The other day an elderly gentleman, a veteran of the United
States Air Force, came to the Museum with a potential donation. We often receive
a number of walk-ins offering to donate some family heirloom and occasionally
these items are ones that fit the Museum’s current collecting policy and needs.
Such was the case with this gentleman’s offered timepiece.
The donor was stationed at a United States installation in Europe
in 1959 when, for some reason unknown to the donor, the decision was made to
throw away a stash of Hamilton Navigational watches that had never been issued
or used. These watches, utilizing the amazing 4992B movement, were a work horse
of the United States Army Air Corp / Air Force during World War Two and the
Korean War. The Museum has six examples of this type of watch in the
collection, some with clear service records, and others without.
The watch offered by the donor was one of several that he
had been allowed to take, some of which he had given away to friends or
relatives over the years. The watch he wished to donate had been the one that
he had kept for himself and had rarely taken it out or used it. He had planned
to use it on a mission to survey some areas of South America for the Air Force
in the 1960s, but the mission had never materialized.
When the donor revealed the watch to us, it looked like it
had just been issued. The case shows no sign of wear at all, the engraved
serial numbers on the case back are as clear as they were the day they were
engraved. Upon opening the watch (something the donor had NEVER done) the
movement shone like it had just left the Hamilton factory. Needless to say, a
watch with such a clear provenance and history, in such pristine condition was
something that we were eager to add to our Hamilton collection here at the
We want to thank the donor for his service to his country
and his generosity to the Museum for the donation of this watch. We hope you enjoy
seeing it as much as we did.
Green berets with the 7th Special Forces Group, alongside Airmen with the
24th Special Operations Wing, conducting urban warfare, personnel recovery and close air support training during Emerald Warrior 17 at Hurlburt Field, Fla., March 7, 2017.
Summary: United States Air Force A1C Ichigo Kurosaki wanted to get away. Against all odds he’s assigned to Security Forces at Yokota Air Base, under an hour from home. Seirei-gumi Yakuza family “Older Sister” Rukia Kuchiki wanted to fit in. Dispatched to Karakura, she discovers a plot to overturn Japan’s criminal underworld. Their chance meeting is anything but, and they’ll only survive the web of lies cast over Tokyo’s concrete jungle by sticking together.
Notes: This is the start of a (long) retelling of the series within a realistic (non-fantasy/supernatural) setting. You can read the notes if you’d like (1, 2, 3) although you’re warned that there are spoilers of upcoming events and some of the information is out of date. Big shout out to my artist and beta readers, you’ve all been lovely and I couldn’t have done it without you guys! And thank you to IRBB chat for the positive encouragement!
Neon rain fell in sporadic sheets, always hot. Asphalt steamed, glowing with rippling prismatic bands. Every color of the rainbow coruscated, glinting off umbrellas—mostly clear plastic—that hurried to and fro.
A white and lilac wagasa parasol advanced steadily through the bustle. It bore an unseasonable lunar crescent of snowflakes and was lit from below by carefully concealed soft white LEDs.
Rukia strode beneath it with poise and grace, immune to the heat and humidity. Civilians flowed by her on instinct, like schools of fish about a predator. She wore a Western-style two-piece suit—a black jacket and slacks—and the collar of her white blouse rested open above the former’s lapels.
To all appearances she made for a plausible—if rather short—office lady, yet her bearing alone suggested something was off. If one looked carefully, her dress shoes hinted at the story. However, the wagasa, and especially the oversized pink pair of almost-oval shades she had on, really advertised what she was—the street was lit up, but the sun had set almost two hours before.
It wasn’t long before she passed yet another nondescript alleyway leading off the thoroughfare. Her shoes splashed in a puddle that echoed in optical riot as she halted. She turned and trekked into the gloom, taking off her sunglasses and letting her parasol light the way. It was soon the only source of illumination, silhouetting her as she disappeared around a corner and vanished from the night.