Who Wants to Fly??

Blue Sunset Jet

For years, and no I will not tell you how many, friends have told me to put some of my stories from my career into a book. “This HAS to be shared!!” Well, now that I have moved from Boeing and Gulfstream to Airstream, I feel like it is safe to tell a few. I mean what are they going to do? Fire me? So for those of you who wonder what it’s like on the inside, let me share a little. I apologize, I started flying with the dinosaurs and we didn’t catch pictures of everything, and even later it was all just normal so I didn’t go around grabbing pics of everything, but I’ll do my best to tell you where those places are that we disappear to and how we entertain ourselves.

Everyone seems to want an inside look at that strange life of a flight attendant. Well, nothing like a world pandemic to slow down enough to do just that. I flew for over 40 years as both a commercial flight attendant for a major US air carrier and as a corporate flight attendant on private jets. All of this was just normal to me but I’ve been told it was in no way normal, so sit back and relax and enjoy the ride.

IT STARTS

A lot of little girls wanted to be flight attendants when they were young. I am reminded of this all of the time when I tell people what I do. I was just more intent on follow-through, so senior year in college when my roommate and I decided to take a study break and apply to all of the airlines to fly, that seemed normal. She got hired by one major carrier and I got hired by another.

We were thrilled. My parents were devastated. I believe the reaction was something like: “We paid for you to go to a top university to major in business and graduate with honors in 4 years so you could become a WHAT?”

To their credit, they came to my graduation and supported my decision.

So off to 5 weeks of initial flight attendant training. Reality reared its ugly head. This was a lot more like the army with lipstick. We’re talking back in 1979, rules were different and there were rules right down to how you were dressed and how much you weighed. Weekly weigh-ins. Shared rooms in the dorms. A lot of throwing up. A lot of “warnings.” A lot of people disappearing during lunch…

And then the shit got real. The safety drills. We had to think about and practice emergencies nobody ever wants to think about much less practice living through. We had to do it, then do it again until we could react properly without hesitation and without thinking. We had to sit through the simulations in mock-ups with our class until everyone could do it right. Crash after crash. Ditching after ditching. Fire upon fire. CPR until the cadence gave you a headache. More throwing up.

Of course we would gather in the evenings to study because we were tested daily and you had to pass with a 90% or go home. We had our share of fun and bonded as a band of brothers and sisters stronger than any sorority or fraternity that lasted across the miles and through the years.

Almost as an afterthought, we learned the skills we thought we were there to learn for the job we thought we applied for. We learned how to serve champagne and carve roasts in the aisle (1979 remember) and graciously carry vomit in a bag. And there’s a knack! The first bag you receive, you make a beeline to the back to throw it out. Wrong. You learn to carry it graciously and discreetly for two reasons. The first concerns you (most important) and trust me you do NOT want the unpleasant experience of feeling the contents of that bag moving around as you jog to the back of the plane. The second concern is your guests. You want to carry it discreetly because just the sight of a used bag will set others off. Now you have a chain reaction to deal with. Avoid a chain reaction at all costs. So much of a flight attendant’s job is effective crowd control and this is one of those situations.

Finally, after 5 long weeks of training was deemed complete, we were released out upon an unsuspecting flying public and none of us would ever be the same. Another flying career had begun!

THE EARLY YEARS

Full disclosure:   The early years in the late 70s, early 80s could not be replicated now. The rules have changed. Some things we did will seem so far- fetched and improbable that they will sound like fiction. It was a different time and a different mind-set. We didn’t have the scrutiny, media, cell phone video, social media and angst of the flying public that we do now. It was great! And nobody died from it either.

With that out of the way, I can tell you we had a lot of fun when we were getting started. I didn’t know any different, I followed the rules of the sky. I quickly learned to listen and watch and learn how things were done out in the real world of flying. It bore little semblance to training, thank goodness.

Initially I was based in Chicago and we had a lot of winter runs to Florida for those escape vacations. We served steak in coach and free Mimosas and it was a huge hit. After landing in Florida, we would often turn and fly the plane up to New York with a more demanding crowd. To prepare, we would enjoy Mimosas ourselves while setting up the aircraft so we would be in the right frame of mind to enjoy our more challenging guests. Everyone was happy. It just seemed like SOP to me. Everything made sense and folks would rave about our customer service.

At the beginning of a flight attendant career you are on reserve (on call) for varying lengths of time. I was lucky, I was in the last few classes to get through with just one year before it hit the fan and now it follows you in some form for 20-30 years often.

When on reserve, the company owns you. You do not own your life in any way.

There are only rules about how long you can have undisturbed (9 hours?) and back when I started, no cell phone but a beeper.

When called you had to be in a position to be at the airport on the plane within 2 hours.  That means you lived with your bag packed, just waiting to throw in last minute seasonal clothing and food. Sounds so exciting right?

In 2 hours you are going to Washington, to Rome, to Shreveport or Detroit. You do not get to say “but I was…,”  ever. You might be gone 2 days or 4 days or? While you are out they might re-route you from that Bermuda trip to Canada. Oooops, wrong clothes. Sometimes they sent you somewhere else as an “extra” on another flight that is really full and needed extra help. That 3 hours you had to sit and eat and relax in San Francisco was gone. That’s why you pack food. Not to mention all of the food looks and tastes the same after a while, and who can afford that anyway? You got to some hotel at the end of the day alone and you are so tired you go straight to your room and use the coffeemaker to make boiled water and gratefully eat Ramen and some peanuts left in your pocket from the plane. The real reason TSA rarely checks flight crew bags is that they are tired of seeing food. Most of any crewmembers’ supplies are favorite goodies to eat on a trip.

Other days you get called and get on with a great crew and you do the whole trip with them. You work long days with them and you learn about the custom of enjoying a last leg cocktail or “LLC” and it’s all worth it. A “LLC” is when you put something great in your coffee and start to wind down for the layover during the last leg of the day. Clearly that was before random drug and alcohol testing. They invite you to join in, and you learn how the adults do layovers. Everybody laughs, vents and returns to normal before the new day. All is good in the world. You eat a good meal, maybe walk on a beautiful beach or in a park and you remember why you are there.

The first year is all learning. Some good, some not so good, but it’s a wild ride and you just hang on.

You Found What WHERE???

Color

** Layout of seating on L1011 to help get a feel for today’s post.            “D-zone” is on the far right in this picture.

PART II:  THINGS THAT “MAYBE” SHOULDN’T HAVE HAPPENED…

I grew up fast and that naïve middle class girl from an affluent Chicago suburb got herself educated fast. College? Ha! Now I was learning!!

My Mom got cancer and I moved home to help. I needed a schedule I could depend on so I transferred my “home base” from Chicago where I lived to New Orleans. I still lived in Chicago, but commuted to work in New Orleans because I had better seniority there and could hold a regular schedule. That meant that while business professionals were boarding the train to commute into the city to go to work, I would drive out to O’Hare and fly down to New Orleans to go to work. It’s a thing.

The least desirable trip, it turned out, which is what I got, was the 3-day trip to San Juan. My gosh, this sounds great! It was on our big L-1011, and beaches and all. Oh boy!

I soon learned that the mosquito was the state bird and if you didn’t close all the drains in your room the minute you got there, the cockroaches would take over and be throwing a party and ordering room service within hours. Oh yes, there was plenty of natural beauty and the people were warm and I learned to eat papaya with a squeeze of lime and the coffee was sublime. It was just… educational.

As was my first boarding process when I came back through “D-zone” (the 4th, and most aft section of the 4 section aircraft) and opened an overhead bin to assist with a bag and chickens flew out. The bag fit, but much to my chagrin, there were now chickens and roosters clacking in the aisles with no apparent seat assignments.

We took a delay.

A few weeks later I was working a beverage cart in “C-zone,” and encountered a lengthy line. I asked a colleague what might be the problem, and she advised that a few of the lavs (lavatories) were blocked off. It still seemed like a long way from the lavs which are at the very back of D-zone. I worked my way back through a line only to find that it ended at the divider between C-zone and D-zone that housed closets with curtains for hanging bags. The line stopped there. The smell did not. It seems our resourceful guests had designated the closets as “Porta-Potties” and were having their way with them.

Upon landing, the plane was taken out of service for sanitizing.

Delay.

Each time I encountered one of these events I thought surely I must have seen it all. My next story will help you understand why I slowly began to realize that I would never see it all. Nor did I really want to. You just can’t unsee a lot of that.

See you next time!

What’s That Smell???

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In the continuing saga of  “You found what WHERE?”

Let’s revisit the coat closets on the L1011 where we left off last time.

Oh yes, the closets should have had monitors.

On another flight from the US to San Juan the mid coat closet was the center of attention. This closet was an engineering marvel. As folks would enter the boarding door, they could hang garment bags on racks that would recede back and with a flick of the switch rise up into the ceiling and you could close a door over them securely. It was pretty great. Of course the boarding process could get chaotic, what with welcoming over 250 of your closest friends, hanging bags, monitoring for chickens and answering questions in a few languages, so things could slip by.

Across from the cloistered closet were the 2 lifts (elevators to the lower galley of the aircraft) where all of the cabin supplies traveled back and forth during the flight. That was the hub of the activity on an L-1011. All crew came and went through there like a transfer station in a busy subway system.

About an hour into the flight, finally someone had to say it: “What is that SMELL?” We all agreed, kept working and the smell kept growing. We finally paused and looked for it, stifling gags. We narrowed it down to the center coat closet.

We narrowed it down to one bag.

We removed the unwieldy bag and sent it to the galley for the flight attendant working down there to stow. One flight attendant always remained in the lower galley during flight and cooked the meals, loaded them in the carts, stocked and sent the beverage carts upstairs and kept extra supplies on the lift for quick pickup. It was a pivotal job that kept the whole operation running smoothly. She could send the bag up at the end of the flight for pickup and keep it out of our way.

SHE didn’t want it. SHE decided to open it and let out a scream you could hear without the interphone system engaged. Before we could call down she was on her way up. It turns out a very old, very dead woman was in the bag. Well, now that was awkward. We collected ourselves and then calmly decided to speak with the owner of the garment bag.

We paged for the name on the bag which was a very common local name, the equivalent of paging “Mr. Smith” in the US.

Over 10 call lights lit up.

We had to approach each one delicately and inquire if they had hung a garment bag in the center closet. Finally a lovely gentleman nods, “Oh si, si!” When we asked if he was aware that he had a body in the bag, he explained that it was his Mother. Sadly, he could not afford to ship her and was taking her home to bury her. I wanted to cry. We hugged him and offered our condolences. We respectfully made him (and his Mother) as comfortable as possible for the rest of the flight. This did not become a published service offered by the airline.

It was 1980ish. CNN did not meet the flight, nor the police.

We took a delay.

Sink’s Clogged!

Ok, one last one under “You found what WHERE?” before we move on to other things.

I finally decided I better learn how to work that lower galley with all the drama upstairs. It was intimidating because it was a huge responsibility. You kept the service going and you didn’t want to let your crew down by getting behind because you didn’t understand the flow. If you understood the galley, you understood the entire L-1011 and could run that thing. It was the heartbeat of the operation. Fortunately I had a great mentor and she taught me tricks to stay ahead of what my crew would need; how to anticipate their needs. I got so good, folks wouldn’t even have to call, I knew where they were in the service, what they would need, and when. It was a dance. I would get down there on long flights and change into my running shorts, put my Walkman (Yup!) on with one ear off so I could hear the squawk box yell at me and just get in my groove. I loved that place.

On all nighters, crew would rotate through and take naps. On Christmas we would bring our spouses and set up a buffet and the champagne would flow. It was our place. None of that was sanctioned of course, but that’s how things rolled in real life. Nobody was hurt in the process and somehow we all lived to tell about it.

There was a great sink down there with a window over it that looked down on the countryside below. I felt like Donna Reed in a plane at that sink. Then, one flight, my sink stopped up. Oh well, no more sink on that flight. I wrote it up and one of our awesome mechanics came on at the next stop to have a look. I swear those guys had seen everything and could fix anything and never complained. They were the best.

I was upstairs getting my bags together with the rest of the crew, when our mechanic came up with one of the trash bags we use to pick up the cabin just as full as could be. It was one of those bags with handles and our logo all over it. It was nice. We asked what he had found.

He got a grin on his face (a big brother who is going to gross you out kind of grin) and started pulling this long ropey thing out of the bag. And pulling, and pulling…

The bag was FULL.

What is that?? We all wondered. IT, was a tapeworm. He had removed it from my sink drain system. Immediately I wondered why I had even asked. I logged that in the “things I kinda wish I’d never seen” file and put another tick in the column gathering support for “just stay in your own lane girl.”

Delay.

tapeworm

Tapeworms on a plane…

Oh No You Didn’t!

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I mentioned earlier that we formed bonds that were like family. I had the great pleasure of flying out of one base for 15 years when I lived in the mountains where many of us felt like true family, even Ohana. Somehow we always managed to find the lighter side of life and it was a great way to learn to live. I flew mostly to Hawaii during those years and a lot of the crew I flew with either had family there or just loved the place like home. A lot of the guys left their surf boards over at “the racks” in Waikiki (sadly, burned since then) and surfed every time they went. Everyone there thought they were locals I bet since they showed up a few times a week. It was a golden spot in my career.

We worked hard to earn those great layovers, though, and the trip home flew all night which could be tough. One of my dear friends never disappointed with a quick wit and I tried to work near him since he could keep me laughing most of the night.

One evening during the boarding process, I was following him down the aisle through C-zone on the 767 and there was a lot of fog blowing out of the AC system since it was a humid night outdoors. Per usual it was dramatic looking, and a few guests started murmuring and one finally stopped him and loudly asked if the plane was on fire or if we were in danger. He barely broke stride, looked down as he waved his hand through the air elegantly and proclaimed just as loudly: “Oh no sir, that’s just a little something to help you sleep!”

He was long gone and I just hit the area as most folks burst out laughing and the concerned gentleman slowly started to grin. Clearly the ice was broken (and the fog lifted) for that flight.

Same dear friend. We were working opposite ends of the beverage cart during the morning service as we approached our destination after the long night flight. We were pouring mostly juice after offering bagels and danish.

Our lead flight attendant turned up the sidewall lights a bit so we could see and not run over feet and luggage in the aisle.

One of our guests awoke with a start and inquired quite loudly: “Who turned on the f*cking lights?”

My work partner did not miss a beat, leaned down close to the gentleman and quietly advised: “Oh sir, those aren’t the f*cking lights, you slept right through the f*cking lights, THESE are the breakfast lights… would you like some coffee?”

Oh yes he did!

Always Check, Cross-Check

if-you-spray-too-much-air-freshener-were-gonna-have-a-bad-time

Let’s explore a little more under the theme of “Oh no you didn’t…”

I didn’t always fly on the large, modern aircraft. This will really date me, but I began my career on 727s, DC9s and DC8s. At the bottom of the seniority list I got really familiar with the DC9. One endearing quality of that piece of equipment was the location of the aft double (?) jumpseat. It accommodated one comfortably. It was, however, designated as a double jumpseat, but I digress… It was attached to the aft door, adjacent to the aft lav. Quarters were so tight back there that when folks would come and go from the aft lav when you were seated on the jumpseat, you had to swing your legs to the side to avoid being hit by the door.

Now that you have the picture, I had been working in the aft cabin with my flying partner during the Spring when storms pop up and it got bumpy. We had to return to our jumpseat and strap in for turbulence. We sat there for an uncomfortable few minutes, then my flying partner finally declared that she could no longer take the smell coming from the lav. This could be the case towards the end of a flight, but this was ripe.

We kept a can of disinfectant spray next to the jumpseat for just this purpose. She grabbed the spray, cracked the door and sprayed and then slammed the door as was SOP in this situation. Ahhhhh, relief! After a few seconds we could hear someone coughing in the lav who had apparently forgotten to lock the door. Our eyes grew as big as saucers and we literally scooted up that aisle and squeezed onto the front jumpseat with our third flight attendant. Mortified does not begin to describe how we felt.

If that gentleman is reading this, we really are sorry. That is not SOP with people IN the lav.

Our bad…

Flyer Beware

These little tidbits might fall more under “Oh no they didn’t” rather than “Oh no YOU didn’t,” but still need to be told to color in the full picture of a flight attendant’s life.

In my last post I referred to flying on the DC9s and DC8s back in the dark ages. Those older aircraft were real workhorses and did a lot of junkets to garden spots like Las Vegas and Miami, just packed to the gills with high rollers and revelers. Champagne would flow freely and I’m not sure who ever thought it was a great idea to allow intoxicated people to light little sticks on fire and wave them around, but the smoke would get so thick you could barely see. Unfortunately, many of my colleagues and I are paying the price years later, even though we never smoked, with a high incidence of lung diseases taking their toll. At the time it was more of a challenge to get them to put those things out when it was time to land than anything. Alcohol-fueled rights would emerge and some folks would put up quite a fight for their last few puffs. I had only been flying about 6 months when one disgruntled passenger decided to prove to me that he had extinguished his cigarette and stubbed it out on my hand. I am not the only one that happened to. Sadly that wasn’t my roughest initiation.

Just 3 months into my career a passenger that was displeased with how the service was going shoved me down in the aisle, kicked me and then punched me in the face. This was back in 1979. People were not prepared for this at all. Nobody moved. Everyone was in shock. Finally, an off-duty police officer identified himself, subdued him, put him at a window seat and sat next to him until we landed. Since I was fresh out of training (well admittedly, not trained for THAT) I smoothed my skirt, excused myself politely and went to the flight deck to report the incident. I bandaged my leg, then returned to assist my crew with the remainder of the service. That’s what you do right? I WAS trained to remain calm and carry on as normally as possible.

I was almost surprised when we landed in New York and authorities removed the gentleman, and me. I had to appear in court the next morning at the Port Authority. This was very big for me and I saw some things in that building I had not seen before. There were others being arraigned for things that I had only seen in movies or read about, if you know what I mean. And I looked odd to them, I suppose, at 5’2” and 105 lbs. in my little stewardess uniform and my huge eyes.

I had concerns because my trip was only a turn-around, or day trip and I did not have a clean blouse with me for my court appearance. I carefully washed my shirt in my hotel room and ironed it and hoped I would look respectable with my shiner and split shin. My blouse was soon forgotten as I marveled at the creative wardrobe choices of some of the other women in court that morning. Most of their outfits looked like they had not seen a washing machine in weeks and never been ironed. This was a new and enlightening up-close look at the real world for me.

I sat quietly (reads: stunned) in the courtroom waiting for my incident to be heard. There was no jury, just public defenders with colorful women and not-so-colorful men and myself. I seemed to have rather stacked the deck what with my entourage of 2 corporate attorneys, 2 FBI agents and a few officers from the Port Authority of New York. I felt very small and big at the same time.

Finally we heard a mournful singing coming down the hall from the holding cells. Everyone looked a little confused, but I knew exactly who it was. It was my turn. Sure enough, my passenger appeared and the brief discussion was on. It ended with the judge issuing a 30 day psychiatric hold to determine if he was fit to stand trial. Subsequently it was determined he was not deemed fit.

I left a lot out of the story about the incident itself because it was clear from the start that this person was working with some deep issues. That person deserves the respect and dignity to confront those issues on his terms, not in my blog. Just suffice it to say it was one of the experiences that shaped me and my career and deserves mention. I learned early on something that only became more evident as years wore on. Shutting people up in cylindrical tubes with a lot of people creates a pressurized situation that takes some finesse to manage. You can’t just open the door and air out like you might on the ground. As we crammed more seats into aircraft and packed more people in and decreased personal space and sense of personal control, these situations became almost common. Now they end up on video and online. Everyone can see and say for themselves:

“Oh yes they did!”

airrage

Classless in First Class

So back to a more lighthearted look at “Oh no you didn’t…”

Folks often wonder if flight attendants ever thought of sort of “getting back” at particularly difficult passengers. Well, c’mon, we are human.

Thank goodness for filters. If the running dialog in my head as I worked a beverage service in a packed cabin on a bad day were to go public it would not be pretty. Sometimes a situation just had to be handled, though, and we knew what those situations were.

So we had a fairly senior crew of good friends flying back from Hawaii one night and this crew was a particularly good one. We actually all had a good time together and cared about making sure our guests had a good time too. The two of us working in First Class were so dismayed when an attractive woman from 6C came up to our galley and closed the curtain behind her during the night. She immediately started crying. She was inconsolable. Finally we learned that her husband of 20 years, with whom she had just spent a week in Hawaii, told her he had been seeing someone else and he wanted a divorce.

He waited until it wouldn’t ruin his vacation and did it in a public place where she couldn’t react. That was impressive, on many levels, and we had seen a lot of divorce declarations. After a while I cruised through the cabin, and he was sleeping like a baby! Oh no sir, not on my watch.

So we gave his wife a few glasses of our best wine and let her talk it out and finally we had to prepare to land. Everyone was seated and I walked through the cabin to pick up the remaining service items. I was careful to take a full glass of water on my tray with me.

As I approached the last row, I did my best “trip over the briefcase in the aisle” impression and deposited that entire glass of water in the lap of the wayward husband. During the ensuing frenzy and my robust apologies I did manage to slip a quick wink in to the wife so she would know it was a gift of solidarity.

Nobody was prouder than the First Class crew, watching that man walk off that plane early in the morning as every businessman in the terminal was starting his day and there walked Aloha Bob in his nice khaki pants strategically soaked.

There’s just some things that can’t go unanswered…

You really don’t want to find where that line is do you??

Water-Spilling-Out-of-the-Glass

Nonstop to Hell

 

I’d be lying if I said those experiences didn’t shape me and form my tolerance level for tomfoolery and such.

As I gained experience, I got a much better feel for where that fine line was between “blowing off steam” and personally abusive. I wasn’t a big fan of the latter but always tried to handle it in a lighthearted manner. I saw no reason to throw gas on the fire and besides, it was way more fun to just kind of mess with folks.

I was the Flight Attendant in Charge and my flight was headed to Europe from Atlanta. Probably a 10 or 11 hour flight. I loved greeting everyone and setting a good tone so we would have a good half a day together. How you greet someone can make such a difference it cannot be underestimated. I was well aware that folks had been through a highly stressful few hours dealing with security and immigration and checking in and luggage. My message at the door was: Now it is time to relax and let us care for you.

On this day, I was aware from comments that the TSA lines were backed up and stress levels were high. Finally I encountered a gentleman who just couldn’t calm down. He was mad. He was mad at the parking, the ticket agent, the TSA, the gate agent and the list went on. I listened, admitted that I understood and then suggested that we wanted to make the next 10 hours enjoyable. How could we help? He told me I could go to Hell.

I quietly informed him, with a pleasant smile on my face, that this was not the flight to Hell, that flight was a few gates down. I offered to get someone to help him find it. I went to the phone in the jetway and made a quick call. In seconds, security was there and escorted him away. I’m not sure where he went that day, but he did not go to Rome, nor did he spend the next 10 hours making the people around him or me miserable.

I wonder if he’s nasty to his dentist when he or she has a drill?

 

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Sweet Dreams and Flying Machines…

 

AA191

 

Everyone thinks flight crews are fearless creatures walking on air. It’s remarkable how many people are truly uncomfortable flying. I had flown personally since I was a baby, I was very fortunate. I began my career with no fear, I was naïve.

I got my first introduction to the serious side of things in training. The public doesn’t go out and look at these things on purpose and neither had I. We studied past accidents to learn from them so we would know what not to do, and to build our toolbox of responses if it happened to us. Movies, slides and more movies. Desensitizing us, hopefully, a little bit at a time so we wouldn’t freak out if called to act.

When I began flying, I roomed with my best friend from college in Schaumburg, IL, which is a virtual airline employee suburb of Chicago. We quickly adapted to the crazy life of 24 hour phone calls and beepers and life on the fly. We were both avid Cubs fans and I scored great passes over the dugout after having lunch with a ball player in New York where I learned to share tables with new friends. It was really a new life. She got us opening tickets to theater from her First Class guests. We fell into a new and fun rhythm.

On May 25, 1979, just 3 months after our careers began, my roommate got called out and left a note that she was going to sit standby. I saw the note when I got up for my turn around (one day trip.) Standby was when you went out to the airport and just sat there for 4 hours in case they needed someone on a plane NOW.

My flight was returning to O’Hare in the afternoon around 3:30 pm, and got stuck circling out over Indiana. I went up front and asked the guys what the deal was. They informed me that American had lost one at O’Hare. Just 3 months into my career I learned an important detail; crew never uses the term “crash.” In fact most folks in aviation don’t use that word, the call that went out over the radios to all emergency personnel at O’hare was that there had been “A strike on the field.” At 3:04 pm that day. All souls perished.

I clarified to be sure, and they told me what they knew. I was sick. Shit just got real. My roommate’s airline, my airport, where did my roommate go today?

When I got home, everyone we knew was calling to see if we were ok. I was a little shocked at the response. Looking back, I was childlike, not really understanding it all. Friends came over to sit with us. Thankfully, my friend had been sent home that day. For the next week or so, all we could see every time we turned on the TV was American 191 flying sideways over O’Hare. Something broke in my heart and I knew part of the family was gone. That was the end of the innocence.

I learned that our flying machines were not perfect. They could not do everything. The systems that maintained them were not perfect. Their design was sometimes flawed. I realized that all of the wonderful skills I had learned and felt so good about might never be used and might not ever help. Reality set in and I could no longer just wander fearlessly. That was a true coming of age experience and I grew up fast.

191after

The stuff that lurks in your dreams…