City Of Johnston: Fill & Download for Free

This one.This is the last known photo taken of David A. Johnston. It was taken 13 hours before his death.Johnston was a volcanologist with the United States Geological Survey (USGS). He was manning an observation post about six miles from Mount St. Helens in Washington State on the morning of May 18, 1980.That morning, Mount St. Helens erupted.The USGS was well aware that the volcano, which had lain dormant for 123 years, was about to blow. In March, seismic data indicated that magma may have begun moving below the surface. Multitudes of small earthquakes also indicated a serious uptick in geological activity. New craters formed at the summit and ash clouds and burning gases were seen to belch forth.Perhaps the most dramatic sign that the mountain was getting ready for an eruption, though, was the giant bulge in its side. For months before the eruption, a huge bump had been growing in the side of the volcano. Magma billowing up from below the surface pushed a 1.5-square-mile section of the volcano’s north face outward by 270 feet as of early April. By mid-May, it had pushed out to 400 feet. David Johnston was one of the USGS scientists assigned to monitor Mount St. Helens and the bulge, and give advance notice of any significant activity.Mount St. Helens gave no warning that she was about to erupt. On the morning of May 18, 1980, everything seemed normal. The mountain’s sulfur dioxide emissions showed no increase. Nothing on Johnston’s instruments, as he sat at the observation post six miles north of the brooding mountain, showed anything untoward.The mountain just blew.At 8:32 AM, an earthquake registering 5.1 on the Richter scale—nothing that big at all, really—shook Mount St. Helens. The earthquake triggered the largest landslide in recorded human history. The entire north face of Mount St. Helens cut loose and slid down the mountainside at 110–155 miles per hour. It struck a ridge 1,150 feet high and some of the avalanche debris actually flew over it. The avalanche displaced the water in nearby Spirit Lake, forming a wave 600 feet high, and then—as the waters returned to their basin, now filled with snapped-off trees and tree stumps and other debris—a wave almost 300 feet high.But the avalanche was just the start. Remember what was behind the north face of Mount St. Helens? Inside that giant bulge?What followed is blandly referred to by geologists as a “lateral blast.”From Wikipedia:The landslide exposed the dacite magma in St. Helens' neck to much lower pressure, causing the gas-charged, partially molten rock and high-pressure steam above it to explode a few seconds after the landslide started. Explosions burst through the trailing part of the landslide, blasting rock debris northward. The resulting blast laterally directed the pyroclastic flow of very hot volcanic gases, ash and pumice formed from new lava, while the pulverized old rock hugged the ground, initially moving at 220 miles per hour (350 km/h) but quickly accelerating to 670 mph (1,080 km/h), and it might have briefly passed the speed of sound.Pyroclastic flow material passed over the moving avalanche and spread outward, devastating a fan-shaped area 23 miles across by 19 miles long (37 km × 31 km). In total, about 230 square miles (600 square kilometers) of forest was knocked down, and extreme heat killed trees miles beyond the blow-down zone. At its vent, the lateral blast probably did not last longer than about 30 seconds, but the northward-radiating and expanding blast cloud continued for about another minute.Superheated flow material flashed water in Spirit Lake and North Fork Toutle River to steam, creating a larger, secondary explosion that was heard as far away as British Columbia, Montana, Idaho, and Northern California.Good God.Did you read that?A hot cloud of pulverized rock, volcanic gas, and ash pouring down the mountainside at 670 miles per hour? Flash-boiling lakes? Flattening forests?Just so you’re aware, a pyroclastic flow is what destroyed the cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum, back in the day. It’s a superheated, fast-moving, ground-hugging cloud of white-hot volcanic gases and ash that pours down a mountainside, faster than a freight train. There’s absolutely no chance of survival if you’re caught in one—in fact, they’ll probably never find your body. All that’s left of the victims of the pyroclastic flows that destroyed Pompeii and Herculaneum are bones—sometimes just people-shaped holes in the mud and ash.David A. Johnston was manning his observation post when Mount St. Helens blew. He must have seen the pyroclastic flow coming. He must have known that he was a goner. I can’t even imagine what that’s like, staring horrible and certain death in the face.Knowing he had no time to run and no place to run to, Johnston ran to his radio and transmitted one final message to the USGS headquarters in Vancouver.“Vancouver! Vancouver! This is it!”Immediately thereafter, Johnston and his observation post were swept away by the blast.From Wikipedia:The near-supersonic lateral blast, loaded with volcanic debris, caused devastation as far as 19 miles (31 km) from the volcano. The area affected by the blast can be subdivided into three roughly concentric zones:Direct blast zone, the innermost zone, averaged about eight miles (13 km) in radius, an area in which virtually everything, natural or artificial, was obliterated or carried away. For this reason, this zone also has been called the “tree-removal zone.” The flow of the material carried by the blast was not deflected by topographic features in this zone. The blast released energy equal to 24 megatons of TNT.Channelized blast zone, an intermediate zone, extended out to distances as far as 19 miles (31 km) from the volcano, an area in which the flow flattened everything in its path and was channeled to some extent by topography. In this zone, the force and direction of the blast are strikingly demonstrated by the parallel alignment of toppled large trees, broken off at the base of the trunk as if they were blades of grass mown by a scythe. This zone was also known as the “tree-down zone.” Channeling and deflection of the blast caused strikingly varied local effects that still remained conspicuous after some decades. Where the blast struck open land directly, it scoured it, breaking trees off short and stripping vegetation and even topsoil, thereby delaying revegetation for many years. Where the blast was deflected so as to pass overhead by several meters, it left the topsoil and the seeds it contained, permitting faster revegetation with scrub and herbaceous plants, and later with saplings. Trees in the path of such higher-level blasts were broken off wholesale at various heights, whereas nearby stands in more sheltered positions recovered comparatively rapidly without conspicuous long-term harm.Seared zone, also called the “standing dead” zone, the outermost fringe of the impacted area, a zone in which trees remained standing but were singed brown by the hot gases of the blast.[6]By the time this pyroclastic flow hit its first human victims, it was still as hot as 680 °F (360 °C) and filled with suffocating gas and flying debris. Most of the 57 people known to have died in that day's eruption succumbed to asphyxiation while several died from burns. Lodge owner Harry R. Truman was buried under hundreds of feet of avalanche material. Volcanologist David A. Johnston was one of those killed, as was Reid Blackburn, a National Geographic photographer. Robert Landsburg, another photographer, was killed by the ash cloud. He was able to protect his film with his body, and the surviving photos provided geologists with valuable documentation of the historic eruption.In mere minutes, Mount St. Helens and the area just north of it were transformed:Johnston’s body was never found. In 1993, several fragments of what are believed to be Johnston’s trailer—visible in that photograph of him that I posted above—were found. But no trace of Johnston himself has ever been located. It’s possible that his body was completely vaporized by the pyroclastic cloud that killed him.I find that last photo of Johnston to be the scariest photo I’ve ever seen. Just knowing what’s going to happen in 13 hours, both to Mount St. Helens and to Johnston himself, gives me the willies. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because being caught in a pyroclastic flow is one of the worst ways to die I can possibly imagine. Maybe it’s because, unlike a lot of horror movie deaths we see on film every day, this death actually happened—to a living, breathing human being, almost 40 years ago now. Maybe it’s because my dad is a geologist.But it scares me.Rest in peace, David A. Johnston. My condolences to your loved ones.

Of course!I met Tex Johnston, the famous Boeing test pilot who did a barrel roll over Seattle in the Boeing 707 prototype, which was the Boeing 367–80 (called “The Dash 80 for short).Here’s an excellent video of the event, including cockpit film, film shot from the ground as well as still photos of the city of Seattle upside down in photos taken by Tex’s crewmembers while the folks on the ground looked up with awe.By the way, the ugly orange beast that Tex rolled is parked a few miles from my house at the Udvar-Hazy Smithsonian museum at Dulles airport. If you ever have some spare time at Dulles, they have a shuttle bus that can run you over there.I got to meet Tex when the Dash 80 was moved into the Dulles museum.I can’t think right off of a plane that could not be barrel rolled and I can’t think of why the 747 would be an exception.LATE EDITI’ve come back a couple of days later after reading other answers that say it cannot be done because the engines would be starved of oil and fuel.Not true.Here’s a video of Bob Hoover flying a civilian business aircraft. He has a glass on the glare shield and pours himself a glass of tea during a barrel roll.Trust me that in a properly done barrel roll, the oil, fuel, and the tea in the cup on your tray table wouldn’t know it was ever upside down.It’s a nice, smooth, one G maneuver all the way around.

Immediately after the First Battle of Bull Run (First Manassas), the first major battle of the war, which took place on July 21, 1861.The Union forces seemed to be on the verge of victory until the sudden arrival and strike of the Confederate forces under General Thomas Jackson resulted in a complete Federal rout. It was at that battle that Jackson got his nickname “Stonewall.”(EDIT: James H. Galloway points out that it was CS Gen. Joseph E. Johnston’s troops whose late arrival in the battle sparked the Union panic. Gen. Jackson’s troops were already on the field.)The Union army, greatly disorganized, fled back in panic to Washington, DC, which at that time had not built the powerful defensive fortifications it was later to acquire. The entire city was engulfed by panic.Had the CS generals gathered together whatever forces they could find and pursued the fleeing Federals, they might have occupied the city of Washington, perhaps even capturing major officials of the US government, including the President. This would have changed the entire complexion of the war; the Union would have been cast on the defensive, Maryland might have seceded, and the war might have ended before the Union could reorganize and strike back.But the southerners were almost as disorganized as the Union. Although Jackson urged them to attack, the other commanders (Beauregard and Joseph E. Johnston), who outranked him, decided that the disorganization of their army was so extreme that they could make no effort to pursue or engage the enemy. Thus passed the best chance the South had to obtain victory before the overwhelming strength of the North could be brought to bear. It was a chance that would not come again.