Fred!

Notice the addition to the sidebar.

Moving Day

Ahab, from What Would John Wayne Do, has moved.

Accordingly, his information on the sidebar has been updated.

Check out his new digs.

Linky Linky

One of my oldest daughter's friends, when she was still young enough to be at home, told me "I wish I had a Dad like you."

This statement was made by a sixteen year old girl who was raised by a single mom. It was made without sarcasm, just a simple wistful statement of what she wished could be.

What could I say? I just hugged her and said "I wish you did, too. But if you need to borrow me, I'll be here."

Ten years later she still calls me Dad.

I have added Kim du Toit to my links just because of this essay.

I have further decided that he is among the luckiest men alive just because of his wife's attitude towards his essay. I am likewise blessed.

Thanks to Emperor Misha I for bringing this post to my attention.

Rebirth

Richard Bach wrote about the light in the toolbox in his book "One" that I read way back in high school.

He spoke of how machines have a soul, how they have a life and personality all their own. Not life as defined by scientists, but any mechanic will tell you that each machine has it's own quirks.

Richard Bach is a pilot and writer; his passion is flying. I do my flying a little closer to the ground. My passion is motorcycles.

We departed on a Sunday, the sun felt good after days of badly needed rain. The road hummed beneath her tires as she took her bearings from the rising sun and headed north.

My son and I have been riding her now for a couple of weeks, letting her stretch her legs and letting her and I get used to each other. Now it's time for us to go see the Man.

US1 north from Franklinton is a four lane highway, but where it joins with Interstate 85 in Henderson it turns back into a two-lane road that winds through the small towns. We are not in a big hurry so we take the back roads, ignoring the ease of the interstate in favor of the more challenging twists and turns of the two-lane.

Halfway between South Hill and Kenbridge VA we turn off onto Bacon Fork Road. Our journey is almost through.

We roll into the yard, the sun sparkling off her fresh coat of blue paint. He looks out the window. She shows off her new gold pinstriping for him.

"Damn", he says. "She looks great!"

She hears him.

We spend the day there, he takes his powered wheelchair for a lap around her to see her up close. We talk of days past, of rides taken and sights seen. We enjoy the day, my friend and I.

All too soon the sun starts to sink in the western sky. I turn the key and push the starter button.

We once again take the back roads home. It's a day for riding, and remembrance, something that is difficult to do on the mindless expanse of asphalt that is the interstate highway system.

The sky is purple as we arrive back at the Refuge. I leave her in her shed, along with the Harley that eyes me balefully. Lucille is jealous, but like most redheads making up with her will be the most fun.

This ride is done, but there are many more ahead.

For both of us.

Note from the Scoundrel: "This post was originally written as the third part of a triligy. Parts one and two are here. This part has been a long time coming. I thank you for your patience."

Lest We Forget

My sister has moved to Roanoke VA and will be visiting this weekend. Her daughter has the misfortune of sharing a birthday with a terrible event.

On her birthday she experienced the horror of watching, along with the rest of America, the twin towers fall in New York City. Tearfully she turned to her mom and asked "How could they do this? And on my BIRTHDAY!!!!!"

She will never forget.

And neither will I.

Photo from http://www.janknepper.com

So whaddaya want fer nothin?

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been over two months since my last post.
No, nothing wrong, I just haven't taken the time to write.
I have been busy, what with the new job and all, but not so busy I couldn't sit down and jot a line or two. I just haven't found anything that captures my interest enough to write about it.
I also have not been reading my normal selection of blogs, nor have I been paying much attention to the news. This probably explains why I haven't found anything worth writing about.
I wish I could tell my loyal readership (there are still one or two of you that check in regularly, I offer my baffled thanks) that I have been working on a project of stupendous achievement that will be well worth the long wait.
Sorry, not the case. So sue me, it's not like you are paying me to do this.
But as long as you are here, I hope you enjoyed the links.
Photo courtesy of Blues Brothers Central.

Redemption

Before you can go, you must be able to stop.

The left front brake caliper is long gone. It was removed when it detached itself from it's mount one day and threatened to catch in the front wheel. The through-bolt from the removed brake hose was retained and the hole sealed with a combination of RTV and rubber tape. The brake reservoir is cracked and the reservoir itself is full of water. The front brakes are, in simple terms, shot.

Ebay is your friend when you are dealing with older motorcycles. A complete front brake system is purchased and installed. I carefully apply LocTite to the bolts to prevent a future repeat of the event that caused the removal of the original left caliper.

The rear brake has the opposite problem, where the front brakes would not engage the rear brakes will not release. The pins that retain the brake pads are badly rusted, the pads are not able to slide away from the disk. I clean the pins thoroughly and the problem is resolved. I notice however that the brake pistons do not retract very far. They do retract far enough for the pads to go back in, however, so this is a problem for another day.

The tank is sealed with a polymer sealant kit obtained from JC Whitney. A coat of blue paint goes on the tank, more to combat further decay than anything else, but gold pinstriping is added for effect. A new seat cover is installed to replace the old, torn one.

A new set of handlebars are installed; her old ones were bent during her long decline when somehow she was knocked off her side stand into the Harley that she shared a space with. They have not been likewise abused since I brought them home to the shelter they now share.

She has had charging problems in the past; I remove the extra switches and wiring that were installed when I change the handlebars. The charging problems have been fixed and the extras are no longer needed.

The carberators are likewise trashed from all the water. They are also replaced with a set from Ebay.

I look down into the intakes when I remove the old carberators and I don't like what I see. Corrosion has had it's way with her intake runners, but it seems to buff out with Scotch Brite and WD-40. Fortunately the valves were closed on the corroded runners, so it doesn't appear that any water got into the cylinders. I shoot some WD into the spark plug holes just in case.

A new battery goes in and the moment of truth has arrived. A punch of the starter button gets the motor going, but badly. She will not idle, nor will she rev past halfway to the redline marked on her tachometer. A feel of her exhaust pipes shows that there are only three of the four cylinders firing, at best. The new carberators may be in better shape, but only marginally.

Both sets of carberators are pulled apart and I keep the best looking parts from the two sets. I need gaskets and a pilot jet; I find them online.

A fresh oil filter and oil are put in, both gas and oil are treated with SeaFoam. The freshly rebuilt carbs are ready for action. New spark plugs are gapped and installed. This time the starter button produces a roar that brings back echoes of times past.

We slowly leave the driveway and make our way out to the main road. As I pull the throttle farther open she begins to sing. She sings to me of pain and loss, of loneliness and despair.

This is not the happy song she once sang, but it is a song and I can hear it. The song hesitates as the tachometer climbs, but smooths out as the engine warms. As she sings, her soul frees itself; the longer she sings the sweeter the song becomes. Soon the song is of redemption and renewal; the pain remains in the background but becomes more muted as she feels her way back to the roads she once loved so well.

She has now sung her song for three weeks. As her rings unstick and reseat and the deposits are removed from her pistons and valves, her song becomes pain-free. A bit of exhaust work is needed to refine her tone, but she once more sings sweetly. Still, there is something missing; an echo of loneliness and loss still rings in her voice.

Next week we will journey to see the man. I have kept him informed of her progress and he is eager to see her again. I think she is eager to see him as well.

I think she is ready.

Silence

She has been silent now for over five years.

She lost her voice when her constant companion contracted multiple sclerosis and was no longer able to ride. He was afraid that if he tried he would end up killing himself, or worse, someone else.

She sat silent, bereft of shelter or companionship, for over three years. Silent tears of fuel wept from the holes that ate through her gas tank, her throats clogged with water.

One day he asked me to take her away. I loaded her up in the back of the truck and took her home. Finally she had shelter, but still she sat silently.

She has been silent since I last touched her start button for a short trip, a chance to stretch her wheels and feel the asphalt beneath her tires. That was a little over five years ago.

She and I have both wept silent tears for the man, her constant companion and a man that I have grown to love as a second father. We have watched, and wept silent tears of rage as his disease has run it's course, transforming him from an active soul to a helpless invalid, tied now to a wheelchair and hospital bed.

I do not know what she has thought; she sits silently, and if she has a voice to speak I cannot hear it. I myself have suffered in disbelief, but the truth is clear. This terrible disease will not relent; remorsefully it has robbed the man of his motion, of his dignity, and it will finally claim his life one day.

This disease has robbed her of her constant companion, it will rob me of a man who has been as close as family to me.

I wheel her out of the shed where she has lain for a little more than two years. She once spoke for me, perhaps she will speak again.

I pick up my tools.

Who Does What?

Today we had a little discussion where I work about President Bush and the job he is doing.

Unfortunately, half of the discussion was conducted by those who blame the President for everything and does not realize that he is not responsible for 90% of the things they are complaining about.

Who declares war? The congress.

Who passes the budget? The congress.

Who collects taxes? The congress.

Unless you live in Washington DC, you have two Senators and one Congressman. Can you name two of them?

If not, you are part of the problem.

There are plenty of things the President should catch heat for, things that he is directly responsible for doing that he has not done.

The borders, national defense, is the President's responsibility. He has not secured them.

The Executive is responsible for enforcing the laws, including the immigration laws. He has not done so.

This President has not vetoed bills that desperately deserved it, among them being McCain-Feingold campaign reform.

This President has plenty to answer for, but if you are going to complain about something, at least be informed enough to know who is responsible for what.

Memorial Day

Happy Memorial Day!

Thank a veteran.

Follow Up

My "vacation" is about at an end. Tomorrow I rejoin the workforce.

I did get the Suzuki up and running, but it will need a few miles under her wheels to be right again. It hasn't run for about 5 years now and is a bit stiff.

Sister and Brother in law are on their way back home, it was good to see them and we had a good visit.

Between Jobs

My last day at the old job was Wednesday, I don't start at the new job until a week from Monday, so for these ten days or so I'm officially between jobs.

Being unemployed doesn't mean I have had nothing to do though. My sister and brother in law are in from Iowa, I haven't seen them for going on nine years.

My brother in law wanted to see the aircraft carriers, so Friday we went to Norfolk. Thanks to my retired ID card we were able to get on the pier to see the USS Harry S Truman up close. I was once again amazed by the size of the Nimitz class carriers, and of course Brother in law was thrilled. Wife and sister had a good shopping day at the Navy Exchange as well.

We went down to Darlington for the Dodge Charger 500 on Saturday, got rained out and went back Sunday. A good time was had by all. Sister says she's glad she went, but she won't be disappointed to never go to another one because she can see more and hear the announcers on the TV. Brother in law would rather see the races at the track, and by the time we were heading home on Sunday sister was already talking about "next time".

On the agenda today is a(nother) new starter for the mighty Rampage and the possibility of the Suzuki being re-assembled and fired up. I really hope these carberators work, they have been freshly rebuilt and the battery has been on charge all night. I'll know by the end of the day. If it does fire, tomorrow will be registration and license day and I will once again be on two wheels.

That's about it, a busy couple of days at the Refuge but a good couple of days at that.

Photo of Dodge Charger 500, 2006, at Darlington Raceway by Randall Stewart

Young America

We have heard it all our lives, about how the world is going to hell in a handbasket and that young people just don't have what it takes anymore.

Our folks were wrong about us, and we are wrong about our kids.

For every car stealing punk, there is a Marine who patrols.

For every rapist, a Navy corpsman who treats the wounded.

For every gang banger, an Airman that fixes jet motors.

For every drug pusher, a Soldier who drives a tank.

For every bitcher, whiner, and complainer there is a college student that marches, not in protest, but in the ROTC.

Meet a young lady who gets it.

Good luck with your dreams Holly, you are going to do great.

DOD photograph, elements of the 22nd MEU in training at Fort Pickett, VA

National Day of Prayer -May 3, 2007

I got this from Sketch, who had forwarded it via email. I should have posted it sooner, but I didn't check my email until late. One of the things that goes along with a night job.

Scripture: “Blessed is he who has regard for the weak; the LORD delivers him in times of trouble. The LORD will protect him and preserve his life; he will bless him in the land and not surrender him to the desire of his foes.” -Psalm 42:1-2 (NIV)

Prayer: God of power and might, Lord of mercy and grace. You are creator of heaven and earth, and You reign and rule forever and ever. Your name is high above every other name, and there is no one who can challenge Your power.

Lord, You have compassion for the weak and You preserve those who defend the powerless. As our troops defend the powerless today in troubled places all around the world, let Your mighty hand of protection cover them, and preserve their lives.

Lord we ask that today would be a day of divine intervention and deliverances from death for our troops around the world. Surround them with Your favor as a shield, and guard their lives today as they guard the lives of others. Bless them Lord in the Land where they serve, and do not surrender them to the desire of their foes. Consider their lives precious in Your sight, and extend Your hand of grace, mercy and protection to them.

Make a testimony for Yourself today Lord, as You stand between those who seek to destroy, and those who serve to protect. Honor the brave hearts of our soldiers, and the heartfelt prayers of those who love them. May Your name be glorified by the testimonies of protection and deliverance that come forth from this day. For it is in God we trust. Amen.

I don't have an artist for the photo, it's labeled Sunset Soldier but no photographer information. If anyone can supply it, I will give credit where credit is due.

Hammer's Meme

I found this at Hammer's blog (address below) and thought I'd give it a whirl.

Hammer's 500 meme
whenyouronlytoolisahammer.blogspot.com


1. What is the stupidest mistake you have ever made with money?
Getting married. Twice. Just kidding Honey!

2. Do you think taxes are unfair or do you think it's your civic duty?
Taxes are a civic duty to pay for the essential things that government is responsible for, such as the courts, law enforcement and the military. However, all governments go overboard when the common citizenry discovers that they can vote themselves money from the government's coffers. That's why I am a fan of the Fair Tax.

3. Do you take risks and possibly turn your life upside down for new opportunity?
I don't take as many risks as I probably should, it's safe but it's not very profitable at times.

4. Are you the alpha in your household? (Include pets)
Ha! I'm married. Next question.

5. Do you compromise with your significant other or does someone always get their way? Compromise is essential.

6. What curse word do you use most often?
Thanks to my Navy training, I am proficient with the F bomb.

7. Do you easily change your mind or are you dead set on most issues?
I know what I know, but one of the things I know is that I don't know everything. Show me a better way and I'm all for trying it out.

8. What famous person would you like to trade places with for one week?
Hugh Heffner.

9. If you could go back in time and tell one person off, who would it be and what would you say?
I can't think of one.

10. Were you a good student or did you do just enough to get by?
I have the ability to remember most everything I read, so I was a good student with minimum effort. I could have been on the honor roll if I had put forth a bit more effort. I wasn't good at math, though, which is funny given my occupation (electronics tech).

11. If you could give one piece of advice to someone just starting out on their own, what would you tell them?
You are going to make mistakes. Learn from them. Better yet, learn from the mistakes of others. It's a lot less painful that way.

12. Are people basically good and honest or are most people opportunistic and predatory?
I think that most people want to do the right thing, but the ones that get the press are the ones that don't.

13. Is there somebody you wish you could go back and apologize to?
There's a whole list of them.

I'm Still Here

I have several things percolating in my brain right now, none of them have pushed their way to the front yet. Some of the things I have been thinking about lately are the culture of passivity that we have created, gun control, and soldiers and their philosophy of war.

My bare thoughts of the above are as follows, hopefully something fully fleshed out will appear sometime in the near future.

We teach our kids that it is never right to use violence, but when we do so we encourage them to become victims. We don't want our kids to be violent bullies, but on the other hand we don't want them to meekly submit to wrong either. Remember the quote about evil triumphing because good men do nothing.

Gun control means being able to hit your target. I don't understand why weapons training is not a part of the counseling that abused women get. I think it should be. Paper shields (restraining orders) are notoriously flimsy.

Most soldiers that I talk to would rather train than fight. Politicians start wars, not soldiers. No one I know hates war more than soldiers, I think that it is because they understand war in a way that those who have never served in one will ever know. I include myself in that category because, even though I spent 20 years in the Navy, I have never seen a shot fired in anger. Yes I was on carriers, but every time there was trouble in the wind I was either in school or on the turnaround cycle between cruises.

In other news, I start a new job around the middle of the month, so there are some changes in the wind at the Refuge. My old company is downsizing and I was among those who got the axe. But rather than think of it as a setback, I think that opportunity knocks. I ended up with another company that is in the same industry, with a more stable outlook, and best of all more money! Of course the wife has plans for it.

Stay safe, thanks for visiting.

Show Me A Hero

ABC News has an article today in Google News about Pat Tillman. Pat Tillman, you may remember, was a professional football player with the Arizona Cardinals who left his lucrative football career to join the Army after 9-11 and was killed in action in Afghanistan.

It seems as if the government was trying to play his death up as heroic, fighting against a numerically superior enemy and exhorting his men to take the fight to them. In fact, CPL Tillman was killed by "friendly fire" and not by enemy fighters.

The Tillman family speculates that the warrior hero image was conjured up to shift attention from the building scandal that was Abu Ghraib. They claim that Pat did not die a hero, but as a victim of circumstance.

Jessica Lynch, girl soldier, also testified that stories told about her heroics were likewise exaggerated. Contrary to reports that she went down fighting, she said, her weapon jammed and she prayed for help.

"I'm still confused as to why they chose to lie and try to make me a legend when the real heroics of my fellow soldiers that day were, in fact, legendary," Lynch said in her testimony. "The American people are capable of determining their own ideals for heroes, and they don't need to be told elaborate tales."

The article goes on to question if the White House knew about the false story, and concludes by noting that the Pentagon has not punished anyone for the falsehoods.

Here's my take on the whole thing. Pat Tillman gave up personal wealth and fame to serve his country in Afghanistan. Jessica Lynch, when captured, conducted herself in a manner befitting her status as United States Soldier, and identified herself as such to the rescue team. Both are heroes, not because of what happened to them, but because of how they reacted to it.

If CPL Tillman, for instance, had mocked those who gave up promising futures in order to enlist, and possibly die, in the War on Terror instead of answering the call to duty himself, my opinion of him would be far different. He was mocked instead, but unhesitatingly gave up his position with Arizona to go to a different sort of desert. That makes him a hero.

If PVT Lynch had, for instance, allowed herself to be paraded about on television cameras while making demeaning statements about her country or her government after being captured by the Iranian bumper boat squad, my opinion of her would be far different. But, by all accounts, she conducted herself honorably, and that makes her a heroine.

To Jessica Lynch and to the family of Pat Tillman, I have this to say. Being a hero isn't about how you die.

It's about how you live.

Sir Galahad, detail of a painting by George Frederic Watts, 1864

Guest Commentary

I got this in an email from an old Navy buddy of mine, and with his permission I am posting it entirely. The only changes to the original post have been in formatting to make it easier to read. My comments are inserted wherever I saw fit.

Hey, it's my blog!

So, without further ado, take it away Dex!

"I have had a lot of time to think about and have formed my opinion on immigration.

I`m not bothered by immigrants coming here. That is the foundation of this country. But what I do have a problem with is accountability on the part of Illegals within our laws.

Every year we have legal immigrants come to this country who desire to become citizens of the United States. They work very hard acclimating themselves to our society. They also go through the proper channels. The process takes a long time - I believe seven or ten years going through the the naturalization process.

(Note from the Scoundrel - friend James can attest to the length and expense of the naturalization process. His wife is Russian and is going through it right now.)

Their rights have been trampled on because they have had desire and all they see is people who have no business being here getting the rights and privileges that they worked so hard for!

I also have a problem with pouring tax dollars in to programs that are not designed to help citizens but to accommodate people who not supposed to be here. I have a big, big problem with politicians trying to circumvent the power of my vote by granting that right to people who did not properly become citizens by legal means nor served in the armed services to secure that right for themselves.

I also have a problem with a wave of people working in this country, who by their mere presence here allow employers to keep their wages artificially low for those Americans whose circumstances are not allowed to attain their true value in the market place. If you are a small business owner with working students or young adults on your staff, you are in direct competition with another small business who actively works illegals. That business owner playing by the rules is going to lose in the market place because he will be outbid on every job.

Now lets look at Illegal immigration from the point of view of the illegal. If a person is not here legally, he or she will be exploited from the time they step in this country. They have no legal recourse in this country.

(Note from the Scoundrel - the following points would be valid for illegals in Mexico, but here illegals are treated pretty well. A bevy of taxpayer-funded attorneys see to that. However, many illegals are indeed exploited in just such a manner, and threatened by their employers with these actions, because they believe that they will be treated this way if they seek legal recourse. End note.)

They are not citizens - they are illegal. They can be arrested and detained without just cause - they can be searched without Miranda having been read to them - they are not entitled to legal counsel - they are illegal.

They are not entitled to one single right - they are illegal. They are bought and sold into slavery - indentured servitude - they have no rights or legal recourse because they are illegal. They cannot report crimes to law enforcement for fear of being deported - because they are illegal.

They are forced to live twenty or thirty people in a townhouse. They cannot qualify for loans for homes because you have to have legal documents to purchase a home.

(Note from the Scoundrel - unless you go to Bank of America! Seriously, this is true, which is why most illegals have documents that are forged. This is also one of the reasons identity theft is such a problem. End note.)

They are transported by coyotes who force them into prostitution, drug trafficking, and other illegal activities to pay for their passage into this country. In some instances, they are left to die in the desert in trailers left by the coyotes. They are treated like cattle because they have no rights - they are illegal.

The solution is simple. It has to start with enforcement of the laws of this country and respect of our borders. Work visas are not difficult to get and to maintain it is just like getting a drivers license and keeping it up to date. But as of right now, our politicians want to use them just like everyone else wants to exploit the illegal.

We need to know what the character of the person is. Does he have a criminal record? Does he have any communicable diseases that can expose the general population to? Can he read and write?

The politicians (both lefties and righties) in this country have forgotten that we have an enemy that is looking for any weaknesses in our defenses. Our borders are wide open, because we lack the will to properly secure them.

If it sounds like I'm fearful, I am. I have seen the damage done at the Pentagon first-hand by people who were not supposed to be here. I and my children live in the flight path of more than a hundred planes flying overhead every day into Dulles, Reagan National, and Thurgood Marshall (BWI) airports.

I have formed my opinion. I hope I have exposed the politician's for being short-sighted and reckless.

Dex
Northern Virginia"

Fight For Me

Link!

He Knew The Face Of Evil

Liviu Librescu first saw the face of evil when he was 10 years old.

Born in 1930 to a Jewish family in Romania, his homeland was overrun by Nazi Germany in 1940 and soon became a part of the Axis powers. Romanian Jews, already suffering under harsh anti-Semitic laws in place, were rounded up and sent to concentration camps. His father was one of those swept up, but he and his mother managed to escape this fate. Fortunately, his father survived the concentration camp.

Between 280,000 and 380,000 Jews were killed in Romania during the dark days of World War Two.

Liviu Librescu was fourteen years old when the war ended. But the end of the war did not bring an end to the evil.

Romania suffered under the Communist yoke for 45 more years until the collapse of the Soviet Union. Liviu Librescu was able to secure freedom for himself and his family in 1978 after appealing directly to the Israeli government. In 1985 he moved to Virginia to teach engineering classes at Virginia Tech.

Liviu Librescu taught at Virginia Tech for 20 years and had an international reputation for his work in aeronautical engineering.

"His research has enabled better aircraft, superior composite materials, and more robust aerospace structures," said Ishwar K. Puri, the head of the engineering science and mechanics department.

On April 16, 2007 Liviu Librescu once more saw the familiar face of evil. That was the day a crazed killer went on a rampage and ended the lives of 32 innocent people before killing himself as well.

Liviu Librescu did not run from the face of evil. He ran towards it.

Librescu's son, Joe, tells of his father's actions as described in emails sent by his students, describing how the professor saved their lives by barricading the classroom door against the approaching gunman.

"My father blocked the doorway with his body and asked the students to flee," Joe Librescu said Tuesday in a telephone interview from his home outside of Tel Aviv. "Students started opening windows and jumping out."

Liviu Librescu made his escape upon angel's wings.

Liviu Librescue was one of the 32 victims. He gave his life so that others might live.

Yit-gadal v'yit-kadash sh'mey raba, b'alma di v'ra hirutey, vyam-lih mal-hutey b'ha-yey-hon uv'yomey-hon uv'ha-yey d'hol beyt yisrael ba-agala u-vizman kariv, v'imru amen.

Y'hey sh'mey raba m'varah l'alam ul'almey alma-ya.

Yit-barah v'yish-tabah v'yit-pa-ar v'yit-romam v'yit-na-sey v'yit-hadar v'yit-aleh v'yit-halal sh'mey d'kud-sha, b'rih hu, leyla* min kol bir-hata v'shi-rata tush-b'hata v'ne-hemata da-amiran b'alma, v imru amen.

Y'hey sh'lama raba min sh'ma-ya, v'ha-yim aleynu v'al kol yisrael, vimru amen.

Oseh shalom bim-romav, hu ya-aseh shalom aleynu v'al kol yisrael, v'imru amen.

(The Kaddish is an old Jewish hymn of praise to God. It is recited at funerals and in memory of the departed.)

Rest in peace, Liviu Librescu. Your name will always be remembered here. The world is a better place because of you. The world is a poorer place at your passing.

Staff Photo, Virginia Tech