Engineering Transmittal Please Return Signed: Fill & Download for Free

Warning: This response includes a limited amount of cursing.“Tipton Traffic, N5512Q (his tail number was published in the news) Engine out, Tipton.” I heard over the radio as I sat at the operations desk at Tipton Airfield, in Ft. Meade, MD (actually just south of Ft. George G. Meade’s “wire”) on November 22, 2015. Ironically, I had been typing a Quora Answer trying to convince a user that flying was safe; that she had nothing to fear (I have yet to actually submit that answer.)I walked over to the radio, “12Q (the last three digits of a plane’s tail number can be used to identify it if no two planes share the same digits,) Tipton Unicom, say again?”No response.With a slightly more concerned voice, I said, “12Q, Tipton Unicom, please confirm engine out.”Nothing. The pilot was doing as he should, prioritizing flying the aircraft over communicating.Through my office window, I saw the Mooney M60E that was N5512Q coming in with the wind on his tail (usually, you’d land into the wind so as to have more air over the wings with a lower speed relative to the ground.) Cue, a strong, very unfortunate gust of wind with 12Q less than 20′ off the ground.His right wingtip impacted the ground first. Going at least 70KIAS, the aircraft careened about 350′, spinning down the runway, with his wingtips acting as his landing gear and his landing gear acting more like dead weight. He stopped just short of the PAPI (precision approach path indicator) lights and the 6.8 amp, 500V live wires powering it.Somehow, he didn’t cartwheel. That would have been an instant death sentence. The fuel tanks would have ruptured and the 100 octane leaded Avgas inside ignited in a relatively large conflagration.“Oh, shit!,” I yelled out loud despite being the only person in the FBO at the time.I don’t remember freezing. I took two steps back to my desk and called 911.“Anne Arundel County 911, what’s your emergency?”“I just had a plane crash at Tipton Airfield, 7515 General Aviation Dr., Ft. Meade, MD 20755.”“You had WHAT?”“A plane just crashed.”“Roger, what do you need?”“I need an ambulance and a fire truck.”“Is the plane on fire?”“As far as I can tell, no, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t. It full of 100 octane fuel. (I knew this because I had seen the guy 30 minutes before filling up.)“You can’t tell? Where are you?”“About 350 yards from the plane sitting in the FBO.” said I, now with an impatient sounding voice.“The fire department is on their way. They should be there in 5–10 minutes.”(Tipton is a small airport. Our “fire house” is a storage shed and our “fire department” is non-existent. The FAA does not require us to have one nor could we afford to have one.)As a member of the Civil Air Patrol, I had been trained to not endanger my safety in a rescue attempt. The first thing you are taught is “Don’t become the mission;) don’t make us have to save you, too. Yes, its cold, but so is life. An explosion doesn’t give a damn about the fact you were trying to save a life.Even if I was trained to endanger my safety, there would have been nothing I could do. The crash was violent. I fully believed the pilot had suffered a spinal injury. I may have first aid certification, but that does not cover spinal injuries. You are taught to leave them in place and let paramedics/ fire fighters extricate the victim from the wreak.Fortunately, we have two Medstar Health helicopters based on the field. Unfortunately, they, and their paramedics, were both airborne responding to other emergencies.I hung up the phone and ended the 911 call. I waited about three seconds for the call to disconnect before picking the phone back up and calling Leesburg Flight Service Station (FSS) in Leesburg, VA to file a NOTAM (NOtice To AirMen) to close the runway.“Lockheed Martin (they operate most if not all FSS’s) Flight Service, (I’ve since forgotten his name,) how may I help you?”“Hi, this is Ryan Payne at Tipton. I need to post a NOTAM to close runway 10/28 due to an aircraft crash.”“How long is it going to be closed for?” (He’s required to ask this in order to file the NOTAM.)“I don’t know. Indefinitely. I’ll call you back to cancel it.”“I need an expiration date and time, sir.”“December 1st at 1300Z.” (The “Z” means zulu time, or, in layman’s terms, UTC. Approximately 8AM local time.) The date and time were random, we could always push the expiration date back if needed. I just wanted to give us more than enough time to resolve the situation.While I was on the phone with 911 and Leesburg, the aviation departments of both Anne Arundel County and Howard County police departments, both located in Hangar 84, hopped in their cars and floored it to the crash site.After getting off the phone with Leesburg, I walked outside to get a better view of the crash site to look for flames, the pilot, ect. It had been six minutes since impact.I walked out to shut off the 100LL Avgas tank. After all, we didn’t know if fuel quality was to blame for the crash. And we didn’t want to find out the hard way.I pulled out my cell phone and called the Operations Manager (they are both off on the weekends, only operations support agents such as myself are present on the weekends. Even then, its only one of us on duty at any time.)“Hey, C—- (operations manager, name withheld,) we just had a crash.”“WHAT!?!”“N5512Q just crashed. Fire department’s on the way.”“Alright, just keep people away from the crash site.”“Wilco.” (Aviation/ military/ radio/ abbreviation for “will comply.”)“I’ll be there soon. Did you call M—-?” (the airport manager, name withheld.)“Not yet, but I will.”“Alright, see you in a bit.”Then I heard the sirens.“Bye.”The vehicle gate between General Aviation Drive and the ramp and runway were still closed. And the fire department didn’t have a gate key.Nor did I.There is a way to quickly open powered gates and keep them open without a gate key. Let’s just say I know how and I’m not about to tell.I sprinted to and opened the gates and stood just outside them while I waited for the fire trucks to turn onto General Aviation drive. As they drove towards the FBO, I waved to get their attention. The gate is about 125 yards past the FBO parking lot.They pulled up to where I was standing and asked where the plane was. I pointed to it on, or rather, just off, the runway.“Right there.”, I yelled over the noise coming from the truck’s engine.“Is the runway closed?”“Yes, sir.”With those words, they pulled onto the ramp with the ambulance in tow and drove out to the plane.With trained professionals (the fire department) on scene, I began to calm down. I shut the gate behind them and “locked” it so as to return it to normal operation. (There is a pressure sensor on the ramp side of the gate that allows vehicles to drive out without a key.)I walked back to the FBO to grab my coat, gloves, and hat. It was the end of November, the week before Thanksgiving. It was COLD, and I wanted some warmth. (You’ll realize very quickly if you spend any amount of time at an airport that they are never comfortable. They are either baking hot with high humidity or freezing cold with strong winds.)I hopped into the operation’s truck and pulled up to the gate. At the time, we had state police cars flooding onto the airport to investigate. And the gate was locked. And they didn’t have keys. I hopped into the truck so I could trip the gate’s pressure sensor from the comfort of a heated cabin, allowing them to pull through.We probably had 12 Maryland State Police and eight Anne Arundel County police cars on the field at one point, not counting those belonging to the aviation departments . It must have been an otherwise slow day in the area.The general manager arrived first and motioned for me to open my window.“Have you been over there yet?” he said.“No. I’m not trained to do anything that could help and thought it would be best to stay out of their way.”“Okay. In the future, remember, when C and I aren’t around, you represent the airport. Follow me.”I followed him onto the runway and parked the truck towards the back of the group of cop cars. We had the cop cars, two fire trucks, and ambulance, my manager’s SUV, the operations truck, and one wreaked M60E sitting about 75–100 feet south of the runway.My manager started talking to this one guy. He wasn't in a uniform, but I recognized him. He had been in the FBO 45 minutes before the crash to buy oil. He was the pilot, the sole occupant of the aircraft during the crash.Amazingly, he not only survived, but was walking.I had thought that we would have a coroner show up at the airport to collect his body.Somewhat more optimistically, I thought we would have to have Med Star or some other Medevac company airlift him to the hospital. But no. He was perfectly fine.Any landing you can walk away from, right?The paramedics tried to convince him to go to the hospital to get checked out. He refused, likely because he was afraid they would find something that would ground him for life. Frankly, I can’t say I blame him. The FAA can be ass backwards when it comes to medicine sometimes.At this point, the fire department had declared the scene safe and left.You could tell he was in a state of psychological shock. N5512Q was his first plane, a nice plane. A plane he had paid over $60,000 for. ($60,000 being the average cost for an M60E.) A plane he had lost in an accident that almost claimed his life as well.And now it was merely scrap metal.After awhile, C arrived and told me to grab the camera, a Cannon DSLR, out of the Ops office closet and take pictures of the crash site.The cops documented the scene, taking pictures and measuring distances, before leaving. The right wing was bent upwards at least a 30 degree angle. Ditto for the horizontal stabilizer. The propeller tips were bent backwards at a 90 degree angle. There were holes in the wing caused by pieces of the airframe puncturing the skin. The engine had seized, which would have required an expensive overhaul if not complete replacement. His left main gear had collapsed back into the wheel well. His right main gear had pushed up into and through the wing, the top of its shock sticking out. The nose gear was 150′ behind the plane. At least the tanks weren't leaking.While the cops were documenting the scene, I tuned the handheld radio I had on my hip to 121.500MHz and heard the familiar sound of an ELT (emergency location transmitter) going off as designed. The ELT was sending GPS coordinates up to a USAF satellite. If he had crashed off field, these coordinates would have been routed to the USAF RCC (USAF rescue coordination center) in Tyndall AFB in Florida before being forwarded to local search and rescue forces, me included. Needless to say, no one likes hearing an ELT going off when the pilot is no longer in peril.I climbed into the plane and started looking for the ELT. I’d shut off non-distress ELTs before with CAP, usually after a pilot had landed hard and left. This usually involves removing the ELT unit (its a sealed orange box) from the plane and flipping the switch to the “reset” position before releasing it to return to the “arm” (standby) mode.I couldn’t find it, so I called the Emergency Services Officer at my CAP squadron.“Hey, Co (name withheld,) its Payne, I just had a plane crash at Tipton.”“Okay.”“Well, I can’t find the ELT and need a way to shut it off.”“Hmm…Okay, you won’t be able to SHUT it off, but you can block the signal. Wrap some aluminum foil around the ELT antenna.”“Got it. Thanks. See you Wednesday (at the weekly meeting.”)“See ya.”“Hey, does this count as a save? Hello? You still there? Damn it.”I hopped back in the ops truck and drove back to the FBO to grab aluminum foil and duct tape. Right before I stepped out the door, the phone rang:“Good Afternoon, Tipton Airport, Ryan speaking, how may I help you?”“Hello, this is (I forgot her name,) from the Air Force Rescue Coordination Center. We are picking up a signal from an ELT in your area.”“Yeah, I thought you were. I’m in CAP so I know how the system works. We had a plane crash here. The pilot’s uninjured. I was just about to head out and shut the ELT off.”“Okay, so the plane is on the airport?”“Yes.”“Thank you.”“You’re welcome.”As I walked around the plane looking for the ELT antenna, I noticed a flashing red light on the dashboard. The light was right above a switch labeled “ELT.” I flipped the switch to “reset.”Once the cops had begun to leave, M called a towing company we had used before. They told him they were busy and would be there in two hours. We went back to the FBO with the pilot in tow. He was still shocked.One of the cops, before he left the airport, noticed the pilot’s Ipad inside the plane and brought it into the FBO for him. Since I had nothing else to do, and the plane was totaled, I decided to clean it out for him.I drove the ops truck onto the runway and loaded everything that wasn't bolted down into the ops truck. Luggage, oil containers, sunglasses, seat covers, blankets, phone chargers, everything. I completely filled the entire passenger side of the truck with baggage and other belongings. I then drove back to the FBO and told the pilot I had unloaded his belongings for him.Before the truck arrived, he wanted to drive out to his plane one last time to view the damage. We hopped in the ops truck and drove out. He had to sit in the back seat since the passenger seat was buried.“Damn. Nice plane.” said I in a disappointed tone of voice. “Do you have insurance?”“Only liability.”“Fuck.” said I under my breath, startled by the fact it had slipped.“Don’t worry about it.”Let me tell you, when you like planes and see one totaled, it is slightly depressing. Much like a motorhead would be saddened seeing a wreaked ’67 Mustang on a truck, us pilots (and aspiring pilots) are saddened when we see a plane wreak.He told me he wasn’t going to take all his stuff home with him, it was too much. He had recently moved to Florida and had flown up commercially to pick up his plane. He was taking off from Tipton to take his plane to its new home. And it crashed on the way out.We drove out the gate and pulled in front of the FBO’s dumpster. He began to sort through his belongings, deciding what he would take, what he would give away, and what he would throw away. He did this with his eyes on the verge of tears.After doing this, we pulled back onto the ramp and parked in front of the FBO. After I walked inside, my manager instructed me to grab an empty one gallon gas can from the fire house and take a sample of 100LL Avgas in case the FAA wanted a sample. I grabbed the can, took a sample, and sealed the can shut with a signed piece of duct tape. We would latter learn that our fuel quality was perfect and did not cause the crash.Some time later, the towing company showed up with a heavy duty wrecker (80,000Lbs capacity) and informed us they had a flatbed truck about 15 minutes behind. We lead him out to the plane. He had thought the aircraft had come down on the runway, not 75–100 feet into the grass. While we were waiting for the flatbed to arrive, the guy started to place airbags under the left wing in an attempt to pull the main gear back down. (Aircraft wings are angled such that the wingtip is slightly higher than the wing root, so there was some space for the airbag.)Once he got it up and propped against a stack of 2x4′s (I’ve forgotten the technical term for them,) he tried to pull the wheel down. Unfortunately, it was jammed and wouldn’t budge.Time for Plan B.He grabbed a dolly and stacked 2x4’s on it. He used the airbags initially before using the crane on the wrecker attached to the nose of the aircraft to lift the plane up until he could slide the dolly underneath. Once the wing had some kind of wheel underneath it, he used the winch on a flatbed (which had been driven onto the grass) to pull the plane on.The winch was attached to the only feature on the aircraft they could find: the propeller. Pulling on the propeller essentially left it in an non-airworthy state; no “parting out” the prop.All the while, metal was screeching, as if the plane was moaning in agony. Needless to say, the pilot didn’t seem to enjoy that. He still seemed attached to the plane five hours after nearly dying. And who could blame him? It was his first plane and, now that it was totaled, he wanted to get as much money back out of it as possible.While this was going on, we had one plane enter the downwind leg of the traffic pattern announcing its intention to land on runway 10:“Tipton Traffic, N——-(I’ve since forgotten thier tail number,) on the 45 (degree intercept for downwind,) Runway 10, Tipton.”“N———, Tipton Unicom, the runway is closed.”“When’s it going to be open?”“I don’t know, we’re working on it now.”“Well, is there enough room for us to fit by?”“Look, the ru…”“Let me handle this.”, said M. “We had a plane crash. We are currently working on removing it.”“But will we fit?”“No. We’ve got a wrecker on the runway pulling the plane out of the mud. You can not land here.”Just as he said that, the towing crew got the plane onto the flatbed.“Give us 20 minutes to finish up here.”“Roger, Tipton Traffic, N——- is entering a holding pattern just off downwind, Tipton.”We couldn’t ship the plane to a scrap yard with the wings sticking out 15′+ on each side. Besides, we might have been called by the FAA or NTSB asking to inspect the plane in an attempt to deduce why it crashed.Somehow, the flatbed didn’t get stuck in the mud and pulled onto the runway with N5512Q on its back. We wound up towing it to one of the transient parking spots in front of the FBO and lowered in onto the ground. Metal scrapping on concrete is not a pleasant sound. Once it was one the ground, M and I grabbed some tie down straps out of the truck and strapped it down to the anchor points embedded into the ramp (light planes can be blown away in high winds, hence they are tied down to anchors embedded into the ground.)Once it was strapped down, I went back out of the runway and crept down it at five miles per hour preforming a VERY through FOD (foreign object debris) check. (The tiniest screw can catastrophically destroy a jet engine, leading to a potential crash. And we’d rather not have another one.)The towing crew then left. M offered to drive the pilot to the BWI airport Marriott hotel for the night. The pilot would catch a flight down to Florida in the morning. We then loaded the pilot’s belongings into M’s SUV. M then instructed me to download the pictures from the camera onto the computer and write a rough log of events before closing up. I did so.Once the incident “paperwork” had been handled, followed my normal closing routine, albeit, almost three hours latter than normal. I rinsed out the coffee pot, took out the trash, closed out the register, and locked the doors before finally driving home.I’m glad I was off for the next six days.The plane sat in that spot until January when it was moved to one of our seldom used parking spots along the taxiway.The last I saw of it was in May. Someone from an aircraft salvage company came by and began to salvage all usable parts from the airframe before cutting the wings off (they had since had their fuel drained) and loading it onto a trailer and driving it off the airport to a scrapyard.This was a small plane crash with only one person onboard. There was no fire, no explosion, no massive emergency services response. This had practically zero media coverage, save for a few very short news articles.Even though no one was injured or killed, and there was no damage save for the plane, the crash was stressful for myself and, to a greater extent, to the pilot.Initially, it was disbelief, followed by panic (“Shit! Did I just witness someone die!?!”) Then came boredom, followed by physical discomfort as we worked to remove the plane from the runway. Next was the annoyance of repeatedly telling a pilot the runway was closed. I later learned that someone at Leesburg had forgotten to click “submit” on his computer while filing the NOTAM. As a result the pilot had never received the NOTAM during his pre-flight briefing. In the weeks that followed, I had a very minor amount of nervousness whenever I thought about flying out of Tipton. Such nervousness was unneeded. Fortunately, it went away when I was offered a free flight by a friend. He was a flight instructor; his student, one of my dad’s coworkers. After about one minute of being airborne on that December day three weeks after the crash, the nervousness faded away.I imagine for the pilot it was a case of sheer terror followed by shock, followed by disappointment, followed by thankfulness (just in time for Thanksgiving.) I haven’t seen the pilot since (as he is now in Florida.) Hopefully he is still flying.

The most interesting story I never wrote is one about a hideous and shockingly realistic recurring nightmare I suffered while on vacation at a wilderness camp. The psychoemotional disturbing bad dream tormented me the entire fortnight. In this insidious nightmare I kept seeing a man who was found wandering naked along a stretch of remote highway that weaves it’s mordant path through the distant boreal forest of the haunted North Woods.The man was babbling incoherently, his identity was and remains completely unknown. Dental records, finger prints, questioning of owners of the few camps in the area where the mentally sick man was found - nothing whatsoever helped to shed light on the deranged man’s name or place of origin.He was taken by ambulance one hundred and fifty miles away to a psychiatric hospital. Treatments were ineffective. Doctors were baffled by the mysterious man’s mental condition. He spoke in a language unknown on Earth. He wrote strange symbols on the wall in his own blood.Every effort was made to prevent him harming himself. No sharp objects were permitted to be left in his room. A 24 hour suicide watch was ordered. One can easily imagine the anxious confusion that erupted when the unidentified man mysteriously vanished under such heavy guard. Authorities were at a complete loss as to how he managed to effect escape.The strange man was gone. That’s all there was to it.Yet, what was even stranger than his paranormal disappearance was the fact that under his mattress were discovered a stack of papers which had words of the English language thinly scrawled on their stained wrinkled surface. The barely legible writing was not made with pen or pencil. Scientific analysis of the medium revealed a chemical compound of unknown origin composed of elements which do not exist in the Periodic Table.The mysterious stranger who had vanished like a ghost from the psychiatric hospital had apparently been rendering a record of a bizarre story, but whether the tale was a schizophrenic hallucination or a literal account of actual events, no one has been able to verify to this very day.The unidentified mentally disturbed man seemed to be talking to some lurking personality named Sybil.I shall here present to you the official transcription of the writing found on what the press dubbed “The Mattress Papers” in the order in which hospital staff originally discovered them….the cryptic message left behind by the Man Whom No One Knew!"What do you want to know?""Well, to begin with, I'd like to know why we’re in a sewer.""This isn't a sewer, its an abandoned storm shelter""Whatever you say, Chief. How much farther before we get to....what'd you call it?""The Hall of Archives.""Oh yeah, the Hall of Archives. Now I remember. Well how much longer before we get there?""Not far now. We're almost to the real door. ""We just passed a door.""That was a mock door. It leads into a trap. A person who enters that door will never see daylight again, and no one will hear their screams.""What sort of sadist den is this? Trap doors? Are you serious?""We have to take such precautions to guard the Archives. Some of the information contained in these documents would cause mass hysteria if it ever became public knowledge. I remind you that you have signed a nondisclosure agreement. You are legally bound never to reveal the existence of this facility to anyone under any circumstances.""How can I reveal the location of this place when I don't even know where we are? Your goons blindfolded me at the motel, put me in an automobile, then drove for what had to be well over an hour before leading me, still blindfolded, into an elevator which judging by the way my equilibrium was spinning brought me, at an alarmingly rapid rate of descent, a long way down into the ground. I heard what sounded like the elevator doors opening as I was pushed a few feet forward. The blindfold was roughly yanked from my face whence I saw you standing in front of my eyes, which no doubt would have been squinting if it weren't for the curious fact that it is eerily dark down here."Boom! Boom! Boom! I can see their eyes! I can see their hideous red eyes! I always know when Sybil is coming because I can see their horrid red eyes glowing in the dark!I'm happy for you Sybil and honestly you have my sincere gratitude for your generosity toward me. You are really terrific, you're like an angel or a fairy godmother, you have a gift for making people feel appreciated. I realize you're probably tired from your journey and need to rest, so with your permission I'll maybe send you a little "hello how ya doin'" note sometime next week and please feel free to talk to me anytime you like about anything you like. I love to talk. I'm fleshing out the grim nature of the main character in another novel I'm writing.He's a loner who doesn't say much. There's this scene I'm writing where he's all alone on an interstate highway at night out west in the Plains States or perhaps the Oregon desert where towns are few and far between - only an occasional truck-stop or dive motel. The hour is late. He's traveling to a logging town in the Pacific Northwest to investigate horrifying reports of people vanishing under mysterious circumstances.The local gossip blames everything from Sasquatch to alien abductions, so this quiet loner is thinking over this disturbing information while he's driving all by himself in the middle of nowhere at night. A few miles back he thought he saw a woman walking on the side of the highway, but when he stopped and got out of his 4x4 to see if she needed help - a ride somewhere maybe - there was no woman to be seen. He looks all around and calls out, but the echo of his own voice is the only reply from the near total darkness of the remote wilderness that surrounds him.He gazes abstractedly for a moment at his blood red tail lights, then gets back in his Bronco and starts driving again. He feels an eerie chill, but the heater won't work. He turns on the radio to help calm his tightening nerves and another ghostly thing happens. Scanning the dial, all his radio picks up is static until, in desperation he switches to an old seldom-used AM bandwidth. Faintly, a coherent sound materializes through the speakers of his rumbling Bronco. There's only this one radio station that tunes in. No DJ, no announcer, no station identification, yet mysteriously the song I'm On Fire by Bruce Springsteen is playing. The haunting song is looped. It keeps playing over and over. The spooked traveler turns the knob but the bewitched radio won't go off! The song keeps playing. The lonely bewildered traveler keeps driving into the paranormal late dark night.Boom! Boom! Boom! The diabolical red eyes again! I admire you, Sybil, you really are an angel, a fairy godmother, Wonder Woman, Supergirl all in one! It is civilized and compassionate of you to encourage my writing the way you do. Your enthusiasm is dear to me, Sybil.Honestly and sincerely, your words are a treasure…. you are a treasure, Sybil. A million and one thank yous for giving me your gracious consent to reach out to you anytime. I like the way you say that “reach out”, because being a writer I can envision myself as a storm-tossed soul in a harrowing world of shadows with you as a guiding light - a lighthouse hailing me to safe harbor.Truly, Sybil, I honestly deeply appreciate your kindness toward me and I shall always extend every kindness and thoughtful consideration to you. I'm thrilled you're interested in the new novel I'm writing. The phrase "flesh a character out" or "fleshing out a story" I got from something Ernest Hemingway said in A Moveable Feast which is a book he wrote in later years about his youthful experiences with his first marriage in Paris. He tells the story of how he switched from writing journalism for the Toronto newspaper to being a full time novelist. The novel he was writing at that time was The Sun Also Rises.So then, in fleshing out this brooding loner in the new novel which you are so generously encouraging me about, dear Sybil, I realized that this reclusive fellow must have a reason, a driving force, a strong impetus for his lone wolf lifestyle and personality. If there's one thing I've figured out about writing it's that readers want believable; therefore, I have to make this strong-silent-type character realistic, so there's the question WHY is he like he is?This concept is an idea I got from one of the screenwriters of the original JAWS movie when he said that Quint needed a reason for being the way he was and that's how that haunting speech about the USS Indianapolis Quint tells that night aboard the Orca entered into that eerie scene of the film.Well, to flesh out this character believably with a sort of obsession that explains his radically eccentric behavior I think, Sybil, that you and I should start with a name for this guy. Yes, a name will be a tactically advantageous starting point. He must have a standout name, something out of the ordinary.I think you helped me generate an idea for his name. What I mean is that my memories of you from long ago high-school days, the distant sensation of memories from long ago, that mood that such sentiments induce, well, there are these islands in the far cold North Atlantic known as the Faroe Islands, it's a mystical place Sybil, like a medieval fantasy or something. It's like Alaska - it’s dark with no sun at all for the deepest coldest months of winter.The people on those remotely distant far north islands are of Scandinavian stock who settled those mysterious islands for the highly productive North Atlantic fishing waters.So then, our brooding loner in this new novel can be the son of some people who immigrated to Florida from the far away frigid Faroe Islands, and since he's of Scandinavian blood, his standout unique name can be Borkum Boone!Another driving passion of Boone’s has to be a woman - obviously, a woman for sure. The woman he thought he saw on the side of the lonely interstate highway at night has to be as important to the story as Borkum Boone, which means she needs a name as unique and poignant as his.I actually thought of using our names (Sybil and ****) yet for us the story needs to have that surreal mood which might require names to which you and I are not accustomed. I'll let you know as soon as I arrive at a name for the mystery woman who haunts Borkum Boone. I thank you with all my heart, Sybil, for being so good to me. You are an incredibly powerful inspiration to my writing and I thank you, Sybil, my darling Sybil. I sincerely thank you.Boom! Boom! Boom! The monstrous red eyes! Good evening, dear lovely Sybil. Our favorite late night hour has come upon us again and as I sit here at my writing desk thinking of you and this new novel, the story for which you are supplying the greatest inspiration, I'm having visions of that singular paranormal radio show broadcaster sitting alone in that low gray, block building beneath that tall red and white transmitter tower with that one blood-red light high at the apex, slowly flashing off and on with tangles of tumbleweed creeping along the dry, dusty ground while prairie wolves howl mournfully in the distant night. I was thinking just now about the mysterious woman who haunts Borkum Boone filling him with the angst of being afflicted with some indescribable need for her. We want a name for her. A uniquely unforgettable name, yet in order to remain mysterious she must be surrounded in mystery. Accordingly, the ghostly woman whose shadow lurks over Boone's shoulder following him wherever he goes must remain ghostly mysterious until the climax of the story!Boone knows the name of the woman for whom he is searching, but he's not sure if the ghost woman who seems to be following him is indeed the same woman whose name he knows. For this mystery woman's name, I think that instead of merely introducing her with her name already in place that it would be an experience of more profound moment for readers to participate in searching for the origin of the mystery woman's name. The mystery woman’s name would thus be a mystery in and of itself! This will draw readers deeper into our story, Sybil, so as to make it a living breathing adventure in the macabre, but in order to arrive at the mystery of the mysterious woman's name, we must first know a bit more of the history of Borkum Boone himself.Since we've already established that he is the son of Faroese immigrants, we can follow the course of his life from a traumatic and life-changing event that happened to Boone when he was very young. He was born in Florida and when he was in 3rd grade he was seriously injured in a terrible fall from the sliding board on the elementary school playground.As a result of the fall, young Boone was knocked unconscious. After being rushed to the hospital in an ambulance, doctors determined based on X-rays of Boone's head that he had suffered a skull fracture resulting in an epidural hematoma. The surgeons had to drill into Boone's cranium to relieve the pressure building up on his brain!Boone was in a coma for two weeks and when he finally regained consciousness, doctor's were pleased to inform his very distraught parents that Boone was recovering beautifully and that he would not suffer permanent brain damage. Boone's recovery did seem complete and he eventually returned to school whence an eerie fact became evident. Boone was now afflicted with painful headaches which violently struck him without warning and were always accompanied by a loud buzzing noise in his ears!Boone was the only one who heard the buzzing though it was so loud in his ears that he couldn't understand how others weren't hearing thunderous buzz. Modern medicine has no cure for Boone's rare ailment and he refuses to become addicted to pain killers, so he endures the painful headache episodes as best he can, slowly building up a tolerance for the pain because it usually only lasts a few minutes.Over time Boone discovers that though other people don't hear the buzzing, animals - both domesticated & wild - do appear to be able to hear the roaring buzzing in Boone's ears as loudly as he does. This is a troubling mystery, but what is even more troubling is that immediately after the painful headaches and deafening buzzing, someone in Boone's immediate vicinity invariably meets with nightmarish horrifying tragic fate. At first, Boone thinks that he himself is at fault for the terrible and often fatal accidents that befall random individuals who happen to be near him when he is stricken by one of his convulsive head pain attacks, but as the years drag on, another life-altering twist of fate crosses Boone's path.While on a visit to Old Town amusement park, Boone and a couple of his counter-culture friends seek a reading with a psychic medium, Madame Lucinda. This gypsy fortuneteller suffers a seizure when she takes Boone's hand in hers. Madame Lucinda winds up unconscious on the floor. This terrifies Boone's friends, especially since they are in possession of illegal contraband. They think the old woman is dead so they run out leaving Boone alone with the gypsy who, after a few minutes, comes to her senses.Boone helps her up off the floor and there amid the candlelight, incense, human skulls, and croaking Raven, Madame Lucinda informs Boone that he has a mystical and very special gift stemming from the concussion he suffered on the playground which Madame Lucinda knew about without Boone telling her.After high-school graduation, Boone attends the police academy and after two years is hired by the Orange County Sheriff's Department, but during the first month of his mandatory 90 day probationary period, two deputies in charge of Boone's training are seriously wounded and though Internal Affairs can't find any actual physical proof that Boone is in any way responsible, the hopeful cadet’s employment with the sheriff's department is sadly terminated.After that, Boone - despondent that his dreams of a sterling career in law enforcement will never be realized, and under the shadow of local suspicion which makes him feel ostracized as an outcast - joins a traveling carnival where he discovers many tricks of the grifting trade from an alcoholic magician. Boone quickly gains national attention for his amazing skills as a Palm Reader. There are occasional tragedies which are vaguely associated with Boone, tragedies sometimes resulting in unexplained deaths, but the shady carnival operator is only interested in the growing profits the magic show is raking in as a result of Boone's uncanny psychic powers, so the owner of the carnival ignores the shadow looming over his prize act.When local authorities start asking too many questions, the carnival simply moves on to another town before the heat gets too heavy. In spite of a lurking stigma surrounding Boone's steadily rising cult stardom, his eerily accurate prophetic readings are a paranormal phenomenon that wins a very lucky break for Boone when criminal investigators in Washington, D.C. find out about his unique gift and summon him to the nation's capital to assist with solving a string of grizzly murders that are suspected to be linked to a Satanic Cult operating from an old Georgian architecture red brick mansion situated on the North Branch of the Potomac river.This is what leads to Boone's first grim encounter with the mystery woman who thereafter haunts his life. From that fateful night onward, her ominous shadow follows him everywhere he goes. This is how readers discover the eerie name of the witchy mystery woman. How do you like this novel so far, Sybil? Is it moving in a direction that pleases you?Boom! Boom! Boom! The diabolical red eyes! Hello, Sybil, my darling love. The flaming six-winged Seraph is coming for me soon, so I must rush to tell you what there is left to tell! Please forgive the unpolished wording. It goes like this….Back in the secret underground Chamber of Archives the curator pulls box off dusty shelf, removes lid, “Here are letters exchanged between Boone and his odd, highly dubious correspondents. These are maps drawn in his own hand, and here, yuck, I’m not touching those nasty things! are relics he collected from macabre far-off places where his investigations took him, and, ah yes, here we are, the Boone Diary! Some of it he speaks in the first person, other entries are third person omniscient as if he were writing a novel.”Visitor who signed nondisclosure agreement begins reading the coveted and eerily cryptic Boone Diary…. firearm glued to pale-skinned, pale-haired young woman’s hands. She’s screaming “Help me, Boone!” Boone begging Federal Agents not to shoot her because she’s a victim, the Satanists brought her to the old Georgian red brick mansion as a neophyte. The portentous phrase “Ah Satan” is written on the dank basement wall. She is shot by Federal Agents, gurgling choking blood from her pretty mouth! Boone gently holding her hand as paramedics carry her toward ambulance on gurney, “Tell me your name! I can heal you, I can save your life, I have powers, I can save you but only if I know your name! I must know your name!”She gurgled blood straining with weakening attempts to speak, her speech is garbled, Boone leans his ear close to her mouth but he cannot make out what she is saying, “Her blood pressure is dropping!” paramedics push him aside “Sir, please get out of the way! We’ve got to get her to the hospital!”Boone in tears, searches entire house, makes his way back down into basement, Ah Satan on basement wall, he can’t make any sense of it, next day Boone is summoned to FBI headquarters, friend agent in closed door session with superior, superior speaking sarcastically, “Borkum Boone….oh yeah, sure, I know all about you Boone. You have attacks of violent head pain accompanied by a loud buzzing noise in your ears. They call you Buzzy. Yeah, Buzzy Boone. You don’t like that, do you Boone? You don’t like it when people call you Buzzy? People have a way of meeting with tragedy soon after one of your noisy headaches”“He has a gift, Chief.”“Yeah, the gift of death! I can’t pin it on you Boone, at the moment, but when I do, believe me you’ll be facing the death penalty yourself!”Outside the office walking slowly down hall, friend agent speaking encouragement, “Don’t let that get to you, Boone. He’s just frustrated at the dead end this case is taking. He’s lashing out in frustration. You’re the most convenient target at the moment, being an outsider.”“Yeah, seems I’m always on the outside.”“You have a good working relationship with the Bureau. You’ll be called to help solve some other cases. Right now, the smoke from this has to clear. Get some rest. Take a vacation or something. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”“Get me back inside the mansion.”“Ah, Boone, that I cannot do. I wish I could, but the chief , he’s the ring leader on this case, if he says you’re to stay away from there, that’s what you damn well better do. Seriously, Boone, don’t screw this up. That’s just what he wants you to do. They teach psychological warfare tactics at the Academy. He’s pushing you in hope that you’ll hang yourself. Stay away from the mansion. Go someplace quiet for awhile. Then, when you come back, I’ll let you view all the evidence. Photos, witness statements, everything, but for right now, just let things cool off. Let the chief cool off. Don’t let him trip you up. You’re smarter than that. You’re smarter than he is.”“I appreciate the validity of everything you’re telling me, friend agent, but later will be too late. I’ve got to see everything now. I’ve got to get back in the mansion.”“It’s not a game, Boone. He’s got a tail on you, which I’m sure you know. Please, I don’t want to see you hurt. Please promise me you’ll stay away from the mansion. Promise me you’ll get out of town.”Boone nodded with a faint side-dressing of smile, then gloomily trudged away down the astringent sterile hall of the J. Edgar Hoover Building.Boone loses tail, crosses police tape line, sneaks back into mansion. Down in basement racking his brain over Ah Satan, mysteriously inscribed on old basement wall. He’s pressuring himself to figure it out, then remembering what the alcoholic magician said about Leonardo precepts, rummages about for something, car pulls up in driveway of mansion, agents get out, shadows cross in front of headlights, Boone in panicked search, finds cracked mirror, races back downstairs, front door bursts open federal agents with flashlights and guns! Boone holding mirror up to basement wall.The cryptic phrase Ah Satan becomes Natasha when reflected in mirror! Natasha! Light at top of basement stairs flicks on, agents stamping down stair steps, Boone climbs upon wooden crates to reach basement window as flashlights spot him, federal agents shouting grabbing at his feet, he barely kicks himself free, disappears down alley as another FBI car wheels rapidly into drivewayHe's sure it’s the same woman he saw! She's got the same long straight ghost white hair!We now rejoin our brooding loner Borkum Boone as he drives onward in disturbed bewilderment through the eerie paranormal darkness and soul-shriveling solitude of the Oregon high desert, his harried mind flashing images of ghastly explanations for why a woman would be walking alone on the side of a wilderness interstate highway in the dead of night, but where did she go?How had she disappeared when he stopped to offer assistance? Boone cross-examined himself mercilessly while fighting in vain against a threatening possibility that hovered like a sinister skulking gargoyle at the fringe of his subconscious - had he seen a ghost? Was the woman in the nocturnal wilderness a spirit of the dead? A premonition? A ghoulish omen of dire warning?With the haunting rockabilly ballad I'm on Fire broadcasting from an unseen phantom radio station, continuously playing through the old Ford Bronco's stereo speakers, Boone huddled around the steering wheel glad that he had remembered to bring his favorite long-sleeve quilted flannel shirt. The heater in the Bronco had worked fine before he saw the ghost-woman on the side of the highway….why would it not come on now?The bone-piercing chill deepened the sense of preternatural gloom. Hours later about the time he was crossing the state line into Washington, a faint suggestion of dawn began imperceptibly evolving on the eastern horizon. At this first hint of daylight, the radio mysteriously went dead. It was uncanny. Boone had somehow expected this.Amid a growing chain of eerie unexplained events, Boone kept driving northward until by noon of that chilly gray October day in the far reaches of the Pacific Northwest, he found himself falling asleep at the wheel. About 40 miles south of the Canadian border, he was compelled to pull into the gravel parking lot of a cheap motel for a hot shower and some much needed sleep.Boone didn’t realize how exhausted he was. The ragged lone traveler slept like a corpse all that afternoon and all that night, not stirring until daybreak of the following morning. With sore muscles that felt like they were made of wet sandbags, he raised himself to a sitting position on the side of the squeaky bed that reeked of cigarettes and stale booze.Like a zombie he dragged himself across the cold threadbare carpet to peep through the closed curtains for a glimpse of the weather that he would face in the grueling drive ahead. Boone jerked to rigid attention at what he saw. There beside the driver’s door of his old Bronco was the ghost woman he had seen on the side of the interstate highway! That had been hundreds of miles away the night before the one he just slept through in total oblivion. He was sure it was the same woman. Her back was to him just like on the interstate and her long straight snow-white hair looked exactly the same! It had to be her -- but how? How did she get here? Maybe she wasn’t a ghost after all? But who was she? And why was this enigmatic woman standing beside his 4x4?In spite of the fact that Boone was wearing only his long knit underwear he stepped to the motel room door and yanked it open ---- but other than his trusty old Bronco and two other cars, the motel parking lot was completely barren. The mysterious woman had vanished again!The frigid autumn air rushed into the room forcing him to close the creaking door. In maddening confusion, Boone hurriedly showered, checked out of the dirt-cheap motel and, following State Road 539, entered British Columbia at the Lynden-Aldergrove border crossing.It was another cold gray day with occasional misting rain and Boone drove silently - a lonely man imprisoned by his spiraling thoughts - for 250 miles north of Vancouver, finally arriving late in the afternoon at the remote logging town to which he had been summoned by a haunting phone call in the middle of the night one week hence.This town was little more than a remote outpost totally cut off and isolated by tens of thousands of square miles of Canadian Rockies wilderness. Boone immediately realized he had gotten way in over his head as a vexing sensation washed over his tired body with an icy wave of fear. His heart pounded with the ominous portent of stepping back 400 years in time to a village of the Massachusetts Bay Colony.The word ‘welcome’ wasn’t painted on the badly weathered sign that bluntly read - Damien’s Fork, population 313. The narrow out-of-date bridge Boone had to cross to enter the creepy settlement didn’t look sturdy enough to support the weight of the Bronco, but a rusty old pickup truck sitting in stone cold silence on the other side got there somehow.With tense nerves Boone eased his 4x4 onto the bridge, the aged timbers and cracked planks creaking under the slowly moving load. With the window rolled down to watch his tires for signs of danger, Boone could, even over the rumble of the Bronco's V8 engine, hear the thunderous roar of millions of gallons of tumultuous tumbling water rushing chaotically beneath in the dizzying deep gorge of Devil's Cradle Rapids, a gauntlet of nature feared by rafters and kayakers alike as the world's deadliest whitewater.Finally off the precarious bridge and safely on solid ground again, Boone shifted nervously in his seat as his disbelieving eyes took in the discouraging sight of the empty muddy street threading its way between two rows of dismal gray plain board and batten buildings. No neon signs, no brightly colored paint - everything drab and dreary. No one on the wooden sidewalks. The little town looked dead.Parking the Bronco beside a hitching post in front of the only building that appeared to have a light on, Boone slid out, locked his doors, and entered the old-time two story structure where he was immediately struck by the unexpected surprise of a strong disquieting odor. It’s not necessarily an unpleasant smell, though Boone can’t quite place it - something like cinnamon and cloves, but buried beneath the pungent Thanksgiving aroma is a darker scent that carries a lurking suggestion of danger. Boone wonders if he is walking through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.It appears to Boone that he has entered what must pass for an inn in this godforsaken part of the wilderness. Stepping up to the chest-high front desk he sees that instead of the low dome bell that one can slap with the palm of the hand, there is instead a silver bell like the ones Santa Clause rings for the Salvation Army, except that this bell is adorned with an exquisitely carved wooden handle. Boone is about to reach for the witchy-looking bell when a tall, gaunt woman materializes without sound or warning from behind a drawn curtain on the other side of the registration counter.The silent woman’s attire is as gray and drab as the town’s banal architecture. Boone can’t place the woman’s age. Being clad in a gray bonnet and starchy charcoal-gray linen dress that covers her entirely from her neck to her booted feet, she has the somber appearance of mid-life, but maybe that’s because she isn’t wearing any cosmetics or jewelry. Boone wonders if she’s Mennonite, Amish, Mormon, or what?She is a stern-faced woman and offers Boone no smile from her thin, closed lips. The ascetic woman simply stands silently on the other side of the registration desk staring blankly at Boone. Nervous at the self-incriminating silence of the unfamiliar social situation, Boone clears his throat to speak, “I need lodging for the night. Is this an Inn? Can I get a room here?”The stern-faced woman pushes a huge book toward Boone. The book is open at about its middle. The silent woman next slides a pen across the counter-top toward Boone, “Sign the guestbook please.” As Boone was signing the huge guestbook, he noticed another heavy tome nearby on the counter top. It was a leather-bound copy of Cotton Mather’s Wonders of the Invisible World published in 1693 - the witch-hunt book!Boone signed the guestbook and returned the silent woman’s pen. The grim hostess spoke in flat monotone, “That will be fifty dollars for one night.”“Well,” Boone nervously replies, “I may be staying longer. Is it okay if I pay for a week in advance?” He opens his wallet so the austere woman can see that it is stuffed with hundred dollar bills.“Fifty dollars for one night.” is the reply from the tight, narrow lips of the stern-faced woman that faces Boone with an expression that is utterly devoid of any hint of the thoughts passing through her bonnet-covered head.Boone hands her a C-note, “Have you change for a hundred?”Without a word the cryptic woman takes the hundred dollar bill, places it in a drawer behind the chest-high registration counter, then removing another bill from the same drawer passes the fifty to Boone. “Your room is up the stairs. Room 13.”Boone attempts a little humor, “Thirteen, huh? I thought these houses of hospitality didn’t put the number thirteen on any of their room doors to protect against bad luck. You don’t like tourists here so you want to curse them so they won’t come back.” Boone followed his witty remark with a faint-hearted laugh. The stern-faced woman was silent, staring blankly at Boone. Feeling that his joke went over like a lead balloon, Boone asked, “Well, can I have the key to my room, please?”“We don’t have keys. Your room is open to you. The doors in our town do not have locks. We have no need for locks in Damien’s Fork.”After this macabre enigmatic statement, the eerie woman vanished again behind the floor-length drawn curtain. Boone couldn’t believe it. No locks on the doors? How bizarre and out of place in the twenty-first century. Boone shrugged his shoulders, oh well, this is the remote wilderness, everybody around here is most likely armed and dangerous, add to that the fact that they obviously don’t get many visitors. As far as Boone could tell, he was the only guest. Arriving on the landing at the top of the immaculately clean richly polished wooden stairs, Boone walked down the hall to room 13, turned the antique brass knob and sure enough, the door opened. The room was small, quaint, and as sterile clean as the narrow staircase. The weird odor was as strong in room 13 as in the lobby, but Boone was too tired from a week of driving to give the scent much thought at the moment.He went out to the Bronco, grabbed his suitcase, then returned to his room where he showered, made a few notes in his journal, then switched off the lights and crawled between the soft sumptuous blankets and quilts which he figured were hand-sewn by the wizened ladies of the local gossip circle. Boone eagerly awaited sleep but in the aching soreness of his fatigue, sleep alluded him. He tossed and turned until around midnight when just as he was finally dozing off, he could have sworn he heard the haunting melody of I’m on Fire playing somewhere in the distance. He couldn’t determine if the eerie music was coming from inside the inn or somewhere outside in the deepening witch-hour darkness. Then sleep took him. Grim nightmares from a time outside of time accosted his restless slumber. The cryptic word GAOL drifted across his subconscious mind’s eye. He witnessed a huge scarlet letter ‘A’ bursting into liquefying blood-red flames. Boom! Boom! Boom! The sadistic red eyes!

Great question.I tell you why so many ignorant people hate Tomas Edison:When Thomas Edison was a young mellow boy in school he would ponder about things and ideas giving the appearance he was not paying attention and his test scores were relatively low. He didn’t appear to be focused or motivated.One rainy day while Thomas was in class in 4th grade his teacher called him over to her desk in front of his classmates and placed in his small hands a sealed envelop with a note inside. She instructed the obedient little Thomas to “make sure you give this letter to you’re Mother and do not open it. Go now”. The little Thomas left the classroom and walked straight home with the sealed letter from his teacher in hand.In strict compliance Thomas did not open the sealed letter as instructed.Thomas happily arrived home earlier than usual much to his Mother’s surprise. She was very happy to see her young Son and gave him a hug and kiss, as usual.Thomas handed the letter to his Mother. In his presence she opened it took out the letter from his teacher and quietly read it to herself in silence and expressionless.Thomas was excited about the letter and urged his Mom to read it to him. Looking at the words on the paper she said, “Dear Mrs. Edison, you’re Son Thomas Edison is very intelligent and much to smart to be in my class. He is much smarter than the other children in class. Please place him in a more advanced class so he can reach his full intelligence.” signed teacher.Many life years passed and Thomas Edison’s Mom died. While he was cleaning out his Mom’s personal things he discovered that envelope with the letter from the teacher in it. He had never read it. He opened it and read it out loud to himself:“Dear Mrs. Edison, your Son Thomas Edison cannot concentrate and is stupid. I cannot tolerate him any further. I have removed him from my class. He is not to return. He will never accomplish anything unlike the the other children in my class.” signed Teacher.Tears flooded Thomas Edison’s adult eyes and the Spirit of Love swelled immensely in his heart for the the love, protective nature, positive encouragement and intelligence of his Mother concerning him."He led no armies into battle, he conquered no countries, and he enslaved no peoples... Nonetheless, he exerted a degree of power the magnitude of which no warrior ever dreamed. His name still commands a respect as sweeping in scope and as world-wide as that of any other mortal - a devotion rooted deep in human gratitude and untainted by the bias that is often associated with race, color, politics, and religion.""Be courageous! Whatever setbacks America has encountered, it has always emerged as a stronger and more prosperous nation....""Be brave as your fathers before you. Have faith and go forward"Inventor and Genius Thomas Alva Edison"1847 Born on February 11th at Milan, Ohio.1854 Moved to Port Huron, Mich.1857 Set up a chemical laboratory in the cellar of his home.1859 Became a newsboy and "candy butcher" on the trains of the Grand Trunk Railway, running between Port Huron and Detroit.1862 Printed and published "The Weekly Herald," the first newspaper ever to be typeset and printed on a moving train. The London Times features a story on him and his paper, giving him his first exposure to international notoriety.1862 Saved - from otherwise certain death in a train accident - the young son of J. U. Mackenzie, station agent at Mount Clemens, Mich. In gratitude, the child's father taught him telegraphy.1862 Strung a telegraph line from the Port Huron railway station to Port Huron village and worked in the local telegraph office.1863 Obtained his first position as a regular telegraph operator on the Grand Trunk Railway at Stratford Junction, Canada. Later, is resigned by them to help develop a duplex system of telegraphy1863-1868 Spent nearly five years as a telegraph "tramp operator" in various cities of the Central Western states, always experimenting with ways to improve the apparatus.1868 Entered the office of Western Union in Boston as a telegraph operator. Becomes friendly with other early electricians - especially a later associate of Alexander Graham Bell named Benjamin Franklin Bredding - who was much more knowledgeable than both himself and Bell on the state-of-the-art of telegraphy and electricity. Entered the private telegraph line business on a very modest scale. Resigned from Western Union - was about to be fired anyway - in order to conduct further experimentation on multiplexing telegraph signals.1868 Came up with his first patented invention, an Electrical Vote Recorder. Application for this patent was signed 0n October 11, 1968. Because the invention was way ahead of its time, it was heartily denigrated by politicians... He now becomes much more oriented towards making certain there is a strong public demand and associated market for anything he tries to invent.1869 Landed in New York City by way of a Boston steamship, poor, penniless, and in debt. While seeking work, chanced being in the operating room of the Gold & Stock Telegraph Company when their ticker apparatus broke down. No one but he was able to fix it, As a result, he was given a job as superintendent at the remarkable wage of $300 per month.1869 Went into partnership with Franklin L. Pope as an electrical engineer. Radically improved stock tickers and patented several associated inventions, among which were the Universal Stock Ticker and the Unison Device.1870 Received the first cash payment for one of his inventions, a $40,000 check. Sent money back to his financially desperate parents. Opened a manufacturing shop in Newark, where he made stock tickers and worked on developing the quadruplex telegraph.1871 Assisted Sholes, the inventor of the typewriter, in making the first successful working model of that device.1872-1876 Worked on and patented several of his most important inventions, including the motograph and automatic telegraph systems such as the quadruplex, sextuplex and multiplex telegraph which saved Western Union many millions of dollars in wiring. Also invented paraffin paper (which was first used for wrapping candies), the electric pen, the forerunner of the present day mimeograph machine, the carbon rheostat, the microtasimeter, etc.1876-1877 Invented the carbon telephone transmitter "button", which finally made telephony a commercial success. Significantly, this invention not only led to the development of the microphone, which made early radio possible, but the solid state "diode" or transistor which makes so many of today's electronic devices possible. Invented the phonograph. (The patent on which was later issued by the United States Patent Office - within two months after its application - without a single reference.)1878 Continued to improve the phonograph. Later in the year, went with an astronomical party to Rawlins, Wyoming for rest and to test his new microtasimeter during an eclipse of the sun. Associates key him in to the world-wide need for a workable incandescent light bulb. Upon returning, he began to investigate the "electric light problem in earnest."1878 Became the first to apply the term "filament" to a fine wire that glows when carrying an electric current. In a prophetic article in the North American Review he foreshadowed ten prominent uses for the phonograph - all since accomplished - including its combination with the telephone, which became a reality in 1914 with the perfection of the Telescribe.1879 Invented the first commercially practical incandescent electric lamp. The lamp itself was perfected on October 21st, 1879, on which day there was put into circuit the first bulb embodying the principles known as the "Edison modern incandescent lamp." This bulb maintained its incandescence for over 40 hours.1879 Made radical improvements on the construction of dynamos, including the mica laminated armature and mica insulated commutator. Also constructed the first practical generators for the systems of distribution of current for lighting. Invented and improved upon numerous systems of generation, distribution, regulation and, measurement of electric current and voltage. Invented sockets, switches, insulating tape, etc. (Meanwhile, he also invented gummed paper tape now commonly used in place of twine or string for securing packages.)1879 Constructed the first electric motor ever made for a 110 to 120 volt line at Menlo Park, N. J. This device is still in existence and operative, and is located in the Edison Historical Collection in New Jersey. On December 31, gave the first public demonstration of an electric lighting system in streets and buildings at Menlo Park, N. J., utilizing underground mains.1880 Invented further improvements in systems and details for electric lighting and laid the first groundwork for introducing them on a commercial basis. Established the first incandescent lamp factory at Menlo Park, N. J.1880 Invented a magnetic ore separator. Invented and installed the first life-sized electric railway for handling freight and passengers at Menlo Park, N. J.1881 Opened business offices at No. 65 Fifth Avenue, New York City. Established his second and improved commercial incandescent lamp factory at Harrison, N. J. Also organized and established shops at 104 Goerck St., 108 Wooster St., and 65 Washington St. in New York City, for the manufacture of dynamos, underground conductors, sockets, switches, fixtures, meters, etc.1882 On September 4th, he commenced operation of the first profit oriented central station in the United States in New York City, for the distribution of current for electric lighting.1882-1883 Designed and contracted for the first three-wire central station for distributing electric light, power, and heat - in standardized form - in Brockton, Massachusetts. By October, had completed construction of that station. Discovered a previously unknown phenomenon that later came to be known as the "Edison effect," but he called"Etheric Force."Specifically, determined that an independent wire, grid, or plate placed between the legs of the filament of an incandescent lamp acted as a "damper" or valve to control the flow of current. The associated Patent No. 307,031 was issued to him later that year. Twelve years later these previously unknown phenomena were recognized as electric waves in free space and became the foundation of wireless telegraphy.Most significantly, this discovery - along with his carbon button - involved the foundation principles upon which the diode was later invented,and upon which radio, television, and computer transistors are based. Moved from Newark to a new laboratory at Menlo Park...1883 Diric lighting in a simple wooden structure in Sunbury, Pa.1880-1887 Underwent his most strenuous years of invention as he extended and improved greatly upon his electric light, heat, and power systems. Took out over three hundred patents, many of which were of extraordinary and fundamental importance. The most were those relating to "dividing" electric power and standardizing the three-wire system and improving its associated generation and feeder system.1881 - 1887 Invented a system of wireless telegraphy, (by induction) to and from trains in motion, or between moving trains and railway stations. The system was installed on the Lehigh Valleys R. R. in 1887, and was used there for several years. Invented a wireless system of communication between ships at sea, ships and shore and ships and distant points on land. Patent No. 465,971 was issued on this invention, the application having been filed May 23, 1885 - two years prior to the publication of the work of Hertz. Most significantly, this patent was eventually purchased from Edison by the Marconi Wireless Telegraph Company.1887 Moved his center of experimentation to the laboratory at West Orange, New Jersey.1887-1890 Made major improvements on the brown wax and black wax cylinder phonograph. Obtained over eighty related patents, while establishing a very extensive commercial business in the manufacture and sale of phonographs and records, including associated dictating machines, "shaveable" records, and shaving machines.1891 Made a number of inventions associated with improving electric railways.1891 Invented and patented the motion picture camera. This mechanism, with its continuous tape-like film, made it possible to take, reproduce, and project motion pictures as we see and hear them today.1891-1900 Developed his great iron ore enterprise, in which he did some of his most brilliant engineering work. One of his most important inventions of this period was a giant roller machine for breaking large masses of rock and finely crushing them. Invented the Fluoroscope...realizing the necessity and value of a practical fluorescent screen for making examinations with X-rays, he made thousands of crystallizations of single and double chemical salts and finally discovered that crystals of Calcium Tungstate made in a particular way were highly fluorescent to the X-ray. Also made many several improvements on the X-ray tube.1900 - 1910 Invented and perfected the steel alkaline storage battery and made it a commercial success.1900 -1909 Established his once famous Portland Cement Co. and made many important inventions relating to the processes involved in the production of pre-cast buildings. In 1907, he introduced the first concrete mold for making one-piece houses called "single piece cast concrete homes." The unique type of kiln he developed for making these houses proved to be of great importance in the cement industry.1902-1903 Worked on improving the Edison Primary Battery. Continued to invent improvements to his phonograph - his favorite invention - and associated cylinders.1905 Introduced a revolutionary new type of dictating machine, which enabled the dictator to hear repetitions and make paper scale corrections.1907 Introduced the Universal Electric Motor which made it possible to operate dictating machines etc. on all lighting circuits.1910-1914 Worked on - and much improved - the disc phonograph, resulting in the production of records and playing instruments which reproduce vocal and instrumental music with overtones that had relatively "extraordinary fidelity and sweetness." Introduced the diamond point reproducer and the "indestructible" record, thereby commencing a new era in phonographs.1912 Having spent many previous years in its general development and perfection, finally introduced the Kinetophone or talking motion picture.1913 Introduced an important automatic correction device for the dictating machine.1914 Being the largest individual user in the United States of carbolic acid (for making phonograph records), he found himself at the onset of World War One in danger of being compelled to close his factory by reason of a related embargo placed on exporting said substance by England and Germany. The basic issue was that carbolic acid was in great demand for the purpose of making explosives. He now devised an alternative method for making carbolic acid synthetically, and finally put crews of men to work twenty four hours a day to build a related plant. By the eighteenth day, was producing carbolic acid, and within four weeks was turning out a ton of it per day.1914 On the night of December 9th his great plant at West Orange, N. J. was the scene of a spectacular fire. As soon as he saw the scope of this conflagration he enthusiastically sent word to several friends and members of his family, advising them to "Get down here quick.... you may never have another chance to see anything like this again!" Within hours after the fire had been extinguished, he had given orders for the complete rehabilitation of the plant. Early the next morning he arrived with a gang of men and began to supervise the task of clearing the debris. Hundreds more workers were added throughout the day, and the project continued around the clock for several months until an even larger and more efficient facility than the original had been completed.1914 Invented the Telescribe, combining the telephone and the dictating phonograph, thus permitting - for the first time - the recording of both sides of a telephone conversation.1915 Because military conflicts in Europe had created an enormous demand for phenols, and supplies were uncertain, he invented the first synthetic form of carbolic acid (C6H6O). Next, after evaluating all of the literature available on the erection and operation of benzol(C6H6) absorbing plants, he drew up plansfor benzine-making facility that could be readily installed. Although it had previously taken nine months to a year to install such a facility, his first such structure was put into operation in just forty five days. A larger plant designed for the Woodward Iron Company at Woodward, Ala., was completed in only 60 days. At about this time, he also built two other large benzol plants in Canada, each of were was put into operation in less than sixty days. All these plants became highly successful commercial operations, producing benzol, toluol, solvent naphtha, xylol, and naphthalene.1915 In the early months of this year, he conceived the idea of helping out the struggling textile and rubber industries of America by making myrbane, aniline oil, and aniline salt, which, are still important commercial substances, and which had been previously imported from Germany. Following his usual procedure, he first exhausted the literature on the subject, and then laid out the plant. By bringing great pressure to bear on his workers - and by working day and night himself - he constructed the plant in just forty five working days, commenced deliveries in June, and was soon turning out over 4,000 pounds of these products per day.1915 During World War One, the dyeing industry was suffering from a great scarcity of paraphenylenediamine, formerly imported from Germany. Since he was using the chemical in the manufacture of records for his Diamond Disc Phonograph and was no longer able to procure it, he experimented until he found a way to synthesize it. Much pressure was now brought to bear upon him to supply some of it to fur dyers and others. He equipped a separate plant for this purpose and ultimately manufactured over a ton a day.1915 The great scarcity of carbolic acid in America now brought innumerable requests to him to sell some of this product. His first such plant worked well, producing about 7,000 pounds a day. This, however, soon proved to be insufficient to supply the demand. He now projected and installed another plant with a capacity of about 7,000 pounds additional per day. As he devised improved processes for use in the latter plant there were a vast number of difficult problems to overcome. However, with his usual energy and dogged perseverance - involving many weeks of strenuous work - he finally prevailed.1916 Worked several months making important improvements in the manufacture of disc phonograph records and new methods and devices for recording. Worked on improved methods and processes producing his chemical products. Worked out processes for making a paramidaphenol base, hydrochloride benzidine base, and sulphate and constructed new plants for their manufacture. As President of the Naval Consulting Board, he did a great deal of work connected with national defense.1917-1918 Worked on special experiments relating to defense for the United States Government. See below.I Locating positions of guns by sound ranging.2 Detecting submarines by sound from moving vessels.3 Detecting, on moving vessels, the discharge of torpedoes by submarines.4 The faster turning of ships.5 Strategic plans for saving cargo boats from harm by enemy submarines.6 Development of collision mats for submarines and ships.7 Methods for guiding merchant ships out of mined harbors.8 Oleum cloud shells.9 Camouflaging ships.10 Blocking torpedoes with nets.11 Increased power for torpedoes.12 Coastal patrol by submarine buoys.13 Destroying periscopes with machine guns.14 Cartridges for taking soundings.15 Sailing lights for convoys.16 Smudging skyline.1 17 Underwater searchlights.18 High speed signaling with searchlights.19 Water penetrating projectiles.20 Airplane detection.21 Observing periscopes in silhouette.Edison was awarded 1,368 separate and distinct patents during his lifetime. He passed away at age 84 on October 18th, 1931 - on the anniversary date of his invention of the incandescent bulb.ADDENDUMAmong all of the above patents, only one is associated with the field called "pure science." Discovered in 1883 - the same year Edison constructed the world's first standardized central power plant - it eventually became known as the Edison effect. Although he never successfully applied this concept to any of his own inventions, it clearly anticipated the later development of vacuum tubes and transistors. Accordingly - it was of major significance in effecting the first wireless transmission, and the later development of the radio and television industry. Perhaps of even more significance, the principle is still of fundamental importance in today's silicon chip and computer industry.CONCLUSIONSo Mothers never let anyone ever put you’re blessed Children down … ever!Be positive with you’re Children … SpongeBob Square Pants, Bob The Builderand Dora the Explorer positive. Always!So many people hate Thomas Edison because they are ignorant and/or jealous of his truly phenomenal and magnificent achievements. A true genius from God Almighty.Randy