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http://www.truck-lite.com/wcsstore/tl/new/images/en_US/LEDHeadlampPR.jpg http://www.truck-lite.com/webapp/wcs/stores/servlet/GenericView?pageName=/new/PressReleases_en_US/LEDHeadlamp.html&storeId=10001&langId=-1 Here is the one paragraph that matters to us: “While initial production is limited to 24 volt,” stated Brad VanRiper, Truck-Lite’s Sr VP of R&D & Chief Technology Officer, “we are actively testing 12 volt 7” LED Headlamps and we expect them to go into production shortly.” Yall stay tuned!!
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At a wine merchant's warehouse the regular taster died, and the director started looking for a new one to hire. A retired Chief Petty Officer, drunk and with a ragged dirty look, came to apply for the position. The director wondered how to send him away. They gave him a glass of wine to taste. The old Chief tried it and said, "It's a Muscat three years old, grown on a north slope, matured in steel containers. Low grade but acceptable." "That's correct," said the boss. "Another glass, please. After tasting the wine,the Chief declared, " a cabernet, eight years old, south-western slope, oak barrels, matured at eight degrees. Requires three more years for finest results." "Absolutely correct. A third glass." ''It's a pinot blanc champagne, high grade and exclusive,'' calmly said the drunk. The director was astonished and winked at his secretary to suggest something. She left the room and came back in with a glass of urine. The old Navy Chief tried it. "It's a blonde, 26 years old, three months pregnant, and if I don't get the job, I'll name the father."
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Contributed by: Mike McCaffrey, Admiral (retired USN) Never forget this, a Chief can become an Officer, but an Officer can never become a Chief. Chiefs have their standards! Recollections of a Whitehat. "One thing we weren't aware of at the time, but became evident as life wore on, was that we learned true leadership from the finest examples any lad was ever given, Chief Petty Officers. They were crusty old bastards who had done it all and had been forged into men who had been time tested over more years than a lot of us had time on the planet. The ones I remember wore hydraulic oil stained hats with scratched and dinged-up insignia, faded shirts, some with a Bull Durham tag dangling out of their right-hand pocket or a pipe and tobacco reloads in a worn leather pouch in their hip pockets, and a Zippo that had been everywhere. Some of them came with tattoos on their forearms that would force them to keep their cuffs buttoned at a Methodist picnic. Most of them were as tough as a boarding house steak. A quality required to survive the life they lived. They were, and always will be, a breed apart from all other residents of Mother Earth. They took eighteen year old idiots and hammered the stupid bastards into sailors. You knew instinctively it had to be hell on earth to have been born a Chief's kid. God should have given all sons born to Chiefs a return option. A Chief didn't have to command respect. He got it because there was nothing else you could give them. They were God's designated hitters on earth. We had Chiefs with fully loaded Submarine Combat Patrol Pins, and combat air crew wings in my day...hard-core bastards who remembered lost mates, and still cursed the cause of their loss...and they were expert at choosing descriptive adjectives and nouns, none of which their mothers would have endorsed. At the rare times you saw a Chief topside in dress canvas, you saw rows of hard-earned, worn and faded ribbons over his pocket. "Hey Chief, what's that one and that one?" "Oh hell kid, I can't remember. There was a war on. They gave them to us to keep track of the campaigns." "We didn't get a lot of news out where we were. To be honest, we just took their word for it. Hell son, you couldn't pronounce most of the names of the places we went. They're all depth charge survival geedunk." "Listen kid, ribbons don't make you a Sailor." We knew who the heroes were, and in the final analysis that's all that matters. Many nights, we sat in the after mess deck wrapping ourselves around cups of coffee and listening to their stories. They were light-hearted stories about warm beer shared with their running mates in corrugated metal sheds at resupply depots where the only furniture was a few packing crates and a couple of Coleman lamps. Standing in line at a Honolulu cathouse or spending three hours soaking in a tub in Freemantle, smoking cigars, and getting loaded. It was our history. And we dreamed of being just like them because they were our heroes. When they accepted you as their shipmate, it was the highest honor you would ever receive in your life. At least it was clearly that for me. They were not men given to the prerogatives of their position. You would find them with their sleeves rolled up, shoulder-to-shoulder with you in a stores loading party. "Hey Chief, no need for you to be out here tossin' crates in the rain, we can get all this crap aboard." "Son, the term 'All hands' means all hands." "Yeah Chief, but you're no damn kid anymore, you old coot." "Horsefly, when I'm eighty-five parked in the stove up old bastards' home, I'll still be able to kick your worthless butt from here to fifty feet past the screw guards along with six of your closest friends." And he probably wasn't bull****ting. They trained us. Not only us, but hundreds more just like us. If it wasn't for Chief Petty Officers, there wouldn't be any U.S. Navy. There wasn't any fairy godmother who lived in a hollow tree in the enchanted forest who could wave her magic wand and create a Chief Petty Officer. They were born as hot-sacking seamen, and matured like good whiskey in steel hulls over many years. Nothing a nineteen year-old jay-bird could cook up was original to these old saltwater owls. They had seen E-3 jerks come and go for so many years; they could read you like a book. "Son, I know what you are thinking. Just one word of advice. DON'T. It won't be worth it." "Aye, Chief." Chiefs aren't the kind of guys you thank. Monkeys at the zoo don't spend a lot of time thanking the guy who makes them do tricks for peanuts. Appreciation of what they did, and who they were, comes with long distance retrospect. No young lad takes time to recognize the worth of his leadership. That comes later when you have experienced poor leadership or let's say, when you have the maturity to recognize what leaders should be, you find that Chiefs are the standard by which you measure all others. They had no Academy rings to get scratched up. They butchered the King's English. They had become educated at the other end of an anchor chain from Copenhagen to Singapore . They had given their entire lives to the U.S. Navy. In the progression of the nobility of employment, Chief Petty Officer heads the list. So, when we ultimately get our final duty station assignments and we get to wherever the big Chief of Naval Operations in the sky assigns us, if we are lucky, Marines will be guarding the streets, and there will be an old Chief in an oil-stained hat and a cigar stub clenched in his teeth standing at the brow to assign us our bunks and tell us where to stow our gear... and we will all be young again, and the damn coffee will float a rock. Life fixes it so that by the time a stupid kid grows old enough and smart enough to recognize who he should have thanked along the way, he no longer can. If I could, I would thank my old Chiefs. If you only knew what you succeeded in pounding in this thick skull, you would be amazed. So, thanks you old casehardened unsalvageable son-of-a-*****es. Save me a rack in the berthing compartment." Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass. It's about learning to dance in the rain.
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Whats it worth?? I found one in a garage. Been there 25 yrs. But some other people found it to.
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A young Texan grew up wanting to be a law man. He grew up big, 6' 2’ strong as a longhorn, and fast as a mustang. He could shoot a bottle cap tossed in the air at 40 paces. When he finally came of age, he applied to where he had only dreamed of working: the West Texas Sheriff's Department. After a big mess of tests and interviews, the Chief Deputy BOB finally called him into his office for the young man's last interview. The Chief Deputy said, "You're a big strong kid and you can really shoot. So far your qualifications all look real good, but we have what you might call an 'attitude suitability test' that you must take before you can be accepted. We just don't let anyone carry our badge son." Then, sliding a service pistol and a box of ammo across the desk, the Chief said, "Take this pistol and go out and shoot: six illegal aliens, six lawyers, six meth dealers, six Muslim extremists, six sex ofenders and a rabbit" "Why the rabbit?" "Great attitude. You pass." says the Chief Deputy. "When can you start?"
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After a LOT of thought. Talked to a lot of people, on and off the department. I decided to accept the nomination as Chief. The vote was last night. I was awarded the majority of the votes and accepted the position. This is a volunteer department now so it is not like I accepted something I will retire from. I have been in my town for 36 years. I have a deep seated interest in the protection of its members. The department is long overdue for some restructuring and I have the support to begin that process. Looking forward to changes and working with all our members to structure and build further on what is already in place. Ill never get used to this dang white hat though. It will be hard to not grab a hoseline, but I am ready to fight from a different standpoint. Should be a very challenging, but fun position. Im ready to dig in.
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I have been offer a position in our fire department as Chief. I have many many years commited to the dept and feel like I am ready for it, but its a huge responsibility just the same. At least they gave me plenty of time to think it over. I was asked Monday, meeting is Wednesday I already have my business, I'm a board member for our 911 emergency services, member of the community betterment association, do all the presentations from the fire dept to daycares and home schooled children, have 4 children and a wife and now they want me to be Chief But other then that I dont have much going on so I am considering it.
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Being a dumb old Army Chief not sure that I fully understand this, but thought you might... The Navy Chief noticed a new seaman and barked at him, 'Get over here ! What's your name?" "Paul," the new seaman replied. "Look, I don't know what kind of bleeding-heart pansy crap they're teaching sailors in boot camp today, but I don't call anyone by his first name," the chief scowled. "It breeds familiarity, and that leads to a breakdown in authority. I refer to my sailors by their last names only; Smith, Jones, Baker. I am to be referred to only as 'Chief.' Do I make myself clear?" "Aye, Chief!" "Now that we've got that straight, what's your last name?" The seaman sighed. "Darling, My name is Paul Darling, Chief." "Okay, Paul, here's what I want you to do ....."
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This July, our Star Chapter from Salt Lake City, Utah is headed to Star Days. During this trip, we'll be riding the Beartooth and Chief Joseph Highways in Wyoming and Montana. Somehow, before I began planning this trip, I had never heard much about these highways. Now, after doing some research I'm thinking ... where have I been? How have I not heard about these rides? From what I have read on-line so far, The Beartooth is like riding in the mountains of Switzerland. Charles Kerault (the late CBS news reporter), declared the Beartooth "America's most beautiful highway". Along with the Beartooth, I have been reading about the connecting Chief Joseph Highway. It also looks totally amazing. I can't wait! So, I would really enjoy hearing about anyone here who has ridden these roads and anyone who might also be making this trip in July. In the meantime ... think warm thoughts,and let's hope for an early spring! Thanks! Pete.
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Hey all as I reported today was the day I picked up the VR down in Fitzgerald Ga. from the govdeals.com auction... I arrived bright eyed and bushy tailed this morning excited about the new ride... Get up leave the motel forget to get gas... thank goodness the Ford didn't mind.. I got to town got gas, picked up some last minute things at the Walmart, and went to meet the Chief of Police and pick up the bike... Met with the Chief ... really nice guy talked a few minutes with the asst. Chief they advised for me to back up to the garage where they held the bike. I backed up and they opened the door and there sat my new ride.. I look across the lot at her in her glory and I see she is got some runs on the lower fairing from the paint job. I thought nahh just seeing stuff from 20 feet away my eyes were playing tricks on me. I move closer see that the runs I saw were indeed runs.. Get even closer see pieces missing, now I am slowing down and looking harder. I move right next to her and she had the left side lower plastic sticking out some. Moved even closer yep plastic was sticking out. Hmm start to look it over more the plastic is missing more where the vent is the vent is broken out. The right side the entire side cover is missing, the front fairing is busted the lower fairing is busted. Where the side cover was missing you could see that the plastic remaining was all broken. Wanting to look at the gas tank to see if it had rust issues I touched the fake tank and it moved. The entire piece was disconnected so I lift it up not disconnected BROKEN. Crap I am thinking reach back to look at the seat to see how bad the connection is broken seat moved. The points the seat connected were broken off and the seat just sat. Apparently the jail convicts had scraped the paint of stating Police and the city name with no regard to the paint. Bike appeared to have been sprayed with a paint can. Side luggage locks would not clamp down on the side covers. Rear luggage scratched all to hell. The tires were decent other then little dryrot. The Class had been disconnected and was not working, the battery is dead which was expected, the stereo was missing button that appeared to have been broken off, the front windshield had some film on it where when I wet my finger I could not wipe it off. Appeared like maybe they used acetone or something to clean it with the last time it was cleaned and then gotten dirty on top of the wipe marks. Chiel saw I was not happy with what I thought I was paying a premium price for on a bike alledged to have 4000 miles on it. The bike I learned from the chief was purchased by the dept in 1991-92 wasn't positive exactly but either way they claim at that time the bike had 2 miles on it. The condition of the bike appeared to have been ridden hard, laided down to rot and then picked up out of the field to be sold. NOT what I felt I was buying. Chief also advised that "when we tried to have the bike fixed at the yamaha shop they were not able to get it running". I told chief I was not expecting a new bike but that at least a bike that needed carbs worked on due to varnish or gumming from a bike alledged to have 4000 miles on it not a bike I was going to have to strip down and rebuild from scratch. He asked me what I would pay for it and I told him honestly... I dont think I want to pay anything for it. He agreed to release me from the sale and not charge me a penalty. This he agreed to since the bike is listed as a 1984 actually is a 1986 and listed as 1100cc and it is a 1300cc. Bottom line Didn't buy it he did tell me he was sorry that I traveled from the Poconos down to pick it up and for it not being what I expected.
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Anyone have any idea when Star might introduce the '08 RSTD's and Venture's? Are do you know if either will come with fuel injection? Thanks, Chief
