentic. The Bureau Number of the upside-down Hellcat is stamped on the backside of the large official photo. It matches the Bureau Number in <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ZFa418DA2aWniozxxrL7jFT_9lO4-LjLQFnT-U8gx6eu67z8GKC8toP_40NqU76-pcoMI9eWkXqFnG0TYLDQBnHgRzy7yzIS0ctO5hkbqDkK55Both3f1ht5ybTzZVdNOvqQfdFDvF1ub2hHQGk-yH6i5-Z38BYW0_xypFztZ_nmclHPHDPURe8W/s1500/Logbook.jpg" target="_blank">Dad’s pilot log</a> for the 4/19/44 CAP. How or why the crash happened—I don’t know. My description of the crash is what I envisioned might happen on a hard, tail-first landing if the hook did not catch.<br /></div><div><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis-vT20g9-oEARzXYvMSJg8l_ElH6y7qCXIFJbaOOs40NBvVs2PPdRH0mC7ZqbZlyRfvhFAyOgdwNed4IXLFivjMGojRJdwLldkkAzKXB_RKOk8FIDTMboghR-t1NHoohZ8Kr5dOF0LB5fXqWV_KOD8toKg2jEGfzriMEGHnBd2_E0078qZjXzYRH1/s2000/Diary%20Apr%2019.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1659" data-original-width="2000" height="530" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis-vT20g9-oEARzXYvMSJg8l_ElH6y7qCXIFJbaOOs40NBvVs2PPdRH0mC7ZqbZlyRfvhFAyOgdwNed4IXLFivjMGojRJdwLldkkAzKXB_RKOk8FIDTMboghR-t1NHoohZ8Kr5dOF0LB5fXqWV_KOD8toKg2jEGfzriMEGHnBd2_E0078qZjXzYRH1/w640-h530/Diary%20Apr%2019.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lewis Cobb's diary entry for April 19, written on April 21, 1944</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Dad says his hook skipped the #5 and 6 wires, and the Hellcat tore through the first two barriers. He sustained several injuries and was taken out of the flight rotation during his recovery. The aircraft was pushed over the side.<br /><br /> A big thanks to my brother Lou for encouraging me to write the tale and for helping me sift through the records that dad kept. Lou and I typed up dad’s diaries from his ‘44 tour on the Yorktown, and his ‘45 tour on the Belleau Wood. It was an honor and a privilege.</div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMH-rXy9VCSy2pDD1FAFgdaz7sPQnJYHSKKia7-w8Gg14cwy1V8EyOhHdiYCnVtoJH2jHA8B_TgLJz6S_dhUKU1fKX6jAx6-Uz9YN-Akw7ZazqJZqhzXZtYm9GtEWJ0WUAwaDKuU7tfHgQN_GqWgkli8xDuwJgxAoeFilhRgKJTOGrwRL6JoTrGhxB/s1000/_Dani's%20Happy%20Day%20-%20The%20cobb%20guys.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1000" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMH-rXy9VCSy2pDD1FAFgdaz7sPQnJYHSKKia7-w8Gg14cwy1V8EyOhHdiYCnVtoJH2jHA8B_TgLJz6S_dhUKU1fKX6jAx6-Uz9YN-Akw7ZazqJZqhzXZtYm9GtEWJ0WUAwaDKuU7tfHgQN_GqWgkli8xDuwJgxAoeFilhRgKJTOGrwRL6JoTrGhxB/s320/_Dani's%20Happy%20Day%20-%20The%20cobb%20guys.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000702248277348099.post-46973466363234218362023-03-07T21:55:00.002-05:002023-03-30T20:54:47.080-04:00The Hollandia Combat Air Patrol, part 3<h1 style="text-align: center;">Chapter 3</h1><h2 style="text-align: center;">Returning to the Yorktown</h2><h4 style="text-align: center;">April 19, 1944</h4>As we flew back to the Yorktown, it was time to jettison our empty drop tanks. In the event of a crash landing on the carrier, the tank—full of avgas fumes—could contribute to a nasty conflagration. Reaching my left hand down, just outboard of the throttle quadrant, I triggered the drop tank release switch and felt a brief bump as it fell away. <br /><br /> The airspace above the carrier resembled hornets buzzing around a nest that had been kicked. There were sixteen of us in the returning CAP, waiting to be recovered. I hoped it wouldn’t take too long, as I was getting low on fuel. Chasing the Betty had taken more gas than I realized. <br /><br /> “BLUE FLIGHT, this is CAIRO. Descend to three angels and enter the holding pattern. We’ll get you boys down as soon we can.” <br /><br /> “CAIRO, this is BLUE FLIGHT. Descending to three angels and holding.” <br /><br /> As we descended to the holding pattern altitude, I looked below and saw that the Yorktown was busy launching the afternoon CAP. The recovery evolution had not begun, and couldn’t until the current launching operation was done. <br /><br /> Landing a plane on an aircraft carrier takes an immense amount of skill, teamwork, and luck. There’s a reason why the Navy calls it “recovering” aircraft and not “landing” aircraft. From one perspective, you really don’t <i>land</i> an airplane on a carrier, you fly it into the deck and hope that the hook catches a wire and the landing gear doesn’t collapse.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeWJm2WcazHV43dRzzHu76lMTfU5_JdYopqMX62gO4npGQuMm-VlUzEWuSmxgFctGD09evi-vPcQ3CjvmCpyJMs7bpipDP3GU064BS-lxQkFPMiQfTL_6Fgyh5ZCwMJtaqHSsU7yr62RDV0bNtpSlEy9X1_ffdsf7ZYs8JPTMI7b60r1UymovI8-Hh/s591/TBF_mid1942.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="396" data-original-width="591" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeWJm2WcazHV43dRzzHu76lMTfU5_JdYopqMX62gO4npGQuMm-VlUzEWuSmxgFctGD09evi-vPcQ3CjvmCpyJMs7bpipDP3GU064BS-lxQkFPMiQfTL_6Fgyh5ZCwMJtaqHSsU7yr62RDV0bNtpSlEy9X1_ffdsf7ZYs8JPTMI7b60r1UymovI8-Hh/s320/TBF_mid1942.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Grumman Avenger TBF, 1942</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div> Just a week earlier I’d creamed a Hellcat’s landing gear. Twelve Hellcats and sixteen Avengers had been launched on a practice strike. I was flying wing on Jonesy. We’d already flown two hundred miles from the task force when suddenly the weather closed in. Squalls, driving rain, the ceiling down to three hundred feet. We couldn’t see a thing and had no idea where the task force was. It certainly wasn’t where we left it because it moves at about thirty miles an hour. <br /><br /> The Flight Leader finally pulled the plug on the mission, figuring it was foolish to risk life, limb, and aircraft on a practice strike. Flying in formation in that kind of soup can lead to midair collisions. We finally picked up the Yorktown’s YE, and were able to fly the vector back to the task force. When we got back to the carrier, we found the weather was just as nasty.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiry95GHYch9lQeID_9iX1VI-aprf0riiSt4lk_tzvhsqK4LYmcFeXRpeUnhcmXzBz093hrj1ZskHt_eEO7rr_8UfWgiSxx53ViCsetbYkolVzSNSR16Fd4pAjhd7v926H30AERi6k-91rf6H-y9_6nV6UwvJ0FDoODZFvCiLhyMfRYq_hfhqNNlOpv/s540/Paddles_ww2_bw.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="474" data-original-width="540" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiry95GHYch9lQeID_9iX1VI-aprf0riiSt4lk_tzvhsqK4LYmcFeXRpeUnhcmXzBz093hrj1ZskHt_eEO7rr_8UfWgiSxx53ViCsetbYkolVzSNSR16Fd4pAjhd7v926H30AERi6k-91rf6H-y9_6nV6UwvJ0FDoODZFvCiLhyMfRYq_hfhqNNlOpv/s320/Paddles_ww2_bw.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>WW2 Landing Signal Officer, aka "Paddles"</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div> The Landing Signal Officer (LSO), himself an expert pilot, was standing with his paddles at his station, buffeted by squall winds and soaked to the bone by rain and sea spray. He was desperate to get us down safely, knowing that rescuing a ditched pilot in a turbulent sea was unlikely to be successful. Consequently the LSO might have signaled a cut now and then when he should have given a wave-off. When it was my turn, he brought me down a little steep and a little hot. My hook caught, but the impact twisted my landing gear and buckled my fuselage. Believe me, I was just happy to be back on the good old Yorktown. In light of the horrible conditions, there was no blame assigned to anyone. I promised to buy the LSO a beer next time we were in an anchorage. <br /><br /> My headphones crackled, bringing me back to the present. “BLUE FLIGHT, BLUE FLIGHT, this is CAIRO. The aircraft approaching from two-six-five degrees are friendlies, repeat, friendlies, the TBF has landing priority. Acknowledge.” <br /><br /> “CAIRO, this is BLUE FLIGHT. Copy that, aircraft approaching from two-six-five are friendly, the TBF has landing priority,” skipper acknowledged. <br /><br /><i> Now, who would that be</i>, I wondered as I scanned my instruments. My eyes settled unhappily on the fuel gauge. Adding more aircraft ahead of me in the landing pattern was not helpful. <i>I might have to ditch</i>, I thought. I wasn’t going to bellyache about it, though, because there were probably several other Hellcats in the holding pattern that were also on the verge of a dead-stick landing. <i>Get ready for a swim, boys</i>.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1E1BMQbG7HDVaZR_OiEd-XlIxM8EEJgcDSkOX5NORUxtIDEtHcYSAxX_nU2xRFDDizvQAf0JpD-QE5AXcayfKreNYUe24H2wwSsZunTNCPcTjBstpOvAHXae7jPANigXWSVTjtrVpMQ2Gkok5lwnWBP6pgqelhn0yufZZvpIODgMLLaWq3wyryHi6/s2000/BattleDamage.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1294" data-original-width="2000" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1E1BMQbG7HDVaZR_OiEd-XlIxM8EEJgcDSkOX5NORUxtIDEtHcYSAxX_nU2xRFDDizvQAf0JpD-QE5AXcayfKreNYUe24H2wwSsZunTNCPcTjBstpOvAHXae7jPANigXWSVTjtrVpMQ2Gkok5lwnWBP6pgqelhn0yufZZvpIODgMLLaWq3wyryHi6/w400-h259/BattleDamage.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div> Orbiting in the holding pattern was pretty boring, so I kept my eyes pealed along the vector from which the newcomers were approaching. Finally I spotted them. It was a Grumman Avenger with four Hellcats escorting him. Then I remembered: a photo-recon mission had been launched ten minutes before our CAP. This particular TBF was configured as a scout plane and outfitted with a high-resolution camera. His mission was assessing strike damage on Hollandia. I watched as he landed smartly on his first approach. He didn’t really hold up the parade for very long, and his four-plane escort entered the holding pattern a thousand feet above us.</div><div><br /></div><div> Finally our CAP began landing and not a minute too soon. With anxious eyes on my fuel gauge, I began descending little by little as the Hellcat swarm began to enter the landing pattern, one aircraft at a time. If I run out of fuel while waiting my turn to land, there’s only one option available—a water landing. And boy, do I hate the thought of ditching. It provides the perfect opportunity to drown—that is, if the sharks leave you alone. If I survive the dunking, hopefully I’ll be picked up by a destroyer or submarine, but then I’d have to endure the crazy carnival ride on a Bosun’s Chair to get back to the carrier. You’re transferred like a sack of potatotes between ships that are underway and making some twenty-odd knots. Not my idea of fun. And besides, ditching is a waste of an otherwise perfectly good airplane.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyDvH0O-l6DgDRbiilSCooAzo9MmTn_wBGDdB9lBrdHqnBeixZeceUpM-iZNobkg7RU5AfF8Y-bONwNkeFMNAgf5PY55s1b1SFE4v9F6dxzxvSqtDR8WMqIU5cGWCjCZ9yUitc26BvwQdIxs1FCebbZdr4Yj4qQ2hX0ro0aLbrO0w3jmuaApTyT3qF/s240/Bosun's%20Chair.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="170" data-original-width="240" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyDvH0O-l6DgDRbiilSCooAzo9MmTn_wBGDdB9lBrdHqnBeixZeceUpM-iZNobkg7RU5AfF8Y-bONwNkeFMNAgf5PY55s1b1SFE4v9F6dxzxvSqtDR8WMqIU5cGWCjCZ9yUitc26BvwQdIxs1FCebbZdr4Yj4qQ2hX0ro0aLbrO0w3jmuaApTyT3qF/w320-h227/Bosun's%20Chair.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Pilot being transferred in a Bosun's Chair</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div> Thankfully, the Pratt and Whitney was still roaring along under power when I entered the upwind leg of the landing pattern, about three hundred feet above the sea. There was the Yorktown on the same heading, steaming away from me at about twenty-five knots. I backed off on the throttle, opened the cockpit hood, and dropped the arrester hook. As I drew abeam the starboard side of the ship, I safetied my guns. So far, everything seemed normal. I was on my reserve tank, but was pretty confident I wouldn’t be making a dead-stick landing after all. <br /><br /> And then I noticed that the arrester hook light was not glowing. That’s not good. I pushed the circuit breaker reset, and cycled the switch again. No change. I did it again. No dice. <br /><br /> I had just enough time remaining on the downwind leg to try the arrester hook emergency control, a T-handle behind my seat on the left side. Reaching across my waist with my right hand, I grabbed the T-handle. Four slow pulls should do the trick, and I shouldn’t be able to complete a fifth pull if the hook is fully extended. Six pulls, seven pulls, and nothing is happening. <br /><br /> “CAIRO, this is BLUE 3. I don’t have a hook light. Please advise.” <br /><br /> “BLUE 3, this is CAIRO. I can see that your hook is deployed. Have you tried the emergency control?” <br /><br /> “Affirmative. And I’ve reset the breakers, twice. No light.” <br /><br /> By this time I was on the final approach, but decided to take another lap until Pri-fly got back to me. As I roared over the port side of the carrier, I began to wonder if perhaps the tangle with that Betty had produced a little more damage than I realized. <br /><br /> “BLUE 3, this is CAIRO. The air boss is encouraging you to proceed with a landing, but it’s your choice. Your hook is extended, and will probably catch a wire.” <br /><br /> “This is BLUE 3 acknowledging. Gonna keep my feet dry.” <br /><br /> I reviewed the landing checklist again as I turned back onto the downwind leg. As I began the turn for final approach, I throttled back to ninety knots. The LSO brought me right in with minimal corrections and signaled “<i>cut</i>.” I killed the throttle and the plane dropped onto the carrier. I felt the tail wheel hit first, followed immediately by the harsh slam of the main gear on the deck. I tensed, expecting the sudden stop of the arresting wires, but it didn’t come. <i>The hook didn’t catch!</i> Without the restraint of the hook, the tail of the aircraft bounced up. <br /><br /> Time immediately slowed down. With agonizing inevitability I could see the first barrier approaching in slow motion while my aircraft slowly pitched nose down. At this point, I was not a pilot, but a passenger, a spectator caught in the immutable laws of physics: momentum, inertia and kinetic energy. I could see the blue-jerseys beyond the barriers, the plane handlers, scattering, mouths open, expressing warning and horror in equal quantities. <br /><br /> The first barrier caught my Hellcat in a slight nose-down, tail-up attitude, which caused the plane to pitch-pole over the barrier. Although my shoulder harness was tight, it was not tight enough to protect me from physical forces this extreme. I was slammed around in the cockpit like a rag doll, my head colliding with the instrument panel. <br /><br /> Rotating over the first barrier, my Hellcat was airborne again, tail first and upside down, just high enough to clear the second barrier, as I later learned. Slamming onto the deck, still upside down, the aircraft skated into the third barrier, which finally stopped its momentum. Everything went black—</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpJ5QlzFjHa7Vy1xB7fyZyVvXOyCRhpbEXqtYNDFbdsfB03BEPy0aMY1aItVu8ej5fPtdSVNBCWlC9AWH1T-Ynokv1L10yblgBSpcewT4EDP0eOCSOCGEGz1BiezmOe61Yg5SnaUMFV_EvJ57AbsPH8ywtfjLnjk3ZwgPu_BXdL41VrlaY01yK7-u_/s2000/1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1647" data-original-width="2000" height="528" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpJ5QlzFjHa7Vy1xB7fyZyVvXOyCRhpbEXqtYNDFbdsfB03BEPy0aMY1aItVu8ej5fPtdSVNBCWlC9AWH1T-Ynokv1L10yblgBSpcewT4EDP0eOCSOCGEGz1BiezmOe61Yg5SnaUMFV_EvJ57AbsPH8ywtfjLnjk3ZwgPu_BXdL41VrlaY01yK7-u_/w640-h528/1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ensign Cobb's Hellcat</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvfJ9ABOqY66mkXLY7pe0RrBa9LGx4iHbilpR71lhuGuwrPDz33xJcuHTDfnamFHfEh5SLNmkiJZ3EcVplbMWfPUVxUHENJTdgcNbW-Q-3siS2seBlhhZoHkI0X5psTcRjk5xpgfBRwvp8zCSYwjYQQeKx8MWCBIk8YoAo2zaqH5d-KuttUofoKZ7C/s2281/2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2281" data-original-width="2000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvfJ9ABOqY66mkXLY7pe0RrBa9LGx4iHbilpR71lhuGuwrPDz33xJcuHTDfnamFHfEh5SLNmkiJZ3EcVplbMWfPUVxUHENJTdgcNbW-Q-3siS2seBlhhZoHkI0X5psTcRjk5xpgfBRwvp8zCSYwjYQQeKx8MWCBIk8YoAo2zaqH5d-KuttUofoKZ7C/w562-h640/2.jpg" width="562" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Rescuing the pilot</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: center;">**********</div><br /> “Dad! Dad!” <br /><br /> I opened my eyes. The museum guidebook lay on the floor. My sons were crouched down, peering into my face with worry. Several museum volunteers stood about looking concerned. <br /><br /> “Should we call the squad?” one asked. <br /><br /> I shook my head vigorously. My mouth was dry and my hands were sweaty. “Water,” I croaked. <br /><br /> Someone gave me a bottle of water, and I took a pull on it. <br /><br /> “No. No squad. I’m—fine. I’m fine. Guess I just fell asleep.” <br /><br /> “Are you sure, Dad? Are you okay?” my eldest asked. <br /><br /> “Oh, yeah. Ready and raring to go.” <br /><br /> “Okay,” he said dubiously, studying my face. <br /><br /> He put the guidebook on my lap, and I said, “C’mon, boys. Let’s go look at the shuttle.” <br /><br /> As they wheeled me away in that blankity-blank wheelchair, I glanced back at the Hellcat and smiled.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCkeOCM3-pdhScjj221N8idlaxvsIW5fYBM81A4MqOwZILAOBmd8KsTTg267pvdxBLe4rkR_OpgfOM2hLd0HIaBwW3uR0gN3lqHL8GlEpn5YrSFi8fuJdemCUyGK0BaApiYTOzoYEcBpJjU8J8GGCnMdKnOckIJxg53WxT-6odJqOlW1eqJNTgCt69/s1932/Cobb%20with%20Road%20Rash.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1356" data-original-width="1932" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCkeOCM3-pdhScjj221N8idlaxvsIW5fYBM81A4MqOwZILAOBmd8KsTTg267pvdxBLe4rkR_OpgfOM2hLd0HIaBwW3uR0gN3lqHL8GlEpn5YrSFi8fuJdemCUyGK0BaApiYTOzoYEcBpJjU8J8GGCnMdKnOckIJxg53WxT-6odJqOlW1eqJNTgCt69/w640-h450/Cobb%20with%20Road%20Rash.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ensign Cobb in the Ready Room several days after crash. Damage to right eye and nose visible.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">**********</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://chcobb.blogspot.com/2023/03/the-hollandia-combat-air-patrol.html" target="_blank">Chapter 1</a></span></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://chcobb.blogspot.com/2023/03/the-hollandia-combat-air-patrol-part-2.html" target="_blank">Chapter 2</a></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://chcobb.blogspot.com/2023/03/the-hollandia-combat-air-patrol-epilogue.html" target="_blank">Epilogue</a></h3><div>**********</div></div><div>[Editor's Note: <i>Stay tuned for the epilogue, to be posted in several days, in which I'll take a few paragraphs to discuss what parts of this tale are actual history, and what parts are fiction.</i> <i style="text-align: center;">Most of it is history.]</i></div><div><i style="text-align: center;"><br /></i></div><h3><b>Photo Credits:</b></h3><div><ul><li><b>Grumman Avenger TBF</b>: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grumman_TBF_Avenger</li><li><b>Landing Signal Officer</b>: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/f/f0/Paddles_ww2_bw.jpg</li><li><b>Hollandia Damage Assessment</b>: <b> </b>Cobb family collection</li><li><b>Bosun's Chair</b>: http://www.ussbush.com/flyer1.jpg</li><li><b>Ensign Cobb's Hellcat</b>: Cobb family collection</li><li><b>Rescuing the pilot</b>: Cobb family collection</li><li><b>Ensign Cobb in the Ready Room</b>: Cobb family collection</li></ul></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div>C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000702248277348099.post-65992671471089917232023-03-06T00:58:00.004-05:002023-03-11T17:47:34.458-05:00The Hollandia Combat Air Patrol, part 2<h1 style="text-align: center;"> Chapter 2</h1><h3 style="text-align: center;">On Patrol</h3><h4 style="text-align: center;">April 19, 1944</h4>After scanning my instruments, I studied the sky in front, side to side, above and below, and finally behind. Failing to maintain this vigilance was liable to get me shot down. While the quality of the Japanese pilots had declined somewhat since ‘42 and ‘43, and the Zero couldn’t take the punishment my F6F could, carelessly disrespecting the enemy’s capabilities could end my career and probably my life in a flaming, downward spiral.<div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEzmeIfcnXt1k4L_CwM3vLi-sCPQDzs2zYy7pQyc_dXV8UcAAxnBs52cPm_0i7PkZv9TNdv2JGC8_OfkXd7N373JhMtBXpkhZjrDB96H3OwcuUqtM-NXr0txdJAjRa0aQrGQNR-hox3Q2eKOxNFlcablS3eSV7evYtdS38PTv7ZAVHIawqOfmTO-H_/s541/Zero_11_on_China.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="287" data-original-width="541" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEzmeIfcnXt1k4L_CwM3vLi-sCPQDzs2zYy7pQyc_dXV8UcAAxnBs52cPm_0i7PkZv9TNdv2JGC8_OfkXd7N373JhMtBXpkhZjrDB96H3OwcuUqtM-NXr0txdJAjRa0aQrGQNR-hox3Q2eKOxNFlcablS3eSV7evYtdS38PTv7ZAVHIawqOfmTO-H_/s320/Zero_11_on_China.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mitsubishi A6M Zero</i></td></tr></tbody></table> I scanned my instruments and the airspace about me again. My engine temperature was on the high side of the normal range, so I made a small adjustment to the fuel mixture and manifold pressure. Once the aircraft was all trimmed out to cruise at 20,000, I found that I had to force myself to concentrate. I couldn’t get the early morning’s tragedy out of my mind. We lost three good men during the predawn strike launch. Shortly after takeoff, one of the TBFs clipped the superstructure of a cruiser off the carrier’s starboard bow and went down in flames. Neither the pilot nor crew was recovered. Lieutenant Jones speculated that, in the darkness, the pilot had mistaken the cruiser’s running lights for that of a squadron mate and was following him, intending to form up. Losing a man to enemy action was bad enough, but losing three to an innocent mistake was a tragic waste. <br /><br /> I shook my head to clear it. <i>Can’t think about it now. Focus, Cobb, or you’re liable to join them in Davy Jones’ locker.</i> I scanned my instruments and the sky around me. Satisfied, I noticed that the engine temp was back down in the middle of its optimal range. <br /><br /> My headset crackled, “BLUE FLIGHT, this is BLUE-1. Stay sharp. If that snooper is still here, we should see him before long.” <br /><br /> I grinned to myself. Gill always began a mission with strict, by-the-book radio etiquette. But after the first thirty minutes or so—or perhaps it was once we were out of sight of the carrier, I don’t know—he would simply go informal, using last names and sometimes even first names. That’s one thing I really appreciated about Lieutenant Gill: he was straight-laced and buttoned-down when the situation required it, but otherwise he was just down-home. <br /><br /> I felt the same about Lieutenant Jones, who was in overall command of VF-5. He inherited the squadron back in March when our old skipper got called back to the States. I wasn’t sure about Jones when he first took over the squadron, but he turned out to be a swell guy and a great pilot.</div><div><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE7ns1ZKJyx564JSLhjiZsqNdYeClXlUE9UYkZgAsLXYxTwNDV3JjzdvUFu15Insv9s7H16QHw2anR7U0m1XQyGPn1T8hKdA3NOYUqs9LItYeFGCtIir4L4yG5k1vVDxe4v2nGQrx_OscI3Rvux-HPwO8QqfI2UUI6OvEoQp766gphEOubiIH6h9Qr/s225/VF-5_Yorktown_Fighting_Hellcats.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE7ns1ZKJyx564JSLhjiZsqNdYeClXlUE9UYkZgAsLXYxTwNDV3JjzdvUFu15Insv9s7H16QHw2anR7U0m1XQyGPn1T8hKdA3NOYUqs9LItYeFGCtIir4L4yG5k1vVDxe4v2nGQrx_OscI3Rvux-HPwO8QqfI2UUI6OvEoQp766gphEOubiIH6h9Qr/s1600/VF-5_Yorktown_Fighting_Hellcats.jpeg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>VF-5 Insignia, circa 1944</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div> I scanned everything again. Instruments normal, no sign of the snooper. Looking for that Jap scout plane reminded me of an argument I had when the Yorktown was anchored at Majuro in the Marshall Islands about ten days ago. <br /><br /> Mac had copped a jeep from the motor pool, so he and I were touring the island, exploring the buildings and defensive emplacements the Japanese had constructed when the island was theirs. We ran into a black-shoe lieutenant named Ray Wilson. Wilson was assigned to the USS New Jersey, one of the Task Force 58 Iowa-class battleships. He seemed like a pretty good guy, so we invited him to tour with us. We got to talking about TF-58’s next target—Hollandia. It was supposed to be a secret, but the rumors of the upcoming operation were everywhere. <br /><br /> “It’s a good thing Mitscher is sending battleships to protect your carrier when we hit Hollandia. You’d be pretty helpless without us as an escort,” he said confidently. <br /><br /> “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard in a long time. You’re nuts, Ray,” I said. “What are you talking about?” <br /><br /> “Really, Lou, think about it: the Yorktown’s biggest gun is, what, a five incher? That’s a popgun compared to the armament on my ship. The New Jersey can throw a sixteen inch shell twenty-five miles. And scuttlebut says the Japs are mounting eighteen-inchers on their big battleships. Your carrier would not last five minutes in a surface engagement.” <br /><br /> McClelland laughed. “Hey, Ray, haven’t you ever heard of Pearl Harbor?” <br /><br /> “Of course, flyboy. What’s that got to do with anything?” <br /><br /> “Carrier-based aircraft made mincemeat of the battleships.” <br /><br /> “That’s just because it was a dirty sneak attack.” <br /><br /> “No, it’s because a carrier can hit your battleship from three hundred miles away, long before the carrier is in range of your sixteen inchers.” <br /><br /> I grinned at Wilson. “He’s right, Ray. How many battleships engaged at Midway? None of them ever came close to firing a shot at another ship. They were too busy fending off aircraft. And who scored at Midway? It was the carriers. Your big boat is good for shore bombardment and for providing an anti-aircraft screen. But other than that, the day of the battleship is over. We’ll hit you before you even know where we are.” <br /><br /> He didn’t like hearing that, but it’s true. The brass ring of naval warfare has transformed into a contest to find and sink the enemy’s carriers before he finds ours. That’s why we had to find that snooper before he found the Yorktown.</div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ZFa418DA2aWniozxxrL7jFT_9lO4-LjLQFnT-U8gx6eu67z8GKC8toP_40NqU76-pcoMI9eWkXqFnG0TYLDQBnHgRzy7yzIS0ctO5hkbqDkK55Both3f1ht5ybTzZVdNOvqQfdFDvF1ub2hHQGk-yH6i5-Z38BYW0_xypFztZ_nmclHPHDPURe8W/s1500/Logbook.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1154" data-original-width="1500" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ZFa418DA2aWniozxxrL7jFT_9lO4-LjLQFnT-U8gx6eu67z8GKC8toP_40NqU76-pcoMI9eWkXqFnG0TYLDQBnHgRzy7yzIS0ctO5hkbqDkK55Both3f1ht5ybTzZVdNOvqQfdFDvF1ub2hHQGk-yH6i5-Z38BYW0_xypFztZ_nmclHPHDPURe8W/w400-h308/Logbook.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Lewis Cobb's Pilot Log</i></td></tr></tbody></table> Skipper banked left in a standard two-minute turn, and I goosed the throttle a bit to stay on his wing. We’d reached the edge of our patrol sector, and he was turning back into it for another pass. I looked over and saw Boze and Mac expertly maintaining station on the other side of Gill, keeping a tight formation. It made me proud to be part of this group of skilled, professional pilots. <br /><br /> Making another scan of my instruments and airspace, I observed scattered clouds below, down around ten thousand feet. The view from up here was really swell—a broad expanse of blue, punctuated by a few cotton-ball clouds scattered across it. As the afternoon was drawing on, the sea to my west glittered with reflected sunlight. Beautiful. <br /><br /> Suddenly I caught something out of the corner of my eye. I focused in that direction, but could not detect what attracted my attention. I scanned my instruments again and all around me. Then I looked back toward where I thought I’d seen something. There it was! By chance I was looking in the right direction when a dark dot appeared against the white of one of the scattered clouds, traversing it. I would have never picked it out if it had not been against the whiteness of the cloud. Against the backdrop of the dark sea, the aircraft was almost invisible. <br /><br /> I keyed my mask microphone. “Tallyho! This is BLUE 3. Two o’clock down, maybe four miles, one Betty, angels fifteen.” <br /><br /> After a moment, Gill responded. “BLUE 3, this is BLUE 1. Negative, negative, I don’t see anything, Lou.” <br /><br /> “He was silhouetted against a cloud, sir. Look! There he is again!” <br /><br /> “Ah, roger that, now I got him. BLUE Flight, this is BLUE 1, acknowledging one Betty. <br /><br /> “Boze, Lou and I are engaging him. You and Mac keep your eyes open. He could be a decoy. Might be a second one down on the deck that we’re not supposed to see. I reckon he might even have fighter cover, so stay sharp.”</div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8aNZ-EFYaXehZtEN9-mvkq9aByxnoDjhbnNWap54T0ClJnarjeet5A3a067GKZW2j89nKQHr23wzMna5BHmDmvMbWqvOGQWqs7UUfh4vaQCiHFzlAX0fGGQIv065rWPSeIt_E81iIUaaCkRqOEZvR7SPF9z7hRqtZrK6fKxiJyve6vqptRfBvkPiC/s1005/G4M-45s.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="311" data-original-width="1005" height="124" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8aNZ-EFYaXehZtEN9-mvkq9aByxnoDjhbnNWap54T0ClJnarjeet5A3a067GKZW2j89nKQHr23wzMna5BHmDmvMbWqvOGQWqs7UUfh4vaQCiHFzlAX0fGGQIv065rWPSeIt_E81iIUaaCkRqOEZvR7SPF9z7hRqtZrK6fKxiJyve6vqptRfBvkPiC/w400-h124/G4M-45s.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mitsubishi G4M "Betty"</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> I reviewed what I knew about the Mitsubishi G4M as we prepared to jump him. The Betty was the Imperial Japanese Navy’s long range bomber. Fast and capable, it had a long range, high ceiling, and could carry a lot of ordnance. It was an excellent land-based scout plane. It was prickly, too, with deadly armament in the nose, tail, waist, and top, a mix of 20mm cannon and 7.7mm machine guns. But it couldn’t take much punishment. One hit could turn the thing into a flaming funeral pyre, a characteristic that resulted in American fliers nicknaming it the Zippo, after the venerable lighter. <br /><br /> Gill maneuvered until he could attack out of the sun, and I stayed with him until he rolled over into his dive. I orbited in a tight circle, ready to back him up if he was jumped by any fighters we had not seen. The Jap didn’t realize he was under attack until skipper started firing—then the Betty began jinking and dove for the deck. <br /><br /> Once skipper was clear I started my attack, only by now the Jap was ready and waiting for me. I could see the winking muzzle flashes coming from his tail and dorsal cannons and machine guns as he brought his weaponry to bear. The tracer rounds looked like bright fireflies, floating up toward me with deceptive slowness. As they drew nearer they seemed to gain incredible speed, flashing past in a deadly streak of light. I could sense some of his rounds striking home. To this day I’m not sure if I actually heard them hit, or maybe I imagined it as I felt the impacts on my Hellcat, but it sounded like pouring a handful of gravel into an empty metal bucket. <br /><br /> I sent my own fireflies back, triggering my starboard fifty cals. I was working a low angle deflection shot, leading him the way I used to lead ducks on the wing back home. As I roared past the bomber I saw that I’d scored a lucky hit on the dorsal cannon. The gunner was limp, face down, probably held in place by his shoulder harness. <br /><br /> Flying under the bomber, I banked to the left and did several fast rolls to throw off his waist gunner’s aim as I put some distance between us before climbing for a second pass. I pulled into a climbing turn and saw Lieutenant Gill pop out of a cloud beneath the diving Betty. He rolled right behind the bomber and leveled out, triggering his guns. He was scoring hits on the bomber’s starboard wing. Even from where I was, I could see he was chewing off pieces of it. The Betty began trailing smoke momentarily, and then the whole aircraft caught fire. Skipper followed it down, recording the kill on his gun camera. <br /><br /> We rejoined Boze and Mac at twenty thousand feet. For the next several hours our patrol was uneventful as we crisscrossed the sector. Nothing but clouds and the deep blue sea. Toward the end of our patrol period a layer of stratus clouds developed just above us. <br /><br /> Gill keyed his mic, “Boze, you and Mac climb up to thirty angels. See if you can get above the layer. I want to make sure nothing is sneaking past us, shielded by those clouds.” <br /><br /> “Aye, aye, Skipper. Climbing to thirty.” <br /><br /> In a few minutes Lieutenant Bozard radioed that the layer only went up to twenty eight, and that the sky was just as empty up there as it was down below. Thirty minutes later it was time to return to the ship, and the four of us formed up together.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuwB0bwN_c52c7JJ4o5rLyXOBWStZgP-4u7d-Ze1DOowTq9E1lM-jFrYcSJcUgU2V02w0DlzplYG-rO3NYsdeCiPz6ZGhE6oulDRLX4m6DmAtrVvocNzq0nunEgVEUwvF6Sp0QspY1InruaCaMhVBf_x39Y34hpMCEKBeGJKpWnnI-e8qophD8gYA_/s2498/Lou%20and%20Buddies.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2498" data-original-width="2000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuwB0bwN_c52c7JJ4o5rLyXOBWStZgP-4u7d-Ze1DOowTq9E1lM-jFrYcSJcUgU2V02w0DlzplYG-rO3NYsdeCiPz6ZGhE6oulDRLX4m6DmAtrVvocNzq0nunEgVEUwvF6Sp0QspY1InruaCaMhVBf_x39Y34hpMCEKBeGJKpWnnI-e8qophD8gYA_/w320-h400/Lou%20and%20Buddies.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ensign Lewis M. Cobb (on left) and friends</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div> “Lou, are you picking up the YE radial? That Jap must have clobbered my antenna, because I got nothing.” <br /><br /> “Skipper, I’ve got the Yorktown’s YE at one-hundred-five degrees.” <br /><br /> “Roger that. One-hundred-five. Thanks.” <br /><br /> A few minutes later I noticed Lieutenant Gill staring at my Hellcat. He motioned for me to stay put and then fell back a bit, circling under me. “BLUE 3, you’ve got a little road rash. I can see some damage to your tail. You must have caught a little lead from that Betty. How do your controls feel?” <br /><br /> I waggled my wings and used the rudder to slew it back and forth, checking the yaw, pitch, and roll. It felt fine. “Pretty normal, sir. The aircraft seems responsive.” <br /><br /> “Okay, good. That Betty must not have hit anything important.”</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">**********</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://chcobb.blogspot.com/2023/03/the-hollandia-combat-air-patrol.html" target="_blank">Chapter 1</a></span></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://chcobb.blogspot.com/2023/03/the-hollandia-combat-air-patrol-part-3.html" target="_blank">Chapter 3</a></h3><div>**********</div></div><div>[Editor's Note: <i>Stay tuned for Chapter 3, to be posted in several days.</i> <i style="text-align: center;">If you are wondering how much of this story is true, and how much is fiction, I will post an epilogue after chapter 3 explaining what was actual history, and what was fiction. Most of it is history.]</i></div><div><i style="text-align: center;"><br /></i></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><b>Photo Credits:</b></h3><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>Ensign Cobb: </b>Cobb family collection</li><li><b>Mitsubishi A6M Zero:</b> https://wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Zero_11_on_China.JPG</li><li><b>Mitsubishi G4M "Betty"</b>: Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=848915</li><li><b>Pilot's Logbook: </b>Cobb family collection</li><li><b>VF-5 Insignia</b>: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/7/78/VF-5_Yorktown_Fighting_Hellcats.jpeg/68px-VF-5_Yorktown_Fighting_Hellcats.jpeg</li></ul></div>C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000702248277348099.post-83364628755939684032023-03-04T19:08:00.011-05:002023-03-11T17:48:57.889-05:00The Hollandia Combat Air Patrol<div class="separator"><br /></div><h1 style="text-align: center;">The Hollandia Combat Air Patrol: Chapter 1</h1><h3 style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://airandspace.si.edu/visit/udvar-hazy-center" target="_blank">Udvar-Hazy Center, National Air and Space Museum</a></h3><h4 style="text-align: center;">March 19, 2006</h4>They wheeled me in, but I didn’t like it. I wasn’t accustomed to being wheeled anywhere. But, having worn out my knees backpacking with my sons several years earlier, I knew I’d enjoy the museum much more if I wasn’t hurting. Hence, this blankity-blank wheelchair. But still… <br /><br /> The three of us are at the Udvar-Hazy Center, near Dulles airport. It’s got a great collection of aircraft, including the space shuttle Discovery and a supersonic Concorde. The late model aircraft are all very impressive with their GPS capabilities, computers, fly-by-wire controls, and over-the-horizon standoff weapons. But I have to admit as an old fighter pilot, I kind of consider the standoff weapons to be a form of cheating, far removed from looking at your enemy through a gun sight, up close and personal. <br /><br /> I was told the museum had a selection of World War 2 aircraft, and I’m looking for a particular one—a Grumman F6F, officially and affectionately known as the Hellcat. That old warbird and I went through a lot together from ‘43 to ‘45. When you survive intense combat with a close friend, tracers zipping past like harbingers of death, flak exploding and peppering your fuselage like hail on a tin roof, you bond together pretty doggone close. I was pretty bonded to my Hellcat back in the day. <br /><br /> We wandered through the museum enjoying the modern aircraft on display, beautiful aluminum and composite marvels of ingenuity and engineering, but before we knew it we were being stalked by a couple of the volunteer museum workers, several older fellows. Apparently they noticed the Hellcat insignia on my baseball cap.<div> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj284qY6EMqulU7l8zFsiWaLtFXcXQdWCsLAFwlxL9HrVbBsWwoy8660gaUBYQUHMR-3Ez1LjbFaYpetVLlnK9dc3R-BpVBs_khvQ40Zj_i_8flf_yzVvBm3TNWM-9cdG41CddUEk-gqOi4ZEe_qB2hSeY7MpJa2s0HynB8fq1u47o5ETM7_SPrhxng/s2272/159_5992_r1.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2272" data-original-width="1704" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj284qY6EMqulU7l8zFsiWaLtFXcXQdWCsLAFwlxL9HrVbBsWwoy8660gaUBYQUHMR-3Ez1LjbFaYpetVLlnK9dc3R-BpVBs_khvQ40Zj_i_8flf_yzVvBm3TNWM-9cdG41CddUEk-gqOi4ZEe_qB2hSeY7MpJa2s0HynB8fq1u47o5ETM7_SPrhxng/s320/159_5992_r1.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Dad, the Hellcat, and the wheelchair</i></td></tr></tbody></table> “Sir, if you don’t mind my asking, did you actually fly a Hellcat in the war?” <br /><br /> “Yes, I was deployed to the Pacific—three tours.” <br /><br /> “What squadron?” <br /><br /> “VF-5, on the Yorktown in ‘43 and ‘44, and VF-30 on the Belleau Wood in ‘45.” <br /><br /> So for the next ten minutes or so we swapped war stories. They were Vietnam vets, a little younger than me. It was fun to compare notes, but after a few minutes they had to attend to other duties and we continued exploring. <br /><br /> “Ah, there she is,” I said, pointing at a Hellcat suspended from the ceiling. “Well, I’ll be! Look at that! It’s one of the Yorktown birds,” I said. “See the diagonal stripe on the tail? That’s what distinguished the Yorktown squadrons. Man alive, does that bring back memories!” <br /><br /> I studied the aircraft, struggling just a little with the surge of emotions it provoked. The ‘Cat had been declawed—the six 50 cals had been removed. Its paint job was fresh. It had a couple of minor dents in the fuselage but no battle scars that I could see. The Grumman F6F was a beautiful airplane, one of the finest fighters of the war. It had a 19:1 kill ratio, and was credited with over 5200 kills, more than any other aircraft during the war.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaepzLlMCLtiYDkHrw-hbARwDVKWEKCJUyHIC5365f0rWfMyJ7w4m82stOHuTJMs_ULOpnIJWgPZ1TxmemGOBRvvrcCsfvSGu7jtVU_brbUsYRoZf64zdY7kh_ApRVlQTvPFhmydBdyFAQuUJHevBkjjfhh1zt2iBhPDjGYPisJ0FE2FxZbJVSit5E/s2000/Cockpit%20Shot.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1598" data-original-width="2000" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaepzLlMCLtiYDkHrw-hbARwDVKWEKCJUyHIC5365f0rWfMyJ7w4m82stOHuTJMs_ULOpnIJWgPZ1TxmemGOBRvvrcCsfvSGu7jtVU_brbUsYRoZf64zdY7kh_ApRVlQTvPFhmydBdyFAQuUJHevBkjjfhh1zt2iBhPDjGYPisJ0FE2FxZbJVSit5E/s320/Cockpit%20Shot.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Lewis M. Cobb in his Hellcat</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div> So I’m sitting in that blankity-blank wheelchair, studying that Hellcat, and I start noticing an odd smell. I sniffed a couple of times, shook my head. “You boys smell anything odd?” <br /><br /> My boys looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. “No, Dad,” replied my eldest, “I don’t smell anything odd. What’s it smell like?” <br /><br /> I glanced over my shoulder at them. “Avgas,” I muttered. I looked down at the museum guidebook on my lap to see where they acquired this particular Hellcat. But what I saw, strapped to my right leg, was my old pilot’s kneeboard! Confused, I looked back up at the Hellcat, but found myself looking at a grey bulkhead and a chalkboard full of strike and combat air patrol (CAP) flight assignments. My name was written in one of the slots. <br /><br /> “What?” I exclaimed. Feeling disoriented, I turned around looking for my sons. Not only had they disappeared, but the whole museum was gone. <br /><br /> “What’s what? Didn’t you hear the man? He said, ‘Pilots, man your airplanes!’ So, get off your butt, Cobb, and let’s go.” The fellow grabbed my arm and pulled me out of my wheelchair, only it wasn’t a wheelchair, but one of those comfortable seats in the pilots’ ready room. <br /><br /> I looked at his face, and the hackles on my neck stood up. Shocked, I exclaimed, “Jonesy, it’s you! My word! I haven’t seen you in—” <br /><br /> “Of course it’s me, Slick. Who’d you expect, Betty Boop?” <br /><br /> “I—I don’t understand. What’s going on, Lieutenant?” <br /><br /> He grabbed his gear and headed for the door. “A war’s going on, Ensign, or haven’t you noticed? For crying out loud, quit the stupid act and let’s move, Lou. We’ve got CAP and radar has picked up a couple of inbound bogies in our assigned patrol sector.” <br /><br /> I grabbed my Mae West and my war bag and followed him out of the ready room onto the flight deck. My ears were assaulted with the discordant clang of the General Quarters gong, calling the ship to battle stations. <br /><br /> We ran toward our aircraft. I shouted to Lieutenant Jones, “What’s the formation, sir?” Lieutenant Jones had recently taken over as the skipper of our squadron. <br /><br /> He glanced sideways at me as we approached the F6Fs and stepped close. He put his hand on my shoulder and studied me. “Lou, are you okay? This isn’t like you. Do I need to call your alternate?”</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj48rF1r_89vVdDMWnvpJJAUZYR0pJAE_gO0h8aDU3eKSrZWrVsxmUneSIAeZUgw_xC8JFHirjlVGK3srHWymAQtPJp9qOoR41AEeMNvO41T2YDMbJMTky4AjTJ_I7XKeULXnLaZliPHsmoNK8kNOO4QfMHM6-v-l-k1oEqQ32--f02Q4aHCMk0wE4R/s1270/Young%20Cobb.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1270" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj48rF1r_89vVdDMWnvpJJAUZYR0pJAE_gO0h8aDU3eKSrZWrVsxmUneSIAeZUgw_xC8JFHirjlVGK3srHWymAQtPJp9qOoR41AEeMNvO41T2YDMbJMTky4AjTJ_I7XKeULXnLaZliPHsmoNK8kNOO4QfMHM6-v-l-k1oEqQ32--f02Q4aHCMk0wE4R/s320/Young%20Cobb.jpg" width="252" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ensign Cobb, 1943</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>The confusion faded from my consciousness and suddenly I was solidly in the moment, April 19, 1944. “I—no, I’m fine. I must have fallen asleep in the ready room, sir. I forgot to look at the assignment board, that’s all. Really, I’m fine, sir. Where am I in the lineup?” <br /><br /> “You’re good to go? You’re sure of it?” <br /><br /> “Ready and rarin’ to go, Lieutenant.” <br /><br /> He nodded. “Okay. I’m leading the Patrol Station CAP. Lieutenant Gill will be your skipper today—he’s the flight commander of the Intercept CAP, the BLUE team. You’re his wingman, and your call sign is BLUE-3. Lieutenant Bozard is leading the second section in your flight, and McClelland is his wing, call sign BLUE-4. BLUE FLIGHT is spotted right behind mine, so man your aircraft before Commander Crommelin chews us both out for holding up the parade.” <br /><br /> I nodded and trotted to my aircraft. It didn’t strike me as odd at the time, but somehow I knew exactly which plane was mine. I climbed up on the wing and punched the canopy release button under the windshield and, sliding the hood back, climbed into the cockpit.<i> One more time, Lou, you can do this</i>, I told myself. The<i> one more time</i> thing is just a survival tactic. It’s not helpful to think ahead and worry about the multiple strikes I am scheduled for the rest of the week. One day at a time, one sortie at a time, that’s all I can think about. <br /><br /> I ran quickly over all the controls, making sure every switch, lever, and control was in the proper preflight position. Plugging my headset in, I adjusted the VHF and UHF frequencies, and set the Nav receiver to the frequency of the day. After a moment, the command from Pri-fly came over the loudspeaker on the flight deck, as well as through my headset, “Fighters, start engines!” <br /><br /> I wiped my sweaty hands on my flight suit and waved to my plane captain, receiving a thumbs-up from him in return. I knew that he had half an eye on the airedales lying on the deck next to my wheels, ready to remove the wheel chocks on signal. The Yorktown’s flight deck was an excellent place for one’s head to be separated from one’s shoulders by a spinning propeller. Strictly disciplined choreography was practiced at all times in an effort to prevent accidents and stupid mistakes.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRD3YTD5lqKmzqq8Fk3Fcqg1PSd3-XBVtTTGjL4xEIyfZ4W9uMx2n36oewxNI4cX6KYbjUAj08gW8ZIqEGLMSiQRw5T8CxPZ4IpoYWLjIxE0bIT15TL4g59r7DnfIZauiYATFUMqUxc8latTEevecnstAlQ9kagOqZJA-HLhn3hPWJnITwJR4X6526/s1024/f6f-3-hellcats-aboard-uss-yorktown-cv-10-31-august-1943-80-g-k-14833-dbc642.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="651" data-original-width="1024" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRD3YTD5lqKmzqq8Fk3Fcqg1PSd3-XBVtTTGjL4xEIyfZ4W9uMx2n36oewxNI4cX6KYbjUAj08gW8ZIqEGLMSiQRw5T8CxPZ4IpoYWLjIxE0bIT15TL4g59r7DnfIZauiYATFUMqUxc8latTEevecnstAlQ9kagOqZJA-HLhn3hPWJnITwJR4X6526/s320/f6f-3-hellcats-aboard-uss-yorktown-cv-10-31-august-1943-80-g-k-14833-dbc642.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>F6F-3 Hellcat</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>The checklist for engine startup had become instinctive, and I could have run through it blindfolded without missing a lick. After setting the throttle and fuel mixture, I turned the supercharger switch to neutral, and turned on the battery and auxiliary fuel pump switches. I did a careful visual check around the prop, then looked again at my plane captain. He nodded, still giving me the green light, thumb still up. “Here we go again,” I muttered to myself and punched the primer switch, holding it for about four seconds before hitting the starter. <br /><br /> With a loud bang, followed by a guttural cough, the 2000 horsepower Pratt and Whitney belched black smoke, stuttered, then settled into a smooth 1000 rpm, firing on all eighteen cylinders. Oil pressure looked nominal, and the oil temp began to crawl toward its normal range. <br /><br /> There’s something about the raw power of that engine that gets your blood running. My nervousness evaporated, and I began to anticipate the mission. “Let’s get this show on the road! I hope there’s enough bogies for all of us!” I muttered to no one in particular. No one could have heard me anyway—by now the noise level of all those engines drowned out even your unspoken thoughts. <br /><br /> I studied the big marquis board on the side of the island, which informed me that the ship’s current heading was three hundred forty-five degrees, and the wind over the bow was forty-three knots. Finally, the command came over my headset, “Launch aircraft!”</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVMa7WU2ZjZlBa8q2QTt6rMRGY8mXK1eytjDgP7E-HRdV0sI4BKmn9l5yYNarrdhPqGqQPQ-fxFwrdlIqDUUayzFSQwFWx0BG90rmlhbFmbxh5AAspTdeXjYeXQWKBOFFUWEgPxbPXwkl3-TxoupdewFn3Qv6AUjt4nlVhCsLQt80HmuKuwkzCeyo5/s1024/grumman-tbf-1-avenger-of-vt-5-about-to-take-off-from-uss-yorktown-cv-10-circa-6ae7e3.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="771" data-original-width="1024" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVMa7WU2ZjZlBa8q2QTt6rMRGY8mXK1eytjDgP7E-HRdV0sI4BKmn9l5yYNarrdhPqGqQPQ-fxFwrdlIqDUUayzFSQwFWx0BG90rmlhbFmbxh5AAspTdeXjYeXQWKBOFFUWEgPxbPXwkl3-TxoupdewFn3Qv6AUjt4nlVhCsLQt80HmuKuwkzCeyo5/s320/grumman-tbf-1-avenger-of-vt-5-about-to-take-off-from-uss-yorktown-cv-10-circa-6ae7e3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Grumman Avenger TBF</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>When launching a full strike, the fighters are always spotted farthest forward, because they don’t require much of the deck to achieve take-off speed. By the time the fighters have launched, there’s enough deck space for the heavily laden torpedo bombers, and last of all the dive bombers, to lift off as long as there’s a stiff breeze over the bow. Since our flight was a CAP, there were just sixteen Hellcats spotted on the deck and we had plenty of take-off room. Not only did Pri-fly want us to get moving and check out the bogies, they also wanted us out of the way so they could recover the returning CAP. I could see those fighters orbiting overhead, waiting to land.</div><div><br /> Lieutenant Jones’ flight launched first. Once they were away, skipper—Lieutenant Gill—was next and then me. To my left I saw Gill’s plane crew pull his chocks and roll out of the way. The launch officer guided Gill to the centerline, where there was enough room for the deck crew to unfold and lock the Hellcat’s wings into flight position. Then the flight officer twirled his baton in a circular motion over his head, and in dramatic fashion, pointed it forward toward the bow. Gill gave it full throttle, stood on the brakes for a brief second, then the Hellcat leapt forward, going airborne before it reached the end of the flight deck. In a matter of seconds, I followed him. <br /><br /> Once I was in the air, I fastened my shoulder straps, closed the canopy, and plugged in my oxygen and my headset (which I had unplugged just before takeoff). Most people find it odd that we save all that fussing around until we’re airborne. The reason is simple: if something goes wrong with the launch and your plane goes in the drink, you need to get out of the cockpit lickety-split before the plane sinks. You’re not going to have time to undo all that claptrap before the plane submerges.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1-xilqXEhF9AH_r6mXM6K0IRiJ8-Ln5RtiNbwV9m-4DOJkJUTNAhK5WIzFFZEzDRy2_ZND9lPwnLI5MNy8VXzfO2mTl95Gc4Iwm57kjmE1vuIKlfGrQNgMuve6_Zivb3uAkWq1d-Jf0r4ioJV6jPk0pvTZXTQVjmGh8lat0K6V26p2lYsiRcab0QU/s1024/uss-yorktown-cv-10-1943-aerial-with-f6fs-46030e.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="805" data-original-width="1024" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1-xilqXEhF9AH_r6mXM6K0IRiJ8-Ln5RtiNbwV9m-4DOJkJUTNAhK5WIzFFZEzDRy2_ZND9lPwnLI5MNy8VXzfO2mTl95Gc4Iwm57kjmE1vuIKlfGrQNgMuve6_Zivb3uAkWq1d-Jf0r4ioJV6jPk0pvTZXTQVjmGh8lat0K6V26p2lYsiRcab0QU/w400-h315/uss-yorktown-cv-10-1943-aerial-with-f6fs-46030e.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>CV-10, the USS Yorktown</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>I joined up with Gill, just off his right wing. In less than a minute, Bozard and McClelland joined our formation on the other side of skipper. We ascended to 10,000 feet and orbited, waiting for the rest of the fighters in the CAP to form up. Once everyone had joined the party we separated, each four-plane group going to its assigned CAP station. Since we were flying the Intercept CAP, we climbed to 20,000 as we hustled to our assigned patrol station. We were the lucky ones: skipper’s assigned patrol area placed us right over the spot where the radar had detected the bogies.<br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>[Editor's Note: Stay tuned for chapter 2, coming in two days. If you are wondering how much of this story is true, and how much is fiction, I will post an epilogue after chapter 3 explaining what was actual history, and what was fiction. Most of it is history.]</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><h3 style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://chcobb.blogspot.com/2023/03/the-hollandia-combat-air-patrol-part-2.html" target="_blank">Chapter 2</a></h3>C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000702248277348099.post-70854824030747233352022-12-15T15:48:00.000-05:002022-12-15T15:48:08.952-05:00Psalm 70: Dialing 911On many mornings I enjoy having a somewhat extended (for me, anyway) time of reading the Bible. A cup of coffee, solitude, and the Scripture is a great way to start my day. But, sometimes life intrudes, cutting short or eliminating this favorite habit. Whether it’s my own lack of discipline to get up early or some emergency requiring my attention, sometimes there isn’t opportunity for that quiet time of reading, prayer, and meditation. <br /><br />Or maybe in the course of the day I am suddenly faced with a serious crisis needing immediate action in which there is no time to prepare, only to react. Whether it’s the former situation or the latter, sometimes all I’m able to do is send up a flare: “<i>God, help!</i>” <br /><br />The warrior-king David had his share of times like that, too. I know he did because he wrote about them in Psalm 70. In five short verses, his prayer begins and ends with a plea: <i>Lord, please <u>hurry</u> and help me!</i> David provides reasons why he needs a 911 immediate response from God: there are enemies trying to kill him, people trying to hurt him, and some who are rejoicing in his troubles, seeking to humiliate him. <br /><br />In David’s snapshot prayer, he asks that his tormentors be turned back and dishonored, and he prays that those who seek God would rejoice with gladness, and that God would be glorified by his people. His emergency request ends with a humble confession that he needs God’s deliverance, and he needs it <i>now</i>. <br /><br />Commentators note that Psalm 40:13-17 constitutes an almost word-for-word repetition of Psalm 70, and that Psalm 71 is also very closely related to Psalm 70. Both Psalm 40 and Psalm 71 are longer than the brief cry for help that composes the short, emergency telegram of Psalm 70. <br /><br />It’s a comforting lesson. In those crisis situations, when all there’s time for is “<i>God, help!</i>”, it’s enough: He hears and answers.C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000702248277348099.post-74236920121137755012022-12-06T21:01:00.000-05:002022-12-06T21:01:18.995-05:00The Outlander Chronicles Series<div class="separator"><div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRv6Hzqxmu-xooQhjstUpwmnDdW43KeSQl9g2IzHbHyCbJVNhUgiJIZs3s218wLwTSt9QKVfQy5_HKtupd7UqTyKHb76d2htvftvy6AK6Knls_4yCRBPZHJWU0WrjXxx16fgfy2I2bAjyuB1Tm74JROznmrVQTDXDS6JOnAtxqVdapwVIe6pc9KrJa/s943/outlander_600x900.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="943" data-original-width="600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRv6Hzqxmu-xooQhjstUpwmnDdW43KeSQl9g2IzHbHyCbJVNhUgiJIZs3s218wLwTSt9QKVfQy5_HKtupd7UqTyKHb76d2htvftvy6AK6Knls_4yCRBPZHJWU0WrjXxx16fgfy2I2bAjyuB1Tm74JROznmrVQTDXDS6JOnAtxqVdapwVIe6pc9KrJa/w127-h200/outlander_600x900.jpg" width="127" /></a></div><br />Set in the future, but not futuristic, the year is 2120 when the <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09N7LHNBG?binding=paperback&qid=1670376976&sr=8-1&ref=dbs_dp_rwt_sb_pc_tpbk" target="_blank">Outlander Chronicles</a></i> series begins. The global population is sliding south of eight million souls. Global warfare eighty years earlier had involved biological weapons; a near mass-extinction of the human population was the result. The diminishing, scattered population is inadequate to sustain any manufacturing, mining, electrical generation, refining, communications, or transportation. There are no governments, national or local. Separated by nearly a century from the world that was, the survivors’ knowledge of the old technologies has virtually disappeared.</div></div><div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">Here and there, tiny knots of population—the Townies—have coalesced, people banding together for safety. Opposing them are small gangs of violent raiders (Anarchs and Slavers), who make surviving in an already-intolerable environment almost impossible.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8P3b4BL3jkdY7ihGRuUB8EGyRS96HRe5GQVd5w62Q-sBMiz0DirjrtJNc4NpE3PynVNfWfU5FSYajpsK4XlTs_ebig07D1-I0mBu9omlrnRlR_EPlKFk7E6Y6phVYz2MvgvHiRn-ZK78xA168H8GpWHgkgIU3yiqwWBb5DaEXHzBaOXEIJ9cJOAqF/s700/Front%20Cover%20for%20the%20web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="429" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8P3b4BL3jkdY7ihGRuUB8EGyRS96HRe5GQVd5w62Q-sBMiz0DirjrtJNc4NpE3PynVNfWfU5FSYajpsK4XlTs_ebig07D1-I0mBu9omlrnRlR_EPlKFk7E6Y6phVYz2MvgvHiRn-ZK78xA168H8GpWHgkgIU3yiqwWBb5DaEXHzBaOXEIJ9cJOAqF/w123-h200/Front%20Cover%20for%20the%20web.jpg" width="123" /></a></div><br />Surrounded by the rusting ruins of the former world, a young man (Jacen Chester) decides there must be more to life than avoiding death. He determines to challenge the status quo and to found a community committed to the rediscovery and revival of art, education, and technology. Jacen encounters a mysterious stranger (Hakim Abdul al Malik), an older man who ultimately becomes Jacen’s mentor, instructor, and protector. The two join forces to pursue Jacen’s dream. But they must first survive the predations of the violent groups, and their own deep disagreements with one another.</div><div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><i></i>The <i>Outlander Chronicles</i> series is a coming-of-age adventure in which Jacen’s most deeply held views on life, religion, and morality are severely challenged by the raw, bleeding edge of life and death. As his community grows and experiences tragedy and disastrous setbacks, Jacen’s developing leadership skills are put to the test. <br /><br />Book #1, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Outlander-Chronicles-C-H-Cobb-ebook/dp/B006ERKU0I/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1670376976&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Outlander Chronicles: Phoenix</a></i>, chronicles the beginning of the relationship between Jacen and Hakim, and the growing community they establish. <br /><br />Book #2, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07DQ8969L?notRedirectToSDP=1&ref_=dbs_mng_calw_1&storeType=ebooks" target="_blank">Outlander Chronicles: Pegasus</a></i>, traces the community and the many challenges and heartaches they face as they travel toward their chosen destination near the ruins of Denver, Colorado.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGTFcJrbO9l1A2J_mikki8_fE8xdtWhSUlfVsx-h9-OnrV2Vn16W6pEQh--QGnLRsYcCaXfeuTAk10dABfxDtXeRJ520olNFekLNfp0oE018WZ6AMakXvS9AJVXenV5iop5F2A7r6XgVFPhb-JMKbMV83AIAY2qguIORnWjNbMTNtsXn5AHMPc6gW8/s821/Kindle%20Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="821" data-original-width="513" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGTFcJrbO9l1A2J_mikki8_fE8xdtWhSUlfVsx-h9-OnrV2Vn16W6pEQh--QGnLRsYcCaXfeuTAk10dABfxDtXeRJ520olNFekLNfp0oE018WZ6AMakXvS9AJVXenV5iop5F2A7r6XgVFPhb-JMKbMV83AIAY2qguIORnWjNbMTNtsXn5AHMPc6gW8/w125-h200/Kindle%20Cover.jpg" width="125" /></a></div><br />Book #3, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/098488758X?ref_=dbs_m_mng_rwt_calw_tpbk_2&storeType=ebooks&qid=1670376976&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Outlander Chronicles: Icarus</a></i>, records Jacen’s and his community’s response to a horrific disaster, as well as the dangers of employing technology not fully understood. <br /><br />The <i>Outlander Chronicles</i> series is available on<a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09N7LHNBG?binding=paperback&qid=1670376976&sr=8-1&ref=dbs_dp_rwt_sb_pc_tpbk" target="_blank"> Amazon</a> in both Kindle and print formats, as well as from your local independent bookseller (through the Ingram catalog). Signed copies are available from the <a href="https://doorwaypress.com/?page_id=34" target="_blank">Doorway Press</a> store. See all the C. H. Cobb novels at my <a href="https://chcobb.com/" target="_blank">website</a>.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwzaAPU_NOg6-WbihcCIjR-l98vsb4x6vkclAlSU2UpXKIrHVdW_ujMSC91jGQ2d3M0MlnDrtGTRIssRVrd6MUN4aS5t3qw24RmViNODxCmieQmxxrzOLMtZ_ZoMCPN9cdIPgkhpqGEkCl45Ac3SwrYh9RjlwuHF1qgRLj6WC6vGOU--7q--Z2NPiT/s821/Kindle%20Cover.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br />C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000702248277348099.post-2215856270401572952022-11-18T22:01:00.001-05:002022-11-19T10:26:57.683-05:00Book Review: Shattered Sword: The Untold Story of the Battle of Midway<p> Review of <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Shattered-Sword-Untold-Battle-Midway/dp/1574889230/ref=tmm_hrd_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1668826005&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Shattered Sword: The Untold Story of the Battle of Midway</a></i>, by Jonathan Parshall and Anthony Tully.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJOKskJ98waRijC2xqrkuLwh079fU8nuxzr8riIadfPIYm0NA4nvyELBh_tUV3NtsqaOIMQXvD6OBqET9BXoAD-Lb44e0yfLREFP6WzZQYHZw1opYYEJw00YDefMFgtZuzIwTZmXo1OgsT3szetFJbO_kUhZ18L76wZD_WDTXDXwnZRBPpqZ1Llw22/s2556/Shattered%20Sword.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2556" data-original-width="1706" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJOKskJ98waRijC2xqrkuLwh079fU8nuxzr8riIadfPIYm0NA4nvyELBh_tUV3NtsqaOIMQXvD6OBqET9BXoAD-Lb44e0yfLREFP6WzZQYHZw1opYYEJw00YDefMFgtZuzIwTZmXo1OgsT3szetFJbO_kUhZ18L76wZD_WDTXDXwnZRBPpqZ1Llw22/s320/Shattered%20Sword.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><br />I enjoy military history, especially when it’s wrapped around the events and happenings of World War 2. Usually, the author is trying to tell the story in a way both accurate and compelling, explaining and exploring command decisions and engagements, and the manner in which the battlefield itself, the action of individual units, and the vagaries of combat shaped the outcomes. <br /><br />But <i>Shattered Sword</i> is in a class by itself. The writers have an agenda much larger than most—they intend to correct the received narrative of the battle of Midway, an erroneous narrative that has held sway for half a century. Their comprehensive research, which relies heavily on Japanese primary sources, has proven that most, if not all, of the popular accounts of the battle are significantly flawed, especially as regards the ultimate question of why the American naval forces won. <br /><br />The book was a delight to read. The authors begin by delving deeply into the backgrounds of each of the principal characters, as well as the cultural ethos of the Imperial Japanese Navy. They explore the merits and demerits of each of the Japanese carriers and carrier aircraft. They expose the mind-numbing and initiative-stealing complexity of the overall Japanese battle plan for Midway. The entire process of preparing and arming the planes and spotting the flight deck for a strike is analyzed, down to the length of time a Zero’s powerplant needs to be warmed up in order to prevent damage to the engine upon launch. <br /><br />I found the parts on Japanese naval doctrine, carrier operations, damage control, and air defense to be fascinating. Spoiler: the study of Japanese carrier operations became a major piece of evidence in substantiating the authors’ claims regarding the flaws in the received narrative, evidence that is buttressed by photographs taken during the battle. <br /><br />The American side of the battle is also explored extensively, so the reader gets a sense for the simultaneity of the actions on the bridges and flight decks of ships on both sides of the conflict, as well as the strike and opposing defense aircraft. The reader is given precise timestamps (down to the minute) when the various decisions, communications, and actions were taken. <br /><br />The book includes charts and drawings showing the relative dispositions of the carriers and their escorts, and once the attacks begin the direction of approach of the enemy aircraft. Eleven appendices detail the names of the personnel, the order of battle, technical details of the carriers, and a host of other matters that will be a goldmine for any writers or researchers that come after Parshall and Tully. <br /><br />The book is fascinating, even gripping in places, exhaustively researched, and extensively documented. The authors successfully attain their agenda of correcting the record—conclusively in my opinion. <i>Shattered Sword</i> is the definitive resource for accurate information about the battle of Midway. Five stars, highly recommended.C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000702248277348099.post-46794611586441062812022-08-22T17:34:00.000-04:002022-08-22T17:34:17.536-04:00Shameless Plug!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8HpRpqwlHpeTZ7gBncvDkkSEPHjxaHGoqr30hK_FvRcBcqjupY8EZxiK6DGtMpAfdIqX6uq-BfDlrnFmQFojaQhXLwGPLtMC2TpLiBb8x8RL5ga0Si4pGfkITrH18HhC5mDgfDXdIknlVZBGw9Lkak3fY0m3jZ5uQ_xucDdp082yDWsKCBwRVcTmX/s1920/Freebie%20Ad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8HpRpqwlHpeTZ7gBncvDkkSEPHjxaHGoqr30hK_FvRcBcqjupY8EZxiK6DGtMpAfdIqX6uq-BfDlrnFmQFojaQhXLwGPLtMC2TpLiBb8x8RL5ga0Si4pGfkITrH18HhC5mDgfDXdIknlVZBGw9Lkak3fY0m3jZ5uQ_xucDdp082yDWsKCBwRVcTmX/w640-h360/Freebie%20Ad.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p>C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000702248277348099.post-4175325632999906202022-07-26T15:56:00.001-04:002022-07-26T15:56:29.318-04:00Book Review: Three views on The Millennium and Beyond <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Three-Views-Millennium-Beyond-Darrell/dp/0310201438/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2RLEKWKG2XLJA&keywords=the+millennium+and+beyond&qid=1658864352&s=books&sprefix=The+millennium+and+b%2Cstripbooks%2C93&sr=1-1" target="_blank"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Three-Views-Millennium-Beyond-Darrell/dp/0310201438/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2RLEKWKG2XLJA&keywords=the+millennium+and+beyond&qid=1658864352&s=books&sprefix=The+millennium+and+b%2Cstripbooks%2C93&sr=1-1" target="_blank"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwx2daClVDeN_RqSgokDAsYu6NQTL0E8_OfnHm-ruOop2gvsARTbxW6O8Q8GLGdUIgSdJFENRFXlPjWziil9PDJLbnkMs24E9yC30Z4_gLLP-jWszsIPz4u2XfAZ3n6-9CLS-DPtJE8f6yEMJQWwzCwCcNIQ-FJXhGGLOH46LNyd36Tyy-V_nPF7qj/s1201/mill.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1201" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwx2daClVDeN_RqSgokDAsYu6NQTL0E8_OfnHm-ruOop2gvsARTbxW6O8Q8GLGdUIgSdJFENRFXlPjWziil9PDJLbnkMs24E9yC30Z4_gLLP-jWszsIPz4u2XfAZ3n6-9CLS-DPtJE8f6yEMJQWwzCwCcNIQ-FJXhGGLOH46LNyd36Tyy-V_nPF7qj/s320/mill.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />This is an excellent book on what is fundamentally a very narrow question: is there an intermediate kingdom (a millennium) between the present age and the eternal state? The contributors chosen to represent their position (Kenneth Gentry for postmillennialism; Robert Strimple for amillennialism; Craig Blaising for premillennialism) are excellent scholars and skilled ambassadors of their particular take on the subject. <br /><br />Each contributor outlines his position on the issue, followed by responses from the other two scholars. The postmill view goes first (along with the responses), the amill view is second, and the premill view (the longest section by far) wraps up the consideration. The overall tone is irenic and gracious--the book contributes light on the topic rather than heat--something I really appreciate.<br /><br />Darrell Bock, the editor, writes an outstanding summary essay identifying the major interpretive issues that appeared repeatedly in the writing of the three contributors. This summary is excellent in its own right. In fact, I recommend reading the summary first, especially for those readers who are not very familiar with the debate. Bock does a good job of laying the issues out on the table and explaining their implications in a simple-to-understand format.<br /><br />A recommendation: don't speedread this book. Read it slowly and carefully, looking up and thinking carefully about the Scriptures the writers cite. I forced myself to slow down and study the book carefully--as a result, I have gained a great deal more understanding about all three positions. And this even though I was already familiar with the issues, have studied the Bible for over 40 years, and have a graduate degree in Bible. Five stars, heartily recommended no matter what your starting position might be on the millennial question.C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000702248277348099.post-76947282556259171602022-01-01T11:37:00.000-05:002022-01-01T11:37:23.894-05:00Book Review: Eric Foner's The Fiery Trial <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVREn7Vhof-urFUWUXPcNTp00FRZiE3zv1bnr4EHtmcOrkGf_t6IXC5j5zJ4i-yhcYMQQGHESIR4oEDCErw83p1AypBmCyj11FatFbMyXbKFifmjUTpa2TjklFk-I5sfOC8UUVWjMluhI/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="652" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVREn7Vhof-urFUWUXPcNTp00FRZiE3zv1bnr4EHtmcOrkGf_t6IXC5j5zJ4i-yhcYMQQGHESIR4oEDCErw83p1AypBmCyj11FatFbMyXbKFifmjUTpa2TjklFk-I5sfOC8UUVWjMluhI/w208-h320/Foner.jpg" width="208" /></a></div>Excellent book. <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Fiery-Trial-Abraham-Lincoln-American/dp/039334066X/ref=sr_1_1?crid=5KTSFBNED0NU&keywords=the+fiery+trial+abraham+lincoln+and+american+slavery&qid=1641054803&s=books&sprefix=The+Fiery+Trial%2Cstripbooks%2C99&sr=1-1" target="_blank">Foner traces the evolution of Abraham Lincoln's views</a> regarding slavery, emancipation, black suffrage, colonization (meaning, the opinion during his day that blacks should be relocated out of the country), and the civil and social equality of the negro. <br /><br />Several things stand out about this book. Foner unveils the gross and malicious racism of not only the southern states, but even the northern states. The Republicans were distinctly uncomfortable with the contradiction between the high ideals of the Declaration of Independence and the actual experience of the black population, but many were willing to live with that contradiction. The Democrats were fighting to preserve that contradiction, in many cases arguing that the blacks were either subhuman or too inferior to handle freedom (the growing popularity of Darwinism was used to buttress their argument, by the way). <br /><br />Foner teases out the factions (radical abolitionists, conservative Republicans, moderate Democrats, Unionists, etc) with great skill and copious documentation. He also makes clear the complexity and tension of the competing priorities of ending slavery while preserving the Union, keeping the border states from seceding, all the while defending the Constitution. Reading Foner provides a much clearer picture of the difficulties the country faced than does the modern progressive evaluation of American slavery. <br /><br />Once the gross sin of slavery was introduced into the colonies, the die was cast for a bloody reckoning in the future, a reckoning that the Declaration would exacerbate--because that document demonstrated that men knew what was right even if they chose not to do it. <br /><br />Reading Foner's <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Fiery-Trial-Abraham-Lincoln-American/dp/039334066X/ref=sr_1_1?crid=5KTSFBNED0NU&keywords=the+fiery+trial+abraham+lincoln+and+american+slavery&qid=1641054803&s=books&sprefix=The+Fiery+Trial%2Cstripbooks%2C99&sr=1-1" target="_blank"><i>The Fiery Trial</i></a> is a worthwhile education as to the morals and mood of mid nineteenth century America. Not only does it display the dark, sinful underbelly of our history, it also demonstrates that within the seeds of the American experiment were the tools of correction, the ability to right a gross injustice. <br /><br />Five stars--well worth the read. <br />C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000702248277348099.post-78601363153928972021-10-27T07:57:00.000-04:002021-10-27T07:57:27.922-04:00Book Review: Kidner's commentary on JeremiahThere are times that Kidner's words in<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Jeremiah-Kidner-Classic-Commentaries-Derek/dp/0830829350/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=Kidner+Jeremiah&qid=1635335572&s=books&sr=1-1"> this brief commentary</a> rise beyond mere explanations to profound observations. I was repeatedly delighted with his applications of biblical truth.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsr-37R4Xfau3NInx52VNoYk72_LE28uC71rZYnkTPmG21hwgMsc8p32JpRSKMTv-wHoTgg_5jt15jAXIahfhWUW-Zb0okTjSRv0122nwaESPskLxMHw5qx5I_MH_1x0wpIZbjq-PkYhU/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="218" data-original-width="145" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsr-37R4Xfau3NInx52VNoYk72_LE28uC71rZYnkTPmG21hwgMsc8p32JpRSKMTv-wHoTgg_5jt15jAXIahfhWUW-Zb0okTjSRv0122nwaESPskLxMHw5qx5I_MH_1x0wpIZbjq-PkYhU/" width="160" /></a></div><br />If you're looking for a technical commentary, this one isn't it. If you are a busy individual looking for a popular level commentary, something concise to keep you on the guardrails of responsible, orthodox interpretation, Kidner's commentary is what you need. The book of Jeremiah is fifty-two chapters long: an academic treatment would run to over 600 pages. Kidner does an excellent job with the text in 176 pages.<br /><br />For the layman, the turbulent period of Jeremiah's ministry can be very difficult to untangle from a historical perspective, a task made more difficult because the swinging door of Judah's throne is complicated by the use of multiple names for the same monarch (e.g. Jehoiachin is Coniah is Jeconiah; Shallum is Jehoahaz is Joahaz). The organization of the Hebrew text of Jeremiah's prophecy reflects that tangled sense. Kidner does a great job helping the reader to sort things out and place them in the proper historical context.<br /><br />Sometimes commentaries lose the big picture of the movement of the text, getting lost in arcane details. Kidner does an excellent job of tracking the overall direction of the text, never losing sight of its main thrusts, and pointing the reader to ultimate fulfillments in Christ. Five stars, highly recommended.C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000702248277348099.post-25374632743724487022021-09-05T19:21:00.002-04:002021-09-05T19:21:15.952-04:00Writing Update for Outlander Chronicles: Icarus, book three of the seriesThree years ago next month (October, 2018) I started writing <i>Outlander Chronicles: Icarus</i>. Within two months I gave up--the story just was not coming. A year or so later I gave it another brief shot, only to give up again. The story just wasn't working and I wasn't happy with what I had written. I pretty much gave up on a book 3 of the <i>Outlander</i> series.<br /><br /><div>After several years off from working on the <i>Outlander </i>series, finally this past January I picked up the tale again, pretty much starting from scratch, (although I was able to use some scenes from my earlier attempts with significant re-writing). <br /><br />Now I am a little over 1/3 of the way to my target word count of 100K, and I am excited about the tale--it's developing into a great story. <br /><br />I'm also a little nervous. Normally I know how I want the tale to end before I even start writing it. Not so with <i>Icarus</i>. This is the first novel I've written without being sure exactly how I'm going to "land the plane."<br /><br />I've often said that, as an author, I don't find out what's happening next in my tales until I actually write the scene. If you've read <i><a href="https://chcobb.com/?page_id=20" target="_blank">Outlander Chronicles: Phoenix</a></i>, you're aware of a pretty shocking event near the end of the book (no spoilers, please) (and by the way, some of my readers STILL haven't forgiven me!!). I did not know that event was going to happen until I was actually typing the words. It was unplanned.<br /><br />Not true with respect to the endings of my books. I know the ending when I'm writing the opening scene (although I haven't the foggiest notion of how I will get from 'A' to 'B').<br /><br />Right now, the ending of <i>Icarus</i> in my mind is a blank page. Guess I'll find out when I get there...</div>C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000702248277348099.post-54460739545433795422021-08-19T12:20:00.002-04:002021-08-19T12:20:50.653-04:00Book Review of Jim Newheiser's Marriage, Divorce, and Remarriage<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Marriage-Divorce-Remarriage-Critical-Questions/dp/1629953164/ref=sr_1_3?crid=37KO9VR4UZYHU&dchild=1&keywords=marriage+divorce+and+remarriage&qid=1629389090&s=books&sprefix=Marriage+Di%2Caps%2C161&sr=1-3" target="_blank"><i>Marriage, Divorce, and Remarriage</i></a> is a terrific book to use as a reference, or to read cover-to-cover.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjUIwnRzGIyVHG-2o4QeXtYYogggrCGOaGbxhuBGQ1eAofh7sibtx9uUNJsvcoKBuiFEmZhgYIXX04k_y7RkKMFCiuShtwCe1-k_RZmYS-UaCjVYPHkK1ztMvLeW0Ws9dCJIEuMOGWnNQ/s2048/book.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1367" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjUIwnRzGIyVHG-2o4QeXtYYogggrCGOaGbxhuBGQ1eAofh7sibtx9uUNJsvcoKBuiFEmZhgYIXX04k_y7RkKMFCiuShtwCe1-k_RZmYS-UaCjVYPHkK1ztMvLeW0Ws9dCJIEuMOGWnNQ/s320/book.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><br /> Newheiser's writing style is very accessible and clear. I'm tempted to use the first part of the book ("Part 1: Marriage") as a tool for pre-marital counseling. <br /><br />The book is comprehensive. It's hard to imagine situations arising which have not been somehow <br />dealt with in this volume. As such it is a go-to reference for Bible-believing pastors and counselors. <br /><br />Newheiser is also relentlessly biblical, and makes it clear when he's just offering an opinion as opposed to a clear biblical principle. He is very even-handed and gracious to those scholars who disagree with his interpretations of the texts. For instance, when it comes to the exception clause, he very faithfully represents and interacts with the arguments of those who see no exception at all. <br /><br />The book is organized in two major sections broken into seven segments: <br /><br />Part 1: Marriage <br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>A. The Foundations of Marriage<br /> B. Entering into Marriage<br /> C. Having a Successful Marriage<br /> D. Challenges in Marriage </blockquote><br />Part 2: Divorce and Remarriage <br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">A. The Foundations of Divorce and Remarriage<br /> B. Divorce and Remarriage Controversies<br /> C. Practical Questions </blockquote><br />Each of the forty chapters are titled in the form of a question (for example, chapter 12 is entitled, "What are the responsibilities of a husband"). This format enables Newheiser to deal very concisely with the particular issue. In my opinion, the expectations raised by the chapter titles are fulfilled by the content. <br /><br />Newheiser has made an outstanding and important contribution to the biblical counseling movement with this book. Five stars, highly recommended.<br />C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000702248277348099.post-12908115634142360292021-08-18T10:38:00.001-04:002021-08-18T18:25:12.255-04:00Psalm 44, and a prayer for Afghani believersOn first glance, Psalm 44 seems to have a conflicting message. It begins with praise for God’s work of delivering Canaan into the hand of Israel (vv 1-3) followed by a confession that the psalmist does not trust in himself, but in God for deliverance (vv. 4-8). <br /><br />But then the psalm takes a difficult twist in verses 9-19, as the psalmist complains that God has nonetheless rejected them (v 9), saying “You sell Your people cheaply” (v 12). God’s actions towards them seem to contrast with their continued faithfulness to Him (vv 17-18). <br /><br />In the final section (vv 20-26) the psalmist asserts their faithfulness (vv 20-21), even while <i>“for Your sake we are killed all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered</i>” (v 22). The psalm ends with a desperate plea, “<i>Arouse Yourself, why do you sleep, O Lord? Awake, do not reject us forever</i>” (v 23), followed by the petition, “<i>Rise up, be our help, and redeem us for the sake of Your lovingkindness</i>” (v 26). <br /><br />This is not what we expect to see. Why does God treat His people so, when they are seeking to be faithful? Derek Kidner’s comments on this seemingly conflicted psalm are excellent<br /><br /><blockquote>“The psalm is exploring the baffling fluctuations that have their counterpart in Christian history: periods of blessings and barrenness, advance and retreat, which may correspond to no apparent changes of men’s loyalty or methods. Although its picture of the sleeping Lord may seem naive to us, it was acted out in the New Testament, to teach a lesson which we still find relevant: cf. verse 23 with Mark 4:38. </blockquote><blockquote>But the crux is in verse 22, with the phrase <i>for thy sake</i>. The psalm does not develop it, but it implies the revolutionary thought that <b>suffering may be a battle-scar rather than a punishment</b>: the price of loyalty in a world which is at war with God. If this is so, <b>a reverse as well as a victory may be a sign of fellowship with him, not of alienation</b>.” [Kidner, Psalms 1-72, Intervarsity Press, 2008, p.187. Emphasis mine.] </blockquote>Paul cites Psalm 44:22 in Romans 8:36 and brings the psalmist’s complaint to its biblical theological conclusion, revealing God’s deeper purposes: “<i>Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? Just as it is written, “For Your sake we are being put to death all day long; We were considered as sheep to be slaughtered.” But in all these things we overwhelmingly conquer through Him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, will be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.</i>” (Romans 8:35–39) <br /><br />God was pleased to crush His own suffering Son on the cross (Isaiah 53:10), despite Jesus’ absolute faithfulness to His Father. Jesus Christ was led like a lamb to the slaughter (Isaiah 53:7), to pay for the sins of His people (Isaiah 53:4-6). But that was not the end of the story. By His death, resurrection and ascension to the right hand of the Father, Jesus Christ overwhelmingly conquered death and hell in order to save His precious people. And because of His victory, God’s people likewise overwhelmingly conquer, even in the face of death and intense persecution. <br /><br /><b>May our faithful God grant to the precious Afghani believers protection, shelter, and safety from raging lion who walks about, seeking to devour them. And when God in His wise and faithful providence determines not to grant temporal protection, may He give His people courage, strength, endurance, grace, mercy, and comfort as they faithfully bear their honorable battle-scars for His name’s sake. He will wipe away every tear. </b><br /><br />“<i>After you have suffered for a little while, the God of all grace, who called you to His eternal glory in Christ, will Himself perfect, confirm, strengthen and establish you.</i>” (1 Peter 5:10) <br /><br />C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000702248277348099.post-63618668301357652962021-07-13T12:48:00.000-04:002021-07-13T12:59:33.364-04:00Book Review: Voddie Baucham's Fault Lines<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIjhrpSUvA_HryGBo8QE9Pt_r7lPM9WVygsuVbK42qtxUtpQpXxMqoUAUCOOze2YoATNh-jsNknbiv5HI3JLp8UTWyeUEaoFYZvoEwvAk2K3OiDL52m3tIvANoHuuSBL3Id5fJmGOKrHU/s1247/Fault+Lines.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1247" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIjhrpSUvA_HryGBo8QE9Pt_r7lPM9WVygsuVbK42qtxUtpQpXxMqoUAUCOOze2YoATNh-jsNknbiv5HI3JLp8UTWyeUEaoFYZvoEwvAk2K3OiDL52m3tIvANoHuuSBL3Id5fJmGOKrHU/s320/Fault+Lines.jpg" /></a></div><br />Baucham’s book, <i><a href="Review of Voddie Baucham’s Fault Lines Baucham’s book, Fault Lines, is an indispensable guide to how the modern Social Justice movement is affecting the otherwise orthodox Christian Church in America. Heavily footnoted with plenty of primary sources, Baucham makes the case that America’s preoccupation with “antiracism” is not simply a social movement but an inherently religious movement, and that evangelicals are jumping on the bandwagon without perhaps realizing the origins, goals, and theology of the movement they are supporting. Frankly, in our current climate this is a book only a black man could write. As it is, Baucham is having to endure much criticism from all points of the compass for standing up and exposing the lies, the fallacies, the media exaggerations, the duplicitous statistics, and the religious nature and hidden agendas of Critical Race Theory and BLM. For example, Baucham walks through the latest examples of the shootings of black people by police, and using documented facts that are beyond dispute, eviscerates the narrative promoted by the media and BLM. He’s not shy about naming names and organizations of evangelicals who have capitulated to the modern cultural current, and he demonstrates that biblical truth is the real victim. In all cases, Baucham critiques by using the individual’s or organization’s own explicit, public statements. The Southern Baptist Convention in particular takes it right on the nose, as well as a number of popular preachers. The seduction of the antiracism movement is located in the fact that many of their particular concerns are indeed legitimate. There is a measure of racism in America (as there is everywhere). There are benefits that accrue automatically to the majority culture. Black people in America have suffered historically and have experienced oppression. These statements are true, but the conclusions and solutions which the Social Justice movement elicits from these observations are neither true nor helpful. The Social Justice Warriors are engaged in an argumentation involving major premise, minor premise, conclusion. A sample of their logic looks something like this: major premise: all white people are racist; minor premise: you are white; conclusion: therefore you are a racist. As constructed it is a logically valid argument. However it is a true argument only if both premises are true. But the major premise is false, and from a biblical perspective, slanderous. What Baucham shows is that if you accept the assumption that begins the Social Justice contention (i.e., the major premise), you will inevitably lose the argument. But in truth, those assumptions are terribly flawed (and unbiblical). There’s also a compression of history in the Social Justice thinking, as though it was only yesterday that slavery existed in America. There’s a willing blindness to the fact that that equality before the law for all races and ethnic groups has long been established in America. If you’ve been struggling with (a) knowing that there are forms of oppression in our society, but (b) sensing that the Social Justice Warriors have grossly overstated the problem and seem to be following a hidden agenda, then Voddie Baucham’s Fault Lines is the book you need to read. It is irenic in tone, accessible and well-documented. Five stars, highly recommended." target="_blank">Fault Lines</a></i>, is an indispensable guide to how the modern Social Justice movement is affecting the otherwise orthodox Christian Church in America. Heavily footnoted with plenty of primary sources, Baucham makes the case that America’s preoccupation with “antiracism” is not simply a social movement but an inherently religious movement, and that evangelicals are jumping on the bandwagon without perhaps realizing the origins, goals, and theology of the movement they are supporting. <br /><br />Frankly, in our current climate this is a book only a black man could write. As it is, Baucham is having to endure much criticism from all points of the compass for standing up and exposing the lies, the fallacies, the media exaggerations, the duplicitous statistics, and the religious nature and hidden agendas of Critical Race Theory and BLM. For example, Baucham walks through the latest examples of the shootings of black people by police, and using documented facts that are beyond dispute, eviscerates the narrative promoted by the media and BLM. <br /><br />He’s not shy about naming names and organizations of evangelicals who have capitulated to the modern cultural current, and he demonstrates that biblical truth is the real victim. In all cases, Baucham critiques by using the individual’s or organization’s own explicit, public statements. The Southern Baptist Convention in particular takes it right on the nose, as well as a number of popular preachers. <br /><br />The seduction of the antiracism movement is located in the fact that many of their particular concerns are indeed legitimate. There is a measure of racism in America (as there is everywhere). There are benefits that accrue automatically to the majority culture. Black people in America have suffered historically and have experienced oppression. These statements are true, but the conclusions and solutions which the Social Justice movement elicits from these observations are neither true nor helpful. <br /><br />The Social Justice Warriors are engaged in an argumentation involving major premise, minor premise, conclusion. A sample of their logic looks something like this: <i>major premise</i>: all white people are racist; <i>minor premise</i>: you are white; <i>conclusion</i>: therefore you are a racist. As constructed it is a <i>logically valid</i> argument. However it is a <i>true </i>argument only if both premises are true. But the major premise is false, and from a biblical perspective, slanderous. <br /><br />What Baucham shows is that if you accept the assumptions that begin the Social Justice contentions (i.e., the major premise), you will inevitably lose the argument. But in truth, those assumptions are terribly flawed (and unbiblical). There’s also a compression of history in the Social Justice thinking, as though it was only yesterday that slavery existed in America. There’s a willing blindness to the fact that that equality before the law for all races and ethnic groups has long been established in America. <br /><br />If you’ve been struggling with (a) knowing that there are forms of oppression in our society, but (b) sensing that the Social Justice Warriors have grossly overstated the problem and seem to be following a hidden agenda, then Voddie Baucham’s <i>Fault Lines</i> is the book you need to read. It is irenic in tone, accessible and well-documented. Five stars, highly recommended.C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000702248277348099.post-19643543592353359772021-07-12T10:10:00.001-04:002021-07-12T10:21:43.570-04:00He's not a mere man, Mark 5:21-43There is an interesting incident recorded in Mark 5:21-43, in which a synagogue official begs Jesus to heal his dying daughter. While He is walking to the man’s house, a woman who was hemorrhaging blood touches His garment, creating a delay—a delay in which the man’s daughter dies. After speaking with the woman, Jesus continues on to the synagogue official’s house, and raises his twelve-year-old daughter from the dead. All three synoptic gospels contain the account (Matthew 9:18-26, Luke 8:41-56). <br /><br />I’ve always found this account interesting, imagining the agony that father goes through when he sees Jesus delayed by the woman, only to hear that his daughter has died. I have wondered how he responded to that fatal interruption. “If only this woman had not distracted the Teacher, my little girl would still be alive!” Did he then have faith that Jesus could not only heal, but restore life to the dead? The account does not make clear his reaction, other than that Jesus told him, “Do not be afraid any longer, only believe” (Mark 5:36). Jesus then goes on to bring the man’s daughter back to life. <br /><br />There’s an interesting side story to this, and it revolves around “touching.” There are several references to physical contact in the account. In 5:27, 28, and 30 are references to the fact that the woman touches Jesus. Verse 31 contains the disciples’ exasperated reaction to the affair. Once Jesus arrives at the synagogue official’s home, he takes the little girl’s hand. While Mark 5:41 does not use the verb “touch” it is obviously physical contact with her corpse. <br /><br />So what’s the big deal? It’s a little subtle, but it is significant. In Leviticus 15:17-27 Moses instructs the people that a woman with a discharge of blood is “unclean,” and anything or anyone who touches her during that time also becomes unclean. In Numbers 19:22 it is clear that ceremonial “uncleanness” is contagious. Anything an unclean person touches becomes unclean, and if someone else touches what the unclean has touched, they, too, become unclean. <br /><br />Were Jesus a mere man then He would have been made unclean by contact with the woman. As unclean, it is unthinkable that the power of God would have been present with Him to raise the little girl. And by the way, touching the corpse of the little girl would have likewise rendered Jesus unclean (Numbers 19:11). <br /><br />But Jesus is not a mere man. He is the Glory of God tabernacled among us, as John tells us:<i> “And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us, and we saw His glory, glory as of the only begotten from the Father, full of grace and truth.”</i> (John 1:14, NASB95). <br /><br />The word “dwelt” in John 1:14 is the verb form of the noun translated “tabernacle” in the LXX, the Greek version of the Old Testament. Jesus Himself is both God’s tabernacle and the final offering made there. And Exodus 30:26-29 tells us that the consecrated articles of the tabernacle are holy—and that <i>anything that touches them becomes holy</i> (Exodus 30:29). <br /><br />The fact that Jesus did NOT become unclean through His contact with either the woman or the little girl, but rather THEY were “cleansed” through contact with Him demonstrates conclusively that He is no mere man but rather God in the flesh. He is the One who is able to make the unclean, clean, and the broken, whole.C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8000702248277348099.post-85832278936227545062021-05-30T19:03:00.003-04:002021-05-30T19:54:32.660-04:00A Memorial Day Tribute<p> I suspect that any man on the front lines of heavy fighting in World War 2 came home somewhat surprised that he had survived. One of the things I admire about my dad and all those who flirted with death is that day after day and night after night they answered the call, strapped themselves in the cockpit or hunkered down in the foxhole and faced the same terrors again. And again. And again. And again.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQKwRMnCzT1vGfT6h0kigq-DRGZ8Rj4c9p8Rgp866uCBPd4HP5RJAI1mNSVp-zOUlXReyMt4d8hF0S_Jmmadyw_vHO3JdND2BPwPES3-5OetYuOuh4XdhgloBpacjSCT3u2CpeE2SBGV8/s500/Hellcat+Driver.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="331" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQKwRMnCzT1vGfT6h0kigq-DRGZ8Rj4c9p8Rgp866uCBPd4HP5RJAI1mNSVp-zOUlXReyMt4d8hF0S_Jmmadyw_vHO3JdND2BPwPES3-5OetYuOuh4XdhgloBpacjSCT3u2CpeE2SBGV8/s320/Hellcat+Driver.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>To all those men and women who have sacrificed so much, whether in WW2 or modern-day anti-terrorist operations--thank you. You have done your part to keep this country free and safe. I can only hope that those of us not in the military do our part as responsible stewards of the gift we've been given, a gift purchased by the blood, sweat, and tears of those who have served. My dad was one of those who served (1942-1966).</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHJ7s9kiFyzQUedJiXeErvPej-kr_dQhghpMsrv6pLZbNDjYjNHOmEf1rhe-1Ijjcr5IqK3jt2lUG69MF-3tVi4bJY11iKQtTXyR6Y5DN2fm843a7hrxrBxfqV06Hw2ymSTxVvGjIyf7E/s1000/_Bogart+and+his+babe+001.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="684" data-original-width="1000" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHJ7s9kiFyzQUedJiXeErvPej-kr_dQhghpMsrv6pLZbNDjYjNHOmEf1rhe-1Ijjcr5IqK3jt2lUG69MF-3tVi4bJY11iKQtTXyR6Y5DN2fm843a7hrxrBxfqV06Hw2ymSTxVvGjIyf7E/s320/_Bogart+and+his+babe+001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>During his first tour in 1944, Dad was aboard theYorktown (CV-10) flying with fighter squadron VF-5. During his second tour he was on the light carrier Belleau Wood (CVL-24) flying with VF-30. At this time in his career dad was flying the F6F Gruman Hellcat.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjat48Ya4I1YJl41I6pOx9eO2al_nVNR6Fbjwznfhnu3WRAZupbv36Edo1KT50lVbvZuU1tSm3sKvsFTDY5eK0PtZFEQurkmwoCH-N4PeMBlNsaWPkAHj-YOW_751aV6vRyPaARbm-AH80/s800/Hellcats_F6F-3_May_1943.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="368" data-original-width="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjat48Ya4I1YJl41I6pOx9eO2al_nVNR6Fbjwznfhnu3WRAZupbv36Edo1KT50lVbvZuU1tSm3sKvsFTDY5eK0PtZFEQurkmwoCH-N4PeMBlNsaWPkAHj-YOW_751aV6vRyPaARbm-AH80/s320/Hellcats_F6F-3_May_1943.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>It has been said that war is composed of a recurring cycle of days of boredom followed by moments of sheer terror. I think you'll see that in what follows below. It's an excerpt from my father's wartime diary during part of his second Pacific Tour, from February 1 to February 19, 1945. </p><p>[Note to those not familiar with carrier operations: the LSO is the Landing Signal Officer (you'll encounter this in the February 11th entry). He is a very experienced pilot standing on the carrier who observes aircraft in the landing pattern and "waves them off" if the deck is not clear or if the pilot is not "in the groove" for a safe landing.]</p><p>--------------------------</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizzRKES52b_xcFxIr7yro2oFPqCD1tmhXJZMF0okAJxnrjtbRh27Yu50IzgLsYIGSylQeUcdZ13LNyjXww1eI7xgD6SKb06r9tG3ByzInYJlMeAuTQrMXPdBDPurMUCkzCSazUnsgpCq8/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="591" data-original-width="740" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizzRKES52b_xcFxIr7yro2oFPqCD1tmhXJZMF0okAJxnrjtbRh27Yu50IzgLsYIGSylQeUcdZ13LNyjXww1eI7xgD6SKb06r9tG3ByzInYJlMeAuTQrMXPdBDPurMUCkzCSazUnsgpCq8/" width="301" /></a></div><p></p><p><b style="font-size: 12pt;">Thursday and Friday,
February 1 and 2, 1945, At Sea</b></p>Crossed the international date line so the date moved up one day today. We were paid today. Broke out the dice table, 20 of the boys put up $20 apiece and they form the syndicate which operates the board. I paid out all my money so the crap game doesn't worry me any.<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b>Saturday, February 3 -
Monday, February 5, 1945, At Sea</b></span></p>All routine days at sea so to save time & space I've combined 3 days on this page. During this period I have written over 20 letters. We refueled the cans on the 3rd. It seems odd to be steaming along through waters that were exceedingly dangerous this time last year. We passed within 50 miles of one Jap held island in the Marshalls. Passed Eniwetok our base by only 60 miles. We went within 200 miles of Truk, still Jap held. On the night of the 5th we had our first real GQ. Radar picked up a bogey which proved to be a cloud formation. During this period I & my team hasn't flown - just stood Cond. II.<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b>Tuesday, February 6,
1945, At Sea</b></span></p>Stood condition II today. Thought we might have some fun this P.M., our ship rec'd a report that a large number of planes were seen taking off from Truk by one of our patrol bombers nothing developed from this however. We had 8 planes up on CAP this PM. My team is next to fly. Gunndaker settled at the ramp and broke his hook off on the ramp, he went into the barriers. Smitty who had just landed and taxied forward of the barriers was still in his plane, Gunners plane smacked into the tail of his. Gunners plane is a washout, Smittys is badly damaged, neither pilot was hurt. We get in Ulithi tomorrow AM. Hope we get some mail.<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b>Wednesday, February 7,
1945, Ulithi Lagoon</b></span></p>Dropped anchor at about 1300. I have witnessed an impressing sight. Never on the face of the earth has such a fleet been assembled at one place as here in this lagoon. As far as you can see for miles around there are hundreds of ships. Ulithi is a typical atoll, very little land just a coral reef around a large lagoon.<br /><br /> The air group did not get mail though the ship did, sure makes me mad. This is about as poor a ship as I've ever seen. I have refrained from mentioning it prior to this because I thought things might change.<br /><br /> Tonight we received a shock, we are going to hit Tokyo Bay on a 2 day strike prior to a landing on Iwo Jima. This will be the first carrier strike on the Jap Homeland. Rather a dubious honor I'd say.<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b>Thursday, February 8,
1945, Ulithi Lagoon</b></span></p>Still no mail. With the knowledge of where we are going this no mail deal is really setting hard on the squadron. Morale is very low. I tried to go to the mail ship myself but was unable to get there. We have no movies, no mail, no shore recreation no sun bathing and no athletics, all this is sure adding up to a unhappy squadron.<br /><br /> On top of all this comes word that the skipper and the executive officer will not get to participate in the Tokyo strike due to the fact that they know too much to run the risk of falling into Jap hands. This is also bad because the squadron feels like this will be a suicide raid, secretly I'm afraid it is.<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b>Friday, February 9,
1945, Ulithi Lagoon</b></span></p>I spent all PM attempting to run down squadron mail with no success, there has been a foul up somewhere. It will be a long time now before we get mail.<br /><br /> Air Group and ship morale is very low, that's bad before a raid but it is strictly the ships fault. This is going to be a hell of a tour of duty unless changes are made.<br /><br /> We were briefed today on rescue facilities tough raid coming up. Sure would like to hear from my little girl. The letters we mail here won't be [mailed ?] for three weeks so it will be a long time before my little girl and the folks hear from me.<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b>Saturday, February 10,
1945, At Sea</b></span></p>Hoisted the hook about 1030. I might mention that I am once again in Task Force 58 we are in group one under my old captain Jocko Clark. This is a large task force.<br /><br /> We did not get our mail this A.M. so we have the long prospects of no mail. Ship had gunnery practice in the P.M. Landed our 2 replacement aircraft aboard around noon. Briefing every day on Tokyo Bay area. Have a full schedule tomorrow I have 2 flights.<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b>Sunday, February 11,
1945, At Sea</b></span></p>This is the darkest day I've ever had in my life. Young and Wescott were killed this AM on our first flight. We took off around 0700 on a strike against a spar towed by a CV. Young went in right after take off before he had rendezvoused. According to Lee who was right behind him he started his left turn and settled right into the sea, his plane blew up. Evidently he was working on something in the cockpit and just flew in. Wescott who was a spare was launched in his place. The hop went off OK and was 3 hrs & 1/4 long. I landed first, Curry got a waveoff, then Lee came aboard followed by Wescott, for some unknown reason, the deck crew held Wescott aft of the barriers and due to carelessness the L.S.O. gave Curry a cut with Wescott still aft of the barriers. Curry's hook pulled out on no. 5 wire and he crashed on top of Wescott. Wescotts death was merciful, the planes caught on fire immediately and Curry was very fortunate to get out unhurt.<br /><br /> Wescott's body was not saved as the planes burned for 15 minutes and finally had to be pushed over the side still burning. It was not Curry's fault at all nor was it Wescott's fault, it was the L.S.O. fault for giving Curry a cut, the LSO was busted down. Even if Curry's hook hadn't of broken he would have still crashed into Wescott.<br /><br /> Naturally Curry was all broken up and the Doc gave him some knock out pills and put him to bed. Team 9 was scheduled to fly again in the P.M. So with two substitutes Lee and I flew again, Lee didn't want to fly nor did I but I believe it was best we did.<br /><br /> This is the termination of team 9. We no longer have enough pilots for nine teams. The skipper since he does not have combat experience nor do none of his team has asked me to lead his 2nd section. Since I've lost my team, I don't care where or if I fly, I wouldn't have been prouder of my boys than if they were aces.<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b>Monday, February 12,
1945, At Sea</b></span></p>I can't realize Wescott and Young are gone. Curry is coming around OK. We have convinced him that it wasn't his fault. I have some awfully tough letters to write soon.<br /><br /> I flew a scouting CAP this PM with the skipper. I find that I have the first strike against Japan with him, we are assigned to 27,000 ft against air opposition if there are no air borne aircraft we have 4 important fields to strafe. I guess the skipper convinced them that he should be allowed to go in over Japan. Lee & Curry fly tomorrow.<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b>D-6, Tuesday, February 13,
1945, At Sea</b></span></p>I didn't fly today. Curry did however, and I'm glad because I was afraid he was going to be nervous. The Task Groups refueled today. The weather is getting cool.<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><b style="font-size: 12pt;">D-5, Wednesday, February
14, 1945, At Sea</b></span></p>Flew a 3 ½ CAP over the Logistic support group. No Bogies. Spent most of the day being briefed. We hit Japan on D-3 day, day after tomorrow, good night!<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b>D-4, Thursday, February 15,
1945, At Sea</b></span></p>Flew a 3 ½ hr. CAP with the skipper got a vector bogey which turned out to be a PB4Y-2 [??]. One other Group CAP splashed a Betty. Tomorrow is the big day, I'm in a VF sweep against Tokyo Bay area at 1055 big day ahead!<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b>Tokyo Raid, D-3, Friday,
February 16, 1945, At Sea</b></span></p>To tired to write much. 0-0 weather so strike wasn't very successful, very cold snowing in fact. The 4 of us shot down a Dinah the credit will probably go to the skipper & his wing man but we all had a hand in it. All of our boys returned safely. Will add more tomorrow am too tired to write now.<br /><br /> I couldn't believe it, there I was flying around in a lazy orbit off the coast of Japan gazing at the snow shrouded Fuji San [??], its the most beautiful mt. I've ever seen. I tallyhoed a Dinah and a Emily we got the Dinah but the skipper dropped the ball and let someone else beat us to the Emily. Because of extremely bad weather we did not attack the fields we were supposed to but were ordered to cover the rendezvous point while the other groups carried home the attack. Oscar kept popping down through the clouds but would not stay down long enough for us to engage them. Score for the squadron today was one dinah, 1 grace, 1 frank, and 1 oscar. Evenson was high with two. Extremely bad weather kept the task force from attack but also kept our planes from delivering a good punch.<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b>Tokyo Raid, D-2, Saturday,
February 17, 1945, At Sea</b></span></p>Same story, extremely bad weather kept the raids from being extensive. I flew a scouting CAP with Reber on my wing. Part of the time we were on instruments, never could we go above 500 ft. Snowed and rained all 3 ½ hr of the hop.<br /><br /> Aygher and Clark got in some good licks on a air strip 80 miles down the coast from Tokyo Bay, they met no opposition and succeeded in burning up numerous planes on the ground. All hands returned safely.<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b>Retirement, D-1, Sunday,
February 18, 1945, At Sea</b></span></p>Proceeding South today for our refueling rendezvous [off ] of Iwo Shima tomorrow. Weather some better. Flew a 3 hr. antisnooper patrol with Jake as a wingman. The Boys have got a good one on me, I requested permission to strafe a rock, yep old Eagle eye Cobb slipped up. While in my sector I noticed something on the surface of the water some 60 miles from the Task Group. I called the ship and they said they had no surface contacts in that area and for me to go and investigate. About 10 miles from the object I decided it was a Sampan under sail and requested permission to attack, almost immediately I realized it was nothing but a rock and shamefully informed the base as such. The ship had me turn on emerg. IFF and orbit it so they could get a fix on it and chart it. Can you imagine a lone rock in the middle of the ocean with no other land in sight? Dahms [??] shot down a Nick today.<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b>D DAY, IWO JIMA INVASION</b></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b>Monday, February 19, 1945, At
Sea</b></span></p>We refueled today while the Marines were landing on Iwo Jima. The baby flat tops furnished the air support. We may participate in it tomorrow.<br /><br /> Wonder of wonders we got mail today though not much. I heard from Helen and the Folks though so I am happy. Flew a CAP this PM, no excitement.<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">-------------------------</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Thanks for serving, Dad--you were a great example. Love you. Miss you.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_NS6Q-jY6yPKSXhK65SuH-y757gdTnazSMKY7TLXkOf_A1FJJrI2mquDcvEXecZonVuJbTr3OT6z9v6ua52HHhmNNuExeNTr4kSd7VSNapycRthdXzrJaWKewlc9gb6dYTYLrV3FsS-0/s500/The+Commander+and+his+Bride.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="500" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_NS6Q-jY6yPKSXhK65SuH-y757gdTnazSMKY7TLXkOf_A1FJJrI2mquDcvEXecZonVuJbTr3OT6z9v6ua52HHhmNNuExeNTr4kSd7VSNapycRthdXzrJaWKewlc9gb6dYTYLrV3FsS-0/w400-h266/The+Commander+and+his+Bride.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikGRATAe6w3aP5FvYONKK8Vb-fNWZI-zSkRXcESVDggDl7T4jfG4w_FE81y_4nQgM-r06nUOS320u9gb74ZFWpgeBLVa47gMtj0BArSN74STOPFYMs2Rz2tQfweRrmNnmDLR89CplnuII/s1000/Dad%2527s+Career.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="784" data-original-width="1000" height="502" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikGRATAe6w3aP5FvYONKK8Vb-fNWZI-zSkRXcESVDggDl7T4jfG4w_FE81y_4nQgM-r06nUOS320u9gb74ZFWpgeBLVa47gMtj0BArSN74STOPFYMs2Rz2tQfweRrmNnmDLR89CplnuII/w640-h502/Dad%2527s+Career.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>C.H. Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361171651965412236noreply@blogger.com0