Crop Duster Quotes

The last time somebody was cremated, his ashes were sprinkled from a crop duster. We all ran for cover. We liked him fine, but we didn't want him all over our good clothes.

I'll take nine steps and look up. Whatever my eyes light on, that's my sign. I saw a crop duster plunging his little plane over a field of growing things, behind him a cloud of pesticides parachuting out. I couldn't decide what part of the scene I represented: the plants about to be rescued from the bugs or the bugs about to be murdered by the spray. There was an off chance I was really the airplane zipping over the earth creating rescue and doom everywhere I went.

In the late 1940s and early 1950s, Olson had traveled across the United States overseeing field tests that dispersed biological agents from aircraft and crop dusters in San Francisco, the Midwest, and Alaska. Some field tests involved harmless simulants and others involved dangerous pathogens, as Senate hearings later revealed. One such dangerous experiment was conducted by Olson and his Detrick colleague Norman Cournoyer. The two men went to Alaska and oversaw bacteria being sprayed out of airplanes to see how the pathogens would disperse in an environment similar to that of a harsh Russian winter. “We used a spore,” Cournoyer explained, “which is very similar [to} anthrax, so to that extent we did something that was not kosher. Because we picked it up all over [the United States] months after we did the tests.” A third man involved in the covert tests with Cournoyer and Olson was Dr. Harold Batchelor, the bacteriologist who learned airborne spray techniques from Dr. Kurt Blome, whom Batchelor consulted with in Heidelberg. Olson and Batchelor also conducted covert field tests in closed spaces across America, including in subways and in the Pentagon. For these tests, the Special Operations Division used a relatively harmless pathogen that simulated how a deadly pathogen would disperse. A congressional inquiry into these covert tests found them “appalling” in their deception.

The anti-narcotic agencies have long understood that discouraging poppy cultivation is best achieved by putting the crop at constant risk, so that farmers take a safer option. This has been proven around the world. By far the most effective way to achieve this is by using crop-dusters to dump herbicide. But the president has always opposed this, arguing that it would be misunderstood and cause an uprising, and, ultimately, loss of power. That’s why the international narcs had to scrap their way in to appallingly dangerous areas with ‘tractors and weed-whackers’. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work much at all.

In his new activism, Mike’s long background in oil became a great asset. He knew the geology. He knew the economics. He knew the local lay of the land. He’d gained firsthand knowledge of dangerous chemicals. As a child he had crouched in the sugarcane field to watch the Piper Cub crop dusters fly low, their wheels nearly leafing through the tops of the cane stalks. After the pilot had sprayed DDT clouds and started to rise at the end of the row, Mike would pop up from the cane into the pesticide cloud to watch the plane turn for another pass. He knew about unawareness. But what was new for Mike was a close-up view of the politics—especially the attitude toward the environment expressed by Republican governor Bobby Jindal.

Any doubts regarding what the Saudis were doing evaporated when investigators looked into SHC computers, videos, and documents and uncovered before-and-after pictures of the World Trade Center, $200,000 in cash, files on pesticides and crop dusters, and information on how to counterfeit U.S. State Department ID badges. SFOR needed several trucks to haul away the confiscated items.

The next time they saw each other, they bicycled out to the railyard and around the cars on the service tracks. The time after that, they rode to Skip’s house and collected buckeyes from under the tree in his front yard, shelling all the ones that could be shelled. Pockets bulging, they rode out to the abandoned mill and left their bikes at the bottom of the smokestack and climbed the rusted spiral staircase to the circular platform at the top. From up there, they used Skip’s slingshot and shot the buckeyes at birds they knew they couldn’t hit. They shot at crop dusters, distant cars. They fired straight up into the air and stood with their hands at their sides and their eyes shut, waiting to be killed should the buckeye come down and pierce one of their skulls. When they’d emptied all their pockets and Skip thought they were out of nuts, Tom pointed to his socks, which were bulging with them. Skip thought that was one of the funniest things he’d ever seen. He called Tom Buckeye from that day on.

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