Few humans have flown a jet as high or as fast as Adelbert “Buz” Carpenter. During his six years as an SR-71 Blackbird pilot, the now-retired Air Force colonel flew 230 missions, frequently exceeding three times the speed of sound. Over the course of nearly 800 hours flying one of the world’s most iconic aircraft, Carpenter soared over Cuba, skirted North Korea and tracked Russian nuclear submarines in the Arctic. He also had a few close calls, in one case narrowly avoiding disaster.

With the possibility that NASA could be returning the SR-71 to its test fleet, the Blackbird is back in the news and we wanted to dive deep into what it was like to fly the jet and get some thoughts on the latest SR-71 rumors from someone who piloted it. We couldn’t think of anyone better than “Buz” Carpenter.

Before joining the Blackbird program, Carpenter flew recon missions during the Vietnam War as an RF-4C pilot among other assignments. He now serves as a docent at the Smithsonian Air & Space Museum’s Udvar Hazy Center.

Some of the questions and answers have been lightly edited for clarity.

Q: How did you become an SR-71 pilot? Walk me through your decision to join the program. What made you want to fly it? What was the qualification process like?

A: Well, it was a multi-step process… You had to fill out all this paperwork. You had to send them your flight records, all your flight checks, your physical records. What are your professional ratings in the Air Force? Do they rate you as superior? 

The home base was Beale Air Force Base in California. If they liked you, you got called back for about a week. The first two days were a modified astronaut’s physical. I mean, they checked everything. You had a series of interviews. As a pilot, I had to fly with two current SR-71 pilots, not in the SR, but in the companion trainer, the T-38. 

At any time, there were only 11 of us qualified to fly the SR-71. That’s how small a group it was for the whole program. Only 85 of us ever flew operational missions… So you can see it’s a pretty small group.

Q: Did pilots have to be invited to apply for the SR-71 program?

A: Oh, you had to apply for it. When there was a pilot in the program and he knew somebody he used to fly with that was really super, the invitation would be: ‘fill out the paperwork, and once we get the paperwork and look you over, we’ll call you back’ and go through the same routine that I went through. 

You’ve got to go through the physical. Sometimes it was shortened because they knew the person. A couple of them were actually T-38 instructors at Beale Air Force Base, and their invitation was a lot shorter because they had all the records there. They knew who you were, and they knew how you could fly.

About a week before Christmas, 1974, I got a telegram that says ‘you’ve been selected. You will report to Beale Air Force Base July 1975 and commence training in the SR-71.’ I couldn’t have been happier.

Q: What was the training like?

A: The first thing you’re going to do is you’re going to get checked out in the T-38, even though we had all flown it earlier. You had to become [requalified] in it, because as long as you’re in a program, you’re going to continue to fly the T-38. 

Once you actually started the program, you’d be paired with your navigator, who then assumed the title Reconnaissance Systems Officer [RSO]. And in my case, it was the wonderful Capt. John Murphy. We trained and flew together for four years. 

Your first month or so was mostly academics, because the airplane was so different. You had to learn the systems because the airplane operates in a very hot environment — an average temperature of almost 600 degrees [Fahrenheit]. The airplane grows three to four inches in length, an inch or two in width — it’s 93% titanium to deal with the high temperatures [associated with supersonic flight]. So during flights, you are going to have to deal with systems that are now straining or starting to fail because of the heat environment they’re operating in. So it is imperative that you understand exactly how this airplane is engineered, and what kind of options you might have if you start getting failures.

Then you start getting into the simulator, and obviously it’s a kind of crawl-walk-run type of a deal. This was the first simulator I’d ever seen that was a computer simulator. Up until that point, they called them part-task trainers. It had all the switches and everything, but it didn’t fly like the airplane. Like you’d be in the trainer and they want to simulate a fire. Somebody would bang against the side of this thing, and yell ‘fire’ and turn on the fire light, but they were just watching what you were doing. The SR simulator flew exactly like you [would fly the plane]. 

So even before John and I started training, we would find times when the simulator wasn’t being used at night, and we would go down there, and fly this simulator. And if you did something wrong, it reacted exactly how the airplane would react. I mean, it could crash if you did something bad enough.

There’s no visual. The simulator could move a little bit motion-wise, not severely. It would react exactly how the airplane was going to react, but you couldn’t see anything. Your first visual of what the airplane was like was going to be on your first flight in the airplane. 

That’s when you’re going to see what does a takeoff look like in 20 seconds? What does it look like to get behind a tanker and refuel? And as importantly, what does it look like to come back in at 175 indicated [airspeed] and land this airplane on a runway? It was a tremendous training aid because when you came back later on when you were doing your six weeks in Japan, maybe you took some vacation, but the first thing after that they’re going to put you in the simulator for four hours and see how you react to emergencies. It was very complex and defining. We washed people out who could not maintain the level of proficiency that we expected if you were going to fly this airplane.

Q: Could you practice refueling as well?

A: You could do takeoffs, because it was like an instrument takeoff, and you could do ‘quote’ instrument landings, but you had no visual to see how this whole thing would come together. Air refueling we didn’t mess with it because there wasn’t enough you could see. When you came to an air refueling in the simulator, they would just fill you up and say, ‘okay, you’ve been refueled.’ Because you needed the visual picture to understand what you’d be doing behind the tanker.

Q: Tell me about the first time you donned the pressure suit, which you had to wear to withstand the pressures of flying at altitudes of up to 80,000 feet or more.

A: If you were going to fly, you came in two and a half hours early. You had to pass a physical before every flight to make sure your sinuses and blood pressure and a number of other things were okay. You would then have a meal of steak and eggs, just like the astronauts, high protein, low bulk. They would brief you on the status of your airplane, and then about an hour and 15 minutes prior, you would go down where your suits were being maintained, and you’d put on cotton long johns because you’re going to perspire a little bit. Not profusely, but occasionally, if you were low on fuel. The fuel was the cooling system for the airplane, and if you’d been flying at the higher speeds, and you were low on fuel, the suit would heat up a little bit. 

They’d suit you up. I’m going to stop there. The first time you ever suited up, you’re not going to the airplane. They’re just exposing you. It was a [NASA] Gemini suit that had been modified, and you put on the cotton long johns. You had two people that helped you into the suit. The suit is lying on the floor like a coverall. So you’re going to come through the back of the suit. You put your legs on like you would a coverall you’d have at home. You then put your arms through the sleeves, and at that point, the two technicians would grab that helmet ring, and they would lift it up, and then you would duck underneath and come up and stand.

So now the suit is fully on you, and the helmet ring is sitting on your shoulder. The first time you do that, it probably takes 25 minutes, because they’re explaining to you, this is the easiest way to do it. This is where you should step. This is how you get your legs in. This is how you get your arms in. And then the next thing they’re going to do, they’re going to hand you your helmet. 

The suit weighs about 40 pounds. If you’re claustrophobic, this is not a program to be in. It’s not overpowering, but it’s your work suit and something to get used to. It’s not that uncomfortable in a sitting position because that’s where you’re going to use it most of the time, sitting in the cockpit. 

They’re going to hand you your helmet, and in the helmet — which most people can’t see — there’s a seal that comes around your face. So once you get the helmet on, you’re going to crank down the seal so it seals tightly, because you are going to be breathing — once the visor comes down in the aircraft — you’re going to be breathing 100% oxygen until you land. The reason for that is that the cabin is pressurized to 26,000 feet to reduce the pressure on the airplane. So they want to reduce the nitrogen in your blood. You’re just like a diver when you go from sea level to 26,000 feet. It’s like a diver who’s been diving coming back up to sea level. So by breathing 100% oxygen, you get the nitrogen out of your system, and you avoid the bends.

There were very few, and possibly no episodes like that in the SR program, but in the U-2 sister program, they maintained an altitude of 28,000 feet, and they had to pre-breathe oxygen before they ever went out to the airplane. Because once they got to the airplane, start up, they go straight to altitude. When we take off, it takes us a half hour from the time our visor comes down, breathing 100% oxygen, before you can take off, and then you’re going to go to a tanker to refuel. So by time you were through at the tanker, you’ve been breathing oxygen, pure oxygen, for over an hour. And the reason for taking off light and going to a tanker: Early in the program, the test program, I think we lost two airplanes doing tests due do heavyweight takeoffs and aborts.

So to preclude that, instead of taking off with 80,000 pounds of fuel, we would take off with 40,000 pounds of fuel. It reduced the wear and tear on the tires, so we could accelerate quicker, less stress.

But there was a second piece. When the Concorde crashed in Paris in 2000, it lost two engines on one side. They could never get the airplane going fast enough. The airplane stalled. The powerful engines caused the airplane to roll over.

On the SR, it had been forecast through the simulations that if you lost one of your afterburners, lost an engine right after takeoff, there wasn’t enough airflow over your flight controls because you have to keep the other afterburner going. You were going to do the same thing. You were going to roll over and crash. So if you had a full load of fuel, it would take you about maybe 20 seconds, 30 seconds to get above 350 [knots] because at 350, you had more than enough air going across the flight controls to control an engine-out condition. By reducing the takeoff weight down to 40,000 pounds, that dead zone where you didn’t have control was probably 15 seconds. Never happened, but that was part of the theory behind why we took off with half a fuel load. 

We took off with heavier fuel loads, occasionally. I think I may have taken off once or twice with a full load. It was a fairly rare exception, but we would take off with 50,000 pounds. I’ve taken off with 60,000 pounds a couple times.

Q: How was your first flight? When was it?

A: You’re not going to be impressed. My first flight, I think, was the 16th of July, 1976, and your first flight in the airplane is subsonic. You’re going to be fully suited up. You’re going to take off. It’s going to be the first time you ever see a takeoff. The takeoff is 20 seconds, and in 20 seconds, you’re going to go 4,500 feet from a dead stop. You’re going to lift off doing 230 miles an hour as you bring the nose up and accelerate to 400 knots. You’re going to pass through 20,000 feet less than two minutes from the time you start your takeoff roll, and then you’ll level off at 25,000 feet and head out to the tanker.

On your first flight, you’re going to spend almost an hour and a half on the tanker, and that’s to teach you how you refuel this airplane behind our special tankers. Almost all the guys had prior refueling experience, so you’re helping them adjust to a new type of refueling regimen per se. 

Occasionally, you’d get a guy who had no refueling experience, and that was more difficult to try to teach somebody for the first time how you do refuelings. And one of the trickier things with the tankers, you’d hook up with a tanker, and they’re doing 315 [mph] to 325 [mph] at 25,000 feet. That was where we liked to refuel. So, not every time, but it was not uncommon that by the time you were passing through, having accepted 70,000 pounds of fuel, you’re starting to get power limited, and there were two things you can do. 

The preferred thing was you would light the left afterburner to the min-burner [minimum afterburner], and bring the right engine back to a point it would be your modulator. But now you’re going to put the rudder in, because you’re going to be slightly cocked, because your left engine is in min-burner, and what we want you to do is not drop off the boom. 

Strategic Air Command, our parent command in the Air Force, wanted you to drop off the tanker, stabilize, light the left burner, adjust the airplane speed, pull in and refuel. The critical thing for us in refuelings is that we wanted to have full tanks at the end of the air refueling point, and if it’s a timed mission, we would need to have that all done at a certain time because maybe there are other airplanes or satellites or that they’re going to use us as a cue. 

So basically, I never dropped off, and as an instructor pilot, I taught my students to be able to light the afterburner, put the rudder in, use the right throttle as a modulation, and stay there. One of the good things in our tankers that others didn’t have, we could talk to the tanker crew through the boom, and the outside world couldn’t hear us. So, particularly on operational missions, when we’re running radio silent, we could give the tanker instructions that we wanted passed on without having to break radio silence. 

Q: How did you prepare for your first flight?

I probably had a 150 hours in the simulator. I felt very comfortable. Came in like I told you for the physical, and we talked with my instructor about what we were going to do that day, and got suited up. I wouldn’t say so much nervousness, but anticipation. 

You’re going to have your first flight. You go up, and when you get up in the cockpit, you sit down. You put your arms on the side rails, and those same two people, men or women, that suited you up are now going to reach in and make all the critical connections. This is the first time you’re really going to see the whole process with the dual oxygen system, your comm system, hooking up your survival pack, your parachute, everything.

You go through the same thing you’ve done in a simulator, but now you’re in the aircraft. You’re gonna, for the first time, be able to taxi it and get a feel for how sensitive are the brakes and find out what your turning radius is. Every airplane has a different radius, and how much do you anticipate when you start to make a turn as you’re heading out? You taxi on out when it’s that time. Go to the end of the runway, and they’ll do one more inspection to make sure everything looks good on the airplane, and you’ll just kind of go through, and then you’ll call the tower, and you’re cleared on the runway.

And once you’re cleared for takeoff, what you’ll do is you’ll release the brakes as you bring the power to mil [military power—full power without afterburner]. You’ll quickly check your engines. The instruments look good… You go to full afterburner, and you’re on your way. And like I said, the takeoff portion takes about 20 seconds. When you hit 180 [knots], you’re going to start bringing the nose up because you don’t have any flaps, so you’re looking for the airplane to start getting a lift because of the speed, and so you’re going to lift off with a 210 indicated, 210 translates to about 230 miles an hour, and then continue the nose up to 15 to 20 degrees because you’re going to be accelerating pretty quickly.

Like I said, you pass through 20,000 feet less than two minutes from the time you start. You just go through the routine. You’re gonna see the tanker. I’d seen many tankers before. Of course, this my first time in the SR. 

One advantage to me and guys coming out of fighters is that sometimes fighters had the same behind-the-power-curve problem [when refueling], so you would end up having to light one of your afterburners and do the same process in a fighter because of the weight of the fuel. And maybe we didn’t carry bomb loads in the RF-4, but maybe I had three tanks, a center tank and two wing tanks that increased my weight up to the point that I was actually starting to slip behind the power curve.

You come back in, and the instructor is going to demonstrate the first landing, and then you’re going to go back out, and he’s going to have you do an ILS — instrument landing system — approach and touchdown, and then you go back out, and you may do a second one, or you may do a precision radar approach. And then you’re going to get into visual approaches. You’re going to come down, and into the runway, you’re going to go around with a closed pattern, so you can get more practice touch-and-goes until you get it down. If you’re in the traffic pattern, when we had about 7,000 pounds of fuel left, we would land the airplane at that point. We never wanted to get really low in case something should occur because we needed to have enough fuel to get down to McClellan or Sacramento Airport [to divert].

Q: How long did your first flight last, how fast did you go and how high?

A: That first flight was two and a half hours. I reached about 25,000 feet, and probably hit 0.9 Mach for a little while. Then you fly around. You do not go supersonic. Your first supersonic flight is going to be your second flight.

Q: Did you first fly in the two-seater (SR-71B)? 

A: We all flew in the two-seater first as a pilot for our initial pilot checkout.

Q: How does the B-variant fly differently from the A?

A: The SR-71 B-model flies just like the A-model mission operational aircraft.

Q: Was there a tradition to celebrate your first flight?

A: There were some people that met you. I think my family was there, but that’s not the important flight. That’ll come two days, two flights later. You know, people, other current crew members, pilots, and RSOs and my instructor pilot will come out and say, “Hey, congratulations, Buz.” But then, the real important one: your second flight. You’re gonna take off. You’re gonna go to the tanker. You’re gonna refuel, but now you’re gonna drop off the tanker, and you’re gonna start. And you go supersonic. You would start a climb from 25,000 feet at 0.9 Mach, and you would climb up. And we typically would go up to 33,000 because they did not want you supersonic below 30,000 feet because of the shock.

So at 30,000, 33,000 feet, you push the nose over, go full afterburner, and as you’re coming down, you’re going to accelerate really fast. And this is the high drag zone of the SR-71. So as you’re coming down, you’re going to go through the speed of sound very easily. Now you’re going to see [Mach] 1.05, 1.1, and about that point, then you’re going to start bringing the nose up and pick up your climb speed and basically use that climb speed until you’re fairly high up when you’re going to pick up a Mach, and that first supersonic flight, you’re going to fly it at 2.8 Mach, and I know this may sound unique, but at 2.8 Mach, this airplane is actually quite docile.

That’s the low speed. The sensitivity of the airplane is still there, but it’s fairly low. 

Your third flight is Mach 3, and you do the same practice, you do the refueling. You come back in. You shoot patterns, but when you land this time, people come out, typically the wing commander, and he’s got a Mach 3 tie tack he’s going to give you. And all kinds of people are going to be out there because this is a significant time; you’ve had your Mach 3 flight. But there’s something else significant with it. You get to buy the bar that night, and we were always glad to buy the bar because that meant we’d finally had our Mach 3 flight, and we were part of the group. 

Q: What was it like when you reached Mach 3 for the first time?

A: The aircraft actually reacts quite well. The thing that surprised you, or not surprised you, but it’s the first time you get to see the curvature of the Earth, the beautiful black sky up above, and the blue below you. It’s also very quiet. You are in a spacesuit, but you’re traveling at three times the speed of sound. The sound’s behind you. You can feel vibrations in the airplane.

Later on, when you’ve flown this airplane for a while, you can actually feel at certain times when boost pumps are kicking out because that particular fuel tank is going dry, and little sensitivities like that. You’re very busy monitoring the cockpit instruments to make sure the airplane is doing exactly what you want it to do, because it can deviate. And what they’re looking for is we want pilots and RSOs that are going to make sure the airplane is doing what the mission calls for and the way it’s supposed to be flown.

So there’s an adjustment as you change temperatures aloft. The airplane’s going to fly a little differently, so you’re going to make adjustments. If you’re going from warm air to colder air because of a frontal passage, as soon as the engines get that colder air, the airplane wants to accelerate because now the air is denser, and the engines are producing more thrust. It’s a dynamic environment. This is not the kind of airplane that you sit back and put the autopilot on and let it do its thing. 

You have an autopilot on, but the only thing the autopilot does is keep it on that track that the mission was planned for. 

We don’t put any altitude hold on, because we allow the airplane — as it burns off fuel — to continue to climb. So you’re in a constant climb as the airplane becomes lighter and lighter, and with that, your fuel flow continues to go down. The higher you go, you’re carrying less weight. The amount of fuel you’re burning per mile or per minute is dropping, because the engines are becoming more and more efficient. It’s the only airplane in the world — because the way our engine inlets and nozzles are engineered — that the faster we go, the less fuel we burn. You talk about any other airplane you can think of. If you’re going to go faster, it’s going to cost you on fuel. It’s not the case with the SR.

Q: What altitude did you reach on that first Mach 3 flight?

A: 81,000 — 80,000 feet, something like that.

Q: How difficult was it to get used to the SR-71’s cockpit and all its additional gauges?

A: The core part of the cockpit were the attitude indicators, and it was very much like the F-4-type airplanes, the RF-4 that I came out of. You just had a lot more round dials and gauges because of the supersonic flight that was going to be involved with this airplane. In the RF-4 during test flights, I needed to bring the airplane, I think to 2.1 Mach. And you only did it momentarily because you were burning a tremendous amount of fuel, so you didn’t have all the different things that you were monitoring. 

In the SR, you developed a way to cross-check so that you were constantly making sure that the engines and everything were performing correctly. That’s part of what you’d learned already in the simulator, and now you had it in the airplane. And now, you could see how some of the conditions — like actual operating engines and changing weather environment — affected you when you’re flying the airplane.

Q: Weather and atmospheric conditions play a big role in how the SR-71 flew, right?

A: That’s correct. Early on, when they were flying — we never overflew Russia or Red China — but we’d fly right on their border, and some of the early flights off the north coast of Russia. It may sound kind of strange to you, but there was some really warm air. You study in school that at 80,000 feet, the outside air should be about minus 50 degrees, 55 degrees, somewhere in there. The pressure is about 0.4 pounds per square inch. I’ve seen air as warm as minus 40. Now you’ll say, ‘But gee, that doesn’t seem like a big deal.’ It’s a huge difference on the engine because now the air is a lot thinner. But I’ve also seen the other scale off the north coast of Russia. I’ve seen minus 90 degrees. Now, when you starting pumping minus 90 degree air into the engine, it really wants to race because now the air is that much denser, and the engines are producing more thrust.

Q: How difficult was Blackbird to fly? How did it compare to other aircraft? What was the biggest challenge to learning to fly at speed and altitude? 

A: One of the biggest challenges, if you came out of a fighter airplane, is that we could pull seven Gs. That’s what they were built for. The SR-71, because it expands in flight with heating, the G limit is 1.7 Gs. You’ve had that in a sharp turn in the car, clearly on a roller coaster, and that’s why we were limited to 45 degrees of bank because that’s 1.7 Gs being pulled. Now, if the airplane is cold, has not expanded, we can pull 3 Gs, but you can see it’s a much, much more limiting. Like if you’re cruising at Mach 3 and you want to make a turn, the radius is going to be around 75 degrees, around 75 miles. So you’re looking at 150 miles from where you are until you get over to do a complete 180 degree turn heading the other direction. So there’s a lot more of a planning factor on how much because you can’t yank and bang this airplane because when it’s expanded, you could bend it and titanium is really hard to repair.

Q: Did that ever happen to you?

A: It didn’t. But at an air show in England, one of the guys pulled more Gs than he should have, and the airplane flew once or twice more. And everybody said there was something wrong with this airplane. It was grounded. I don’t know how they got it back to the States, but it never flew again.

Q: How did the chine surfaces, those sloped surfaces at the edge of the fuselage, affect flight?

A: They gave you more lift. Other than that, it obviously limited your visibility somewhat because they’re flared out.

Q: Give me a sense of your visibility in the SR-71 cockpit. What can you see and what can’t you see?

A: Well, one thing, you’re in a spacesuit. So, think about from the middle of your body, you can’t see aft of where your arms are. That’s all by feel. So everything you do in the cockpit, your sense of feel is considerably reduced. As you look forward, the two side windows are great for looking around. Many times we have multiple tankers because of how far the tankers had to go to be in our refueling position. 

For our refueling track off the north coast of Norway, those tankers had to fly five hours to get there. So we would typically have three tankers to make sure that they could give us the fuel we needed. The windows you used most were those two pie [-shaped] windows in the front, because that’s what you’re going to be looking through when you take off. That’s what you’re looking through when you’re refueling, and that’s what you’re looking through when you come in to land. Now the side window you might browse a little bit when you come in to land to see, particularly in the trainer [SR-71B], how am I aligned with things that I know are along the runway to make sure I’m in the center per se. Because once you bring that nose up in the trainer, you can’t see forward. The runway disappears.

Q: Did you have any close calls during training?

A: Not during training. Later flying operationally, I did. I took off from a runway where the wind was exceeding 50 knots, and the airfield was closed. This was in Okinawa, but Washington, D.C., wanted the flight off because it was critical that the SR show up in an area at a certain time. 

I came back from another flight to Kadena where water had gotten into some of the systems. One of the afterburners didn’t light. I couldn’t get it to light, so I came back in. It’s a dual runway. The weather was about 200 feet [ceiling], half a mile visibility, and the radar controller put me on the wrong runway. And as I was breaking out [of the clouds], there was a DC-10 full of passengers, so I had to go around, and I’m starting to lose instruments. Doing a circling approach in an SR-71 is really hard, but fortunately I had been stationed there before, so I kind of knew the ground track I needed to maintain, so I could come around and successfully find the runway and put it down, which I did.

About the same time period, around 1979, 1980, coming back from a night mission to RAF Mildenhall, there had been some thunderstorms through England, and the weather in England was terrible. There was not an air base that was above minimums, so I was told that there was a tanker airborne waiting to give us fuel so we could fly to Madrid to Torrejón Air Base, the U.S. Air Force base there. But we were going to have a special mission in two days. The White House or the national security advisor had directed it, and I knew if I flew to Torrejón, by the time you got all the support equipment down there, there was no way we could make that mission.

As SR pilots, we had different rules than the rest of the pilots in the Air Force. If you’re a regular pilot in the Air Force and the airfield goes below minimums, you mandatorily have to go to the alternate location. You can’t shoot an approach. That was not the case in the SR-71. We had the option to shoot the approach to see if we could land, and if we couldn’t land, then you went to the alternate. 

One of the things in the back seat, the RSO had a periscope. He could look straight down, and he could also adjust the periscope so it could look, I think, 35 degrees forward. So that particular night, I mean, it is pea soup fog. I mean, it is terrible. I’m coming in. Oh, and the ILS had been hit by lightning, so there was no ILS. I’m using a British radar controller, who is good. 

As we’re coming in, my back-seater John said, ‘Okay, I’m looking down, and I can see you’re on center line because I can see through the periscope the lights passing underneath the airplane.’ So we landed the airplane successfully. I brought it to a stop. The controller had forgotten to tell Mildenhall that I was coming in to land. They thought the airfield was closed, so when I called them and said, ‘Mildenhall Tower, this is so-and-so. Send out progressive [taxi instructions]. I can’t find the taxiway to be led back to the hangar where I have to put this airplane.’ And the controller came back and said, ‘You can’t be here. We’re closed.’ I said, ‘We’re here, sitting on the runway. Just get me a follow-me [truck] to get me back to where I need to park.’

Q: Tell me about the RSO relationship during flights. What was the RSO’s role and how did you communicate?

A: If you flew an operational mission, it had to be with your formed RSO. Couldn’t be with anybody else. The RSO ran the navigation system, the star tracker, did any updates required there. The RSO turned on and ran the cameras. Radar nose if it was going. The RSO ran the checklists. The defensive systems were all in the back. All the indicators about whether we were being tracked or being shot at — that was all in the back. He did the radio calls on training missions over the United States. I would do them in the traffic pattern, taking off and landing, but the rest of the radio calls were done from the back seat as we went from center to center. 

He was the orchestrator back there. The pilot flew the airplane, took care of the refueling, made sure that it’s on track, and we’re doing what we’re doing. But the guy in the back is the one that’s the synthesizer.

The cockpit is really small. It would have been really tough to have carried a map and folding it and trying to move it. So the [the map was on 35 millimeter film], and it moved at your ground speed, and would show you, ‘okay, you got a turn coming up. This is the fuel you should have. RSO, you need to turn on this camera. You need to check that your defensive systems are on and working before you enter denied airspace.’ So the RSO was a very critical function. We trained and flew together for four years.

Q: Walk me through your first operational mission. When was it? How was your preparation process different from others, and what did you do? What was the mission?

A: Um, I won’t say it was a vanilla mission, but it was the one where you’re going to go to Kadena because we can keep track of you the best there, and the missions are more controlled. So your first operational mission, you would have flown a local mission where you’re mostly flying around the island and doing stuff and just landing at Kadena. That would have been March of ’77, and your first mission. The thing that makes it different is you go through the same preparation, but the day before, you’re going to go in and do more of a mission planning. What does the mission look like? Where are the turns? Where are the things I need to be concerned about? And then the day of the mission, they’re going to come in and say, ‘Okay, this is what the weather is. This is what any intelligence activity you need to know of. These are special instructions from the State Department that might provide additional limiting factors on you that you have to take into consideration.’

That’s all around the time you’re having your breakfast, getting ready to go. You go down, you suit up like you normally would. There’s no difference in starting the airplane up. It’s a little more critical this time to make sure your tankers are where they’re supposed to be, and typically your first mission is probably going to be along the Korean DMZ. It’s going to be a two-and-a-half-hour sortie. You’re going to take off. You’re going to refuel at 25,000 feet. Head up the west coast of Korea. You’re going to see the Yellow Sea. Make a big sweeping right turn, and you’ll come north of Seoul. You go very close to the DMZ all the way across. Do a big turn over the Sea of Japan. Come back the same direction along the DMZ. Then turn south and come back and land, and this will probably be your first operational mission.

Q: What were you collecting? What kind of sensors did you have?

A: Oh, we would have the side cameras that could look out about 30 miles in. We might have the nose camera. The electronic sensors could pick up any radio, radar, other type of electronic signals out to about 350 miles anywhere around us. So you’d be sensing what the North Koreans have that was active at that time to better understand what their defense posture is, where missile sites were located, and things along those lines.

The side camera was a camera controlled by the computer. All you did was turn it on because of the astro tracker. We navigated directly off the stars, we didn’t navigate off the ground. We guaranteed the president 300 feet anywhere in the world traveling at 2,200 miles an hour. This is long before GPS, and so the president and the people around him had great — six presidents used us — comfort knowing that we would go where they wanted us to go, and in all likelihood we’d come back. 

We weren’t going to get shot down, which never happened, so they wouldn’t have to deal with some kind of a hostage situation or some kind of a diplomatic problem. That was just part of it. 

Later on, when I flew a flight for President Carter when the Saudis and the Yemenis were at war over their border, the nose camera was in there. The nose camera took a picture 72 miles wide, 36 miles either side of center, and in the center your resolution was two to four inches. You can see people, you can see tanks, cars, all kinds of things. You cannot recognize faces.

There’s another nose that came in while I was flying, probably in 1977, a ground-mapping radar, because there’s parts of the world where the sun rarely shines. So if you’re waiting for that picture, you may never get it. So you can’t see people with that. Cars are hard to identify. It’s more of an electronic blob, but a ship, an airplane, things like that, that would be on the ground or at sea, there’s enough radar return that most of the time they may not be able to give it the exact airplane or ship, but they know what kind it was, so that day or night, in any weather, when an enemy is trying to move things around that you can’t see, you could actually pick up what their activities are.

Q: You talked about working with other assets for collection missions and a lot of coordination. What did those include?

A: Other assets in our coordinated collection missions included other aircraft, ships at sea, land sites collecting and satellites overhead. Timing was important on these operations. I had as many as 28 sensors I was stimulating the Russians for.

Q: Give me an overall sense of your operational missions. What were the goals and what permissions did you need?

A: There’s something that’s still done today called the ‘Beige Book,’ and they go through, and it’s all the services, including submarines, and all that. Okay, what are we interested in? What are we going to plan? How important is the target? How much risk do these targets pose to the collectors, but also politically? If we do this, are there political consequences? And this goes to the whole government, including the State Department, CIA. So they publish this. 

Now, when something occurs like the battle with Yemen that just pops up, then things are reprioritized.

Overflights are typically approved by the president, but sometimes by the National Security Adviser. Not below that level per se. The missions where you’re flying peripherally around Russia, around China, other places in the world, those would be approved as part of the monthly schedule. Places we overflew. I mean, we overflew Cuba every 45 days. We did work in Central America. After I left, I think there were some that went down to Colombia. I am one of the only two pilots that ever took the airplane to Diego Garcia. Originally, we were looking at that as a possible base to use to go image Iran and come from a different direction than we had in the past because they were much like today, harassing ships with their missiles and other stuff. We flew over North Korea a couple times.

Q: Did you ever fly over North Korea?

A: I didn’t, but the airplane did. 

Q: How did you navigate?

A: We used the star catalog. We had 58 stars that were the northern stars that we used for tracking. To give you an idea. Took them an hour and 45 minutes to load our mission in the tracker, and we called it after the fact R2-D2 because it always knew where we were. It was told exactly where it was on the face of the earth to start. After we started the engines and we’re ready to taxi, when you came out of the hangar, if it was a clear day or clear night, within two minutes, the RSO in the back seat would get a starlight, and what that told you is we’re now automatically tracking the stars day or night, and it was a really accurate system.

It was a wonderful system to fly with, but it also gave the planners and our leaders [the confidence] that if we can fly within 300 feet, like let’s say the north coast of Russia, well, most airplanes are going to have to put you a couple miles off just because we’re not sure exactly where you are. In our case, we could fly maybe 500 feet off their international border because we knew we would be exactly where we were supposed to be, and that was one of the great advantages.

Another great advantage was we had great range. There was a special mission that I flew. The Navy had lost track of a couple boomers [Russian nuclear ballistic missile submarines]. They’d come out of Murmansk, up there in northern Russia, and had slipped through what we call the Greenland-Iceland-U.K. gap, and so we were tasked for a quick reaction. And in this particular case, there was a a second SR that took off after me. To show you the importance of the mission, if I was not mission-capable at Goose Bay, the second SR, one hour behind me, was going to pick up the mission.

I was fully ready, so we proceeded across the Atlantic north of Norway. We refueled again. We did the double pass past Murmansk. I saw [the Russian submarines] once or twice making their way to the Arctic Ocean on the surface as the inland waters were too shallow to dive.

We refueled again off the north coast, crossed the Atlantic, refueled over Goose Bay, Labrador, came across Canada, and at 8:20 in the morning, Saturday morning, I landed back at Beale Air Force Base.

Q: What other countries have you flown over?

A: I’ve flown over Cuba. Obviously, flown in the Middle East, over Egypt, down to Yemen. Over West Germany. In the Pacific, we did more peripheral flights, and peripheral were sometimes actually more sensitive because they put you close to the border, and there were a lot of potential political issues.

For instance, around 1978 or 1979, I had a major emergency on the DMZ, and to follow what I needed to do to clear the problem — which had to do with the inlets — I needed to roll the airplane out, but I was already in a turn. If I’d rolled the airplane out, I would have overflown North Korea, which would have possibly been a political violation. So I had to keep the airplane in a turn. The airplane was damaged. I had to land at one of our U.S. Air Force bases in South Korea and have maintenance come up and work on the airplane, just to avoid a possible incident. 

I’ll show you the difference between presidents. When President Ford’s term was coming to an end, he knew that President Carter felt it was immoral to overfly other countries and unethical. So we were flying over Cuba every 45 days to keep track of the Russians and the Cubans per se. So, on his last day in office, President Ford had tasked us: you were to take off, you’re to overfly Cuba, you have to land back in California. This was on the 20th of January, 1977. Not later than 10 minutes before Carter takes the oath of office, I was in the wing commander’s office when we called the White House and said, ‘Mission complete, aircraft on the ground.’

For a year, we didn’t overfly anybody because Carter thought it was immoral, and then he realized the Russians were doing stuff in Cuba we weren’t seeing. There were, you know, parts of the world that the SR had unique capabilities that he was foregoing because of his political view. So that changed.

Q: Why?

A: It changed because we were having intelligence failures, because we were being surprised with things that were taking place that our collection systems, had they been used like they were designed, would have probably picked up.

Q: Was the SR-71 used as a psychological weapon against adversaries?

A: Sort of. We sometimes flew over heads of state greeting each other and they would be covered with an excellent sonic shock wave to remind them they were doing things counter to U.S. and/or NATO policies. In the three days before Noriega decided to leave Panama, SR-71 aircraft overflew his home with the sonic boom to advise him it was time to go.

Q: Did you ever fly over China?

A: We did not overfly China. U-2s did, but the SR never overflew China. Now this will surprise you. Sometimes I’ve flown missions that the Russians knew ahead of time that I was going to be right on their border at a certain time, and the reason for that was that they really wanted to shoot down and get their hands on an SR. So when we would be into an area like other reconnaissance airplanes, they would hardly pay attention to it. We would go in the area, and a lot of their radars and other stuff would come up very closely, monitoring what we were doing. 

So I landed in Okinawa, Japan, and the head of NSA for the Far East had been there and asked me, ‘Was there any unusual activity today?’ And I said, ‘No, about the same number of fighters tried to come up to intercept me, and I never had a missile fired at me.’ And he said, ‘Well, that’s unexpected. We told the Russians yesterday where you were going to be today, hoping that we’d get some greater fidelity on the collection.’ So they had great confidence we were going to come back.

Q: How close did the Russian fighters get to you?

A: Not that close. We were really a tough target. They would try to make a head-on [interception] with a conversion [turn]. Well, by the time they made a conversion, they had the same problem. They had to be above Mach 2 to come after us. By the time they made the turn, we were 100 miles down the road.

Q: The SR-71 had a reduced radar signature. Did this help in its survivability, or was it the speed and the electronic warfare capabilities that largely kept SR-71 crews safe?

A: It was a combination of capabilities that gave it such a remarkable survival capability. To start with, the stealthiness made it hard to find until it was very close to you, significantly compressing an enemy’s reaction timelines. Extremely high speed, Mach 3.2, and incredible altitude, up to 85,000 feet, put its operations in a difficult area to attack. If they did get contact and decided to engage you — all the missiles of our era had to be guided to the high-speed maneuvering target as they did not have onboard guidance capability. When the electronic jamming system became active, the adversary lost their ability to communicate with their missile, so basically it followed its last command and went stupid.

Q: I have seen reports that Blackbirds evaded about 4,000 missiles fired by the Soviet Union, North Vietnam, North Korea and India. Is that accurate?

A: No, it’s not.

Q: How many would you say? 

A: The number of missiles wasn’t well-tracked. I flew a mission on the Korean DMZ, and they were playing with me. When I say playing, they were using their long-range [radar]. Then the acquisition radar came up that was trying to ready for the missile, but the missile was never armed. 

Six weeks later, my buddy had three missiles fired at him. So there were probably no more than 100. Part of the thing was they gave up. I mean, particularly over Vietnam, that’s where most of the missiles were fired, and they were just not working. And how many missiles do you want to fire to try to get an airplane?

Q: What were the orders if things went terribly wrong? Were there places you absolutely could not land at and had to destroy the aircraft instead of letting it fall into enemy hands? What about if the crew was captured after ejecting?

A: The aircraft was not to go into enemy hands. And in some cases not even allies’ hands. If the aircraft was impossible to control and out of control — ejection might be your only option. It was the safest USAF aircraft I ever flew. There were a total of 12 ejections in the test program and in operations. None were ever caused by enemy actions. There was never a USAF SR-71 crew member ever killed flying this aircraft — an incredible record! We all went to a special survival school to understand what we might expect if captured by an enemy which never happened or came even close to happening.

Q: What was the closest interception threat?

A: Probably the closest the Russians ever got to a successful intercept had nothing to do with their initial work. There’s a crew; they’re flying the Baltic, so they’re Mach 2.8. They head up past Lithuania, Latvia, and as they beam Estonia, the right engine explodes. The turbines come apart. So now you’re a single-engine airplane. You’re not going to be at Mach. You’re going to be probably around 12,000 feet subsonic. So the crew announces Mayday, starts a turn. They probably overflew some Soviet airspace. They start this big turn. The Swedes pick up the fact that they hear a Mayday call, and they have a pair of [Saab] Viggens that are airborne that are actually armed.

So as they make the turn, they descend. Get the airplane under control. The Russians send five flights of MiGs to come out. They’ll also send out a rescue helicopter with the idea maybe they can capture the SR crew. Some of those MiGs that were coming out we were sure were directed to shoot down the SR if it wouldn’t follow their signals.

But when they got there, all of a sudden they find there’s a Swedish Viggen on either wing. So the Russians decided this is not a good idea. Halfway down, the two Viggens were low on fuel. The Swedes sent two more Viggens up that replaced them, sat on the wings, continued their mission, and when they got to a certain point, United States Air Force F-15s came out of Germany, intercepted, joined with the SR-71, and led it to a safe landing on an air base in northern Germany. 

The mission was classified for years and years. The Swedes wouldn’t even acknowledge it took place because they were a neutral country per se. One of my classmates from the academy, who was a lieutenant general, found out about it and said, ‘We’ve got to do something.’ So, in a very rare occasion, they put through the paperwork, and those four Swedish pilots at a ceremony in Stockholm were given United States Air Force Air Medals for what they did that day to save the airplane. That’s the closest that we ever came to actually losing an SR-71 that would have been related to combat. (You can read more about that award ceremony in our story about the event here.)

Q: What’s the highest you’ve flown? What’s the fastest?

A: My top speed is 3.35 Mach before I slowed it back down to 3.2 Mach because we got into cold air and the airplane really wanted to accelerate. My highest altitude is a little over 85,000 feet. Those were in the late ’70s, early ’80s. I don’t remember the specifics. 

The high-speed one was off the north coast of Russia when I got into really cold air. You can’t just come out afterburner to try to slow the airplane down because you risk then having a compressor stall. So what you had to do was force the airplane into a climb, and as it was climbing, break its ability to maintain that speed. So once you got it back to the speed you wanted, you’d kind of lower the nose to where you wanted to cruise and go from there.

The faster you went in this airplane, the more dangerous it was, and the more sensitive it became, and that was part of the reason why 3.2 Mach — that’s where the inlets and the engines and the nozzles and everything was optimized for, because they were really afraid you had what we call an “unstart.” That’s when you lose a shock out of one of the inlets, and now the other engine is producing 100%. This engine is still running, but it’s only producing 30%. The airplane goes into a violent yaw and can pitch up on you. They were afraid there wasn’t enough flight control to be able to control the airplane.

Q: Was it harder to fly at that speed?

A: It’s just more sensitive. As you made inputs, the airplane was more reactive, and you had to be on your toes because if you had an unstart at that point, you needed to make sure that you prevented the airplane from doing a yaw slice and particularly pitching up.

One time off the coast of China around 1978 or 1979, I had an unstart and the nose started up. Of course John [the RSO] knew that we had an unstart, because you can’t miss it. You get banged up in the cockpit. I had to stick full forward, and I told John, I said, ‘we’ve got about three or four potatoes.’ That means in three or four seconds, if that nose doesn’t stop climbing, we’re going to have to leave this airplane because it’s going to disintegrate.

Q: You flew over Area 51 and later oversaw its funding when you were at the Pentagon. What is it like?

A: When I did the test flights in Area 51, I had to go through and do some briefings and sign off on stuff. I’m an Area 51 guy. I mean, I’ve been on the ground there. I was responsible for their funding for a couple years, and I used to take guests out there on certain occasions who needed to see something or understand something. It’s great. It looks like the movie The Martian. It’s God forbidden, but it’s a great place to do classified testing because it’s the only place in the country we can do that pretty much successfully. 

Before I left the Pentagon, I completed the paperwork to withdraw 75,000 more acres of land that sat on a hillside. So now your closest point to have a direct view of the complexes is from 26 miles away at [Tikaboo Peak].

Q: Let’s talk about the present. Obviously, the Blackbirds are big news with rampant speculation about the future of Tail 844. What do you know about this, and what do you think that NASA is planning for it?

A: I think we know a number of things. The airplane’s been outside for what 30 years, so it may need some repair. NASA is trying to inspire the current and future generations about X planes. 

One right now that’s got everybody’s attention is the X-59 that will start flying over the United States here pretty soon, and it’s to measure whether we have successfully come up with a shape that reduces the intensity of the Mach shock wave. Because where this will lead to is there’s a couple companies… that want to create a supersonic transport. One of the limitations on the Concorde, no European country would ever allow it to overfly. Nor did we, because that tremendous wing space created a really significant shock wave on the ground.

In the SR-71, we broke windows. I can remember a particular Cuban overflight. I came around, I did a descent over Mississippi. My tanker was over Mississippi. I refueled. Gave me enough fuel to get back to California. When I landed, the director of operations for the wing had left a message that when I got out of my spacesuit, give him a call. So I called him. I said, ‘Col. Lawson, what can I do?’ And he goes, ‘Oh, Buz, how’d the mission go?’ And I said, ‘You don’t ask me how the mission goes, unless there’s something you’re particularly [interested in]. What is it?’ He says, ‘Well, Hattiesburg, Mississippi. There’s 30 houses that have fewer windows, and we’re pretty sure it was you.’

We couldn’t predict where the shock would go. Now [what] we know from some of the tests is, that when you’re in a turn, a turning descent like I was, sometimes the shock wave actually concentrates and becomes more violent than it would if you’d passed over straight and level. So what the X-59 is trying to do is see if they can successfully get a shape and controls, so they can build this supersonic transport that, in fact, can fly over normal airspace.

Q: Former NASA Blackbird engineer Tim Connors told us that he thinks that they’re going to use Tail 844 as a high-speed engine testbed. What’s your assessment of that?

A: It doesn’t make sense. It is high speed, but we’ve done all that. All that data is there. I mean, we’ve got hundreds of hours at Mach 3 and above that they don’t need to, and we’ve got air chambers now that can run the air at those Mach speeds to take a look at. I mean, they’re looking at the hypersonic. They’d like to have an engine like the J-58 that you could take off at a normal speed, and somewhere around Mach 3, you could open valves or do something that you could then accelerate to Mach 5 or Mach 6, and then when you were through with what you wanted to do, come back, and then go down through the Mach 3…2…1, and recover safely back at wherever you want.

Author’s note: Being able to test this exact transition area between Mach 3 and Mach 4, approaching hypersonic, potentially for a combined cycle engine like Buz describes, is what some think NASA will use the SR-71 for.

I mean, basically that’s what the SR did. Except we went to Mach 3. The big transition in the SR-71 took place in Mach 2. Because when you hit Mach 2 or thereabouts, that’s when those bypass tubes, the six of them around the engine, started bypassing air around the engine, and the air, the engine inlet, everything became a pseudo-ramjet. Because the faster you went, the more thrust you were creating by the ram thrust, not by the thrust being created by the engine itself. The engine had to run; it was critical to the whole process, but the vast majority of the larger part of the thrust was being created by the bypass.

Q: Do you think other aircraft came after Blackbird, even experimentally, that broke its speed records? If so, why haven’t we seen them all these years later?

A: No operational jet-powered manned aircraft has come along to break the significant records we set 50 years ago.

Q: So what is NASA going to use Tail 844 for?

A: I think they’re going to try to see how useful is it. Something that’s sat outside with blowing sand and everything else — it’s really hard to know.

Q: How how difficult will it be for modern test pilots to fly Tail 844 or whatever aircraft is created from this project? 

A: It would be challenging because there’s no simulator that works, and the simulator helps you go through all the things that you might face to successfully save the airplane. I mean, we consider the SR a national asset, so the last thing we were going to do was eject from the airplane. If you don’t have that simulator, it’s going to be much more difficult. 

Q: And the simulators don’t exist anymore?

A: The simulator sits down in a museum in Texas. It’s not operable.

Q: Was boosting the speed of the SR-71 ever discussed during your career, and if so, what were the options considered to make that happen?

A: It was. The idea was that they were going — I can’t remember where it was a water injection or something — that they could take the SR up to 3.5 and beyond. I may have this wrong, but the SR shape and the materials that make up the body of the airplane, I think are good up to [Mach] 3.8, maybe even 4, and this was going to be a water injection that for 10 minutes you could take the airplane up to a faster speed. I think it was [Mach] 3.5, but it may have been [Mach] 3.6. But when they looked at the weight and all the different things, it was the Lockheed proposal. The decision was made. You didn’t gain that much by raising the speed because we were fully authorized to go to [Mach] 3.3.

I’ll tell you a number of my contemporaries never went there. When I was an instructor pilot, I made sure my student went there because if you needed to go there, I wanted you to feel the sensitivity of the airplane when you’re at those speeds.

Q: So was the idea to flow liquid to cool the air going into the inlets?

A: I think that’s where it was. It was in that area, but it’s been so long. I don’t remember. But that never went anywhere, and it only gave you 10 minutes. Because the critical temperature on the airplane was not the airplane. In the cockpit, the CIT — compressor inlet temperature — we were not to exceed 427 centigrade, which is about 800 degrees [Fahrenheit]. Pratt & Whitney said beyond that point, our modeling says that you’re at a higher risk of the engine failing.

Q: Conners told us that during his time in the SR-71 program, he investigated whether it was possible to get the Blackbird close to Mach 4. Do you think a Blackbird could approach Mach 4 with the proper modifications?

A: The question is, what will Mach 4 give you? And I think the focus is more on unmanned vehicles that are Mach 5, Mach 6.

Q: Why?

A: You look at the weight that’s in an airplane to keep a man alive — that’s quite a penalty you’re paying. And when you get up to Mach 5 and Mach 6, the temperatures you’re dealing with are — it’s on a curve that is accelerating up, and the materials you have to use and try to put a person in there — it doesn’t make sense.

Q: How would the shock waves affect the ability to exceed Mach 3.3?

A: Obviously, they’re going to become steeper. At Mach 3.2, the shock sits just on the outer lip of the inlet. That is dealing with part of the shape of the airplane. Again, this is what was designed as your optimum speed.

Q: If you were a betting man, what would you say the odds are of the Blackbird flying again?

A: I could see it if they wanted to fly it for inspiration, particularly subsonic. The airplanes I’ve flown a couple times subsonic because we had some maintenance problems. 0.9 Mach. It’s a sweet airplane.

Q: Do you see it flying again?

A: I think part of the problem is engines that haven’t been used in those numbers of years. How difficult is it going to be for you to put them back in service? Because there’s no spare engines. When the program was taken apart finally in 2007, a number of those engines were ground up. Foolishly, they were ground up. So there’s not a lot of spares out there.

Q: So what’s NASA’s goal for Tail 844?

A: I think the goal is inspirational. I give tours regularly at the Air and Space Museum, and you’ve got multi generations that still love the SR. I just came back from organizing an SR-71 weekend down at the Museum of Aviation at Robins Air Force Base, and people come from all over to talk to us and see the airplane. When you look at it, young people can’t believe this airplane — like the one in the Smithsonian — came off the production line in 1966. It came off the production line before their parents were born. Yet you look at it, and partly because of the Star Wars influence, you think, ‘Oh, is it a space plane? Is it an airplane?’ I mean, it is something that creates visions and dreams, and I think that’s what NASA is trying to get back to: use it as a a dream generator to fly again. I don’t know. A number of people have already said that they can’t believe it’s going to fly. So it could fly, but I would say that the odds are against it.

Q: You’re at docent at the Udvar Hazy Center. What’s the scuttlebutt there about the plan for Tail 844?

A: They’re as clueless as everybody else.

Contact the author: howard@twz.com

The post Confessions Of An SR-71 Blackbird Pilot appeared first on TWZ.

10/28/1787: James Wilson gives speech to the Pennsylvania ratification convention, arguing that there was no need for a Bill of Rights.

The post Today in Supreme Court History: October 28, 1787 appeared first on Reason Magazine.

• McDonald's brought back the McRib for a national farewell tour in the fall of 2022. 
• The McRib has had at least three other farewell tours and has been on and off menus since 1981.
• It's returned to menus every year since 2023 and is back in select cities on October 27.

When bidding fans a final goodbye, the McRib appears to be taking cues from rock bands like The Who and KISS. The bands are known for farewell tours that didn't stick. The iconic McDonald's sandwich is also pulling a fast one with fans. 

In 2022, McDonald's said the barbecue-slathered boneless pork hoagie would say goodbye to fans in an event billed as the McRib's farewell tour. But the McRib returned to select McDonald's locations in November 2023, and has made similar returns every year since. In fact, the chain announced it will release the McRib again in October in select cities.

For 45 years, the McRib sandwich has been popping up randomly on the McDonald's menu. 

Here's a look at the history of the sandwich. 

Mary Meisenzahl and Nancy Luna contributed to an earlier version of this story.

The origin story of the McRib is tied to the success of another iconic McDonald's menu item: McNuggets.

After McNuggets were introduced in 1979, franchisees couldn't get enough of them and demanded another hot product to sell.

A nationwide chicken shortage left some franchises without McNuggets, so McDonald's chef René Arend created a fast, affordable alternative.

Arend was inspired to create the McRib after a trip to South Carolina, where he ate local barbecue.

The design for the McRib used new technology to create a "restructured meat product" developed by Richard Mandigo at the University of Nebraska, NPR reported.

Arend designed the McRib's shape to "look like a slab of ribs," and while the product is made with pork, it doesn't include any actual rib bones.

The McRib officially debuted in test markets in 1981.

Made with boneless pork, barbecue sauce, onions, and pickles, the menu item sparked early interest from customers nationwide.

However, while customers showed up to try the McRib for the first time, not many returned for repeat visits, and it disappeared from menus in 1985.

"The Simpsons" gave the McRib a permanent place in pop culture with a 2003 episode parodying the sandwich, titled "Ribwich."

That same year, McDonald's introduced a mini version of the sandwich, the McRib Jr.

McDonald's took the McRib on three farewell tours in 2005, 2006, and 2007.

The McRib found success as a limited-time offer. In 2007, McDonald's sold 30 million sandwiches, Maxim reported.

In 2008, devoted McRib fan Aaron Klein started the McRib Location website that used crowdsourced tips to help people find the sandwich at select locations nationwide.

In 2020, the McRib returned to menus nationwide for the first time in eight years.

"The McRib has been a beloved menu item at McDonald's since its inception nearly 40 years ago," Linda VanGosen, McDonald's vice president of menu innovation, said in a statement at the time.

"There's nothing quite like the taste of the McRib. To our customers, it's become more than a delicious, saucy moment … it's a season, and it's taking the internet by storm. That's why this year we're proud to serve the McRib nationwide for everyone to enjoy."

The launch proved successful and boosted sales that were declining amid the COVID-19 pandemic, Restaurant Business reported.

We tried the McRib for ourselves and didn't quite get the hype.

During the pandemic, chains including Burger King and KFC turned to nostalgia, offering customers familiar comforts during an uncertain time.

However, despite the hype, we were a bit underwhelmed.

The rectangular pork patty reminded us of the sausage McDonald's uses on its breakfast sandwiches, while the pickles and onions tasted crisp and fresh.

We enjoyed the toppings, but the sandwich was missing the barbecue flavor we expected — likely because it arrived with barely any sauce, unlike the much saucier McRibs seen online. This could've been a restaurant-specific error at the time, but we haven't been back to reorder it since.

In 2022, McDonald's announced that the McRib was heading out on yet another "Farewell Tour," suggesting the cult-favorite sandwich might be gone for good.

But yet again, the sendoff didn't stick.

The McRib returned to menus in 2023, 2024, and 2025, continuing the long-running cycle of limited-time disappearances and comebacks.

However, unlike previous years, the McRib was only available in select cities in 2025.

Despite its many supposed farewell tours, McDonald's is relaunching the McRib once more in 2026.

After years of dramatic goodbyes and limited-time returns, McDonald's brought the polarizing pork sandwich back once again in 2026.

Starting on October 27 at select locations in cities including Los Angeles, Chicago, Miami, Atlanta, Philadelphia, and Dallas, fans can purchase a McRib for a limited time, the company told USA Today. Customers in other cities are encouraged to check their McDonald's app for availability.

Its latest comeback proves the McRib's strange staying power.

Every time it disappears, fans wonder whether this will finally be the last time — and head to their nearest location to try it for (possibly) the final time.

No single Argentine capability shaped British planning during the 1982 South Atlantic conflict more than the pairing of the Dassault Super Étendard strike fighter and its deadly AM39 Exocet anti-ship missile. Against that threat, the British launched a series of special forces operations, all with the same objective: kill the Argentine pilots and destroy their aircraft and missiles before they could be used again. Together, the strike fighter and missile pairing had proven to be the biggest threat to the Royal Navy task force that had been sent to recapture the islands.

Five Super Étendard aircraft and five AM39 Exocet missiles had been delivered to Argentina before a French embargo took hold. The jets were flown by the Argentine Navy’s 2nd Naval Fighter and Attack Squadron out of Río Grande, on Tierra del Fuego, a region at South America’s southernmost tip, shared by Chile and Argentina. The Super Étendard/Exocet combination had already cost the British the destroyer HMS Sheffield on May 4 and the container ship Atlantic Conveyor on May 25.

The special forces operations were broken down into four phases — named PLUM DUFF, MIKADO, KETTLEDRUM, and IMPI — the last of which is the least well-documented, and the focus of this article.

PLUM DUFF was the insertion phase and was a reconnaissance mission. On May 16, an RAF Hercules airdropped eight special forces troops onto RFA Fort Austin to form a recce party. On the night of May 17/18, a Sea King HC4, ZA290, lifted off from the aircraft carrier HMS Invincible for a one-way flight to Tierra del Fuego, where the men were to observe Río Grande and report back. The patrol was set down far from the objective and never completed the reconnaissance; the helicopter crew flew on into Chile, where the aircraft was deliberately burnt to try and hide the evidence, while they tried to evade capture.

MIKADO was the planned attack phase, and it depended on that missing intelligence. Two Hercules were to air-land up to 70 men of B Squadron, 22 Special Air Service (SAS), directly on Río Grande — the air operation order of May 19 also named Río Gallegos, further up the Argentine coast, as an alternative. The men would destroy the Super Étendards and their Exocets on the ground, kill the pilots, and then withdraw overland into Chile. Commander Task Force 317, at Northwood, accepted from the outset that the mission could well cost both Hercules.

The aircrew did not refuse the task, but they were blunt about what it demanded: formation landing by two heavy transports on a possibly heavily defended, icy military runway, with a probable 20-knot tailwind, at night and on passive night-vision goggles in minimum light levels, with intelligence that was inadequate to support any air-land option at all. The RAF planning team recommended an airdrop as the better way to maintain a covert posture, and the Senior Air Staff Officer at Headquarters 38 Group warned the Air Commander to watch for overambitious schemes coming out of the SAS.

The U.K. Ministry of Defense formally cancelled MIKADO on June 4.

KETTLEDRUM was planned as the third of the set. It was aimed at Puerto Deseado, Santa Cruz Province of Argentina, and would have inserted a Special Boat Service party (SBS, the Royal Marines’ special forces unit) from the submarine HMS Onyx — a boat that will reappear before the end of this story.

None of the three was executed as planned.

Less well-known is that the cancellation of MIKADO produced a fourth project: Operation IMPI, named after a Zulu fighting force.

Cancelling MIKADO did not mean the wider operation was over. Also on June 4, the U.K. Ministry of Defense tasked CTF 317 to produce a new plan for special forces to destroy the combat effectiveness of the Super Étendards.

CTF 317’s staff went to work on what became IMPI. The planning document, Ops 1/3, is dated June 14 — the day of the Argentine surrender in the islands. In broad terms, the objective was to be attacked by special forces arriving both by air and by sea.

That much has been known, in fragments.

What has not been published until now is the fact that the operation had already been resourced.

At 2240Z on June 12, Maj. Gen. Jeremy Moore, commanding the land forces as CTG 317.1, signalled Rear Admiral Sandy Woodward’s battle group (CTG 317.8), with Admiral Sir John Fieldhouse at Northwood (CTF 317) and Commodore Michael Clapp’s amphibious group (CTG 317.0) as information addressees. The message called for B Squadron, 22 SAS, to be made available for operations as soon as possible: cover was needed against rapid developments of an unfavorable nature in West Falkland (Gran Malvina), and the theatre’s existing special forces assets were fully absorbed supporting the battle for Stanley — and IMPI. Operation IMPI, Moore noted in passing, was by then self-sufficient.

Examining two lines of routine signal traffic settles several things at once. Forty-eight hours before the surrender, IMPI was not a staff study but an operation that had been resourced, and that was enough to consume the theatre’s special forces and justify calling a fresh SAS squadron forward. It is also the only contemporary, operational-level reference to IMPI released so far: everything else comes from a narrative written years afterwards.

As that later narrative describes it, the concept behind IMPI was much leaner than MIKADO. Against two Hercules and 70 men, the air element of IMPI rested on a single RAF Hercules.

The aircraft was to fly from Ascension Island, refuel in flight, and then track east of the Falkland Islands and south of Cape Horn before making a low-level approach below Argentine radar cover for a night landing of special forces at the airfields codenamed San Jose and Arco Iris. Other special forces would have been inserted by sea. That air element, as will be seen, is the most questionable part of the entire file.

The routing is worth attention, because it rules out the intuitive picture of a direct run south from Ascension. Instead, the aircraft would have entered from the least-covered and least-expected direction, coming around the bottom of the continent rather than from the northeast.

The precise identities of San Jose and Arco Iris are not established in the declassified record.

The most likely reading is that they stand for Río Grande and Río Gallegos — the airfields at which the planned navigation ended, and the two named in MIKADO’s air operation order a month earlier. For a document circulating through restricted channels, encrypting the names of the two targets was an elementary precaution, although it should be noted that an operational order would more commonly have designated them simply as Target One and Target Two.

None of this rules out Chilean participation in other phases of the operation; if anything, it suggests it’s more likely. The narrative survives inside a folder classified Top Secret and restricted to the Chief of the Air Staff, whose declared subject is cooperation with Chile. That setting contrasts with the earlier stage of the planning, when mounting and recovering a special forces insertion from a Chilean airfield was considered and expressly discounted on political grounds — much as the use of an Antarctic strip was discounted after the New Zealand High Commission advised that the Antarctic winter precluded safe trans-polar flight.

The maritime half of IMPI can be traced in the records of those who were there.

Navigational support for the final phase was to come from the nuclear attack submarine HMS Conqueror. On June 9, 1982, Conqueror was off Bahía Camarones, working as an advanced picket and hunting targets of opportunity that ventured outside the 12-nautical-mile limit of Argentine territorial waters, with authority to sink any civilian vessel judged to be running to the Falklands/Malvinas; that same morning the sub had in fact entered Argentine territorial waters trying to locate the Argentine Navy’s Task Group 79.2.

That day, Conqueror received preparatory information on IMPI. The sub’s task was to come to periscope depth and act as a radio beacon, giving the Hercules a radio reference against which to refine a navigation that, low and at night, allowed no error. The resulting picture is an odd one: a nuclear submarine deployed on interdiction off the Patagonian coast, turned into a navigation aid for a transport aircraft.

The insertion itself fell to HMS Onyx, the Oberon class diesel-electric boat that had already taken part in Operation KETTLEDRUM and the only conventional submarine Britain deployed to the South Atlantic. On June 14, at 0815Z, lying in San Carlos Water, Onyx embarked a party of 10 men from B Squadron, 22 SAS and the SBS for the mission. The timing matches Moore’s signal of two days earlier almost exactly.

The plan called for the submarine to surface some two nautical miles offshore at night. The troops would close the beach in Gemini inflatables and destroy the objective — aircraft and missiles, if any were there — using anti-tank weapons and demolition charges.

What happened next illustrates the inertia of military machinery. The Argentine surrender in the islands came on that same June 14, hours after the party had gone aboard Onyx. Even so, preparations did not stop at once: on June 15 the embarked troops carried out practice landings from a Gemini. That does not mean IMPI was ever executed — it was not — but it does show that with the strategic outcome already settled, the machine was still rehearsing.

The British record closes the matter with administrative dryness: the surrender of the Argentine forces in the Falkland Islands and the cessation of hostile activity by Argentine aircraft resulted in the operation being cancelled.

The air part of the mission is another matter entirely and is where IMPI becomes more uncertain.

The only link between IMPI and an aircraft is a single paragraph in an RAF historical narrative. The folder that holds it was opened on April 18, 1986 — four years after the war — as an eyes-only briefing file for the Chief of the Air Staff, and the pages appear to be a working draft rather than a finished submission, carrying pencil amendments throughout.

Had a Hercules been earmarked, there is no doubt which unit would have provided it. The Special Forces Flight that runs through the whole chapter — five crews, commanded by a squadron leader, exercising regularly with SAS and SBS Sections — appears with its squadron number blanked out, yet the number surfaces a few paragraphs later, where two of its crews are described training on the probe-fitted Hercules C1P. The unit was No. 47 Squadron, RAF, home-based at Lyneham, and it would keep the special forces air support role for decades afterward.

The men who were at Ascension with that detachment, however, say they had nothing to do with it. Reliable sources with direct knowledge of the flight’s activity state that they never saw the codeword at the time, had never heard of the operation until this file surfaced, and consider it inconceivable that a special forces Hercules and crew could have been earmarked for a mission of this kind without the flight — a community of five crews that has stayed in touch ever since — learning of it at some point in the intervening four decades. By June 14, at most one aerial-refueling-qualified special forces crew was at Wideawake.

That skepticism is reinforced by the way the same narrative handles events those crews lived through. Its account of their own work-up does not survive contact with their logbooks.

For example, a practice infiltration into RAF Laarbruch in Germany that the narrative describes as successful had in fact been detected; the Hercules was notionally shot down about two miles out on the approach. The ramp toes (attachable extension plates located at the very end of the rear cargo ramp) it describes as droppable at 20 to 30 knots were never meant to be lowered with the aircraft moving, which would have been unsafe and risked the airframe. There are other anomalies, too.

A document that misstates the squadron’s own exercises is thin evidence on which to place that squadron over Tierra del Fuego.

What is not in question is what the Special Forces Flight could have done, had it been asked.

By mid-May the flight had two crews qualified in air-to-air refueling — one deployed to Ascension, the other held in the United Kingdom to train the others — flying Hercules C1s fitted with probes and, where the task required it, additional fuel tanks in the fuselage. It had rehearsed stream landings and rapid offloads, parachute insertion below radar cover to a pinpoint coastal feature, as well as flying on ANVIS goggles at 250 feet over sea and land. The goggles themselves were fitted to the crews’ helmets by RAE Farnborough specialists in a single day in mid-April. The reach was demonstrated on May 16, when the sortie that dropped the PLUM DUFF party stayed airborne for 24 hours and five minutes, with Victor tankers refueling some 1,800 miles from Ascension. Almost none of it was routine: nearly everything the force did during the conflict was improvised, at speed, in a matter of weeks.

What never had an answer — not for MIKADO, and not for whatever IMPI intended — was the other end of the problem. Putting men ashore deep inside Argentine territory was the solvable half. Getting an aircraft and its passengers out again after a direct action, from a strip in range of the Argentine Air Force, was not.

All of the above is reconstructed from lateral references: the RAF’s narrative in file AIR 20/13036 at the National Archives, unit records, submarine logs, operational signal traffic, and the accounts of participants.

The specific file — the one holding the complete plan with its annexes, the identification of the airfields and the execution sequence — remains closed. It is DEFE 71/980, titled Operation Corporate (Falklands Conflict): Operation IMPI, retained at the National Archives at Kew with no announced opening date. Until it is released, the air element of IMPI cannot be settled either way.

Forty-four years after the conflict, the last British special operation of the war is still, in essence, a document the British state is not prepared to show. That is not a trivial detail: the files touching on cooperation with Chile have consistently been the most reluctantly opened of all.

What remains is an operation of two halves. One of them is solid: a resourced plan, declared self-sufficient on June 12, with a nuclear submarine briefed to act as a beacon, 10 men of the SAS and the SBS embarked in a conventional submarine in San Carlos on the morning of the surrender, and rehearsals continuing the following day. The other half — a lone Hercules coming round Cape Horn to land on a codenamed strip — rests on one paragraph of a flawed staff narrative and is rejected by the only men who could have flown it.

Either way, the obsession is the same.

Between June 4 and June 14, 1982, while the final battle for Port Stanley/Puerto Argentino was being fought and the Argentine land campaign was collapsing, part of the British planning effort was still revolving around five French-built aircraft, their 10 aircrew, and their missiles. That the plan carries the date of the surrender itself, that it was still being rehearsed the following day, and that it remains classified today says a good deal about how far the British were prepared to go to destroy the Super Étendards and their Exocets.

Contact the editor: thomas@thewarzone.com

Mariano Sciaroni holds a master’s degree in Strategy and Geopolitics as well as a postgraduate diploma in Contemporary Military History, both earned at the Argentine Army’s Military Academy. Sciaroni has published five books and numerous articles on military and naval history. He is also an active member of the Argentine Institute of Military History and serves as a sub-lieutenant in the Argentine Army Reserve (Army Aviation Reserve Squadron). You can find out more about his books here.

The post Britain’s Final Plan To Kill Argentina’s Super Étendards Attack Jets appeared first on TWZ.

• The US has diverse architecture and building designs across the 50 states.
• History, art, and local aesthetics are all reflected in some of America's most unique buildings.
• From prehistoric dwellings to kitschy designs, these buildings make for unique tourist attractions.

Throughout its 250-year history, the US has produced some striking and unique architecture that you can't find anywhere else — and lots of it can look wildly different across state lines.

Defining what we consider "coolest" is hard. We evaluated every state on its own terms and found that the architecture across all 50 states and Washington, DC, can be as diverse as the country's population.

In states like California and Massachusetts, picking the most striking building meant finding ones that look futuristic and elegant, like something out of a science-fiction movie. In other states, like Maine and the Carolinas, we found that the coolest buildings are distinctive because of their place in history or their states' cultures.

Whether you're looking for a piece of history or a glimpse into the future, these buildings can show you what different worlds look like.

James Grebey and Jacob Shamsian contributed to an earlier version of this story.

ALABAMA: Gulf, Mobile, and Ohio Passenger Terminal

The Gulf, Mobile, and Ohio Passenger Terminal in Mobile, Alabama, which has Spanish influences with its cream walls and red clay tiles, was designed by P. Thornton Marye. It was completed in 1907 and has undergone restoration since passenger train service ceased in the 1950s.

ALASKA: The University of Alaska's Museum of the North

The University of Alaska Museum of the North is home to numerous exhibits showcasing the native cultures, natural wonders, and wildlife of our nation's largest state. It's also a stylish refuge from the cold.

ARIZONA: Chapel of the Holy Cross

The Chapel of the Holy Cross in Sedona was completed in 1956, and it juts majestically from a red stone butte, some 200 feet above the ground.

ARKANSAS: Thorncrown Chapel

The beautiful Thorncrown Chapel in Eureka Springs looks like an open-air structure, but it's actually a serene, glass-enclosed architectural marvel.

CALIFORNIA: The Chemosphere

It was designed in 1960, but the Chemosphere still looks futuristic. It's a house with 2,200 square feet of space, perched atop a 30-foot concrete pole. And it's survived every major Californian earthquake in the San Fernando Valley since it was built.

COLORADO: Cliff Palace in Mesa Verde National Park

Mesa Verde National Park, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, features some of the best-preserved prehistoric landscapes of the Ancestral Puebloan people. These ancient dwellings, where the Ancestral Puebloans once lived, were constructed on the sides of natural cliffs.

While most dwellings had only one to five rooms, the Cliff Palace, the largest known cliff dwelling in North America, had 150 rooms, 23 sacred meeting spaces, and housed about 100 people, according to the National Park Service.

CONNECTICUT: Grace Farms

The main feature of Grace Farms in New Canaan is a serpentine wooden pavilion that links glass-walled rooms, including a library, stage, tea room, and a gym with a full basketball court. Completed in 2015, it's open to the public for free.

DELAWARE: Wilmington's Grand Opera House

The country's oldest state has some classic buildings that stand the test of time. Wilmington's Grand Opera House, built in 1871, is as classic as it gets.

FLORIDA: The Salvador Dalí Museum

The Salvador Dalí Museum in St. Petersburg is a fittingly unique tribute to the beloved master of surrealism. The museum boasts the largest collection of Dalí's work outside Europe.

GEORGIA: The Earth Lodge on Ocmulgee Mounds National Historical Park

This might not look much like other buildings in this list, but the Ocmulgee Mounds National Park's Earth Lodge dates back to the year 1015, per the National Park Service.

The lodge is a reconstructed council chamber of the native Mississippian culture. While the walls and ceiling were reconstructed in the late 1930s, the clay floor remains the same as the original, dating back over a thousand years.

HAWAII: ʻIolani Palace

ʻIolani Palace in Honolulu is the only royal palace on United States soil. David Kalākaua, the last reigning king of Hawaiʻi and the first monarch to travel around the world, was inspired by the European palaces he saw during his 1881 voyage.

IDAHO: The Dog Bark Park Inn

The Dog Bark Park Inn in Cottonwood is a delightful piece of American kitsch. The bed and breakfast is shaped like two charming beagles.

ILLINOIS: Bahá'í House of Worship

Although there are between 5 and 6 million adherents to the Bahá'í Faith, there are only eight continental houses of worship worldwide. The one in Wilmette, Illinois, is the oldest still standing, and the only one in the United States.

INDIANA: West Baden Springs Hotel

When the West Baden Springs Hotel opened in 1902, it was billed as the Eighth Wonder of the World. While enjoying the view from inside the massive domed atrium — at one point the largest in the world — it's easy to see why.

IOWA: Grotto of the Redemption

Father Paul Dobberstein promised to build a shrine to the Virgin Mary as she helped cure his grave case of pneumonia. His resulting Grotto of the Redemption in West Bend is made of rocks, shells, fossils, and gems pressed into concrete. It's the size of a football field.

KANSAS: Big Well in Greensburg

The Big Well in Greensburg is a museum that rests atop its titular main attraction: the largest hand-dug well in the world, spanning 32 feet in diameter and reaching a depth of 109 feet.

KENTUCKY: Churchill Downs

Churchill Downs, most famously the host of the Kentucky Derby, can hold 120,000 excited, sometimes rowdy, racing fans at max capacity.

LOUISIANA: The Pontalba Buildings

The Pontalba Buildings, which make up two sides of New Orleans' Jackson Square, are emblematic of the French Quarter. Some of the residences on the upper floors are believed to be the oldest continuously rented apartments in the country.

MAINE: The Portland Head Light

The Portland Head Light — one of the state's many lighthouses — has been around since 1791. It was built under the directive of George Washington himself.

MARYLAND: The American Visionary Art Museum

The American Visionary Art Museum in Baltimore showcases outsider art. All the works within its wonky exterior were made by inspired, self-taught creators.

MASSACHUSETTS: Simmons Hall at MIT

Simmons Hall at MIT is the coolest dorm building in the US. It looks like a monstrous Tetris piece combined with underground caverns.

MICHIGAN: Charles H. Wright Museum of African American History

The museum, one of the oldest and largest dedicated to African American history, is a three-story building designed with influences of African and local Detroit architecture. The building features a stunning 55-foot-tall glass dome ceiling.

MINNESOTA: The Marjorie McNeely Conservatory

The Marjorie McNeely Conservatory at Saint Paul's Como Park was opened to the public in 1915 and features Japanese, Bonsai, and butterfly gardens, among others.

MISSISSIPPI: Gehry's Pods at the Ohr-O'Keefe Museum of Art

Designed by Frank Gehry — whose striking work also includes the Louis Vuitton Foundation in Paris, the Walt Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles, and the Guggenheim Museum Bilbao in Spain — the curved metal pods, which house pottery at Biloxi's Ohr-O'Keefe Museum of Art, are meant to look as if they were "dancing with the trees," per the museum's website.

MISSOURI: The Community Bookshelf

The parking garage at the Kansas City Library is called the Community Bookshelf. It displays the giant spines of 22 classic books that were suggested by Kansas City readers.

MONTANA: Montana State Capitol building

Construction started on the Montana State Capitol in 1896. The inside of the rotunda salutes four types of people central to the state's early history: a native American, an explorer, a gold miner, and a cowboy.

NEBRASKA: Nebraska State Capitol Building

The Nebraska Capitol in Lincoln is one of the greatest state capitol buildings in the US. Built between 1922 and 1932, the building features artworks representing the development of law and the state of Nebraska.

NEVADA: Ward Charcoal Ovens

The Ward Charcoal Ovens in Ely were built in the 1870s for silver mining.

The distinctive beehive-shaped Ward Charcoal Ovens in Ely were built for silver mining back in the 1870s, and they still look like nothing else on the landscape.

NEW HAMPSHIRE: Mount Washington Hotel

Built in 1902, the Mount Washington Hotel — today operating as the Omni Mount Washington Resort — is one of the last remaining grand hotels in the state, and is rumored to be haunted.

NEW JERSEY: Nassau Hall at Princeton University

Nassau Hall is the oldest building at Princeton University, dating back to the 1750s. While it now houses the school's administrative offices, during the Revolutionary War it was occupied by both British and American forces and suffered damage during the battles.

NEW MEXICO: Taos Pueblo

Hundreds of years old, the Taos Pueblo is a multi-story complex built by Native Americans from the region. It looks like one big, molded piece, and it's still used as a residence.

NEW YORK: The Chrysler Building

The Empire State Building gets all the hype, but it's the Chrysler Building that's really the most magnificent skyscraper in New York City. The Art Deco-style building was the tallest in the world when it was built, but it was beaten out by — you guessed it — the Empire State Building just 11 months later.

NORTH CAROLINA: The Executive Mansion

North Carolina's Executive Mansion in Raleigh is the home of the governor.

Give it to North Carolina for having its most beautiful building designated as a civil landmark. The state's Executive Mansion in Raleigh is the home of the governor and a high-profile event venue that's open to public tours.

NORTH DAKOTA: The North Dakota Heritage Center

At the center of the North Dakota Heritage Center in Bismarck is a great glass cube flanked by two copper-colored wings. It's the home of the state's greatest treasures, including Native American historical artifacts and lots of dinosaur fossils.

OHIO: The Longaberger Company building

The Longaberger Company, which makes baskets, made a building in Newark that perfectly matches its brand. The building was closed in 2016, and it has largely sat idle since.

Plans for the property have included a hotel, a coworking space, and, most recently, a mixed-use development, but it still has an unclear path for the future.

OKLAHOMA: First Americans Museum

The First Americans Museum's 175,000-square-foot building in Oklahoma pays homage to the state's indigenous populations and their history. The design is inspired by the importance placed on the rising and setting sun by Native populations, with the Remembrance Walls being aligned with the sunrise.

The central half-dome is supported by 10 pillars of various stones, each representing a 10-mile stretch traveled by Native people during forced removal from their original homelands, according to the museum's website.

OREGON: The Portland Building

In 2009, Travel + Leisure famously called The Portland Building "one of the most hated buildings in America," and its reputation is split among architecture critics. But its shapes, strange geometric clashes of glass and stone, make it the weird building that Portland most deserves.

PENNSYLVANIA: Frank Lloyd Wright's Fallingwater

Frank Lloyd Wright's 1935 masterpiece Fallingwater remains Pennsylvania's greatest work of architecture. Water falls from each level of the building into the one below, perfectly integrating with the landscape.

RHODE ISLAND: The Breakers

Built as a summer residence for Cornelius Vanderbilt II, The Breakers mansion in Newport has 70 rooms across 138,300 square feet, making it one of the largest houses in the US and an icon of Gilded Age architecture.

SOUTH CAROLINA: The International African American Museum

In South Carolina, the International African American Museum stands on top of 18 13-foot pillars that keep the museum from touching the sacred ground on which it was built.

The museum is situated on the historic site of Gadsden's Wharf in Charleston's Cooper River, which was the last and most significant disembarkation point in North America for enslaved Africans during the transatlantic slave trade, per the US Civil Rights Trail website.

SOUTH DAKOTA: The Corn Palace

The walls of the Corn Palace in Mitchell are adorned with complex murals and art that's all been made out of, you guessed it, corn. The design changes every year.

TENNESSEE: Parthenon in Centennial Park

Built in 1897 for the Tennessee Centennial Exposition — and then reconstructed between 1921 and 1930 — the Parthenon in Centennial Park is a full-sized replica of the Parthenon in Athens, Greece. Today, it's open to the public as an art museum.

TEXAS: James Turrell's Twilight Epiphany skyspace

Designed by renowned artist James Turrell, the "Twilight Epiphany" Skyspace in Houston is a performance space that makes you feel as though you've entered another dimension.

UTAH: Natural History Museum of Utah

The Natural History Museum of Utah in Salt Lake City looks like it could have been carved out of the landscape. It was designed by Todd Schliemann of Ennead Architects.

VERMONT: The Old Round Church

The Old Round Church in Richmond is technically a 16-sided polygon, but it's still enough of a circle to lend credence to a rumor that it was built in that shape so that the Devil had no corners to hide in.

VIRGINIA: Dulles International Airport

If they're done wrong, airports can be the most insufferable place to spend a few hours. But we have to admire Virginia's Dulles International Airport, which almost looks like a futuristic aircraft itself.

WASHINGTON: Seattle Central Library

Forget the idea of a dusty old home for books nobody reads. The Seattle Central Library is a miracle of modern architecture.

WASHINGTON, DC: The United States Capitol

The United States Capitol is such a mainstay of nightly news and political pop culture that it's easy to take for granted. It's nice to step back once in a while and take in the grandeur and historical significance of this government building that reflects on America's complicated past.

Construction on the Capitol began in September 1793, and much of the structure was built by enslaved workers working alongside free Black and white laborers, per the White House Historical Association. In 2012, a marker was added to the Capitol Visitor Center commemorating the unpaid labor of enslaved people who built the nation's Capitol.

WEST VIRGINIA: The Palace of Gold

The Palace of Gold is a majestic memorial shrine located in the Hare Krishna community of New Vrindaban.

WISCONSIN: The Burke Brise Soleil

The most striking feature of the Milwaukee Art Museum is the Burke Brise Soleil, a towering sunscreen with a 217-foot wingspan. It folds and unfolds twice a day.

WYOMING: Smith Mansion

This wacky-looking building is in the middle of the remote Wapiti Valley. In 1971, architect Francis Lee Smith started building the structure by hand as his and his family's home. After completing the first floor in 1973, he could not stop building. He died after falling from one of the balconies in 1992.

Hungary’s Western anchor is set. The rest depends on pipelines, not speeches.

Join us on Telegram, X, and VK.

Contact us: info@strategic-culture.su

The days of October

“Magyarország nem kompország”: Hungary is not a “ferry country”; it cannot drift between East and West. With this statement, delivered on October 23 before the Parliament in Budapest, Prime Minister Péter Magyar set the political tone for the 70th anniversary of the 1956 revolution. Immediately afterward, he added that in ’56 the Hungarians had already made their choice: “We belong to a free and democratic Europe.”

The phrase is no accident. The kompország is an image coined by Endre Ady, who in 1905 described Hungary as a ferry doomed to shuttle back and forth between East and West without ever docking permanently on either shore. For sixteen years, Viktor Orbán had overturned that assessment, transforming the oscillation into a strategy: Hungary as a bridge, Moscow’s interlocutor within the European Union, a hub of “opening to the East.” The new government chose the day most steeped in memory on the national calendar to declare that era over. This is the political significance of the day, and it is the appropriate place to begin.

On October 23, 1956, students from the Budapest University of Technology took to the streets in solidarity with Polish workers. The procession gathered in front of the statue of General Bem, then headed toward the Parliament; among their demands were free elections and the withdrawal of Soviet troops. In the evening, part of the crowd moved to Városliget, where the monument to Stalin stood. The Budapest police chief, Sándor Kopácsi, provided a detailed account in his book *Au nom de la classe ouvrière*: the demonstrators wrapped a steel cable around the neck of the statue—which, including its pedestal, stood about twenty-five meters tall—while others, who had arrived in trucks loaded with oxygen tanks and cutting torches, began cutting through the bronze at the level of the boots. It took about an hour for the statue to collapse. Only the boots remained on the pedestal, into which a Hungarian flag was planted. At the same time, in front of the Radio headquarters, the political police (ÁVH) opened fire on the crowd, and the protest turned into an armed uprising.

On October 25, in Kossuth Square, shots fired at demonstrators gathered in front of the Parliament caused a massacre whose death toll, even today, ranges from a few dozen to several hundred. This year’s state ceremony took place in that same square.

The revolution was not a bloodless affair on just one side. In the alleys of the 8th and 9th districts, around Corvin Passage, groups of insurgents—many of whom were boys barely out of their teens—attacked Soviet tanks with Molotov cocktails, and many crew members were burned to death inside their vehicles. Total Soviet casualties exceeded seven hundred. The fiercest violence, however, was directed at the men of the political police. On October 30, in Republic Square (Köztársaság tér), the insurgents stormed the party headquarters in Budapest: more than twenty ÁVH officers and conscripts were killed, some lynched and hanged from trees, along with City Secretary Imre Mező. The revolution’s own leaders condemned these acts and called for an end to summary justice.

The October 28 ceasefire marked the beginning of the withdrawal phase. Moscow agreed to withdraw its units from Budapest on the condition that they be replaced by Hungarian units and that the insurgents surrender their weapons. The columns in direct contact with the fighters left their positions on October 30; the last ones departed from the Parliament area in the early afternoon of the 31st. It was a retreat carried out in an openly hostile atmosphere. The groups at the Corvin Passage, convinced that this was a ruse, refused to assist in securing the convoys, and their suspicion was not unfounded: several armored vehicles remained hidden in Népliget and other parts of the city. However, the available sources—both Hungarian and Soviet—do not document any systematic attacks against the departing troops during those two days. The most harrowing accounts—those of Soviet soldiers killed while fleeing from burning vehicles—pertain to the clashes that occurred after November 4. Meanwhile, on October 31, the Presidium of the CPSU had already overturned the decision.

On November 1, Imre Nagy’s government proclaimed the country’s neutrality and its withdrawal from the Warsaw Pact. At dawn on November 4, Operation “Turbine” brought seventeen Soviet divisions back to Budapest. The final toll included approximately 2,500 Hungarian deaths, about 200,000 exiles, tens of thousands of convictions, and more than two hundred executions; Nagy, Pál Maléter, and Miklós Gimes were hanged after a secret trial in June 1958.

Three squares, three memories

Magyar said that for years Hungarians had been led to believe that the national holiday belonged to a single political party. The day showed that the memory of ’56 remains divided, even if the roles have been reversed. The state held its celebrations in Kossuth Square, with the morning flag-raising ceremony and a solemn session of Parliament. Fidesz, KDNP, and Mi Hazánk did not participate because they do not recognize the legitimacy of the new President of the Republic, András Baka.

Fidesz organized its own “March of the National Flag” from the Technical University to Bem Square, following the route taken by the students in 1956. Speakers included former President János Áder, historian Mária Schmidt, and parliamentary group leader János Bóka. For the first time in many years, Orbán did not deliver the October 23 speech: he was in Paris and limited himself to sharing Bóka’s video on social media. The slogan chosen for the demonstration—“No war, no gender, no migration—God, homeland, family”—makes it quite clear which interpretation of 1956 the opposition intends to uphold: that of a revolt for the nation, faith, and family against ideology—an interpretation to be revived today against Brussels.

Mi Hazánk has taken this interpretation to its logical conclusion. Its leader, László Toroczkai, has argued that in 1956 the Hungarians did not rebel against Russia but against an internationalist empire—and that today that empire is called the European Union—which reveals that, at least for a segment of the Hungarian right, 1956 has become an anti-Western symbol.

Magyar’s speech in Kossuth Square addressed this contentious issue. He recalled Erika Szeles, Péter Mansfeld, István Angyal, Nagy, and Maléter; he said that military superiority was able to crush the revolution and execute “the martyred prime minister,” but could not extinguish the desire for freedom. Then he turned to the present. Those who seek support against their own people “in Moscow or elsewhere,” he said, should remember that power sustained by foreign backing lasts only a short while. Anyone who, after 1956, parades an aggressor through the streets or subordinates the nation to foreign empires “has understood nothing of the message of ’56,” and Magyar added: “whether in Budapest or on a Parisian terrace” . The target was Orbán.

The section on foreign policy was brief and clear: Hungary wants to be a reliable ally and an equal partner, not a country that follows an isolated course. The speech never explicitly mentioned Russia, nor did it speak of neutrality. This choice is significant. In 1956, neutrality was Nagy’s ultimate demand; seventy years later, the Hungarian government interprets that same legacy as an anchor to the West, not as equidistance.

Brussels in Budapest

The presence of Commission President Ursula von der Leyen and European Council President António Costa gave the day an explicitly European framework. Von der Leyen, on her first visit to Hungary since 2024, spoke in Parliament of a return “to a reborn country.” She said that in 1956 even the Soviets were afraid, because a victory by the Hungarian people would have spread the desire for democracy. She then directly linked the anniversary to the April 12 election: in April, Hungary would once again send a message of hope, demonstrating that democratic regression is reversible. She had already made the same comparison between Orbán’s defeat and the 1956 revolution in the aftermath of the elections, sparking protests among the Hungarian right.

The rest of the guest list was more modest than the government had led people to believe. Delegations were sent by some forty countries, almost all at the level of ministers or parliamentary speakers; Moldovan President Maia Sandu and Georgian Prime Minister Irakli Kobakhidze were in attendance. Emmanuel Macron, whose attendance Magyar had announced in an interview, did not attend: the French embassy clarified that the visit had never been confirmed, following days of tension over certain comments by the Hungarian prime minister regarding the unrest in France. Also absent were Giorgia Meloni, who was visiting Kuwait, and Donald Tusk, who was in India. Volodymyr Zelenskyy was not present; Ukraine was represented by the Speaker of Parliament. Vladimir Putin was the only head of state from Europe to not receive an invitation.

On October 23, he symbolically confirmed a shift that had already begun in practice. The Magyar government has classified Russia as a security threat, given the green light to open four negotiation chapters for Ukraine’s accession to the European Union, and set the 2027 defense budget at 2% of GDP. The role of bridge between Europe and Russia—which Orbán had made the hallmark of Hungarian foreign policy—is no longer government doctrine.

It remains to be seen to what extent this can be achieved in practice. Last April, Magyar pointed out that Hungary is “close to Russia” and that paying more for raw materials harms European competitiveness; he said he was ready for pragmatic cooperation with Moscow and wanted to renegotiate the terms of Paks II with the Kremlin. Oil still comes via the Druzhba pipeline, and the country’s only nuclear power plant burns Russian fuel. Energy Minister István Kapitány maintains that, starting in October 2027, gas could come entirely from non-Russian sources, and a decision on Paks II is expected by the end of the year.

The 70th anniversary thus leaves one question unanswered. Ady feared that Hungary would remain a ferry forever. Orbán had tried to turn the ferry into a bridge. Magyar now promises a permanent landing on the western shore. Whether that landing will be stable will be determined more by geography and infrastructure than by speeches.

The two squares on October 23—Kossuth and Bem—did not celebrate the same revolution.

10/27/1787: First Federalist Paper is published.

The post Today in Supreme Court History: October 27, 1787 appeared first on Reason Magazine.

If there’s a Wikipedia page about yourself, you must be famous—some kind of celebrity—or an expert in your field, or a figure who’s made a prominent contribution to human history or culture. But what happens when that page is nominated by Wikipedia editors for deletion? In a quirky tech story for Wired, Duncan Fyfe reports on the strange experience of being told you’re just not notable enough.

There is, when you look for it, a careless and cocky tone that can creep into the verdicts of Wikipedia editors who have been doing the job for a long time. “This guy is a nobody. Delete him.” “I’ve got more followers on Instagram than he does.” “All we have here are stand-up comedy, opinion columns, being a guest or collaborator on some non-notable podcasts … This is more or less every twentieth person who lives in NYC.”

As the Left unites with Islamists to march against Israel, what it forgets is that Zionism was always a progressive movement – and the Irish forget that they originally identified with the Jews, says Andres Roth.

The post The Left Forgets That Zionism is a Progressive Movement appeared first on The Daily Sceptic.

From the 17th to the 20th century, Ukrainian lands were split between empires and states. Their rulers tried to assimilate Ukrainians and block their self-determination by going after what set them apart: their language and culture.

Nobody has an exact count of the bans. Historian Pavlo Hai-Nyzhnyk says there were more than 100 and that the real number is likely higher, because governors issued local bans too.

These measures differed in purpose and reach. Some restricted publishing, schooling, or official use; others suppressed cultural institutions or pushed assimilation. Most served the forced Russification of Ukrainians in the Russian Empire and the USSR. The timeline below is a selection of documented events, not a count of bans.

Russia has not stopped. Since 2014, schooling in Ukrainian has collapsed in the territories it occupies, and in 2025 it removed Ukrainian from the federal school programs it imposes there.

Here are some of the most important restrictions on Ukrainian language and cultural life imposed by the regimes ruling over Ukraine.

17th century

1627: Muscovy. Moscow church authorities condemn Kyrylo Trankvilion-Stavrovetskyi’s Didactic Gospel, a collection of sermons printed in Ukraine in 1619, and order copies burned in Moscow.

1697: Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. An act requires tribunal and court decisions in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania to be written in Polish, displacing Ruthenian in those courts.

18th century

1720: Russian Tsardom. Peter I’s decree restricts the Kyiv and Chernihiv presses to approved reprints of church books and requires them to conform to Russian editions, suppressing local textual and linguistic differences.

1728: Russian Empire. Under the Decisive Points (Reshytelni punkty), the legal texts used in the Hetmanate’s courts are to be translated into Russian and compiled into a single code.

1730s: Russian Empire. Under Empress Anna, Kyiv’s archbishop is instructed to replace older locally printed church books with Moscow editions.

1769: Russian Empire. The Holy Synod refuses the Kyiv-Pechersk Lavra permission to print primers in the local language and tells it not to submit such requests again.

1775: Russian Empire. A Russian army destroys the Zaporozhian Sich, the Cossacks’ last stronghold and one of Ukraine’s own political institutions.

1780s: Russian Empire. Samuil Myslavskyi, metropolitan of Kyiv from 1783, insists on literary Russian as the only language of instruction at the Kyiv-Mohyla Academy.

1789: Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. The Commission of National Education orders the Ukrainian parish schools of Right-Bank Ukraine Polonized.

19th century

1847: Russian Empire. After suppressing the Cyril and Methodius Brotherhood, a secret society that called for a federation of free Slavic peoples, the authorities ban and withdraw from sale specified works by Taras Shevchenko, Panteleimon Kulish, and Mykola Kostomarov.

1859: Austrian Empire. Austrian officials back a plan to replace the Cyrillic alphabet used for Ukrainian in Galicia with a Latin one. Ukrainian opposition defeats the plan in what became known as the “alphabet war.”

1862: Russian Empire. The authorities close the Sunday schools, free schools for working adults and young people, including Ukrainian ones. They begin reopening under tighter control in 1864.

1863: Russian Empire. Interior Minister Pyotr Valuev’s circular tells censors not to approve Ukrainian religious, school, and popular-reading books, while still allowing fiction under censorship. It claims that most Little Russians themselves argue that “there was not, is not, and cannot be any special Little Russian language.”

1864: Russian Empire. The 1864 statute requires Russian as the teaching language in the elementary schools it regulates.

1869: Austria-Hungary. Polish becomes the internal language of administration and the courts in Galicia. The 1867 school arrangements had already strengthened Polish dominance, while leaving limited room for Ukrainian-language schooling.

1876: Russian Empire. Alexander II’s secret Ems Ukaz severely restricts Ukrainian publishing and bans Ukrainian publications from abroad, Ukrainian stage performances and public readings, and Ukrainian lyrics printed with music. Exceptions allow historical documents in their original spelling and fiction in Russian spelling under censorship.

1881: Russian Empire. New rules ease parts of the Ems Ukaz: Ukrainian plays may be staged with a governor’s special permission. Theater troupes performing only in Ukrainian stay banned.

1883: Russian Empire. Kyiv Governor-General Aleksandr Drenteln bars Ukrainian theater troupes from performing in the Kyiv, Podillia, Volhynia, Poltava, and Chernihiv governorates.

1895: Russian Empire. The censorship authorities ban the publication of Ukrainian children’s books.

20th century

1910: Russian Empire. A circular from Pyotr Stolypin’s interior ministry tells governors to refuse registration to non-Russian national societies, Ukrainian ones included, and to review existing ones for closure. Kyiv’s Prosvita is dissolved the same year.

1914: Russian Empire. The authorities ban public celebrations of Taras Shevchenko’s centenary. After the empire enters World War I, they close most Ukrainian periodicals, including the Kyiv daily Rada.

1914–15, 1916–17: Russian Empire. Russian occupation authorities suppress Ukrainian institutions and publications in Galicia and Bukovyna. The first occupation brings mass arrests and deportations, the destruction of Ukrainian books, and the arrest of Metropolitan Andrei Sheptytskyi.

1923: Soviet Ukraine. Dmytro Lebid, second secretary of the Communist Party of Ukraine, sets out the “theory of the struggle of two cultures,” which holds that the Russian culture of the city is more advanced than the Ukrainian culture of the village. The party rejects it and adopts Ukrainization the same year.

1924: Poland. Three laws of 31 July make Polish the state language of administration and the courts, keep limited rights for minority languages, and set school rules that favor Polish-Ukrainian bilingual schools over separate Ukrainian ones.

1924: Romania. The primary education law requires citizens of Romanian origin who have “lost their mother tongue” to send their children to Romanian schools. Ukrainian historians say it was applied to Ukrainians in Bukovyna.

1925: Poland. The Lviv Underground Ukrainian University, which had taught clandestinely since 1921, stops teaching after police raids and the Polish state’s refusal to recognize it.

1926: USSR. In a letter to Kaganovich and the Ukrainian Politburo, Stalin attacks Oleksandr Shumskyi and Mykola Khvylovyi and rejects Ukrainizing Russian workers “from above,” while still backing controlled Ukrainization of official institutions.

1932–33: USSR. A secret resolution of 14 December 1932 orders the Ukrainian-language paperwork and press of the North Caucasus switched to Russian at once and its schools prepared for teaching in Russian. In Soviet Ukraine, it puts Ukrainization under tighter party control and demands purges of “nationalist” elements. The repression of 1933 dismantles Ukrainization.

1938: USSR. A decree of 13 March makes Russian a compulsory subject in the non-Russian schools of the national republics and regions.

1947: Poland. In Operation Vistula, Polish authorities forcibly resettle about 150,000 Ukrainians to northern and western Poland, under an assimilation policy that sought to keep them below 10% of any locality.

1958–59: USSR. The school reform expands parents’ choice of teaching language and makes the study of Ukrainian optional in Russian-language schools in Soviet Ukraine.

1960s–70s: Romania and Poland. Romania nearly eliminates Ukrainian-language schooling from the mid-1960s. In Poland, Ukrainian schools and Ukrainian classes shrink.

1972: USSR. The party’s resolution on the USSR’s 50th anniversary promotes the “new historical community, the Soviet people,” an idea first voiced in 1961. Soviet ethnographers wrote that the spread of Russian among non-Russian peoples played the paramount role in forming this community.

1978: USSR. The USSR Council of Ministers orders wider study of Russian in the union republics. Ukraine’s implementing resolution of 2 November requires Russian from first grade in Ukrainian-language schools from the 1980/81 school year.

1983: USSR. A resolution of 26 May gives specified teachers of Russian in non-Russian schools in villages and small towns a 15% pay raise from 1984.

1984: USSR. The school reform resolution of 12 April adds two to three hours of Russian a week in grades 2 to 11 of non-Russian schools.

1989: USSR. The Communist Party’s party platform of 20 September calls for making Russian, by law, the language of the whole country alongside the republics’ state languages.

1990: USSR. The April 1990 law on the languages of the peoples of the USSR makes Russian the official language of the Soviet Union, while letting the republics set their own state languages.

21st century

2014–18: Crimea. Under Russian occupation, schooling in Ukrainian collapses. In 2013/14, 12,694 children studied in Ukrainian in 7 schools and 829 classes; by 2017/18, 318 children did, in one school and 13 classes, the UN human rights office reports, noting the figures conflict in places.

2020: DNR and LNR. The so-called DNR votes to amend its “constitution” on 6 March, dropping Ukrainian as a “state language” and leaving only Russian. The so-called LNR does the same in June.

2022: Occupied Kherson and Zaporizhzhia oblasts. Russia’s Education Ministry says on 12 August that schools in newly occupied areas will teach in Russian, with Ukrainian allowed only as an optional “native” language. Occupation authorities then cap Ukrainian at three hours a week, Human Rights Watch reports.

2023: Occupied Donetsk and Luhansk oblasts. Russia removes nearly all Ukrainian literature from local libraries, most likely destroying it, Ukraine’s National Resistance Center reports. The so-called LNR publishes a list of banned books.

2024: International Court of Justice. On 31 January, the court ruled, 13 votes to 2, that Russia violated the UN convention against racial discrimination in how it ran school education in Ukrainian in occupied Crimea.

2025: Russia. Education Ministry Order No. 729, in force since 15 December, removes Ukrainian language and literature from Russia’s federal primary and lower-secondary programs, the UN human rights office reports. Russia imposes these programs on schools in the occupied territories, where about 582,000 children study, the Almenda center says.

What we changed in October 2026

Editor’s note, 27 October 2026: We first published this timeline in 2017. Like many lists of bans on Ukrainian that circulate online, it repeated some claims that have no document behind them. In October 2026, we went back to historians’ work and to the decrees themselves.

We removed about fifteen entries. Most we could not confirm; a few were not about language. We corrected others where the documents say something different: some bans had exceptions, some dates were off by a year, and the end of Ukrainization came in 1932–33. We replaced the old count of 60 bans, which we could not trace, with a historian’s estimate. And we added what Russia has done to the Ukrainian language in the territories it has occupied since 2014.

If you have a document for something we left out, write to us.

The electric vehicle might seem like a very modern invention, but is actually as old as automobile itself. It first appeared in the autumn of 1888 on the streets of Coburg, a small German town. With four wheels and a wooden body, it looked remarkably like a horseless carriage, but instead of relying on an internal combustion engine, it drew its power from electricity.

The machine was called the Flocken Elektrowagen, and it is widely regarded as one of the world's earliest electric automobiles.

A modern replica of the Flocken Elektrowagen. Credit: Wikimedia Commons

10/26/1774: First Continental Congress ends its first session in Philadelphia.

The post Today in Supreme Court History: October 26, 1774 appeared first on Reason Magazine.