EZVictor

Yep. My two car-less roommates and I would typically catch a ride with a friend who lived in the stadium dorms (anyone remember them?) then we’d all cruise over to Cortana mall on Wednesday nights for the 3 for 1 “Pitchers of Death”, accompanied by the huge Mountain of Nachos…occasionally following them up with “Funeral” cocktails or sometimes rounds of kamikazes if we were still coherent. We would always shoot for one of those small tables near the stage so we could fully experience the live music - which was actually surprisingly good for the most part considering the venue. Ahh… the good ol’ days… Wish that place was still around - although I doubt my ancient liver would survive it anymore.

I was. And not just around—I had lived in Tehran just a few years before the revolution, so when the hostage crisis unfolded in 1979, it hit close to home. I was a high school senior back in Louisiana, watching the chaos play out on the evening news. It felt surreal. How had the kind, curious Iranians I had known become the furious, America-hating mobs I was now seeing on TV? My memories of Iran were mostly positive, which made the sudden shift all the more disorienting.
Our family had lived in Tehran from the early to mid-1970s as American civilians. We weren’t diplomats or military—we were just part of the wave of Americans there to support modernization projects. My father was helping oversee the Shah’s $300 million national telecommunications initiative, and many other Americans were working in similar technical or educational capacities. As kids, my siblings and I moved freely around the city, catching cabs or hitching rides when needed. It was a very different time—well before the era of helicopter parenting—and we never felt in danger. Most Iranians we met were friendly, even curious about us.

That’s not to say everything was perfect. There were occasional moments of discomfort—especially for young blonde girls like me, who were often seen as fair game by the occasional obnoxious jerk trying to sneak a butt pinch. American females over there - even younger ones like me - were unfortunately often considered fair game to a lot of these losers. But real hostility? Not overtly, at least not at first. Toward the end of our time there, though, things began to shift. University students who were being exposed to revolutionary, anti-imperialistic ideas starting expressing dissatisfaction with the Shah's regime and whispers of unrest grew louder. Accusations of graft were rampant. The economy was uneven, the wealth gap glaring, and many Iranians viewed the Shah as a Western puppet propped up by U.S. interests. His authoritarian style, along with his use of SAVAK—the secret police—only deepened that distrust.

The Shah’s push for modernization and education reform also threatened the traditional power of the religious clerics. In 1974, for example, he declared that state education would be free through the 8th grade—a progressive move, but one that likely ruffled feathers among the mullahs, who saw their influence waning. While many Americans, like my father, were there in a spirit of progress, it’s clear in retrospect that this was also a time of cultural upheaval and growing tension.

At the time, I didn’t fully grasp what was unfolding. Looking back, I can see that resentment had been simmering for years. I remember our Iranian maid quietly warning us to avoid certain neighborhoods where demonstrations were beginning to occur. I remember hearing about an American military advisor being assassinated by a leftist guerilla group. At the time, we thought it was a one-off. But soon after we left, the violence escalated: a Black high school student from our American school was stabbed to death; two Air Force colonels were ambushed and murdered; three more American civilians were later gunned down in their car. Another student from our school - a female this time - was hit and killed by a cab under suspicious circumstances.

At the time, much of this unrest was underplayed to avoid panic or diplomatic fallout. It wasn’t until the hostage crisis exploded on the world stage that the true depth of the anger and instability became undeniable.

In retrospect, the rise in anti-American sentiment wasn’t sudden—it was the result of years of growing frustration with inequality, foreign influence, and rapid cultural change. The Iranian Revolution and subsequent hostage crisis weren’t spontaneous bursts of rage—they were the outcome of a slow erosion of trust in the Shah’s vision and in the Western presence behind it. What I witnessed as a teenager now feels like a front-row seat to a nation on the verge of political transformation—one driven by fear, pride, and the clash between tradition and modernization. It’s a powerful reminder of how quickly goodwill can unravel when identity, power, and foreign influence collide. As I watch today’s rising tensions between Iran and Israel, I can’t help but think of the Iranian people themselves—millions of whom have endured over four decades of political repression, economic hardship, and religious control under the Islamic Republic. Many of them are the very descendants of the students and families I once knew. I hold onto the hope that, whatever direction this current conflict takes, it might ultimately lead not to more suffering but to a new chapter—one where ordinary Iranian citizens can reclaim the freedoms, independence, and personal liberties they had only just begun to experience under the Shah. They deserve a future shaped by their own voices, not by fear.

1968 Pontiac Catalina 4 door Sedan - accurately referred to by my ever humorous dad as being the “Baby $hit Green Beast”. Had belonged to my late uncle. After my uncle croaked - even though the car was 11 yrs. old at the time - Dad convinced me it was the deal of the century, as supposedly my uncle “always took great care of his cars”. So my senior year of high school I sacrificed 900 of my hard earned after school job dollars and bought the car from my aunt (no “freebies”” in my family!). It was not only supposed to be my senior high school year commuter car, but was also expected to take me thru at least 4 upcoming years at LSU, too. Not. Guess my Uncle hadn’t really maintained the car as well as had been touted, because after only 9 months of my driving it the transmission in that beast completely crapped out. Was told it would cost more to fix than it was worth. Had to junk the damned thing - and ended up going thru all 4 years at LSU with nothing but a generic coaster bike?? for transportation. Thanks, Dad. Surprisingly, I actually wasn’t too terribly upset (except for the money I’d shelled out) as it was pretty darned hard to look cool in that ugly-a$$ car anyway. Especially when parked in the driveway next to the new Camaro Z28 and the new Firebird TransAm both my brothers were driving at the time (offshore roustabout work apparently paid pretty well back then). Not my car, but accurately depicts what it looked like in better days - sans the somewhat redeeming hardtop. Mrs. EZVictor:

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The “D” engines were so powerful they couldn’t use full afterburner at takeoff else would basically melt JBD.  

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There was no limit on using GE110 afterburner on the JBD’s, we couldn’t “Melt” the JBD with the engines, we just didn’t need to go to afterburner, because the engines at military thrust provided enough power to safely takeoff and we didn’t want to waste fuel (you use 2000 lbs a minute in afterburner, we carried 20,000 lbs of fuel, so in afterburner you had 10 minutes of fuel before you crashed from dry tanks!).

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You mentioned others not so lucky but they only made a small set amount of D’s and could only outfit 2 squadrons. Was this in future years these happened? VF-11 is only one who lost one during the 94 cruise (which was first D cruise). I also know VF-31 lost 2 D jets in late 94 or early 95 (all 4 recovered) off San Diego. I believe that one was pilot error as both one was trying to take pics of the other inverted and clipped em and both splashed in Pacific Ocean.

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Don’t remember how many squadrons eventually ended up with the F14Ds, but it doesn’t really matter when discussing the afterburner blow through situation since, from 1987 onward, the Bs were being reconfigured from the old Pratt & Whitney engines to the same GE110 engines that the new F-14D’s being made from the Grumman factory had. So, by the late 90’s, all F-14s had the GE110 engines which were experiencing the blow-through problem.  All the Squadrons experienced (or knew about) afterburner blow-thru as a possible result of going to afterburner. GE was apparently aware of some kind of faulty engine situation as early as 1990, since they started having Grumman carry out inspections on the burner cans & nacelles. 

Here’s an interesting story about an afterburner blow-through incident that happened after Grumman transitioned to the GE110 engine. I had just finished my first 1000 hours as a RAG instructor and was leaving the flight-line heading back toward the squadron hangar. As I entered the building, another instructor I knew slightly was exiting to go man up his jet for a training sortie. We briefly exchanged greetings and in passing I mentioned that I had just completed my first 1000 hours. At which point he reached up and plucked off his own 1000 hour patch from his flightsuit and handed it to me, cheerfully saying “Here, take my patch - I’ll hit 2000 hours next week anyway, and it’s always been lucky for me!”. I thanked him then headed upstairs to debrief. About 45 minutes later the ready room began to buzz with the news that an F14 had just blown up in flight 20 miles away. Turns out it was the plane of the guy who had just given me his 1000 hour patch - LCDR Fred Dillingham. I wore his “lucky” patch the rest of my navy flying career.  I was a RIO my first 4 years in the Navy and a pilot my last 19 years.

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I wish I could remember the livery on the Mobile park F14

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It’s a VF-31 Tomcatter F14 A Tarps bird - or at least it was a few years ago when I was there. They could have changed it out by now.

F104 Starfighter… Can’t turn for shite, can’t land on a carrier, can’t slow speed fight, but it’s fast - and it attracted hot chicks like “Jeannie” to Major Nelson…
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Gun racks in the back glass of your truck. With guns it At school

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How ‘bout having riflery class in the gym… for PE?! Ya gotta love the south.

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His eyesight dq'd him from being a frontseater but he could still be a RIO.

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Yes - less than perfect eyesight initially a disqualified you to be a navy pilot - you used to have to have 20/20 uncorrectable in order to fly the plane. There was a time, however, when the Navy decided to retrain a few experienced NFOs who had correctable 20/20 vision to be pilots. After going through a rigorous selection process they had to once again go through flight school - this time as pilots. These aviators were referred to as “retreads”. Unfortunately the plan didn’t always work as well as the navy would have liked. A good percentage of retreads back then didn’t make it - many crashed and burned. Part of the problem was that the skills necessary to being a good RIO weren’t necessarily interchangeable with the skills needed to be a good pilot. Having good eyesight was only a small part of the equation. Out of the group of guys I retreaded with, half died due to failing to exercise good judgement in the plane. The saying back then used to be that retreading turned a great RIO into an average pilot. Another part of the problem was that these equally ranked retreads were challenged with having to play “catch-up” to their already experienced pilot peers who hadn’t had to take time away from their flying career to go thru the training command once again. Once the Navy retired the tomcat and went to f18s these failure incidents became much less. The hornet is a lot easier plane to land on a carrier. And now with all auto throttle landing, the “magic carpet ride” makes things even simpler.

A year or so after my dad passed I had a dream that I was in a big auditorium waiting for a show to start. Saw some guy sitting a few rows ahead of me that looked kinda like my dad. When he turned his head to the side slightly I suddenly realized it WAS my dad! I remember running up to him incredulously exclaiming, “Dad, Dad - is it REALLY you??… It CAN’T be you - you’re dead!” He just looked and me, laughed and said “Yes, it’s me.” To which I again stupidly repeated, “But, but, but…you’re DEAD!”. He calmly replied, “Yes, I am”. I then remember saying, “I can’t believe it!! Tell me all about everything Dad, what’s it like…what’s it like to be dead?”. He replied: “I can’t tell you much, but I can say that it is not at ALL how you think it is - it is completely different than that - but believe me, it IS absolutely AMAZING!”. I then glanced around to see if anybody else was also hearing/seeing this crazy encounter, but everyone looked like nothing out of the ordinary was going on. When I turned back to dad to ask him some more questions, he was gone. I started crying then and pleading, “Dad please come back - there is still SO much more I want to ask and talk to you about!”. But he didn’t reappear. And at was at that point that I promptly woke up??. I’ve never had that dream or anything really that vivid since - and that was many, many years ago. Always wondered if it was just one of those weird dreams that are so realistic they seem true - or if maybe somehow my dad DID find a way to come back and visit me then? If so, I could never figure out the logic in it - I mean, why would he wait a whole year or so after his death before returning, instead of coming earlier in the grieving process to “comfort” and reassure me in the early days when I really needed it, instead of showing up at some apparently random moment in my life? But regardless of the reason, the dream was so realistic that to this day many years later I still vividly recall it in almost perfect detail.

You never know, I guess, but that dog doesn’t look very intimidating to me… ??LINK