A Beautiful Ant Hill

The Most Visited Place in Washington DC

What is the most visited site in Washington DC? The White House? Washington Monument? The Smithsonian Museums? The Capital mall?

Nope. 34,000,000 visitors a year pass through Washington's venerable Beaux-Arts Union Station.  

Designed by Chicago Architect Daniel Burnham and completed just 4 years before his death, this building still draws gasps of admiration from anyone seeing it for the first time. 

Burnham is the architect who designed many of America's first skyscraper's and led the design team for the most influential World's Fair in history; the neoclassical 1893 World's Columbian Exposition in Chicago. He designed New York's iconic Flatiron building and created the famous Chicago Plan to guide rebuilding the city after the great fire. He also created the master plans for Manilla and San Francisco. 

Thanks to rejections from both Harvard and Yale, he learned architecture the old fashioned way, by apprenticeship. He then went on to become one of the most influential architects America has ever produced.

Union Station was completed at a cost of $125,000,000 (which would convert to about $3 billion dollars today). Its site originally covered 200 acres of former swamp land. 

When completed the white marble edifice initiated the style that would soon be emulated in the Supreme Courts building and the Jefferson and Lincoln Memorials.  

70 Pounds of Gold Leaf Adorn the Dome 

The reason it works so well today is because it is still doing what it was intended to do. Serve as a train station. It allows for the smooth transfer from DC's Metro subway system to either AMTRAK or MARC trains. From here passengers can efficiently travel downtown to downtown on an ACELA high speed train from DC to New York, Philadelphia, and Baltimore. I particularly like the service to the Baltimore BWI airport.  

Designed in An Era When Architects 

Still Integrating Art in Architecture

Another key to the success of Union Station is its integration of superb shops and creative restaurants. This is the ultimate place to people watch and eat well.

The Lower Level Food Court

Always busy, Union Station is a superb gateway to the America's national treasure; Washington DC. This is not a place to "visit". It is a place to "use".

Roadboy's Travels © 2010

A Dream Come True?

The New 787

I noticed a little piece on Yahoo today that made my head start spinning. The new Boeing Dreamliner has made its maiden flight outside the United States landing in Farnborough England for the Farnborough Airshow.

I hope I am not just succumbing to hype. And I do not mean to minimize the achievements that Boeing and Airbus engineers have made on their respective new aircraft in the past two decades. But after seeing some renderings of the cabin and carefully examining some of the scale models of this plane, the 787 appears to be a true departure from the last generation of commercial aircraft, and this road warrior welcomes it.

Carbon Composites Allow For A Highly Sculpted Silhouette

It is not as big as the new Airbus A380, so it won't take so long to load and unload. Nor does it require most major airports to extend their runways. It has a smooth sculpted swept back almost dolphin-like look to its fuselage and wings.

It is just freakin beautiful.

To see why I'm excited check out:
http://www.newairplane.com/787/virtualTour/ 

Big dimmable windows, huge bins, extraordinary fuel efficiency, new levels of quiet.

In a world filled with bad news, it is sure nice to visualize what the collective talents of Boeing's  engineers, designers, and craftspeople have achieved.

As far as the various delivery delays go, I say, so what! The real question is "will it be worth the wait?". 

By all measures I'd say "Absolutely!"

Roadboy's Travels © 2010

JFK's Assassination and The Power of A Word

A Walk on a Hot Summer Evening in Dallas

At one time the words "Pearl Harbor" simply defined a place. The same could be said for other places such as Waterloo, Omaha Beach, and Columbine. These "place" words (just like "Pearl Harbor") have morphed from defining a "place" to an "event".

Last night as I walked in downtown Dallas. I realized that, despite a new light rail, elegant lofts, and lovely new parks, Dallas shares a similar fate. It cannot shake the stigma of being the "place" where a terrible thing happened. And, the inability to heal is characterized by a single word.

Time to digress.

Most of my generation remembers where we were when we heard that President Kennedy had been shot. I was 7 years old and was at recess playing four square. The news stopped our game. When we got home, Walter Cronkite tearfully informed America that JFK had been pronounced dead.

To my generation President Kennedy was special. He embodied how we felt about America. He was smart, brash, and rich. He was young, athletic, cocky and very handsome. He was a war hero. He could disarm the most jaded reporter with humor. His beautiful wife defined style around the world. They made us all feel "cool".

His death quickly brought us down to earth. We suddenly felt vulnerable. We wanted answers. We needed answers.

Who did it? Why? Was it the Russians? The Cuban's? The Mafia? Was this the first step in some kind of attack?

Or, could a scrawny little loser like Lee Harvey Oswald acting alone really defeat our elite secret service and pull off this nightmare?

Remember, we were TV's first generation. We had complete confidence that at the end of every show Perry Mason would neatly wrap up every case.

No neat tidy answers in Dallas.

Then before we could get answers from Oswald, in a blaze of flashbulbs, Jack Ruby, emerged from nowhere and shot Oswald right before our eyes on national television.

The Dallas JFK Memorial

In my Dallas walk the first thing I came upon was the inexplicably, clunky, Phillip Johnson designed JFK memorial. Like much of Johnson's design legacy, as it ages it feels trite, vacuous and cheap. It doesn't measure up to the man. A faded and bent interpretive plaque in front of it tells us that it was  "refurbished". Yet, in such a shimmering city, this monument conveys pure neglect. It leaves the wound open. It should be replaced.

And here is where I first confront the one word that prevents healing.

"Alleged"

As I read the plaque I was left with the sentiment "how could they be so careless?"

The biggest investigation in modern history told us, that despite our desire to believe in conspiracies, it was indeed a lone shooter named Oswald who killed our president and derailed history.

The Last View President Kennedy Saw

As I walked past Dealey Plaza I looked up to see what the president last saw. My mind replays the whole scene frame-by-frame from Abe Zapruder's 8M movie. Further ahead is the Texas School Book Depository. To the left is the grassy knoll. Obviously, traffic flow is now reversed from what is was on the day of the motorcade.

I walk up to the book depository where Oswald took his shot from the still ajar sixth floor window.

Oswald's Sixth Floor Perch   

When I get to the Depository building (where the "Sixth Floor" museum has been created), I read its plaque and am confronted by that word again.

Allegedly

To me, these words are offensive. Here's why.

On a previous visit to Dallas I had the honor of listening to retired Dallas Police detective Jim Leavelle. He is one of the only people who had a chance to talk to Oswald before Oswald fell to another assassins bullet.

It was Leavelle who was cuffed to Oswald when Jack Ruby shot him. He was the detective in the tan "ice cream" suit and Stetson hat pulling up wildly on Oswald's cuffs to turn him sideways to minimize Ruby's ability to get a good shot. His image is burned in America's psyche. He is handcuffed to more than Oswald. It is frequently said that Jim is handcuffed to history.

Jim has mentally replayed this thing over and over for almost 50 of his 90 years on this planet.

If Jim is convinced Oswald was the lone shooter (and he is), then I'm good with that.

Detective Leavelle

Why is it that a nation can accept the fact that a trashboy tweaker like Tim McVeigh could blow up a federal building, but we demand a more complex answer to the killing of JFK?

With so many pressing needs confronting the nation, it is time to try to further heal this wound. Simple ways to help do that might be to build a fitting memorial and to remove the words "alleged" and "allegedly" from all text associated with the assassination.

It is time to admit that America's hopes and dreams were dashed by a single creep named Oswald.

Roadboy's Travel © 2010

The Back of The Station Wagon

Thoughts for Father's Day

A big reason why I love to travel is because I spent so much of my formative years traveling with my family.

Loosely defined that was mom, dad, and, for a few years, my sister (and her hefty bag of beer can sized rollers). Sometimes we got to take friends.

We traveled in a variety of huge cars and station wagons. They had names like "Wildcat". There was no such thing as a gameboy or an in car video system. Heck, for most of the time there wasn't even an 8 track. We played states, car bingo, and pretty much just watched the miles tick off across the American west.

If we were driving at night I'd try to tune in one of those massive three letter AM stations like KSL or KFI.

I planned the trips and made sure we stopped to read every historical marker and visited every tourist trap along the way. I know all about cast resin snakes, fireworks stands, and can recite the whole A&W family of burger's menu. I still dream of pecan shakes at Stuckeys.

If dad felt flush we stopped at a real restaurant like a Howard Johnson's. 

Most times we stopped at a city park or at a roadside picnic area under a tree and mom made PB&J's.

We visited virtually every World's Fair in North America and every National Park in the West. We hiked to Delicate Arch. We shivered in summer at Cedar Breaks and ventured into every crater and ice cave we came across. We admired petroglyphs and examined petrified wood. 

Mom and Dad

We stayed a night in Old Faithful Lodge. We visited our relatives in Colorado. We saw bears, foxes, elk, skunks, and coyotes. Most alive - some as roadkill.

There was a styrofoam ice chest and a couple of cartons of Viceroy's in the car. I drank the Shasta's and they smoked the Viceroy's.

Aside from those damned Viceroy's I was in heaven.

All these years later. I still think of the miles of neon signs and wigwam motels in places like Truth or Consequences NM - and those little tiny bars of soap they had.

We drove through lightning storms and rain so intense we could not see the line on the road. We pulled off to bask in the view of the beautiful rainbows that came later. To this day I adore the smell of pines after rain.

Nowadays mom and dad are behind the wheels of a big RV in heaven.

And I'm sure they are still arguing about which off ramp to take.

Miss them so.

Happy Fathers Day Dad. Thank you for sharing all that time with me on the road.

Roadboy's Travels © 2010

Flying High

That Other Smithsonian

I am posting this while flying. The era of In-fight internet is here and the irony of flying while posting this seems pretty appropriate.

This was one of those weeks where despite elaborate planning efforts, everything just wound up going (as my old friend Bill G used to say) "Twist-O". But I won't go into that here.

The good news is that finding myself with a few extra hours on my hands near Dulles Airport allowed me to (finally) go see one of the newer Smithsonian offerings; The Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Air and Space Museum. As always it is a Smithsonian museum, so it is free, in fact I was met by a smiling security guard who opened the door and offered a very warm and sincere "welcome". It was like they had been waiting for me.

The Exterior is a Cacophony of Slam-it-Together Geometry

The difference here is that they charge $15 to park. This may explain why there is no easy shuttle service to Dulles. They want you to arrive in your personal or rental car.

Officially in Chantilly Virginia, the new museum is pretty darned cool. Sort of the worlds biggest aviation attic. Before entering the museum I thought I'd just go in and be awed by an amazing collection of flying history. What I found was more than awe, it was also pretty moving. The items in here all form the way we live and changed the very geopolitics of our world.

First off, the shear size of it is overwhelming. The entrance is up on the second floor, so after clearing security, the first thing you see way off in the distance is the Space Shuttle Enterprise. And it actually looks pretty small.

Then it hits you. The space shuttle looks small. Geez this place is big!

Real Planes In A Building So Big That Hung From the Ceiling 
They Look Like A Bunch of Kites

The Enterprise

After you make it to the end of the initial observation promenade your eyes fall on a blackbird strategic reconnaissance aircraft. Here is amazing 1964 era Lockheed Skunk Works technology that fell into the direct path of the political wood chipper. Retired twice, it flew off and on until 1999. And although it hasn't flown in over a decade it still looks stealthy and totally sleek today. It is officially the fastest air breathing manned aircraft. Way ahead of its time.

Blackbird #972

I put it in the same category as Lockheed's earlier bit of dark amazement, the U-2 spyplane (not on display). I bring up the U-2 because I actually witnessed one of those taking off (the base staff at NAS Moffett Field referred to it as a "launch") during a high school field trip in 1972. The U-2 provided data to save our bacon over and over. It befuddled the Russians and allowed President Kennedy to understand the extent of the problem we faced in the Cuban Missile Crisis.) These are two of the planes that have helped maintain democracy itself.

I found myself actually getting choked up at the sight of the Apollo space craft, remembering both its successes and tragedies. And my heart moved way up in my throat when I realized the big silver WWII era bomber I was admiring carried the name Enola Gay.

The Plane That Ended Our War With Japan
And Changed The World We Live in Forever

One of Only 3 Boeing Stratoliner's Ordered by Pan Am
(With 33 seats, it could fly pressurized "Above the Weather"
 at 14,000 Feet! )

There is Wiley Post's little plane he flew around the world, and a romantic statue of Colonel Billy Mitchell who was shouted down when during the first world war he stressed the need for an American air force. 

The museum is a showstopper and well worth the drive from it's more crowded Smithsonian brethren on The Mall in DC.  

Roadboy's Travels © 2010

Awesome!

The New Cowboys Stadium and its Foundation

This week my travels were both scheduled and unscheduled. Some of the unscheduled part included an opportunity to visit the new home of the Dallas Cowboys.


I found the stadium to be symbolic of modern professional football itself, big, brash, and brutal; a stark vehicle of pure merchandising. This building left Roadboy almost completely at a loss for words.

Cowboy Stadium

Before entering the structure we were regaled with all the usual facts and figures. It is bigger than huge. The steel in it could build many golden gate bridges. The conduit used in it could loop the world over and over and still reach the moon. Heck, it could seat the entire population of most cities in the US at a single time.

Perfect Sight Lines From Anywhere

Private Boxes and Lounges Everywhere

Yep This is "Their" Locker Room

After all the hoopla of the place, I found myself having to admit that while it is one of the most technically perfect built structures in the world, the new stadium is totally vacuous. It, like much of modern architecture itself, is simply devoid of soul.

The Huge Jumbo Tron

Most Spectators Watch it - Not the Actual Game

(Click it to see the Board in Action)

So, I found myself feeling sort of empty. I had just walked through a building that represents an enormous achievement, yet I kept thinking "but why was so much effort put into this?".

Then as I left, off to one side of the entry, it all became clear. There was a humble statue of Coach Tom Landry. It had been relocated from the old (now imploded) Texas Stadium (we used to call the "Half Asstrodome"!) to the new stadium.

The statue reminded me that it is not the current owner's power and money that built the Cowboys, no it was Coach Landry and the amazing string of players he nurtured that form the true foundation of this new stadium.

Landry was from the "Best Generation". A boy from Mission Texas who played high school football, then went on to UT only to have his studies interrupted by World War 2.

During the war he flew 30 B-17 bomber missions over Europe. He survived the crash of one of the flights in Belgium.

He then returned to Texas and completed his degree in Industrial Engineering.

He, himself, went on to play professional football becoming an All-Pro cornerback in New York. Eventually, he found his true calling not in playing football, but in coaching it. He became head coach of the Cowboys and under his tenure the Cowboys won 2 Superbowls and enjoyed 20 consecutive winning seasons. A feat that remains unmatched today.

Coach Landry always innovated. He changed it all up, then stood at the sidelines in his trademark fedora to watch.

He was fired almost immediately after the arrival of the present team owner.

Landry was man enough to cry when he had to tell his team his career with the Cowboys was over.

Coach Tom Landry

So before you enter the new stadium, to witness a building where every single item down to the cupholder is about money, licensed and paid for, please take a moment to look at the sculpture of Coach Landry.

He represents what the game was, and should be, instead of what it has become.


Roadboy's Travels © 2010

Dancing Upon The Clouds

Uncle Vernon's Wish

When I was a kid, it was understood that flying was expensive and pretty much reserved for movie stars and family emergencies. Dad was a police officer and his salary dictated that our summer vacations would be spent traveling in a station wagon or camping by a lake somewhere.


I took my first flight when I was five. It was with my next door neighbors; The Hackshaw's. They asked me to accompany them on a flight from the Bay Area to San Diego for a relative's 105th birthday. Mom made sure I was dressed in my best trousers with a sweater from Monkey Wards. No way was she going to let her kid look like riff-raff. We boarded a PSA Super Electra jet (why do I still remember that fact so clearly 50 years later?). The flight, thankfully, was pillow smooth. I remember how satisfying it was to gaze down on an ocean of mashed potato clouds! 

This week I flew twice. One trip was from Phoenix to rain soaked Nashville. That trip involved weaving our little jet between one amazing cloud formation after another.

Plying Our Way to Nashville

As I looked out at the valleys and canyons formed by a series of magnificent Cumulus Castellanus clouds, I remembered the last request of my Uncle Vernon. Vernon was the uncle that normally did not feel the need to say all that much. Smiles came easy to him. And when my chain smoking, diesel fixing, uncle neared death, he instructed aunt Zora to make sure he was buried without shoes - so he could "dance upon the clouds in his bare feet".


As I looked at those amazing clouds it occurred to me how we mostly miss the essential joy of flying; simply looking out the window. Nowadays when I fly, I see most passengers reading their books and kindles, watching movies on tiny little I-pod screens, sleeping, and/or playing sudoku. Almost no one gazes out of the window. Pilots seem bored too; rarely pointing out amazing sights below us like the Grand Canyon or the Meteor Crater anymore.

Northern Arizona's Meteor Crater

(Look at Approximately 9:00 O'Clock on the Photo)

Yet, while today's air travel experience is different: the seats are small, and seat mates seemingly all proudly display their latest tattoo's whilst wearing their very best "wifebeater" tank top, the view outside of the plane from a window seat is just as good as ever.


The puffy clouds are still there and the crazy quilt of America's agricultural heartland still extends from the front range of the Rockies all the way to the Atlantic.


Drifting in and out of those amazing clouds this week I was a kid again.


I also was pretty sure that somewhere out there Uncle Vernon was having the time of his life.

Roadboy's Travels © 2010