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One Year

January 24, 2016

It has been one year today since the passing of my father.  Still missing him more than ever, still revelling in the memories of a lifetime and still as ever thankful for the legend that lives on.  Dad would be pleased to know that because of how he lived his life, we are all doing fine.  June continues to enjoy the home in Angel Fire that they built together.  All of his children, grandkids and friends are thinking of him each and every day.

Dad, we all miss you so much, but at the same time, it seems as though you are still here -- living through each and everyone one of us who you touched in such special ways.

Love,

Brock, Diana, Shari and Kati

Living on in Popular Music

October 30, 2015

Dear Gibson Family!

First of all my heartfelt condolences for the loss of your loved one. While I didn’t know him personally and have no connections at all, by all accounts he was a wonderful person and a great American. The reason I am writing this story is to let you know how I found out about Col. Gibson.

I was curious about the origin of the song Red River Valley. This led me to the Vietnam era song Teak Lead which is sung to the tunes of that song. This in turn led me to Lt.Col. Ret. Dick Jonas, then an LT, who flew with Col. Gibson and with Col. [at the time] Robin Olds in the 8th TFW from RTAFB Ubon. Dick Jonas' songs, which I downloaded via iTunes, are a wonderful tribute to the courage of the men who flew in the Wolf Packs and a great history lesson as well, reminding the world of the courage of the men who served their country.

One of the songs - The Ballad of Jeb Stuart [CD: The People We Knew] - contains the line “We rolled out and taxied in and climbed out in the rain, Hoot’n Bill and all the boys met us at the plane. I told Hoot Jeb didn’t make it, they got him at the [Mu Gia] Pass and I came home because my bird was running out of gas.”

That line made me curious about who “Hoot” was but my search for “Hoot” didn’t yield any tangible results. However, the song “Son of Satan’s Angels on the same CD contains the repeated line “I’m one of old Hoot Gibson’s boys and mean as I can be” and later “Hello Hanoi Hannah, send your MIGs to meet their doom, fly at 'em up and blast them up, Hoot’s Boys will be there soon” A search for “Gibson’s Boys” then led me to this site.

Although I am pretty sure that your family is familiar with Dick Jonas’ work, just in case you didn’t know what mark Col. Gibson left in popular music, now you do. 

With Sympathy,
Manfred Schropp

Dad never lost his flying hands

February 13, 2015

During the last few years of his life, Diana and I made several trips to see Dad and June at their home in Angel Fire, NM. We would take a cross-country flight in our experimental Van's RV-6A aircraft into the AF municipal airport. On a trip in the Spring of 2013, in spite of undergoing regular chemo treatments, Dad wanted to fly all around his favorite places in the local area of Angel Fire. He never lost his flying hands and flew the aircraft with the utmost of precision -- he was a natural at most everything he did, especially flying. He skillfully navigted around mountain peaks, effortlessly zipping through holes in the clouds, running down narrow valleys, over the NM Vietnam Memorial State Park, showing me his house, hidden lakes, ranches, locating the remenants of a 25+ mile slough that took water from the mountain peaks to the villages below, lost mines, up the Rio Grande canyon, and over to the Taos airfield where we "beat up the pattern" doing touch and goes and doing 360 fighter overhead patterns. He even showed me how to do a coordinated aileron roll the right way. This was a very special time for me as I mostly just sat there watching him, with full trust and confidence in him to ensure our safety, while we were both having the time of our lives. I couldn't help but think about the picture of him in his RF-101 Voodoo on the ramp at Kadena AFB circa 1962, sitting on his lap in the cockpit when I was 3 years old.

Best Dad ever!

Son Brock

Shake it Off and Move On

February 4, 2015

My brother Thad and I went to visit my dad and June during the summer of 1979 in Zwiebruken, Germany.  During this visit, June planned an amazing trip traveling throughout Germany and France.  We visited castles, danced with Oom-Pah-Pah bands, experimented with new foods, and traveled the Austrian countryside in a little green Capri.  I remember stopping and having a lunch of fresh bread, cheeses, and grapes as we soaked in the gorgeous scencery.  

On our trip to France, we traveled with a tour group on a bus.   The trip was long and the bus was crowded.  Like a true teenager, I did my share of complaining to my dad about being bored and uncomfortable.  He told me to "shake it off and move on." 

Our trip took us to a stop at the palace of Versailles, 10 miles west of Paris.  While walking through the beautiful gardens we stopped for one of the days many photo ops in front of a beautiful hedge.  Stepping up on a small retaining wall, as instructed by my father, I smiled for a "Cheryl pose," which if you know me is complete with hand on hip and cheesy smile.  My dad instructed me to step back just a bit in order to catch just the right angle.  Without knowing that there was about a 5 ft drop behind me I did as I was told and went straight down into the headge. 

My dad pulled me out from the hedge and examined my scratches and cut knee.   I'm sure, being a 16 year-old, I was more embarassed than hurt but my tears flowed heavily.  Expecting lots of sympathy and coddling, I didn't get much.  My dad looked at me and told me the that life would be full of ups and downs.  After assuring that I was not seriously injured, he simply stated "shake it off and move on."

In the last few years, specifically as my dad was suffering through his many treatments, I discovered that I would regularly tell myself this throughout my daily life struggles because they were nothing compared to his.  From this point on, I will try harder to honor this and do a little less complaining while looking at life more positively.  

"It just doesn't get any better......"  ~Love you Dad 

snipes and fishing

January 27, 2015

When I was younger I remember fishing with Grandpa and my dad. We've fished in Elephant Butte Lake, Santa Fe, Eagles Nest, and Angel fire. Some of my best childhood memories where created on a boat with two of the best men I've ever known in my life. I remember one summer while we where at Elephant Butte I wanted Grandpa Hoot to drag me with a tow line behind the boat. I must have towed behind that boat for at least half the length of that lake. Another story in particular I can remember is camping on the lake with my dad and Grandpa. We where sitting around the camp fire when Grandpa thought it would be an adventure for me to go " snipe" hunting. He told me in order to catch the snipes you had to have a large bag and a flashlight. I spent half the night hunting these elusive creatures, never to catch one. I loved fishing and hiking with my Grandpa. Always remember...you gotta hold your tongue right if you wanna catch any fish.

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