September 29, 1918. The 21-year-old cowboy from Arizona climbed into his fighter plane without permission, ignoring direct orders to stay on the ground.
His commanding officer had nearly grounded him... View MoreSeptember 29, 1918. The 21-year-old cowboy from Arizona climbed into his fighter plane without permission, ignoring direct orders to stay on the ground.
His commanding officer had nearly grounded him permanently. Too reckless. Too undisciplined. Too likely to get himself killed chasing glory.
But 2nd Lieutenant Frank Luke Jr. didn't care about orders. He cared about hunting.
And what he hunted was floating in the sky six miles behind enemy lines: German observation balloons.
Frank Luke was born in Phoenix, Arizona Territory—before Arizona was even a state. He grew up working copper mines, fighting in bare-knuckle boxing matches, and dreaming of adventure bigger than the desert could offer.
When America entered World War I in 1917, Frank enlisted immediately. He wanted to fly.
By March 1918, at age 20, he earned his wings and a commission as second lieutenant. In July, he shipped to France and joined the 27th Aero Squadron.
His squadron mates called him arrogant. Cocky. A showboat who flew alone and disobeyed orders.
His commanding officer thought he was a discipline problem waiting to happen.
But Frank Luke could fly. And more importantly, he was willing to do what other pilots feared: hunt observation balloons.
These weren't just balloons. They were massive hydrogen-filled targets called "Drachen"—dragons—tethered 3,000 feet in the air, watching Allied troop movements and directing German artillery.
Shooting them down was a suicide mission.
Each balloon was protected by a ring of anti-aircraft guns on the ground and fighter planes in the air. The hydrogen made them explode spectacularly when hit—which looked impressive but also marked exactly where the attacking pilot was, making him an easy target.
Most pilots avoided balloons. Too dangerous. Not worth it.
Frank Luke volunteered for every balloon mission.
He found a wingman who matched his fearlessness: Lieutenant Joe Wehner. The two developed a system: Luke attacked the balloons while Wehner flew protective cover, fighting off German planes.
Together, they became unstoppable.
September 12, 1918. The Meuse-Argonne Offensive begins—the largest American battle of World War I.
Frank Luke starts his rampage.
In one mission, he destroys two balloons within minutes. Then two more the next day.
By September 15, he's shot down eight balloons in four days.
His squadron commander awards him the Distinguished Service Cross. Newspapers back home start calling him "the Arizona Balloon Buster."
But Luke doesn't slow down. If anything, he gets more aggressive.
September 16: Two more balloons destroyed.
September 18: Two balloons and two German Fokker fighters shot down in a single mission.
But that day, disaster strikes.
During the fight, German planes swarm Luke's position. Joe Wehner—his wingman, his friend, his only real ally—is shot down and killed.
Luke is devastated. Enraged. Alone.
He becomes even more reckless.
Over the next eleven days, Luke flies mission after unauthorized mission, hunting balloons with a fury that terrifies his own commanders. He's no longer following tactics or waiting for orders. He's a one-man air force.
September 28: He destroys his 14th and 15th balloons.
His squadron commander has had enough. Luke is too wild, too undisciplined, too likely to get himself killed. After his latest unauthorized flight, he's told in no uncertain terms: You're grounded. No more flying until you learn to follow orders.
Frank Luke has never followed an order he didn't agree with.
September 29, 1918. Evening.
Luke takes off from Verdun without authorization. He's flying his SPAD XIII fighter—French-made, single-seat, wood and fabric biplane with twin Vickers machine guns.
He flies toward the German lines. Alone.
His target: three observation balloons near the town of Murvaux, six miles behind enemy lines.
He finds the first balloon at dusk. Dives through a storm of anti-aircraft fire. Opens fire. The balloon erupts in flames—a massive orange fireball against the darkening sky.
German ground troops are alerted. Every gun in the area swivels toward the sound of his engine.
Luke doesn't leave. He hunts the second balloon.
Finds it. Attacks. Another explosion. Another burning dragon falling from the sky.
By now, eight German fighters are pursuing him. Anti-aircraft shells are bursting all around his plane. Any sane pilot would flee.
Luke spots the third balloon.
He dives again. Through the fighters. Through the flak. Machine guns hammering.
Third balloon explodes.
Three balloons in less than 45 minutes. One of the most audacious single missions in World War I history.
But Luke's plane is hit. Badly. Engine smoking. Controls damaged.
He descends, flying dangerously low—barely 50 meters off the ground—strafing German troops near Murvaux. His guns keep firing even as his plane is falling apart.
Then his plane can't fly anymore.
He crash-lands in a field near the village.
According to witness reports, he climbed out of the wreckage. Wounded. Surrounded by German soldiers who called for him to surrender.
Frank Luke drew his service pistol.
The exact details of what happened next are lost to history. For decades, legends grew: that he fought ten German planes before being shot down, that he killed eight or eleven Germans in a final gunfight.
The truth, revealed through careful research in 2008, is simpler and more tragic: Frank Luke died defending himself against overwhelming odds. The number of enemies he faced, the exact manner of his final moments—these details were exaggerated by well-meaning witnesses and mistranslated testimonies.
What we know for certain: Frank Luke Jr. died September 29, 1918, at age 21, in a field in France, having just destroyed three observation balloons in a single unauthorized mission.
He had been in combat for exactly 17 days.
In those 17 days, he destroyed 14 German observation balloons and shot down 4 enemy aircraft—18 confirmed kills total.
No pilot in World War I achieved so many victories in such a short time.
Eddie Rickenbacker, America's top ace with 26 kills, called Luke "the most daring aviator and greatest fighter pilot of the entire war."
His commanding officer, who had tried to ground him, nominated him for the Medal of Honor.
In May 1919, Frank Luke became the first U.S. aviator to receive the Medal of Honor. The medal was presented to his father in Phoenix.
Luke Air Force Base in Arizona bears his name.
But the real legend isn't the exaggerated stories. It's what actually happened:
A 21-year-old cowboy from Arizona became America's second-highest-scoring ace by defying orders, flying solo missions, and hunting targets that terrified other pilots.
He did it in 17 days.
And he died the way he lived: ignoring orders, attacking impossible odds, refusing to surrender.
That's not mythology. That's Frank Luke Jr.
The Arizona Balloon Buster who became a legend by being exactly what the military tried to discipline out of him: fearless, reckless, and absolutely unwilling to back down.
The IRS decides to audit Grandpa, and summons him to the IRS office. The IRS auditor was not surprised when Grandpa showed up with his attorney.
The auditor said, “Well, sir, you have an extravagant ... View MoreThe IRS decides to audit Grandpa, and summons him to the IRS office. The IRS auditor was not surprised when Grandpa showed up with his attorney.
The auditor said, “Well, sir, you have an extravagant lifestyle and no full-time employment, which you explain by saying that you win money gambling. I’m not sure the IRS finds that believable.”
“I’m a great gambler, and I can prove it,” says Grandpa. “How about a demonstration?”
The auditor thinks for a moment and says, “OK. Go ahead.”
Grandpa says, “I’ll bet you a thousand dollars that I can bite my own eye.”
The auditor thinks a moment and says, “It’s a bet.”
Grandpa removes his glass eye and bites it. The auditor’s jaw drops.
Grandpa says, “Now, I’ll bet you two thousand dollars that I can bite my other eye.”
The auditor can tell Grandpa isn’t blind, so he takes the bet.
Grandpa removes his dentures and bites his good eye. The stunned auditor now realizes he has wagered and lost three grand, with Grandpa’s attorney as a witness. He starts to get nervous.
“Want to go double or nothing?” Grandpa asks. “I’ll bet you six thousand dollars that I can stand on one side of your desk, and pee into that wastebasket on the other side, and never get a drop anywhere in between.”
The auditor, twice burned, is cautious now, but he looks carefully and decides there’s no way this old guy could possibly manage that stunt, so he agrees again. Grandpa stands beside the desk and unzips his pants, but although he strains mightily, he can’t make the stream reach the wastebasket on the other side, so he pretty much urinates all over the auditor’s desk.
The auditor leaps with joy, realizing that he has just turned a major loss into a huge win. But Grandpa’s attorney moans and puts his head in his hands.
“Are you OK?” the auditor asks.
“Not really,” says the attorney. “This morning, when Grandpa told me he’d been summoned for an audit, he bet me twenty-five thousand dollars that he could come in here and pee all over your desk and that you’d be happy about it.”
Don’t mess with old people!
Necessity is the mother of invention
These discoveries always amaze me.
~~~
In 1901, sponge divers off the coast of Antikythera, Greece, made a discovery that would baffle scientists for over a century. Amid the wreckage of an ancient ... View MoreThese discoveries always amaze me.
~~~
In 1901, sponge divers off the coast of Antikythera, Greece, made a discovery that would baffle scientists for over a century. Amid the wreckage of an ancient Greek ship, they pulled up a corroded, gear-filled lump of bronze. At first, no one knew what it was—until closer examination revealed something astonishing. This wasn’t just another ancient artifact; it was a complex, gear-driven machine, unlike anything else from the ancient world.
Now known as the Antikythera Mechanism, this device is believed to be an astronomical calculator, dating back over 2,000 years—long before such technology should have existed. The intricate system of bronze gears and dials could predict solar and lunar eclipses, track the movements of the planets, and even follow the Olympic Games calendar. This level of mechanical sophistication wouldn’t be seen again until the 14th century, nearly 1,500 years later.
The mystery deepens with questions scientists have yet to answer. Who built it? Some theories suggest it was designed by followers of Archimedes or Hipparchus, two of the greatest minds of ancient Greece. How did such advanced technology exist in a time when most civilizations still relied on sundials and rudimentary mathematics? And perhaps most intriguingly—were there others like it? If so, why have no similar machines ever been found?
Modern X-ray scans and 3D reconstructions have revealed even more secrets, showing it once had at least 37 interlocking gears, each precisely engineered to map celestial movements. But some pieces are still missing, and many of its functions remain unknown. Was it a tool for navigation, education, or something else entirely?
The Antikythera Mechanism remains one of the greatest mysteries of the ancient world. A device so advanced that it challenges everything we thought we knew about ancient technology. Was it the work of a lone genius, a lost civilization, or proof that history is far more complex than we ever imagined?
A great woman erased from history by idiots.
The branding of the syrup was a tribute to this woman’s gifts and talents. Now future generations will not even know this beautiful woman existed. What a s... View MoreA great woman erased from history by idiots.
The branding of the syrup was a tribute to this woman’s gifts and talents. Now future generations will not even know this beautiful woman existed. What a shame. The world knew her as “Aunt Jemima”, but her given name was Nancy Green and she was a true American success story. She was born a slave in 1834 Montgomery County, KY. and became a wealthy superstar in the advertising world, as its first living trademark. Green was 56 years old when she was selected as spokesperson for a new ready-mixed, self-rising pancake flour and made her debut in 1893 at a fair and exposition in Chicago. She demonstrated the pancake mix served thousands of pancakes, and became an immediate star. She was a good storyteller, her personality was warm and appealing, and her showmanship was exceptional.
Ya can’t make this stuff up folks! In NYC, you need 2 forms of ID to shovel snow… but not to vote. Go figure!
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