For information call 760-470-9947 or Email at philipcd@philipcd.info
For information call 760-470-9947 or Email at philipcd@philipcd.info
There is no rhyme or reason how this section is setup because I will just be adding stories when I think of them
Force on Force 2005
As you can imagine, there needs to be a lot of security at a nuclear power plant. This was the case at SONGS (San Onofre Nuclear Generating Station). We were certified by the NRC (Nuclear Regulatory Commission. They had a specialized team called the CAF team which test various security systems by studying and then 'attacking' at given times. We had some very expensive 'Laser tag' systems at about $4,000 per set. We sure had a lot of fun.
During the 2005 FOF drills, we beat the NRC CAF team bad for the first 2 'attacks'. During the pre-drill briefing, the CAF team bet us they were going to win the 3rd. Their scenario was that good. Or so they thought.
The Drill Window (duration of the exercise) and nothing happened. Then, all of a sudden, the alarm went off and everyone went to their respective Posts. One of the Rovers outside the Protected Area took his post under a specific tree at the edge of the parking lot. As he took his position, he noticed the CAF team but didn't report it. Instead, he took a prone position and 'shot' one of the CAF team members. The rest of the attackers looked around and didn't see where the shot came from.
The Officer took aim and shot the rest of the CAF team which ended the exercise.
During the debrief, the head of the CAF team proudly announced that the CAF team won because we (Security) had broken the rules by having an Officer shoot outside the playing field. However, he was only out of range by a few yards. But...he was outside the field.
After they (NRC CAF Team) took the victory dance, I asked the Officer what he did in the military. His answer caused the NRC to give security the win because of the answer. Now try to say this with a very strong southern drawl.
I was a Marine, sir. A LONG RANGE SNIPER. My longest kill was ...... (well over a mile) They didn't have a chance.
This was taken when I played Santa for the CHP to a local After School Program. More pictures
I have been thinking about what else might be interesting to you and thought about a few things I wish I had done or learned during my younger days.
High School:
1. I wish I had taken a shorthand class. It would have been a great benefit for almost every job I had. But it was a girls class and boys didn't belong.
2. Home Economics. Cooking, cleaning, ironing, laundry, a little sewing and a few other things the the girls used around the house. Never realized how much it would have helped through the years.
The funny part is that one of the boys in the our class and a football team member took another all girls class: Typing. We all figured he was a little light i the loafers but never said anything. Finally someone asked him and he said "That's where all the girls are". The next semester the class was all boys which defeated the purpose.
After High School:
Over the years, I had an opportunity to take a few ASL (American Sigh Language) classes but never did. I really wish I had taken them and learned a little ASL. If you ever get the chance, go for it.
BUT BUT BUT
I have decided that I am getting close to ASL because I have coined the phrase PSL (Pet Sign Language). That's when you can 'just know' what the dog wants.
I made this at the woodshop.
Dear Skip
Based on our last conversation, I really hope that you take the time to read this letter.
There is no ulterior motive. It simply might shed some light on things. I was really hoping that you, Melinda and Sean would never need to learn about some of our family skeletons.
There is no other way of saying it. Your aunt Jacque and I grew up in a very racist home. My father, was raised outside Chicago, and really didn’t care either way; as long as someone treated him appropriately and with respect, he did the same. My mother, on the other hand, grew up in a very Southern environment. Deep South! I can remember being yelled at because I spoke to the black man working at the gas station. Mom would tell me “you don’t speak to those n&^%; they are here just to serve us”.
Growing up in the fifties and early sixties, I just thought that was normal. I really didn’t put things together until much later. Growing up I didn’t understand what she was saying or even why. We had one black student in my high school and mom told us we were not allowed to speak or associate with him. One of the reasons I didn’t play football was because he was on the team.
I remember a family trip we made from Virginia to Florida to see my grandmother. We stopped at Uncle Fred’s (my mother’s uncle) house in Montgomery, Alabama for a few days. After we woke up the first morning, Dad, Uncle Fred and I went to the golf course. I was too young to play but I got to go along. I was thirsty so dad gave me a dime and I got a soda from the machine. It was a Mountain Dew. When Uncle Fred saw the drink, he looked around, took the drink from me, and threw it away. He said he hoped I hadn’t been seen with it because “only Niggers drink that”. That comment has always been imprinted on my brain.
The next morning when I woke up, we piled into the car and continued on our trip; a couple days early. Dad refused to spend another night in Uncle Fred’s house and we never saw him again. When we got to Florida, I can remember mom and dad discussing Uncle Fred and why we were a couple of days early. We never spoke of it again but I can remember hearing my parents arguing about it. My mother was saying that she “would raise the children and all dad had to do was pay the bills.”
In the summer of 1964, I went to Maine to work for the summer. Until then, I can’t ever remember speaking with a black person much less befriending one. When I got home after the summer, I would never have mentioned to my mother that I made some black friends in Maine.
Once I got to know a few black people in college, I realized there really were no differences except in our backgrounds. The Navy only amplified that concept and I made a conscience decision to make friends with an open mind and not to judge people based on the color of their skins or nationality.
Fast forward many years to when my mother was in an assisted living home in Santa Maria, CA. She was very upset that she had been ‘paired’ up with a black lady during some social event. So much so, that she asked to have a new partner. She was denied. Shortly after that, your aunt Jacque received a letter from mom saying how surprised she was with this black lady. They had ‘so much in common’. They had lunch the next day and became very good friends. Finally, before her death, she realized that black people ‘were just like us’.
Do you remember what happened in New Jersey? You and your friend were riding bikes and I was washing the car. Some ‘neighborhood’ Italian kids were riding down the street and started calling your friend every name in the book. You looked at him and me and asked why those boys were being so mean. My answer was that some people hate black people simply because of their skin color. What you don’t know is that the next day, I met the little boy’s parents. We had a very interesting conversation and discussed what “we” could do to change things. We agreed that we could make an effort to raise our children to judge people on their merits and not the color of their skin or where they came from.
Fast forward a couple of years and I have to believe I was successful in that effort. I honestly believe that you, Melinda and Sean don’t care about ethnicity when you meet someone. You all like or dislike someone based on their actions and beliefs.
With that said, it’s impossible to change overnight. Some things are engrained and just part of the real ‘you’. A sound, smell or sight can bring back old memories regardless of whether they are good or bad. I always knew this would be a change that would take special efforts throughout the rest of my life. I always said that if I could show change, even if it meant hiding my bias’, than maybe my children would have an easier time in accepting the change. They, in turn, could then teach their children acceptance and thus we would have a better world. I believe this is probably the only thing I was successful at doing.
I’ve made my share of mistakes and will be judged when I die. I have to live with that and take responsibility for them. My only prayer is that I die before your mom and that you start talking with her again.
Take care
Dad
I made this at the woodshop.
While I was working at SONGS, I was called by one of the officers that worked for us and was asked to call his daughter as he was beginning to ask questions and her little brother (4 years old) was starting to ask questions with his sister. I was asked to call because of my voice and I could pretend to be Santa.
I told him I could do better. I had them bring all of the presents to my house and I put them all in the 'Santa Sleigh' I had. My Goldwing was decorated for Christmas holidays and I wore my Santa Suit. We calculated that he would be home from Church around 9:00pm and I headed north to Murietta. (Actually their house was about a block from where you live). I was concerned when I had to go through the Border Patrol check point on the I-15 and could hear the officer saying something like 'Hey Santa... Why don't you come over here and blow up this balloon.'
What a great time.
I made this at the woodshop.