As I watched the excellent Carrier series on PBS this week, I saw these amazing jets land on a dime on a rocking ship in the middle of the roiling ocean. What remarkable technology and what extraordinary pilots! Watching them, it occurred to me that my generation marked the transition from traditional propeller planes to the advent of the jet and space age.

Where I grew up we were surrounded by air bases. Due to the lack of large cities, southern New Jersey, was the center of flight exercises. So planes, blimps and every other flying machine known to man and military, did maneuvers from Dover Air Force Base, McGuire Air Force Base and Lakehurst Naval Air Station. Since this was before the time of jets and high attitude flights, my older brother Melvin and I would set up a little fort and search the skies for planes as if we were in World War II London. Guided by a little chart depicting silhouettes of various planes, we were determined to protect our shores from the Russian invasion that we all knew would be coming soon!

One day while my family was having lunch we heard this massive, approaching roar. At first, my mother and father exchanged worried glances and then a gleam came into their eyes as they excitedly hurried us out of the house. Flying at tree top level was a formation of dozens of old propeller-driven B-29 bombers. I had never seen anything like it before or, frankly, since. Coming in waves as though heading toward D-Day on Omaha Beach, the planes were so low we could almost make out the faces of the pilots. Jumping up and down, like a junior cheerleading squad, we waved at our planes. To this day, I wonder if any of them saw us. I like to think they did!

Once, in a scene straight out of a World War II movie, I even witnessed two fighter planes run a dogfighting round over our area. But since the planes were both American, we didn't know who to root for to win the faux battle!

Lakehurst was the home of Navy's blimps. The early and mid-1950s saw the heyday of the mammoth, lumbering flying ships. They were employed to vigilantly patrol the East Coast, on the lookout for Russia submarines. Unlike the roar of the B-29s, the approaching sound of the blimps was more of a whirring, soft rumble. Several times a year we would see half a dozen in formation filling the skies, flying low over our homes. What excitement they created in our house and neighborhood. Somehow the ones today advertising beer and tires over football stadiums just aren't the same .

Then the jet age intruded and the planes were higher up and out of sight, only seen by the white trail they left behind. Occasionally they would fly low, break the sound barrier and the entire house would shake. No windows ever shattered, but at times, I swear implosion seemed entirely emminent. The adventure of watching for planes, waving at pilots and formations was gone. It became all about attitude and speed.

In a seemingly natural progression, we then watched the skies for the satellites to orbit the earth. Sputnik, the Russian craft, was the first successful launching -- a shocking event that sent our competitive nation reeling. We would all gather on our back porch and search the night sky to see this new space age vehicle. Slowly it would cross over and we looked with both amazement and concern. When our guy, John Glenn, circled the earth in his Mercury capsule it was daytime but we huddled near radios and television sets until he was safely down.

Somehow ending up pacifist is a little surprising given my personal history with military flight. Yet I must honestly admit that I am still fascinated - intrigued with the exploration of space and places beyond.