This eulogy has also been added to Capt Bugbee’s flight west page
written by his son. It is a great
tribute and thought you would enjoy it:
Date: 5/3/2014 4:46:51 PM
Subject: Eulogy
Dear Carol Ann,
Is it possible to add the eulogy I wrote for my dad to the site
you created for him? (Cal Bugbee) I tried to "Post" it but it was too
long.
I understand if it is too long, but if it can be done I would really
appreciate it.
Please find a PDF copy attached. I could also send it in a word file if
that would be easier.
What you have done is beautiful. Thank you very much.
Guy "Cubby" Bugbee guybugbee@gmail.com
Captain
Alaska Airlines
Calvin A.
Bugbee
October
20, 1921 – February 26, 2013
___________________________________
Dad,
You are
my Mentor, My Hero and My Friend
I Love
You!
Cubby
___________________________________
I can only equate it to a candle. A
candle for which there was virtually nothing left. The wax of
this once beautiful and amazing candle
was all but gone, the small and fragile wick, just
barely hanging on to the small
flickering flame, a flame growing dimmer with each passing
moment.
I was holding his hand tightly, as mom
was stroking his hair and caressing his face. And in my
other hand I held Callae’s hand so
tight. We sat and waited, completely powerless, helpless,
dreading the inevitable. The Hospice
Chaplin said a prayer while we waited, the flame was
flickering evermore dimmer.
Yet to compare this giant of a man,
this bigger than life character to a candle is a gross
injustice. He was more like a bon
fire, with a flame as bright as bright can be, that lit the way
for everyone around him, creating
warmth for all that came in contact with him. He was a
clear beacon in the night pulling
everyone in. He was a rock for those that depended on him,
he was the Good Samaritan for all that
needed him. He was strong and compassionate, he
was stern and loving. He was
intelligent without being condescending, he had common sense
that was beyond uncommon. He knew
everything about everything and he knew when to
teach you and when to let you learn on
your own. He was the dad that every boy wished for,
but only I was lucky enough to have.
Growing up in the small town of
Wahpeton North Dakota, it must have been quite a shock
when he joined the Army Air Corp in
1943, to do his part in the war effort; flying C-46’s on the
other side of the world, in the China –
Burma Theater.
The “Hump” as it was known, a nickname
given by the Allied Pilots, was a supply chain route
to ferry supplies from India across
the Eastern Himalayan Mountains to China. Due to the
extreme altitude, uncharted and rugged
mountains peaks and the unpredictable and extreme
weather, this was likely the most
treacherous and dangerous transport flying in all of World
War II. The experience and knowledge
that he will gain here, will serve him well later in life
when he becomes a civilian pilot for
Western Airlines.
Upon returning from the war, he met a
beautiful young woman that worked in his father’s Drug
Store in Morris Minnesota. The stories
differ slightly, depending on who you ask. According to
Mom, she played hard to get, forcing
dad to pursue and court her until he finally won her
heart. According to Dad, the returning
war hero, she was taken with him the moment they first
met. But truth be told… I think they
both chased each other around the basement of my
grandfather’s Drug Store.
An Aeronautical Engineer by training,
after the war, he joined Lockheed Corporation,
designing parts for the Lockheed
Constellation, but flying was in his blood. He left Lockheed
in 1949 to take a position with
Western Airlines as a DC-3 First Officer or Co-Pilot, as it was
more commonly known back then. The
DC-3 was a similar aircraft to the C-46 that he had
flown in the “Hump” and he settled in
quickly. Almost a year later, he upgraded to Captain on
the DC-3 and an amazing career was
well under way.
At approximately the same time he
married his sweetheart, Beverly Hubbard on August 25th,
1950 and they settled in Denver where
Cal was currently based with Western Airlines. They
were soon blessed with a daughter,
Callae and I was born four years later.
Throughout his remarkable career he
had the opportunity to fly the Douglas DC-3, the
Convair 240, the Douglas DC-6, the
Lockheed L-188 Electra, the Boeing 707 and 720 and
finally, his favorite airplane, the
McDonnell Douglas DC-10. He retired in October of 1981 with
a career spanning thirty two years.
Thirty two years that were clearly the “Golden Age of
Aviation”.
Although his job took him away from
home, on his days off we spent a lot of time together.
Whether we were working in the shop,
traveling to a fly-in in one of his airplanes, or just sitting
at the end of the day talking, we were
very close. Some of my best memories also came from
when he was working. I used to travel
with him on some of his trips and we would spend his
layovers together in some exciting
place away from home. Mexico, Hawaii, London… or
where ever it was, it really didn’t
matter, we always had fun.
I have always been proud of my dad,
but as I grew older, I began to recognize the traits that
made him such an amazing man. I began
to see the respect and admiration he received from
his fellow pilots and co-workers, his
friends and family, and anyone who came in contact with
him and I couldn’t be prouder.
When I was about seven years old I was
traveling with dad on one of his trips. Long before
the FAA prohibited such things, I
spent part of the flight in the cockpit. When I finally returned
to my seat in the main cabin, I was
seated next to a man I didn’t know. He looked at me
somewhat quizzically, having seen me
come out of the cockpit, but before he could say
anything, with a smile that was
beaming from ear to ear I said, “That’s my dad flying the
plane”.
Many years later I was flying for a
small airline in Alaska. We were coming from Kenai,
headed north to Anchorage. We had just
crossed over Point Possession headed to Fire
Island. Anchorage Approach Control
advised us that we were following traffic from the north.
As we got closer to Fire Island,
Anchorage Approach advised us again. “Report sighting a
Western DC-10, twelve o’clock and
three miles”. As we scanned the northern Alaska evening
sky, we spotted the silhouette of the
DC-10 against the last remnants of a bright orange
sunset. The DC-10 was en route to
Anchorage from London via the polar route. We reported
it in sight and we were cleared for
the visual approach to follow the DC-10. As we turned onto
final approach behind the DC-10 to
follow them to the airport, pride swelled up inside me until
I was about to burst and I turned to
my copilot and said “That’s my dad!”
But Aviation was not just his job, it
was his passion. In his free time he built many airplanes,
sometimes two or three at a time. Some
were kits, with parts cut out and ready to assemble,
but most were just a set of plans that
required each part to be carefully crafted and fabricated.
And occasionally, he would draft his
own plans, drawing on his Aeronautical Engineering
background. He loved to fly the
airplanes he built and up until just a few short years ago, he
was flying one of them out at Clermont
County Airport, but he finally sold it at the age of
eighty five. But he didn’t stop there.
He immediately began building another airplane and I will
never forget the excitement and
enthusiasm as he showed me the pictures of what he was
going to build. If you didn’t know
him, you would have thought that it was his first project.
Yet you cannot measure the stature of
this man by his mere accomplishments or life
experiences. The true greatness of
this man is felt by those who knew him and by those
whose lives were effected by him. His
true accomplishments shine, not in what he did, but in
the legacy that he leaves behind. He
made the world a better place, not by a single grandiose
feat, but by touching each one of us
deep in our souls. Making each of us better for having
had him in our lives.
Now that flame grows weak. His
breathing which was deep and labored, is now growing
weak and shallow, the regularity, now
random. I call the nurse into the room. I don’t know why
really, there’s nothing she can do.
She listens to his heartbeat, which now too has become
weak and irregular. The minutes seem
like hours as we sit so quietly so that we can hear his
faint breaths. Again the Hospice
Chaplin says a prayer. Then again we wait silently, listening
closely for each breath, this time
only for a few moments, then silence. The breathing stops.
The nurse lowers her stethoscope to
his chest and listens, her only response… “He’s gone”
Ruth, dad’s care giver and family
friend, picks up the Bible on the nightstand and reads Psalm
23. I try to offer a prayer, but my
words are nearly unintelligible through my tears. I continue to
hold his hand and mom continues to
caress his face, but he is no longer there. His soul, like
the smoke rising from the extinguished
candle flame, has left his body to be with Christ in
Heaven.
Several more minutes pass as we all
try to regain our emotional composure, tears flood the
room and tissues flow in abundance. I
don’t know how long we sat there, but no one wanted it
to be over. Finally, mom stood up,
leaned in and kissed him, waited a few moments, and
kissed him again. We all started to
gather our things as we prepared to leave. Mom walked
around the foot of the bed toward the
door, but not wanting to say good bye, she walked up
from the other side and kissed him
again.
He is gone now and sadness rules the
day. Yet we should celebrate his life, a life that most
could only dream of. We should
celebrate every moment we had with him. Celebrate the love
he gave to all of us. Celebrate the
fact that someday we’ll all be together again.
I miss him terribly, although I know
that he is better off. His fifteen year battle with cancer has
finally claimed him and for his last
two years he was in great pain. For ninety one years he
shone as bright as the sun, but now
that light is gone. But his reflection still shines on in
everyone that knew him, every life
that he touched. That part of him will always be with us.
___________________________________
Dad,
You are
my Mentor, My Hero and My Friend
I Love
You!
Cubby
___________________________________
+++++++++++++++++++++
From: George Chaudoin
Date: 4/23/2014 9:04:13 AM
FromSubject: FW: Mysterious'
Vietnam War Memorial
This video was taken by some dirt bike riders along the
continental divide, who stumble upon a Vietnam memorial
in the woods. Whoever did it, put a lot of time and money into it. Spooky, to
say the least.
As
usual the government is non committal at best over it.....evidently hunters and possibly
some vets must be aware of it as there are numerous 7.62x51 and 30.06 rounds on one of the ledges
between the stones.
Who built it and how did it get there?????
http://www.military.com/video/operations-and-strategy/vietnam-war/vietnam-memorial-on-remote-trail/2805626482001/
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Full post disclaimer in left column. PCN Home Page is located at: http://pcn.homestead.com/home01.html
No comments:
Post a Comment