Boomer Journey…

I was at my veterinarian recently and there was a woman with this beautiful shelter German Shephard. We struck up a conversation and I learned she picked up shelter animals, offering them safe home and hearth until a suitable home could be found. She just couldn’t let them die alone. She was an angel on loan to the planet.

She offered me this sweet friendly face, yet I could not oblige. I already had two dogs as it was and could not help her. Wishing now I’d gotten her name. I thought a lot about her after I left, wondering if she was able to find a home for this animal.

As human beings, we tend to forget we share the planet with creatures great and small. That means we have a responsibility to them. We have to take care of them like we are supposed to care for others. It is impossible for us to protect them all, however, we have to do what we can to keep them safe.

We take care of people. Well, at least some of us do. What’s to keep us from taking care of animals? Instead of euthanizing them, why not make space for them even if it’s in our own back yard? As best we can, we have to ask ourselves how we can help, even if it’s providing some financial support for non-profit shelters?

I believe in the ASPCA (American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals^®), which has always been at the forefront of animal rescue and protection since its founding as the first animal welfare organization in North America in 1866. Now, that’s a long time to be committed to the welfare of animals – 160 years. The ASPCA is always in need of donations to continue protecting animals. This means cold hard cash, your valuable time, and anything else you can contribute to help foster its important worldwide operations.

“The modern challenges facing animals are wide-ranging and complex, but we tackle these challenges head-on and in innovative ways, including providing vital veterinary care, responding to disasters, pioneering adoption and behavioral rehabilitation programs, conducting critical animal welfare research, training law enforcement and shelter professionals, and advocating for more effective laws. We also partner with and support shelters, veterinarians, and others who share our commitment to a safer, more compassionate world for animals,” the ASPCA tells us.

The ASPCA goes on to say, “Every year, our hands-on work directly impacts hundreds of thousands of animals, with our lasting solutions benefiting millions more. Join us in creating a brighter future for animals. Together, we can make a meaningful difference in their lives.” The ASPCA isn’t the only animal protection organization out there, however, they are the most credible – proven over the course of time.

There are countless regional and local animal welfare organizations across the globe that could use your financial contributions and your time. It is important to give back and feel good about what you’re doing. Most of us have pets we love and admire. I grew up with Manx cats (no tail). As an adult, a succession of dogs (and cats) have owned me. They become our buddies and our best company. If you are very much alone these days, go to your local animal shelter and find a gentle heart to love. They need us – and I am pretty sure we need them.

The First Douglas DC-8 Jetliner – N8008D – delivered to Trans International in 1962. We had a coach seat for history…

Boomers lament the arrival of old age. Yet think of what we’ve witnessed in our lifetime. The Jet Age. Mankind’s first steps on another celestial body. and conveniences like we never imagined as children.

I was born in the middle of the Baby Boom – 1956. I do not remember the dawn of television. Those of you born in 1946 do. What about Captain Kangaroo – which debuted when I was in the womb. How about supermarkets? Automated bowling alleys. Drive-Ins. The interstate highway system. Color TV. Stereophonic sound. Mercury Vapor streetlights that changed the color of your blue jeans.

Do you remember all of that?

My first memories of life included The Jet Age. I’ve never experienced the rattle and vibration of piston liners – propeller driven aircraft power by radial piston engines. It was a chilly December morning in Baltimore in 1961 when I experienced my first airplane ride – a UNITED AIR LINES Boeing 720 over to Kansas City to spend Christmas with relatives in Independence enroute to my dad’s tour of duty in Hawaii – Hickam Field and Pearl Harbor – with our home in Pearl City Highlands.

At age five, Boeing’s new 720 jetliner didn’t leave much of an impression. I was taken with the overhead passenger service pods and the pushbutton lavatories with blue water and a buzzy sound. It was all my mother could do to keep me in my seat.

There are times in life when we have a front row seat for history without even understanding we have that. My mother, sisters, and I had to return to Washington, D.C. while my dad remained on Oahu. My father drove us to the new Honolulu International Airport in the wee hours of the morning for our flight back to the U.S. mainland and on to the East Coast.

What we couldn’t have known that morning was – we were about to board the first Douglas DC-8 jetliner – N8008D – to Travis AFB, California. It was a military charter flight. I remember seeing the right wing and the sunrise as we crossed the Pacific. The airline was little known Trans International, which became Trans America later on. Not much to remember aside from my mother holding a barf bag across the aisle as we approached Travis.

N8008D was Trans International’s only jetliner until 1966 when it took delivery of the new DC-8 Series 61 known as the “Stretch Eight” jetliner. Vietnam Vets fondly remember the Stretch Eights when they were homeward bound.

UNITED’s Jet Age Boeing 720 jetliner – the transcontinental workhorse that connected the two coasts – getting us coast to coast in four hours.

My aunt, who lived in Oakland across the Bay from San Francisco, picked us up at Travis and drove us over to San Francisco International. To this day, I’ve no idea how she got all of us and our luggage in a Volkswagen Beetle.

After a light lunch at SFO, we boarded a UNITED DC-8 to Baltimore, with a stop at Denver Stapleton. What I remember most about SFO was sitting in a gate area, then, walking down a long corridor and stepping on a jet. All of my boardings had been across ramps and up the air stairs. I could not understand how we went from a gate area, down a corridor, and into an airplane. SFO had something new known as a Jet Way that kept passengers and crew out of the weather. The Jet Way would become an industry standard in an age when we tend to miss the air stairs.

We went from the balmy, tropical Hawaiian climate to snow and ice at Baltimore’s Friendship Airport, a bus to downtown D.C., and a cab ride over to my grandparent’s apartment in Arlington. It was an overwhelming experience for a little guy like me.

As Boomers enter their twilight, we have incredible childhood memories we embrace like no other generation ever has. It has been a phenomenal ride.

I’m not sure how you grew up, but I know how I did. I’ve never known anyone longer than I have my sister Cathy. By some standards, she could have been considered the sister from hell. Like most older siblings, she kept me in line and kicked me in the ass. Older siblings do that. After all, I was a pain in the ass little brother – always underfoot and endlessly annoying.

That’s what little brothers do.

Being the middle child – I got it from both ends – a younger sister who kept the parents informed – about everything – and an older sibling who’d make faces at me at the dinner table – and then looked like “What? What are you talking about?!” I got sent away from the table for laughing, burping, or worse. I was a born shit disturber who would cause trouble, then try to look innocent when all eyes were on me.

Hey, I was a victim of circumstances.

How we feel about our siblings can become complex. We fight as children and come of age hoping we will get along better as adults. Sometimes, that works. Other times, it doesn’t. Living a continent apart comes with a host of misunderstandings and disagreements. For years, Cathy and I didn’t speak, due mostly to misunderstandings, tortured communications, and the passing of our parents. None of it was over inheritances and belongings. Much of it was due to miscommunication.

With both parents gone, it puts everything into perspective. You feel orphaned no matter how old you are. The clock never stops ticking and time marches on. One morning when I was out on a job, my cell phone rang. I heard her voice, “Jimmy, I don’t want to be estranged anymore…” Relieved, I welcomed her call and we scheduled time to catch up and make peace with each other. I give her credit for extending the olive branch. We’ve been tight as piano wire ever since.

Cathy and I have enjoyed a wonderful relationship through the years. Sometimes, we go for months without a word – then pick up right up where we left off. With each text message or phone call, we continue to bond and share memories. Because she is two years my senior, she remembers more than I do. She is also the official family historian, with so much more knowledge than I have at 70. It is remarkable how much she remembers and is all too happy to share.

I am grateful for the love of my big sister, who will be 73 in December – Pearl Harbor Day – which seems appropriate considering the scar tissue from childhood. LOL.. Despite everything we know about one another – we still speak, share memories, laugh our asses off, and let each other know what we mean to each other.

It doesn’t get much better than that.

I love you, Cathy Sue…

Oh, how we lament the passing of time and old age. I do it. We all do it. We fuss about the aches and pains, young people, the changing times, and how we miss those who are gone today. That is when we need to consider the latter – those who are gone. They never had the chance to fuss about old age because they never lived to see it.

Consider this. Did the sunlight breaking through the drapes wake you this morning? Maybe it was the alarm clock. Grandchildren jumping on the bed, beating you to death with a pillow. “Grandma!!! Wake Up!!! We’re hungry!!!”

Can’t live with ’em – can’t shoot ’em.

Yet, you could never imagine life without them.

These are the things we fume about – yet should be the things we are grateful for.

As boomers crest the ’70s and ’80s, there’s a lot to remember. We can remember useless memories from a half-century ago, yet we cannot remember if we had breakfast, nor what we had. It can become befuddling to where you cannot remember if you had your morning constitutional and discover your wet Depends.

We lie down to sleep at night feeling gassy from those “Jack In The Box” tacos – and wake up feeling lighter and less dangerous – wondering if we embarrassed ourselves amid a mid-summer night’s dream.

Has this ever happened to you?

You know it has…

Old age brings with it a lot of ailments – hearing loss, blown knees and hips, fading eyesight, less RAM (Random Access Memory), torpedoed short-term memory, falls, energy loss, and that endless “You need to get out and exercise…” speech from friends and family. Some of us were engineered for exercise while others struggle to get outside and walk the neighborhood.

Walk the dog? Are you kidding?

Boy, were we naive….

As much as I am saddened by old age, I am glad to be alive to feel an array of emotions. Sadden by some. Euphoric by others. As much as there surely the frustrations of old age, I am glad to be able to feel when others aren’t as fortunate.

Praise the daylight…

Twenty-Five Years… Do you remember your 25th birthday? Your 25th wedding anniversary? Or perhaps 25 years with your employer? Enough time for a baby to become an adult with children of their own.

It really has been 25 years.

I recall the morning of 09/11/01. Who doesn’t? We all remember where we were at these moments. The phone rang. The voice on the other end said, “Turn on the TV – you’re never going to believe this!!!” The person, in so many words, said a jet had crashed into the World Trade Center in New York. We turned on the TV just in time to see United impact Tower Two.

Shock and utter disbelief. This really was happening to us.

NBC kept running the footage over and over. It sank in quickly. With the second jet, there could be no doubt. In a matter of minutes, there was a big fire at the Pentagon. It was no normal fire. We were under attack.

We probably didn’t understand then, but our lives were about to change.

We’ve grown up in a cocoon since the end of World War II – a mighty nation the world has looked to ever since for strength, safety, and security.

We don’t live in that nation anymore.

While we’ve been a safe haven, we’ve also been complacent – smug – full of ourselves. Ever since the war ended and we claimed victory in two theatres a world apart, with unwavering, committed help from our allies, we’ve been comfy cozy in our easy chairs, naively believing no one would dare attack us.

This is what I’ve always believed.

How naive…

There have been scary moments – the final wrap-up of World War II, the Korean War, the Cuban Missile Crisis, the Cold War – and then September 11th…

Despite the horrifying moments of September 11th, we’ve always believed we could make it through. Hope springs eternal.

We still have a lot to learn.

In the post-war years, our government built the mightiest military in the world. We were going to be first on the lunar surface – and were. We’ve done great things for mankind – disease control, human rights, safe communities, law enforcement, education, and provided a safe place for the poor and huddled masses.

What happened?

Complacency and foolishness. That’s what happened.

We lifted… The rise and fall of the Roman Empire.

Smart, cognoscente societies never lift. They don’t prop up their feet and coast. They continue in their tenacious efforts to improve. They get better.

When I think of societies with better government and a higher quality of life, I think countries that enjoy a better environment than we do in the United States. Oh sure – taxes are high – but citizens never have to worry about health care or losing their homes because they can’t pay medical bills. Their communities are neat and clean – well maintained. Countries with responsible government never have to fear collapse because they’re always on top of it. Corruption is rare or unheard of.

Life in the United States has been an education in advanced citizenship. Our original blueprint of “All Men Are Created Equal…” was a start but has always been a work in progress. Human rights have always been at the leading edge of the advancement of the U.S. Constitution. A woman’s right to vote. The Black vote. The Civil Rights Act. The Equal Rights Amendment. The Voting Rights Act. And more… Always a work in progress – and that’s what we’ve always been.

Slow but steady.

We’ve learned a bitter lesson from the events of September 11, 2001. A friend of mine, who was killed in a motorcycle accident in the 1990s, used to say “Never Lift…” His words were important ones to live by. Never stop reaching for higher. Always review the way you are doing things and ask yourself how you can do better.

Somewhere along the way, we stopped asking ourselves how we can do better as Americans. We took our eye off the ball and lost it to the competition’s touchdown. The free world has passed us up. Nowhere was this more apparent than on the morning of September 11th. Our nation’s defense was caught off guard, with a defense system so complacent that it couldn’t believe we were under attack.

We lifted…

When we were very young during the Cold War, our nation’s defense was on top of its game – with a system ready to take on any threat. During the Kennedy era, we had leadership with an all or nothing approach to the threat of an attack. At the time, the Soviet Union was our greatest threat. In the years to follow, we cultivated more enemies, with a rather cocky approach to the threats. Naive at best, coming from a military force that had always been in high regard.

I have always believed in AMERICA and will never lift on that belief. As free Americans – we can never lift on our defense of freedom and liberty. We have to get out of our easy chairs and do it. It is my hope we can find a path to recovery and the greatness we once had.

This Labor Day Weekend, we celebrate labor, saluting the masses who make our nation hum. When we were growing up in the mid-20th century, there was emphasis on the trades – repair people who knew how to fix things. The plumbers. Electricians. Carpenters. Landscapers. Auto Mechanics. Heating and AC professionals. Concrete pavers. Linemen. Upholsterers. Machinists. Auto Body Professionals, and more. Baby boomers remember the trades – knowing how to fix things and being proud of a job well done with your talents and hands.

In the course of the 20th century, society turned its attentions to law, medical, and day trading in a suit and tie to earn a living. It became fashionable to don a suit and tie or a dress and head downtown to the office. Working with your hands, talent, and experience became socially unfashionable. American society began looking down its proverbial nose at those who dressed in coveralls who came home from work dirty, ready to hop in the shower before dinner.

There appears to be a glut of professionals who poured a bunch of money into college in the 1980s and ’90s who are struggling to find work these days. Please understand, I see the value in all honorable white-collar professions. We need them. However, we’ve run out of talent who knows how to fix things. The tradesmen…

It is time for society to get focused the trades. In this disposable throwaway society, we’re forgotten how to keep things and press them back into service. Easier to trot down to Best Buy and cop a new refrigerator or a new car dealer and buy new. Americans generate alarming amounts of waste just throwing things away instead of finding the fix. It is sinful just how much we throw away. The mountain-sized landfill near my home is living proof of how much we throw away.

We were raised by a generation who survived the Great Depression and a world war who taught us – “waste not-want not!” Our moms called the heating and air guy when the house grew cold or hot. The local garage did a ring and bearing job on that old Plymouth and returned it to service. When the television screen went blank, the TV repairman came to the house and replaced tubes – or your ol’ man walked down to the drug store to try out the tube tester. That morning the toilet was overflowing and had to be snaked. The confounded loose electrical outlet that needed to be replaced.

And recycling? Forget it. Just 25-percent of what we recycle is actually recycled.

Did you know that?

We are encouraged to recycle – but recycling is the big lie followed by “I will respect you in the morning…” Government and commerce encourage us to recycle. However, both are not following through despite all those public service announcments.

Don’t recycle – repair. Don’t throw away – call the tradesman. Get it?

Vocational schools are on the rise again because we’re feeling the absence of professionals who know how to fix things. Support local businesses who do know how to repair our belongings that can be returned to service.

Have you hugged a tradesman today?

If you’re like a lot of us, you’ve probably had a favorite pet like no other. Be it a dog, cat, bird, guinea pig, or a pet fly (I’ve had one buzzing around the office for days now) – there are the ones we remember (and miss) the most.

I’d like you to meet Rosie – a Husky mix with a lot of Shepherd in her DNA. We were visiting a lilac farm 15 years ago and these folks had a litter of Husky pups huddled together looking for homes.

They were free for the taking.

There was this black female Husky who placed her chin on the edge of a milk crate and glared at me. The weight of her stare was distracting. “Don’t do that, dog…” I thought to myself. We already had Fritz – a Chow mix Walmart dog also free for the taking back in 2001 to go with our new home. Did we really need another dog?

Fritz was an incredible friend, easily the greatest I’ve ever had. Fritz and I had an understanding of mutual respect. If I didn’t coheares him into something he didn’t want to do, he wouldn’t bite me. I have the scar tissue to prove it. As a pup, he slept on top of my head and assumed immediate control of his new domain. He never left my side in his 15 years. He’d sit in the office on a blanket or sit outside at the window barking. There was no ignoring him.

Dementia took our boy in 2015.

At the lilac farm, Barbara had her eye on a white Husky with mismatched eyes. I could not take my eyes off the black female – who maintained her penetrating “come hither” stare. It was a hopeless battle of wits – the black female Husky won out and was coming home with us.

Rosie was a lover. She’d rub her face against my leg with an “Oh what you do to me…” look in her eyes. Wherever I was – there she was. Rosie had her share of health issues including Mange when she was young. She had “doggie dandruff” for most of her life. Never had to sweep the kitchen floor. She was a robotic vacuum who captured every last crumb along the counters.

When Rosie had the munchies or needed to go out, she’d lay that penetrating stare on me to where you could feel it without even knowing she was there. We connected. Her senior Fritz took control the minute we brought her home. He’d follow her all over the yard, keeping her in line until she was large enough and could not escape.

Ma Man Fritz greeting Rosie as a young pup. They bonded and were the greatest of friends for years. When Fritz passed – Rosie never recovered and was never the same. Animals don’t speak our language – however, they grieve.

Rosie and Fritz were the best of buds for many years. In his last year, Fritz deteriorated from dementia and was skin and bones until he passed. When it was time, I got down on the floor with Fritz and spoke softly into his ear – letting him know how much he was loved. Our own Doctor Dave at the AV Animal Hospital is as kind and as gentle as they come. He sat with us and Fritz until our friend was gone.

Life moved on and Rosie needed a friend. Not long after Fritz passed, we adopted Sky, who got her name from our son, Jacob. Sky is a Lab mix wired for sound. A maniac with limitless energy. For every season – turn-turn-turn – a line from a song from our youth – describes the succession of dogs through the years.

Fritz passed. Rosie adjusted. Sky arrived and Rosie took on the duties of a momma dog. As you might imagine, Rosie grew old with hip problems and health issues that kept me running to the vet. A month ago, it was time to let her pass. Dr. Dave was at our side once more – bidding farewell to Rosie Girl. I always called her “Lady Girl.” As with Fritz, I held her face and said goodbye. A tearful moment on the way to others.

Rosie’s at peace now. Sky grieves and remains at my side. Life goes on.

Do you recall sitting in the car as a child waiting for Mom in the grocery store and hearing the telltale “click!” of a car clock – signaling the passage of time? Back in the day, car clocks maintained the steady ticking of a wind-up Big Ben alarm clock on the nightstand, yet we never had to rewind the car clock.

If you came of age in the digital era, read no further – you will never understand.

Digital car clocks with their rolling, flipping numbers came along in the 1970s with the AMC Gremlin, Chevy Vega, and Ford’s Mustang II. These artificial timekeepers did not deliver the drama and anticipation of the self-winding analog car clock.

“Self Winding?” you ask?

Yes – self winding…

Okay – so how does a car clock self-wind? Via the genius of inventor William Thompson, who secured seven patents between 1912 and 1915 for electrically wound car clocks. He co-founded the Thompson Electric Clock Company Memphis, Tennessee and began manufacturing clocks in 1915.

A succession of inventors and manufacturers followed.

We’re all familiar with bedside and kitchen wall electric clocks. Their small electric motors make the rounds via a gearset, with the second hand making a full sweep every minute. There’s that annoying 60 cycle alternating current “buzz” when it’s time to rise in the morning. I always liked the lighted dial illuminating the night.

The classic self-winding car clock is an electromechanical timekeeper. It employs a traditional wind-up clock movement, with a main spring and a balance wheel. As long as the main spring was kept wound and the balance wheel continued to rock back and forth, it kept time. Your car’s battery had to remain charged too. If the battery ran down, the clock would wind down and stop keeping time. When we reconnected a charged-up battery, there would be that telltale “click” and the clock would self wind.

The main spring is tied to an arm with contact points (a switch) that come together as the main spring winds down. That is the “tick-tick-tick” you hear as the balance wheel rocks back and forth and keeps time. When the contact points touch, electric current travels to a solenoid (electromagnet) that causes the main spring arm to rebound – winding the main spring back up to keep the clock ticking. The rewind is that “click” you hear every so often (typically every 30 or 60 seconds).

Now, do you understand the “click!”?

This is a subject burning a hole in what’s left of my brain.

The E-Zombie Apocalypse…

You heard right – or did you even hear me?

We’ve turned away from each other in great numbers, deeply in love with our cell phones – which has become a global obsession. The forgotten human race. This social phenomenon has invaded our homes, offices, shopping malls, movie theatres, county fairs, road trips, airliners, car shows, public parks, afternoon tea schedules, soccer games, and anywhere else humans gather.

You don’t see dogs, cats and other pets mindlessly staring at cell phones. They greet each other, sniff each other’s posteriors for identification, and hang together without much conversation. They share in a bone, chase cats (or mice), engage in mental telepathy, make eye contact, and chase one another across the yard. They do what human beings long did until the invention of the Smart Phone. And we refer to them as dumb animals. I am beginning to think we are the dumb animals.

I had a flip phone until 2012 when a business associate saw me holding one in my hand. He asked me when I was going to get a Smart Phone. “A what?” I asked. He hauled out his Smart Phone and strongly suggested I get with the times. I felt like a cave man. A non-conformist. I immediately went out and bought one from Verizon.

Fourteen years later, I have to wonder what the hell what I was thinking. Did I invest in a Smart Phone to fit in, or did I do it to fend off boredom on the toilet? The purchase of a Smart Phone was probably one of the most foolish things I’ve ever done because I am caught up in the E-Zombie Apocalypse. I am now a member of the completely clueless, mindless, personal, isolating, narcissistic form of entertainment. I think Smart Phone is a way to avoid people and those things we just don’t want to do – like housecleaning, paying bills, and engaging in conversation.

For such a connected society – we’re so very disconnected.

Whether I am sitting on a sofa in my family room or at lunch with a friend – I am always staring at a the back of a cell phone. Chatting via an electronic device isn’t socializing. It is a system of avoidance. Words on a screen or perhaps a video call where you’re not even breathing the same air.

What the hell is that?

Some will text us and say, “Call Me…” and I get my kickers in a wad. “Call You?!?!” I think to myself in a rage. But seriously, texting is one-sided conversation – rarely two-way – because our thoughts change with fluid precision. It is a form of ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) where you will say something completely missed by your chat mate. They’re thinking, “Did you even read what I just said?”

This is boned, folks…

We’re big on the word “disconnect” these days. It is in our subconscious all the time because we are disconnected – lost in an empty world of cell phone and laptop chatter. When I fly across this country, it’s hard to miss the E-Obsession. People sit anxiously with laptops and cell phones in their laps, “We’ve just passed through 10,000 feet – it is safe to use your electronic devices at this time…”

Are you kidding me? By the time flight attendants have been seated and engines have spooled to takeoff rated thrust, tray tables are down and laptops are already open. Wheels are up and we’re still stuck in this sea level obsession. Given an in-flight emergency and evacuation, people would be going out the emergency exits texting friends about the plane crash and, “Hold it, Debbie, gotta grab a selfie with the smoldering wreckage. Will send you a text!”

This is how sick we have become. You cannot go anywhere without stepping around some idiot grabbing a selfie before stepping into a fountain or in front of a bus. This sure beats the pants off of One Hour Photo Finishing. Grab it and text it – yesterday.

The late comedian and philosopher, George Carlin, commented about this phenomenon when we had one hour photo finishing – or a clunky VHS video camera on our shoulder. Gotta grab the family at Disney World, beginning with boarding the plane and getting seated. Carlin punctuated why would you want to a memory that just happened a minute ago?! You just saw it!!! Are we really THAT narcissistic that we need images of ourselves – now?

Praying to the Great God Verizon…

As much as I want to be optimistic about our future, I stand challenged. I can sit here at a PC observing human behavior, wondering how we got here. However, the masses have to believe there’s a problem in the first place.

Empty Promise – “Honey, I will do better…”

Few airports across the United States can claim operation longer than Southern California’s Hollywood Burbank Airport. What’s more – few others can claim as many different names as this suburban Los Angeles airport, located in the East end of the San Fernando Valley in the heart of the neighboring motion picture industry.

Hollywood Burbank Airport, a favorite mode of transportation with the studios, is Burbank convenient, with its share of limos and celebrities boarding private high speed business jets across the field from the passenger terminal every day. Those of us north of the Hollywood hills love this airport for its convenience.

When it opened in 1930, “BUR” was known as United Airport and held the name until 1934 when it was renamed the Union Air Terminal. At the onset of World War II, the name was again changed – this time to the Lockheed Air Terminal, with the huge presence of the Lockheed Aircraft Corporation’s manufacturing facility on the site. The name was retained until 1967 when the airport was officially renamed Hollywood-Burbank Airport.

Not short for new ideas, Burbank Airport experienced another identity crisis – renamed Burbank-Glendale-Pasadena Airport in 1978. If you think this was the end of the name game, you’re naive. In 2003, the powers that be changed the name again to Bob Hope Airport after the well-known actor and comedian. It kept the name legally though the name changed back to Hollywood-Burbank Airport in 2017. To date – this name remains.

When Burbank Airport opened in 1930, aviation was in its infancy – with Boeing and United Air Lines working together to get this airport off the ground. It took the collective efforts of business and government to get a site selected that was optimum for flying, with predictable winds, and a convenient location. In those days, Burbank Airport was out in the country among citrus groves and rich farmland. Movie studios were also in their infancy, ready to take advantage of the growing aviation industry.

Burbank Airport opened as United Airport on Memorial Day Weekend in 1930 amid much fanfare that included an air show, with dope and fabric biplanes and a handsome new terminal in Spanish Revival architecture. The original terminal’s footprint remains today – with a convenient wraparound entrance for easy access. At the time, flying was a luxury and for those who dared to leave the ground.

Burbank’s airport in the 1930s. This footprint remains today.

By 1939, United Air Lines, Western Airlines, and Trans World served BUR with sixteen daily departures – with Lockheed banging out aeronautical machines for the war effect in the 1940s. As the war wound down, Lockheed continued to produce commercial aircraft for the airlines – including the Constellation and Electra.

As flying became more doable for the masses, this humble little airport began to hum to where more and more travelers looked to the airlines instead of the railroads. The roar of radial piston engines rattled the windows of neighboring residents.

Jet travel came to Burbank in the late 1960s with Boeing 727 and 737, and Douglas DC-9 service to points in the West, with even greater distances as technology advanced and the world grew smaller. United Air Lines began serving Burbank with wide-body Boeing 767 jets to Chicago.

Burbank’s reach became unlimited.

I flew out of Burbank for the first time in 1990. A buddy was dropping me off for a Christmas flight to Tennessee when I noticed a familiarity about the Burbank terminal. “Isn’t this where Steve Douglas of My Three Sons worked?” I thought to myself. With Lockheed’s presence at Burbank in those days, it all made sense.

I’ve been flying in and out of Burbank for 36 years. The coming changes to Burbank stir a lot of emotions considering this century-old terminal building has been greeting me for the better part of four decades. Hollywood Burbank Airport is century-old inner-city airport with short runways and hair-raising approaches with intense thrust reverse and hot brakes. You land to the East and pilots jump on the binders – turning directly into the gate.

A new state-of-the-art Hollywood Burbank Airport terminal is coming fast, well away from the runways that make people nervous. The new terminal has been a long time coming – with endless disputes between governmental bodies on how to grow the airport. Although I will miss the existing terminal – the new terminal is an important advance in terms of safety and convenience. Travelers will love this new facility.

To the existing Burbank terminal – I bid you farewell – you will be missed.

The new Hollywood Burbank Airport terminal will be state-of-the-art – yet with old fashioned airstairs and ramps that enable you see the aircraft you are boarding. Because Southern California enjoys sunshine most of the time, a little occasional rain won’t hurt anyone. I will miss the nostalgic terminal.

After much debate between the Airport Authority, the city of Burbank, the Transportation Security Administration, and Burbank residents, in November 2007 it was decided that construction of a new $8 million to $10 million baggage screening facility for Terminal B is legal, considering the anti-growth limitations placed on the airport. The facility will house a $2.5-million explosive detection system, used for the automatic detection of explosives within checked luggage.^[22]

In June 2014, a $112 million Regional Transportation Center opened. The 520,000-square-foot (48,310-square-meter) center at Hollywood Way and Empire Avenue was also built to withstand a major earthquake while serving as an emergency “nerve center.” The industrial-looking hub with a red steel roof will be adorned by 16, three-story art panels. Solar panels generating 1.5 megawatts of electricity will also be added to its roof. A nearby parking garage was built to handle more than 1,000 cars, while traffic lights have been reworked around the airport.^[23]