Crazy 'bout the Buff. . .

B-52H flying over Spokane, Washington, 1993. . .

The big annual Alliance Airport airshow was a couple of weeks ago, and we dragged the boys down to watch some of the planes fly in for display, arriving just as a big, magnificent B-52H from Barkesdale AFB in Shreveport glided in for a landing.

B-52 "Stratofortress" How's that for a name! Though the headline act for the weekend was the Navy's Blue Angles, I really wished a squadron of B-52's, accompanied by a KC-135 air tanker, would've made a flyby instead. Amazingly, the BUFF (Big Ugly Fat Fucker) has been in service for 54 years--over half the era of manned flight! If one can get a soft spot in their heart for large aircraft specifically designed to carry nuclear bombs, the B-52 has done it for me. There's just something so bad-ass about a big bomber that a hot-shot fighter plane can't possess. . .it's a no-frills, no-nonsense aircraft designed for a specific purpose that has survived because the Air Force has adapted its role in post-Cold War times.

The B-52H we saw glide in for a landing was one of 744 built since 1952 in several variations (and of the last series of planes delivered in 1962). At their operational peak in 1963, they were deployed at 38 air bases under the Air Force's Strategic Air Command. For nearly 40 years, a number of B-52's were constantly in flight, not too far off Soviet airspace, ready to strike at a moment's notice; on the ground, flight crews were in a constant state of readyness, prepared to scramble if necessary. Along with SAC's ballastic missile capability, the B-52's formed the backbome of a US strategy of nuclear deterrence--the notion that Russia wouldn't launch a surprise attack, knowing that relaliation from the US would be just as devestating.

Here's a newsreel from the 1950's on how SAC fought their "blood-less, deterrant war." Check out that SAC television control room! That's how it was done, baby, before computers and desktop monitors! And check out that monster tele-copier to send weather maps--we were the leader in world technology!



Gradually, the Buff's role changed as the US relied more and more on missile defense. The B-52's were adopted for heavy conventional bombing during the Viet Nam War, and equipped with long-distance nuclear cruise missiles which wouldn't require the planes to fly into enemy airspace. With the fall of the Soviet Union and nuclear arms reduction treaties, over 300 B-52's were chopped into pieces and left in the desert for verification by Russian satellites. From a huge, all-powerful fleet of heavy bombers, today, less than 100 B-52's, all of them the latest "H" variation, are left in service. the Buffs are assigned to only two air bases today, Barkesdale and Minot. The Air Force expects the B-52H to remain in its inventory until 2040--by then, there will likely be nothing "original" on any of the survivors as they approach their 80th birthday in service!

I mostly remember them from my years spent living in Spokane, Washington, near Fairchild AFB, home of the 92nd Bombardment Wing and its B-52H's and KC-135 tankers. It was humbling to see them flying above the wheatfields and wondering if they were carrying nuclear weapons. The jets made a distinctive whistling sound as they flew, and earlier versions of the plane often took off leaving a black cloud of smoke from their eight jet engines when using "water injection" to provide more power during takeoffs. I was working for the Spokane newspaper at the time SAC ordered a permanent "stand-down" from 24-hour readyness after the Soviet collapse, and visited the crew quarters at Fairchild.

The B-52's left Fairchild soon afterward, the last one unintentionally going out in a horrible blaze of glory when a hotshot wing commander flew one into the ground while practicing for an upcoming airshow (I vividly remember that day, as I was ready to fly to Kansas City to interview for a position in Burlington Northern's train dispatching class and saw the big plume of smoke west of downtown). The story of the events leading up to the crash, the personalities involved, and the dynamics of military leadership make this a fascinating story (one that, given the cinematic reviews that follow, would make a great motion picture).



The B-52--and its SAC predecessors, the B-36 and B-47--were photogenic machines, and figured prominently in a number of Hollywood movies. Most notable, perhaps, was director Stanley Kubrick's 1964's "Dr. Strangelove," a dark comedy in which a SAC base commander goes rogue and orders his bombers to attack Russia. Peter Sellers, George C. Scott and Slim Pickens star, but to me, the B-52 is the real headliner, with a realistic depiction of life on the flight deck during a "full out, toe-to-toe, nuclear engagement with the Rooskies." Who could forget Pickens as Maj. "King" Kong riding a nuclear bomb, rodeo style, out of the bomb bay?



Three other movies, of a decidedly more pro-SAC tone, just joined my film library: 1955's Strategic Air Command, starring Jimmy Stewart; 1957's Bombers B-52, starring Karl Malden and Efren Zimbalist Jr., and 1963's A Gathering of Eagles, starring Rock Hudson and Rod Taylor. None of these three films are particularly great movies, the three sharing a common theme in a time of Cold War that, by God, our SAC crews are ready at a moment's notice to defend you from Russian bombs, damn it, and even in peacetime, we can't let our guard down! The scripts aren't particularly great, nor the acting. The musical score is at times too rah-rah military. But what makes these films great fifty years after their release is the historic footage of SAC and its aircraft.



Strategic Air Command features the big, new B-36 assigned to Carswell Air Force Base in Fort Worth. Stewart plays a reservist pilot recalled in the early years of the Cold War from a successful baseball career to an operations officer. And, of course, his wife doesn't like him being gone all the time flying, but he's got a job to do to keep America safe from Russia. He crashes a B-36 in the frozen north after leaking fuel catches the plane on fire, and eventually is assigned to the flashy, new B-57 at McDill AFB in Florida. Spectacular footage of the massive B-36 and its "six turning and four burning" prop/jet propulsion. Glimpses of what was once rural land around Carswell back in the 50s. Wonderfuly Paul Mantz aerial photography. And the head of SAC is obviously modeled after Gen. Curtis "Bomb them back to the stone age" LeMay.
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Bombers B-52 is a love triangle between Karl Malden's career maintenance sergent, his young hotshot wing commander (Zimbalist) and Malden's too-young daughter (Natale Wood), against a backdrop of B-47's and new B-52's at Castle AFB in Merced, CA. Malden isn't too happy his young boss is tapping his daughter, and this friction is contributing to a decay of our tactical nuclear readiness. This time, in-flight malfunctions include a stuck landing gear (requiring Malden to climb into the wheel well to fix the problem, very reminiscent of the Pickens scene in Strangelove), and a malfunctioning "secret troubleshooting control panel" which goes up in flames, requiring most of the crew to bail out as Zimbalist bring the crippled plane in for a landing. Malden is missing after bailing out, and Zimbalist strikes out to find him, finally earning Malden's respect and Malden's daughter. And, there's another LeMay clone.
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A Gathering of Eagles stars Rock Hudson as a go-getter assigned as commander of a B-52 wing at Castle. He's replaced his well-respected predecessor after his wing failed a surprise inspection. Hudson arrives and shakes things up, pissing off his underlings, getting officers demoted, transferred or outright booted out of the Air Force in an effort to improve the wing's performance. This time, the in-flight contretempts is a leaking air-fueling coupler which nearly results in the plane catching fire mid-air. Rock is right on it, though, bringing the plane in safely and dressing down his maintenance chief for not delegating authority. Through the whole film, the idea of constant readiness is pounded into our heads: there might not be a war, but how can we make a war movie where there isn't a war interesting? Good coverage of the state-of-the-art SAC headquarters in Omaha, and more great footage of B-52's in their prime, including a spectacular sequence of a half-dozen Buffs taking off in a Minimum Interval Take Off. Oh, and there's the required LeMay-like General as well.

For the film buff, this trio of mid-century movies aren't any great shakes. They view more like Air Force recruiting films. But no matter: it's the jets that are the stars here, and they're preserved in beautiful full-color, wide-screen glory. They're a great journey back to the wonderful days of Civil Defense, Duck-and-Cover, and nuclear brinksmanship. Back when the Buff ruled the sky and they were much more than just a side-show in the Air Force arsenal.

Ain't got no power!

So the computer failed to start up the other morning. Our power got knocked off in a storm, and the computer was dead. My superb trouble-shooting skills led to me believe that the the storm wasn't so much the cause of the problem, but rather coincidentally the power supply had given up the ghost (thankfully not the motherboard). After 20 minutes of on-line snooping off the other computer, I determined that all this idiot needed to do was pull out the old power box and plug in a new one. Which is really all that was needed. A quick trip to Best Buy and problem solved. Sometimes i'm so proud of my mechanical abilities. . .

The bigger issue here wasn't the computer not starting up. . .it was the helplessness one feels when the power is out. It wasn't a particularly big and nasty storm, but the power was off for two hours.

First: at 11pm, you realize how deadly quiet things are in the house. No fan. No refrigerator. And how dark: no glowing LED's of various plug-ins and appliances. No hallway nightlights.

Second: I had no entertainment! No television or radio. No computer--not even the laptop, since the wi-fi needs power to throw out a signal. If I were a true pioneer I'd read by the glow of an oil-lamp (and in the future, who knows if that will be possible when all our books are on Kindle.

Third: We're wimps. How could we survive without electricity? Eventually, even our cell phones need to be plugged in to recharge. We can't cook (at least without cans of sterno), we can't spend money (who has cash anymore? it's all plastic cards, and when you DO need cash, you usually get it from an electrically-powered ATM machine). We couldn't get gasoline at the mini-mart (the days of gravity-fed gas pumps are aroudn 60 years in the past). Take away our water supply, and we'd really be up shit creek. It was bad enough that the DVR wasn't able to record the ending of Mad Men or Breaking Bad this week. . .

E. was awakened by the storm and came downstairs and joined me in the dark, on the couch. I held him and I told him how fortunate he was to live in a time and place where temporary power outages were merely an inconvienence. Be thankful, I said, we don't live in a place where power is a luxury only a few can afford, or that power has been knocked out entirely because of war.

Without electricity, we'd all soon become a bunch of refugees. And pray that that doesn't happen. Can you imagine, millions of whining Americans in relocation camps?

Visit from the Tooth Fairy. . .

E. is a couple of bucks richer today after the tooth fairy paid him a visit last night. He finally lost a front tooth that has been loose for weeks. The new one finally pushed the old one out of the way. He's not normally this goofy looking; Mary's camera just has a really wide angle lens. . .

Michael Moore: Not a Left-Wing Kook
Documentary film-maker Michael Moore is usually depicted by the Right Wing fringe element as a kook, in bed with the Nancy Pelosi/Barrack Obama/Barney Frank troika being blamed for "ruining" our country.

Those so afraid of Moore should spend 26 minutes of their angry lives and watch this interview with Charlie Rose from last week. Moore's latest movie, "Capitalism: A Love Story" is out in theaters, highly critical of the Wall Street community and their too-cozy relationship with the goverment. . .and that would be the government of both Republican and Democratic presidents.

To Moore, the U.S. economy has changed from a self-sustaining one rewarding production, manufacturing, and innovation to one more akin to a pyramid scheme with a very few at the top sucking up all available wealth at the expense of a destroyed middle class. Our country doesn't produce anything anymore, and Moore argues this puts our country at great risk. Rather, the business of America has become a complex financial Ponzi scheme where wealth is created not through hard work, but through obtuse economic mechanisms that exist to squeeze the middle class. . .and that few in Washington really understand to begin with.

The Dow just topped 10,000 for the first time since last fall's economic "collapse." But unemployment figures continue to spike upwards and home foreclosures continue--one every six seconds, says Moore. And since the Democrats took the White House, not a single law has been passed to reregulate or extend oversight into the banking or mortgage industry. Change? Obama has to show me change. There's been no change at all, a year later, and after $200 million as been spent by the banking industry to lobby against any change--money, I'd guess, the Government gave them non-strings-attached to aide "recovery." Oh, and Wall Street bonuses are even high this year than in 2007. The Republicans started this mess under Ronald Reagan; Democrats continued it and accelerated it with Bill Clinton; the Republicans moreso with both George Bushes; and Obama has inherited it but so far, apart from flourishy rhetoric, has done nothing to slow it, let alone stop it.

Right-wing nut jobs: Give Moore a chance. He's not the enemy. It's the bankers and Wall Street tycoons who have the ear of Washington that are the greatest threat to our freedom in this country since the Cold War. THESE are the people you should be afraid of, and you should be turning your hate and anger THESE people, not towards the female leader of congress, the black preisident or the gay senator who are Democratic leaders. It's easy to get caught up in partisanship and name-calling and business as usual--but those raiding this country's coffers are not the patriots they paint themselves to be.

Again:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4djfc9qlQa4

Mad Men: Don Draper's an asshole. . .
What, he really fired Sal last night? Then he goes and sleeps with his kid's school teacher? Not that Betsy is much better. . .

A splash of art. . .
. . worth $15,000,000. Now I know what Manga is all about. I don't think this would go over big in the living room.

Vin Scully. Rugby. Not-Dollar-Movies.

The Master at work. . .

MLB network carried the Dodgers-Rockies game Friday night. The winner would claim the National League West title; the loser, the Wild Card slot in the National League playoffs starting next week. The Dodgers won, 5-0, but the outcome really didn't matter to me, simply because I tuned in for Vin.

Vin Scully.

He's been the Dodgers' play-by-play announcer now for 60 years. SIXTY! Think about that. It's the longest tenure for a single professional sports team in history, and, apart from Tommy Lasorda, has been with the Dodgers organization longer than any other person. How long has he been there? His tenure long pre-dates the Dodger move to California--it was Vinnie, in fact, who was at the microphone when the Dodgers won their only World Series championship in Brooklyn, in 1955.

To hear him on network television anymore is a rare treat. Scully calls only home games and Dodger road games west of the rocky mountains anymore, and since I don't have the MLB package or satellite radio, I hardly get the chance to listen to his broadcast artistry. He's a rarity among baseball announcers: working solo, without a color man. With Scully at the mike, who needs it?

It's Scully's voice that has been part of so many memorable baseball moments. Don Larsen's 1956 perfect game in the World Series. . .Sandy Koufax's 1965 perfect game. . .Hank Aaron's 715th home run in 1974. . .Bill Bucker's error at first base in 1986. . .Kirk Gibson's walk-off home run in 1988.

And now Vin stands alone as the last of his generation. The other Greats--Jack Buck, Ernie Harwell, Jack Brickhouse--are all gone. The 81-year-old Vinnie has said that 2010 will be his last season. If you have the chance to just sit back and listen to the Master at Work, please do so.

He's not a screamer, nor a puker, nor a homer. Throughout his career, Vinnie has realized that often, less is more. I'm hard-pressed to think of a tradmark phrase he's known for. . .if anything it is the slience that he allows to infuse his broadcasts, the rare ability for the man hired to speak to the masses to just be quiet and let the ambience of the moment say it all. He isn't just an announcer--he is an artist, a man who can paint pictures with words. His words have the pacing and deliberateness of a great mystery writer. Listen to him call the ninth inning of the Koufax perfect game, and tell me chills don't run up your spine!


". . .there's 29,000 people in the ballpark, and a million butterflies. . ."

Tyler Kepner, of the New York Times, wrote: "Scully could read an instruction manual and
make it interesting." Indeed. Here's a great profile of Vin from Salon.com.


Melbourne Wins!
So, watched the National Rugby League Grand Final yesterday on Spike. Melbourne Storm beat Paramatta Eels 23-16. It was clear that Paramatta was in over its head from the start, and rather amazing, actually, that they only lost by 7 point. After a lackluster first half, the Eels returned in the second half with a vengence, but failed to even the score in the last minutes with an impressive final drive that fell short.

I'm sure my mate Rick is in a good mood this morning--he the Melbourne fan who accompanied me in April to the Storm-Tigers game in Sydney. And his man Bill Slater came through with a crucial try.

Myself, I'll remember the barely contained ferocity of Paramatta's Kiwi-born back with one of the greatest names in professional sports: Fuifui Moimoi. It just rolls off the tongue. I could easily imagine him a defensive back in the NFL. Think of the money he could make in the states!

Unscrupulous Basterds
So the kids were out of school early Friday and we thought we'd take them to a movie. That "Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs" looked like somethiing they'd want to see, so off we go to the Star Village 8 Theater in Lake Worth. Granted, it's 2:30pm--Matinee times. And these bastards want to charge $9 EACH to see this movie. That's $6.50 PLUS another $2.50 because it's in 3-D. THIRTY SIX BUCKS for a matinee show? They've got to be kidding. We decided it'd be a Blockbuster afternoon. Where do these crooks get off thinking we're unlimited wells of money. It's not enough they can charge $12 for a tub of popcorn and a soda. . but then to charge us $2.50 because of the "specialness" of 3-D. It's all about sticking it to the customer. And we won't go for it.

The OTHER football. . .

Geelong--with horizontal stripes--battled it out with St. Kilda--vertical stripes--in the 2009 AFL Premiership match.

Sorry, I didn't catch Monday night's big Cowboys game on the nation-wide broadcast. Football? Oh, yeah, I watched football after work that night, but it wasn't NFL. It was AFL. And I'm not talking about the old American Football League

Rather, thanks to Lance Lassen's DVR, I watched the Toyota Premiership match between the Geelong Cats and St. Kilda Saints of the AFL--er, Australian Football League. That's Australian rules football. Footy. And the Premiership, played Saturday afternoon in Melbourne, is the equivalent of Australia's Super Bowl, played before 99,000 at Melbourne's Cricket Grounds.

There's a superb gallery of photographs of the match on line.

And it was a spectacular game. Even for one such as myself who'd only had minimal exposure to footy before, it was clear this game had it all. The drama: Geelong was looking to win their second Premiership in three years. St. Kilda was looking to win their first since 1966. The game had lead changes. Controversial calls (how could that goal umpire not see the ball bounce off the central post?). A rainstorm that made the leather ball impossible to keep ahold of. And it had a nail-biting finish when Geelong finally stormed by St. Kilda in the closing minutes after the Saints missed on so many opportunities to score six-point goals, settling for several one-point behinds instead.

After watching this game, I'm not convinced that, given the proper marketing, footy couldn't be a big hit in the United States. The game has non-stop action played on a huge (150 meters by 135 meters) oval field accomodating 18 players a side. The action is rough--there are no shoulder pads or helmets. There are no wholesale substitutions. You get banged up, you pretty much keep playing. The main drawbacks, as I see it at least, are the large field (fans don't get as up close and personal as they do attending NFL games, but the importance of that has been diminished by television driving popularity) and lack of outlandish personalities. Though I'm sure the AFL has its characters, footy seems very much a team sport as opposed to the "look at me" performances characterizing the modern-day NFL and NBA. (Though, to be fair, Geelong has a captain with the magnetism of a David Beckham; a red-headed muscleman who looked like the current incarnation of Carrot Top, and a bearded cave-man of a guy who'd fit right in on a Geico commercial).

Americans are probably most familar with footy from the early days of ESPN, when the nascent network was compelled to put anything it could find on the air. . and Australian Rules Football (back then the AFL was called the Victorian Football League) was a regular ESPN staple back before shit like Poker and World's Strongest Man was on the air. This weekend, the premiership was relegated to a slot (live though it was) on ESPN Classic. I could've watched it at home, but my satellite provider decided to remove Classic from my channel package and replace it with more college sports channels. Buggars!).

Essentially, each side tries to kick the ball between two sets of goalposts. Put a ball between the inner goal posts, and it's six points (that's a goal). Merely put a ball between the outer adjacent goal posts, and it's one point (a behind). The ball can squib across the goal line or sail high in the air--still the points are awarded. The defenders can get a hand on the ball before it crosses the goal line, but you'd still get at least one point. The ball is moved down the field by kicking it or running with it and tapping it (not throwing it) to your teammate. If the ball is kicked to a teammate and he catches it in the air, he gets a free kick. If you run with the ball, you're fair game to be tackled--and if you're tackled to the ground, you lose the ball to your opponent. When running with the ball, it has to make contact with the ground (bouncing it off the turf) every 15 meters, or you lose possession. Simple enough. At least, much simpler to understand than League rugby.

St. Kilda entered the Premiership the underdog, even though they finished atop the standings for the year. The Saints and Cats traded the lead several times in the first two quarters, and St. Kilda tied the score in the final seconds and converted a free kick for a goal after a Geelong player argued that he touched the ball on the tying goal--and St. Kilda should've been awarded one point instead of six. The umpires didn't buy his argument, and penalized the player for being argumentative by awarding St. Kilda the free kick.

The Cats actually trailed by six points at the end of the third quarter, but St. Kilda blew several opportunities for goals with inaccurate kicks.

"Indeed, this is a grand final the Saints will forever rue, for it was their inaccuracy in that quarter that ultimately cruelled their chances," wrote the Australian newspaper. Indeed, they scored no goals at all in the fourth quarter, and Geelong broke a tie with minutes left wtih a clutch Paul Chapman goal, icing the victory with one last goal at the siren, to win 80-68.

St. Kilda was crushed. “To St Kilda, footy sucks sometimes ... we were very, very lucky and we're very proud of what we've done,” winning coach Mark Thompson told the cheering fans following the game.

It's really a pisser ESPN doesn't regularly carry AFL during the regular season. That sucks too.

And Rugby, Too. . .
As the Premiership began late Friday evening, Texas time, the second-tier cable network Spike was carrying a semi-final match in the National Rugby League of Australia. The Paramatta Eels took on the Canterbury Bulldogs at ANZ stadium in Sydney. Rugby is a bit more arcane to follow than footy, so, once again, I really wasn't sure what was going on in a match Paramatta won 22-12 (I really needed Rick Schoenfelder with me to fill me in on the action!). Still, it was a blast to watch--and violent! As I mentioned after watching the Wests-Melbourne match back in April, our NFL players are a bunch of pussies compared to these guys.

Paramatta moves on to meet Melbourne (and Rick is no doubt delighted!) for the Grand Finals to be played October 4. I've already got the DVR set--10am Sunday morning.

Digging for Victory!

Jerry Picks a Winner!

I didn't watch all of Sunday night's gala opening of the $1.2 BILLION Cowboys Stadium game against the New York Giants, as M. and I were switching channels between the Emmys, the Cowboy game, the Cubs-Cardinals game, and Mad Men. That's where a DVR that would record four shows at once would come in handy.

But we did get to see the highlights: the last three minutes of the game, where Eli Manning drove the Giants the length of the field to set up the last-second game-winning field goal, and a lingering view of Cowboy Owner Jerry Jones picking his nose in his ultra-expensive owner's box. I guess I was surprised that he didn't have some boy-servant do that for him.

Anyway, all is right with the world. Cowboys lose. Record-sized crowd goes home disappointed. The only thing missing from making it a perfect night would've been the giant Godzilla-Tron HD TV screens dropping onto the assembled Cowboy team below, or maybe an Al-Qaeda attack. But the season is early, yet.

Mad Men Season 3

Hey, how about that Sterling-Cooper? The AMC series Mad Men picked up another Best Dramatic Series Emmy last night. About the same time, the season's fifth episode of the year aired, and I think this might be the episode that those so inclined to decide these things would say the show "Jumped the Shark." A visiting young executive from the Home Office in London happened to get on the wrong side of a John Deere riding lawnmower careening through the office during a going-away celebration for the buxomy Joan, losing his foot in a rather Peckinpah-esque scene with spraying blood and shattering glass. A bit far-fetched, if you ask me.


September: Football season in Texas.

Rangers: That's All, Folks!

Kiss the Rangers' chances for post-season play goodbye, barring simultaneous meteorite strikes on Fenway Park and Angels Ballpark. At a time when home wins were most important, the Rangeritos dropped seven of nine in the just-concluded home-stand. We were at the Saturday night game, a 3-2 thriller over the Angels, but it was too-little, too-late, and the feel-good didn't extend to Sunday's series finale, where Rangers pitching was bombarded and the team fell, 5-10. The rest of the season is off little consequence now, however, one question remains. . . .



Thanks, Millie--hope we see you next year.

Is Millie Done as Well?

Tonights game in Oakland will answer whether the Rangers are willing to pay pitcher Kevin Millwood $12 million next year, or just let him go into free-agency. Millwood's contract stipulates that if he pitches 180 innings this year, he'll automatically be awarded a one-year extension worth $12 million. He's currently sitting at 175 2/3 inning. . .meaning that with 4 1/2 innings tonight, he's be into Tom Hicks' pockets next year DEEP. His record this season certainly hasn't been that of a 12 Million Dollar Man. . .he started off strong, but has faded badly. True, his veteran leadership has been a great example for the young pitchers, but he's been eclipsed as a top starter by Jim Hunter and Scooter Feldman.

Rumors have had team ownership "shut down" Millie for the rest of the year, denying him the innings that would fulfill his contract clause. Sneaky? Low-rent? Sure. But the Rangers are essentially broke, and certainly can't afford a $12 million pitcher with Milwood's statistics. On the other hand, shutting down a healthy pitcher just to save the franchise money is uncharted territory in major league baseball; doing so will likely result in some sort of protest through the Players' Union. Not to mention taint any future negotiations to bring free agents to Arlington, as incentives in contracts are the norm rather than the exception, and failing to live up to them in good faith certainly makes the franchise look less than honorable.