John Delach

Part One: The Big Orange Dog

Harry was the first of the big orange dogs who became our family dog and showed us why Golden Retrievers are special. He set the standard for all to come. Bright and alert, his favorite pastime was swimming in the still waters of Stone Pond in Marlow, New Hampshire. Stricken with arthritis early on, his passion continued even when walking became difficult. We rigged a wooden ramp covered with carpet fabric to assist him getting into and out of the back of our truck. We chauffeured him to local ponds and his nose sensed water before he could see it. Excited and agitated, he had little patience until he knew we had arrived at his favorite destination.

Disregarding his infirmity, he rushed from the truck as soon as we opened the rear gate and jumped into the pond. Strong again, he started swimming and what a swimmer he was, fast and smooth with deliberate strokes that created a graceful wake that spread across the water as he progressed in his pursuit of the tennis ball I had launched from the shore. To accommodate his range and speed, I hit the ball as hard as I could with an old Prince tennis racquet. Upon reaching the ball and capturing it in his mouth, he would return in his triumphal and graceful manner. As soon as he reached shore, he released the ball, turned and plunged back into pond swimming in the direction that he anticipated I would hit the ball next. Watching for the telltale splash, he picked up his pace and swam in that direction. If he didn’t see a splash in a timely manner, he lifted his chest out of the water and began swimming in larger and larger circles until he spotted the floating ball.

Time and again, he continued to retrieve balls without noticeable fatigue or loss of interest. His endurance never ended. It was me who finally gave up on the idea that I could outlast him. Once, out of the water, his pain and stiffness returned and he let me help him back into the truck. When necessary, I lifted him in my arms so that he didn’t have to negotiate the ramp. I didn’t mind getting drenched in the process.

Part Two: Morning Swim

Instinctively, she senses the water. Perched on the back seat of our SUV, Maggie extends her nose out through the partially opened window, her senses and  experience tell her that this is the way to the beach. Like a child, after a long automobile ride to a favorite seaside destination, she cannot contain herself as the Gulf of Mexico reveals itself.

Mary Ann lets us off before continuing on to her journey to her morning tennis lesson. Maggie and I will make our morning trek along the beach and back to our Sanibel rental. Maggie is a maniac, an ill-behaved Golden Retriever who luckily found her way to the two of us who can deal with her insanity.

Once on the ground, I place my hand under her collar. Tugging, bucking, crying, she pulls me along until I secure my footing into the sand. I speak to her as I look up and down the beach. “It’s okay, Maggie, it’s okay.” The beach is clear; only a few early morning shellers, no unattended children and no other dogs. I take her collar in one hand and draw her close making her leash go slack. With my other hand, I open the clasp and let go.

Maggie crouches and pushes off with all her strength, kicking up sand as she bolts toward the water quickly closing the distance until she reaches the surf and plunges in. She swims through small breakers, turns, catches the next wave and body surfs back to shore.

I jog toward the sun and Maggie darts ahead, establishing her own routine. She explores the beach, searching for sticks and coconuts to carry, sea gulls and osprey to scatter, or a decaying fish to sniff and, if its scent is acceptable, to roll upon.

“Maggie, stop that.” I yell, but she ignores me until I have moved too far ahead for her to be comfortable. She stops and trots to catch up, overtakes me and veers back into the water, tail held high, to ride the surf again.

And so, our morning routine unfolds until we reach the public beach  populated with a few early arriving families ending my insane Golden Retriever’s daily morning activity to run freely and frolic in the surf.

She understands. I attach her to the leash as we begin our land journey back to the rental. I am proud that she loves swimming so much. When she came to us, she didn’t know how to swim. We taught her using tennis balls having her fetch them at the water’s edge. We threw them further and further until she had to accept floating and began to understand how to swim and reach them. Maggie quickly caught on to what being an aquatic retriever was all about and she even learned how to body surf.    

As we walk back to the house, she’d looks at me and whines. I look back at her and say: “It’s okay girl, tomorrow is only a day away.”

Fog, not dense, but persistent, reduces visibility forcing James Russell-Dunford, the captain of the Maasdam, to warn us that he might be forced to abort the planned west-to-east transit of Prince Christian Sound. “We will be approaching an entrance to the sound in a half-hour. Helicopter observations report the sound to be ice-free, but we’ll have to see if the fog persists when we reach the entrance before I can commit to a passage.”

As he maneuvers the cruise ship, the fog dissipates revealing the mouth of the fjord and the brown-gray rock that is Greenland. Still Captain Dunford remains cautious, “I may have to turn around if conditions deteriorate, but right now I am satisfied with visibility and ice conditions.”

His caution is warranted. The Maasdam carries almost 1,300 passengers and a crew of over 500. Even though visibility is greatly improved, the day promises to be wet and cold enough to force me to prepare carefully before I venture out on deck to observe and photograph this passage. No shorts this July 23, 2010; the air is close to winter here in the North Atlantic.

I don jeans and a golf shirt, rain pants, a nylon wind breaker, wool vest and a water-proof rain jacket. I cover my head with a Tilley rain hat; grab a towel to protect my digital camera when not in use and off I go to the open stern of the ship. I pick the stern to document this passage avoiding the wind, spray and misery of the open bow.

What a passage! The low-lying rocks that frame the entrance quickly rise up to form  rugged and barren cliffs with peaks close to 5,000 feet producing canyons that tower over the ship. How different it would have been had sun been out, but the low clouds and mist add drama that trumps color. The passageway twists and turns as the captain navigates the ship through channels that narrow to less than 300 feet. Layers of clouds wrap around the cliff faces, clinging to the sides obscuring their flanks, but allowing crags and peaks to poke through. Other times, the drab gray, brown and green formations rise triumphantly free of the mist.

I am able to roam the deck freely taking photos from various vantage points as not many of my fellow “cruisers” delight in taking on the cold, rain and wind. Those that do don’t stay long and our ranks are thinned to a foolish and hearty few after the first hour.

Waterfalls drain pockets of ice and snow, so many that soon I take them for granted. The channel follows a crazy quilt pattern with twists and turns revealing new drama. Glaciers descend down mountains, some directly into the sound. They calve icebergs that dot the sound. Fortunately, the bergs are widely spaced and do not pose a danger. The captain’s enthusiasm grows as we continue and, at some point he silently decides we will complete the journey including a side-trip to the lone Inuit village in the sound.

Approximately 150 men, women and children inhabit Aappilattoq, an isolated hamlet of  small metal-sided houses perched precariously on flat rocks and earth at a junction of canyons. Painted bright blue, red, and yellow, they clash with the dull, dreary land; appear transient, as if by tomorrow they will be gone without a trace.

The inhabitants fish for sustenance and hunt seal to make a living. The captain sails the Maasdam past the village into a wide basin to make a 180 degree turn to continue the west – east passage. The ship’s horn bellows as we complete the turn calling out boats from the village, white open skiffs propelled by huge outboards. Four appear, a single man in the first, two in the second, six in the third including three children and three adults in the last. Two of the drivers stand steering by means of long handles attached to the motors. They wave and take photographs of us as we take photos of them.

Before lunch, my wife surprises me with a welcome cup of hot, thick Dutch pea soup the crew is serving on several decks. It is so good that I have more with lunch; a welcome respite from the wind and rain. But I don’t tarry and I leave my wife and mates to resume my vigil. Not one of them thinks to join me and I can’t blame them.

The rain is relentless, ultimately forcing me to seek shelter where I wait and watch for the next bend in the channel, the next waterfall, iceberg, mountain top or glacier. Covering the top of my camera with a succession of dry towels, I dash out to photograph each scene before making my retreat.  When we leave the sound just after 4 pm, I have taken over 250 photos. Tired and wet I am pleased with the experience, especially since my expensive Nikon digital camera survived the elements.

What an experience. A glass of Jameson Irish Whiskey is my delight as I remove my soaked gear, take a shower and prepare for dinner.

Goal Line Stand

John Delach

October 2026

Last Sunday, October 4^th, I attended the Giants home game against the Arizona Cardinals with my son, Michael and his two sons, Drew and Matt.

I am going to keep this piece simple and ignore the ride to and from Long Island to New Jersey, the comradery, the good food, drink, the conversations at our tailgate, the weather, and our trek into and out of the stadium.

I am going to ignore the back and forth scoring that occurred during 95% of the contest and concentrate on the last 5% of this game.

Please note that I can’t identify almost all of the names of the players who participated in the action. Also, my timing is close, but less than accurate.

As this scene opens, the Giants have just committed a pass interference penalty giving the Cardinals a first down, eight yards from the Giants goal line at our end of the field giving the four of us a bird’s eye view of Big Blue’s goal line stand.

The Giants are winning by six points meaning the Cardinals must score a touchdown to tie the game and a single extra point to win the game. They only have eight seconds left on the clock with no time outs left.

The Cardinals decide not to call for a running play because, if the runner fails to score, time will run out before they can run another play.

The entire crowd is standing. And completely engaged hoping our team prevails:

First down: The Cardinal QB throws a ball toward his receiver in the end zone that the Giants defender breaks up for an incompletion and no flags.

Second down: See the First down above.

Third down: See the First and Second down above.

Fourth down: Four seconds left, cornerback Banks picks off the pass and returns it 102 yards for a touchdown as time runs out…and no flags!

Mike, Matt, Drew and I were crushing each other, jumping, stomping and shoving in ecstasy. Our buddy Jeff jumped on our pile joining us in our celebration of one of our Giants biggest goal line stands of all times.

What a hell of a win, and a win is a win, is a win!

Go Giants.   

President Trump made another basic change to the White House grounds, as usual,

without seeking Congressional approval. Curiously, this time, the media and all of us who react angrily to these decisions seemed to ignore it.

He approved the construction of a 100-foot in diameter helipad surface consisting of four-inch-thick durable granite slabs sourced from a California quarry designed to resist the intense heat and exhaust from the newer, heavier Marine One helicopters. It is located on the south lawn of the White House that was regraded so that the pad is completely flat and level with the horizon.

The Presidential Seal covers the entire diameter of the pad with an eagle-shaped centerpiece. Trump autographed the back of that piece before it was put into place.

Beyond helicopter landings and takeoffs, the sturdy pad is to double as a platform for outdoor events, gatherings and cocktail receptions. 

The defense contractor, Lockheed Martin paid for the project. (Sikorsky, the Connecticut based helicopter manufacturer, now a subsidiary of Lockheed Martin, built the new presidential copters.)

After a great deal of debate, Congress, the Defense Department and the Marine Corp agreed to introduce the Sikorsky VH-92A Patriot Helicopter as the new chopper for the presidential fleet. The Patriot replaces the Sikorsky VH-30 Sea King that had been in use for four decades. No matter your political beliefs, I believe, “It’s about time.”

Why a concrete helipad? After all, helicopters have been using the White House South Lawn as a landing and takeoff pad since President Dwight David Eisenhower began using copters in 1957.

The reason is the exhaust from this more powerful chopper is more intense and could set the grass on fire. The federal organizations responsible for the president’s safety and the Marine Corp agreed that a concrete pad was necessary before they could sign-off on the VH-92A being named Helicopter Number One.

Trump noted: Dwight Eisenhower didn’t need a Helipad at the White House for those little choppers, but America needs one now.”

The history of Helicopter Number One began with Ike who loved Camp David. After all, he re-named the presidential retreat that FDR had called Shang Ri La after his brother, his grandson and his own middle name.

While Ike loved Camp David, he hated the amount of traffic he had to endure to make the trip by car from the White House. On July 12, 1957, Ike made his first flight on a helicopter from the White House to the camp using a Bell Ranger (H-13J). This was a bubble topped helicopter, the civilian version of the copter made famous during the Korean War. (Think of the helicopters who delivered the wounded to the field hospital in the TV series MASH.)

The Secret Service loved it because of its reliability. It could carry the pilot and two passengers, but only one in comfort. Also, it didn’t have air conditioning and it flew at a speed of

100 MPH with a range of 150 miles. The Secret Service insisted that James Rowley, chief of the White House detail, join the president in the bubble by squeezing into a third seat.

“When the president arrived at Camp David, he was sweating from an uncomfortable ride. After spending the night at Camp David, Ike drove with his family members to their home in Gettysburg, but then flew back to Washington in the Ranger. That was his second and last flight on that uncomfortable bird.”

His next helicopter ride was on Sept. 6, 1957 on a Marine HUS-1 also built by Sikorsky. Ike was pleased with this larger military transport helicopter and ordered his staff to switch to this model. The HUS-1 remained in presidential service for Jack Kennedy and Lydon Johnson before being replaced by the first version of the Sikorsky SH-30A, the Sea King.

Richard Nixon and Gerald Ford were the first presidents to use the Sea King. The A-model was succeeded by several newer versions of the Sea King that served Jimmy Carter, Ronald Reagan, George Bush, Bill Clinton, George W. Bush, Barack Obama, Joe Biden and Donald Trump, 45 and Trump 47.

The VH-92A should be this new bird! I envision that this copter will remain in service well into the future and the current model and its successors will serve at least a half-dozen of future presidents throughout the Twenty-First Century.

The new helipad was dedicated and went operational on Monday, September 21^st.

What should have been a simple ceremony turned into another three-ring circus as

the Donald lost his national television coverage because he had banned certain networks from the White House. This brought about a TV boycott by the White House press pool.

Peter Baker of The New York Times explained what happened at his dedication of the new helipad: “He (the President) was left literally shouting into the wind as he cut the ribbon on his new helipad recorded only by (Newsmax) that could not capture his voice over the roar of Marine One.”

Oh well, it seems that Trump’s action to ban certain TV reporters from the White House has come back to haunt him, and so it goes.