An expatriate (in abbreviated form, expat) is a person temporarily or permanently residing in a country and culture other than that of the person’s upbringing. The word comes from the Latin terms ex (“out of”) and patria (“country, fatherland”).
Got an email from a friend last night, one of my old crew mates apparently died of a heart attack in Thailand three days ago…
He retired and got on an airplane and left the US, “Never to darken the doorstep again”… He’d been through a bad divorce leading up to his retirement, and I think he’d just had enough. We’d flown together back in the early-mid 70s in SEA, and he’d loved it; when he left that was where he was headed.
In honor of ‘Reggie’ and all the other Expats…
And before you ask, yes Earthquake was a real person…
Link HERE.
Got an email from a friend last night, one of my old crew mates apparently died of a heart attack in Thailand three days ago…
He retired and got on an airplane and left the US, “Never to darken the doorstep again”… He’d been through a bad divorce leading up to his retirement, and I think he’d just had enough. We’d flown together back in the early-mid 70s in SEA, and he’d loved it; when he left that was where he was headed.
In honor of ‘Reggie’ and all the other Expats…
And before you ask, yes Earthquake was a real person…
Link HERE.
THE BALLAD OF EARTHQUAKE MCGOON
From Hong Kong and Shanghai, to far-off Tibet
This legend is growing with time
Of the behemoth creature who flies in the sky
His three hundred pounds shake the earth when he walks
Yet he soars with the grace of a loon
The legend makes claim that this beast from the earth
Is known as Earthquake McGoon.
While still a mere lad in his tenderest years
He seemed a precocious young boy
Who knew naught of views like women and beer
To his parson a true pride and joy
But tales of “The East” and streetcars that ran
In an easterly-westerly way
Sowed dreams of wild oats in your young heros head
He vowed he’d go there to stay.
So J.B. McGovern cast off all his chains
Took the name of Earthquake McGoon.
He yearned to carouse on a far eastern claim
Where he would have plenty of room.
He then learned to fly like a bird in the sky
With Wee Willie, the Don and the rest.
He staked out a claim in that far-flung domain
And lived with a Mandarin’s best.
The timbered teak floors in the bars that he entered
Would ground with deep pain at his weight.
He’d heist at his paunch and in thunderous tones
Say, “Fill her up, Matey. It’s late,
This hollowed–out leg that’s supporting me now
Will hold half a keg of your best,
This stomach of mine which protrudes to your bar
I am certain will hold all the rest.”
But it looked like the doom of Earthquake McGoon
And we swore he would never come back
When he deadsticked his plane into Liushow one day
His future looked truly quite blank
They threw him in Jail and granted no bail
They took both his shoes off his feet
Yet he stomped on the floor and beat on the door
For whiskey and something to eat.
In fear of their lives or because of the din
From this behemoth creature within
His captures relented and gave him a bottle
Of rice wine diluted with gin
But they still wouldn’t feed this ponderous hulk
Whose temper grew worse by the day
And quaking with fear they fmally released him
After six months and a day.
His ponderous stomach a hundred pounds shy
And sporting a wonderful beard
He came back to fly once again like a bird
And bellowed, “I never was skeered
I’ve eaten them out of their prisoners fare
Drank all of their rice wine and gin
My eating and drinking have turned back the tide
Those (censored) just had to give in.”
So believe what I say, friend, and lend me an ear
To prove to yourself if you must
That the legend of Earthquake, the mouth and beard
Is a true as a Venus bust
Go down into Kowloon, in Gingles back room
And there staring you in the face
Is this behemoth creature, his hand on ·his prop
With a smile on his lecherous face.
From Hong Kong and Shanghai to far-off Tibet
This legend is growing with time
Of the behemoth creature who flies in the sky
Who knows neither reason or rhyme
His three hundred pounds shake the earth when he walks
Yet he soars with the grace of a loon
The legend makes claim that this beast from the east
Is known as Earthquake McGoon.
Al Kindt (another CAT/Air America pilot)
Is known as Earthquake McGoon.
Al Kindt (another CAT/Air America pilot)
I’m sorry for your loss.
gfa
But he lived life on his terms. Sorry to hear of his passing.
Cleared for takeoff, with fair weather for the whole flight. Rest in peace.
Some people just live larger than the rest of us.
Hope your friend found peace and contentment as an expat.
My condolences, NFO.
Sorry about your friend, Old NFO.
Some of my fondest memories of my time over there were of hanging out buying drinks for some of those guys in the PI/Thailand/Singapore.
There was not one who did not have a great story to tell.
I try to remember them all.
Sorry to hear about your mate OldNFO.
Sorry for your loss.
To the brothers who can’t be here!
Gerry
I’m sorry he’s gone and you didn’t get to see him one more time to share some good times.
Fair Winds and Blue Skies.
I’m sorry for your loss, NFO. May he rest in peace.
Guffaw- Thanks
45er- That he did
BP- Amen
WSF- I think he did.
Andy- Thanks
MSGT- Yep, they ALL had stories…
Julie/Agirl- Thanks
Gerry- Absent Comrades!
Brigid- Me too…
Christina- Thanks
Sorry for the loss of your friend.
Snigs- I’m getting to the age where we’re losing friends… No way to get out of it…