Six a.m. I’m driving an airline crew van on a dark two-lane highway north of Sacramento. This is the quickest way to the airport, avoiding the early morning freeway traffic. I have two airline crews on board; one from Southwest, the other from United, a total of 10 passengers.
None of them have their seatbelts fastened. Airline crews never fasten their seatbelts in crew vans, even though the trip to or from an airport is statistically the most dangerous part of their journey. In four years of driving airline vans, six-thousand or so pilots and flight attendants, seatbelts got fastened on only one occasion. This morning was that occasion.
A white pickup truck ran a stop sign and crossed an intersection about 50 yards in front the van. I was the only one who seemed to notice. I pulled over and came to a stop.
"Hey, everybody," I said, "we almost got t-boned back there. Please humor an old van driver and fasten your seat belts. Anyway, United’s insurance won't pay medical expenses if you're hurt in an accident and the cops report you weren’t buckled up. Southwest probably has the same deal."
No one said anything, but I heard 10 buckles snapping into place in the dark. I turned on the radio and tuned in the all-news station just as the first sketchy reports were being broadcast about planes hitting the Pentagon and the World Trade Center.
The first to break the stunned silence was the Southwest captain. "They’re going to shut down ATC," he said, meaning the nationwide air-traffic control system, grounding all flights. The United captain agreed. I said I would drop them off at their terminals, but would loop around the airport until someone came out and signaled me to either pick them up or go about my business. Then I radioed my dispatcher and asked that she turn on her radio to the all-news station, saying we may have some scheduling changes for the nine airlines we served.
The Southwest captain's prediction was prophetic. We spent the rest of the morning bringing order out of chaos, but managed to get all our crews plus another not under our contract back to their hotels within two hours, where they could try to call home through a jammed telephone system.
Later that day the clear skies over the Sacramento Valley were eerily silent. Freeway traffic slowed. People in public places were subdued. I stopped at the hotel where our vans were based to fill out paperwork, then it was time to call it a day. On the way out of the parking lot I spotted three Southwest flight attendants walking on the short road between the hotel and the adjacent shopping mall. I stopped for them.
"Hey, it’s our van driver!" one said, a perky 20-something. All Southwest flight attendants are perky. Even the middle-aged ones. Probably a hiring requirement.
"Hi Mr. Van Driver!"
I asked if they needed a ride. They piled in.
"Thank you for stopping," another one perked. Then: "Are you married?"
I said no.
"She asks all the van drivers that," perked another.
"Oh I do not!
"Hah!"
"Well, only the cute ones."
I was old enough to be her grandfather and said so.
"Do you have grandkids?" she perked again. I said I hoped not and suggested they walk back to the hotel in a group. There have been muggings on that road.
"Do you have grandkids?" she perked again. I said I hoped not and suggested they walk back to the hotel in a group. There have been muggings on that road.
"Will you come and get us?"
I said I’d check with the dispatcher, but I would probably be sent elsewhere, and was. Too bad. They had given me one bright moment in an emotionally dark day, having the blithe spirits of people who believe they will live forever in the springtime of their lives. They reminded me of something Nobel laureate Saul Bellow wrote in Henderson The Rain King: "Every 20 years the earth replenishes itself with young women."
As a matter of fact, he was writing about an airline "stewardess," as he put it, before political correctness got a permanent hammerlock on the English language. Just as well. The job is now gender neutral anyway.
As a matter of fact, he was writing about an airline "stewardess," as he put it, before political correctness got a permanent hammerlock on the English language. Just as well. The job is now gender neutral anyway.
"You're the nicest van driver I've ever met," she said.
Oho! What a delightful little con artist! I just smiled, thinking, "Sweetheart, if I could, I would drive you and your friends to the gates of heaven itself on a highway of stars."
Comments and Indictments:
Beautifully written, Mike. Thanks for including me in the list of friends who get to read your magnificent writings -- Amanda St. John
Oh my. The next sound you hear will be that of an expanding bald head. MB
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9/11, another day in the rehab ward. 9.30 physical therapy; but the therapists were sending us back to our rooms without explanation. Makes it easier to herd cripples. Once everyone was in his room, they decided to herd us into the central room and turned on the big screen TV just in time to watch the 2nd plane hit the 2nd tower.
Ok, i was in a hospital, which is something like being in jail except the food isn't as good. I was breaking half a dozen rules just to go out for a smoke, so the world outside the window was only a theory, and watching this mishegos on TV wasn't much different from watching a movie. Just less believable.
The cripple consensus was Arab terrorists. This was before they told us it was unfair to blame Arabs, that it was hyphenated terrorist-Americans, a multi-culti celebration like a WW2 movie with the southern guy, the Italian guy, the wise cracking Brooklyn Jew.
I guess us cripple-Americans just aren't fair. It took 10 months before I got a chance to read about it. I still think it was Arabs. -- Sunne
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I didn't think I wanted to read anything more about 9/11 today.
I'm glad I did.I'm always glad when I read one of your pieces.
Thanks. -- Beatysr
Thanks. -- Beatysr
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That was an interesting story. The thing about all these events - JFK's assassination and the aftermath and funeral, 9/11, Katrina, etc., is that we have actually been able to watch things unfold LIVE on TV if we are able to take the time to do so.
The last 50-60 years or so is the only time in human history when such a thing has been possible. I saw Jack Ruby shot, LIVE. I saw the second plane hit the World Trade Center, LIVE. I saw those poor souls sitting and waiting and WAITING for help after Katrina (that whole bureaucratic mess and the suffering still makes me livid). Seeing all this stuff happen LIVE should make us more compassionate human beings, but it probably doesn't, in the long run. Human nature is human nature. Like your stewardesses, our own lives take us over. However I am always glad to see that a percentage of people always seems to turn up after a disaster to help out.
Regards and thanks for sending me the T - Times -- WPE
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The last 50-60 years or so is the only time in human history when such a thing has been possible. I saw Jack Ruby shot, LIVE. I saw the second plane hit the World Trade Center, LIVE. I saw those poor souls sitting and waiting and WAITING for help after Katrina (that whole bureaucratic mess and the suffering still makes me livid). Seeing all this stuff happen LIVE should make us more compassionate human beings, but it probably doesn't, in the long run. Human nature is human nature. Like your stewardesses, our own lives take us over. However I am always glad to see that a percentage of people always seems to turn up after a disaster to help out.
Regards and thanks for sending me the T - Times -- WPE
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You'll most likely never drive me anywhere...but I'm sure I would have enjoyed the ride. -- Gerard
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If it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck....etc....thanks for this...there is so much gloom in today's writings and events. -- Canny
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I enjoyed your essay. I especially enjoyed the dialogue with various people. I had been writing cartoon captions for months, wondering if I would again sell any after having sold more than 150 captions, and then I received a check for two of my captions, so I am now having pleasant thoughts about seelng many more captions. -- Ken
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The earth replenishes itself with young men too. Often very stupid. We digress. -- L
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Really enjoyed the article. I love your writing. -- Ann
High praise indeed! Ann is Ann C. Crispin, author of 24 books including the Star Wars series: http://www.accrispin.com/. She also created and co-edits a web site dedicated to exposing scam literary agents and publishers: www.writerbeware.com. -- MB
If it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck....etc....thanks for this...there is so much gloom in today's writings and events. -- Canny
__________
I enjoyed your essay. I especially enjoyed the dialogue with various people. I had been writing cartoon captions for months, wondering if I would again sell any after having sold more than 150 captions, and then I received a check for two of my captions, so I am now having pleasant thoughts about seelng many more captions. -- Ken
__________
The earth replenishes itself with young men too. Often very stupid. We digress. -- L
__________
Really enjoyed the article. I love your writing. -- Ann
High praise indeed! Ann is Ann C. Crispin, author of 24 books including the Star Wars series: http://www.accrispin.com/. She also created and co-edits a web site dedicated to exposing scam literary agents and publishers: www.writerbeware.com. -- MB
__________
I am thinking of starting a blog. That was an interesting blog entry. Very well written too, if f I may say so.
I once complimented a priest on the ''great" mass that he had just said for the parish, and he acted completely insulted and indignant that , a lowly member of the parish, would ''judge" his mass-saying talent. I was one of the last parish members to stay on at that place, but I left last year.
My brother-in-law told me he had a blog, so I made a mental note never to have one. I consider him one of the worst Internet addicts I've ever heard of. As a matter of fact, I have a secret fear of chatting with him online without knowing. He seems to be everywhere, from what he says, and he's written a book which makes me even fear {chatrooms] even more.
I was in [a chatroom] one night, and two venomous women started talking about a woman I know in a nearby town. I’m sure they were talking about her. The details were too exact, and one of the names they threw around made me totally convinced. It was an eerie moment. After I checked one of their screen names on Facebook, I saw that she lived in my friend's town--so yep, it was her.
But, maybe I will make a blog. I have been considering it for about two months. -- [Name withheld by your editor in the interest of Internet harmony.]
To quote essayist and novelist Joan Didion: “Writers are forever selling someone out.” Also, when Sara Davidson, author of Loose Change - Three Women Of The Sixties, was 13-years-old and in a panic when she had her first menses and didn’t know what was happening to her, she ran to her mother, also a writer, who said: “Write about it! Everything is good copy!” -- MB
__________
I love your reflections. -- Fay
I talked to the reflections and they all say they love you right back. MB
__________
Delightful as always, Mike. I hope you are doing well, my friend. -- Peg
__________
As usual thought provoking, timely and this time pleasant with the 20 somethings.-- Wht
__________
Thanks, I loved that. If I have not said before that you write very well, I say so now, and I have always thought so. -- Trog
__________
Hey Tomato-Fer-Brains:
Whattsamatta? You running out of new material that you gotta recycle your old junk? Jeeze, why doncha get out more often, huh? -- ZipLePrune
__________
You always have a way of touching the heart or the nerve (just the right way) Thanks for sharing this one, i especially love the detail of the day, the attention to each person and each event. Must say my favorite was of course your close.
I'm working midnight shift at a retirement community where we do moderate assistance. One lady asked me the other night “What are you going to do at this point in life?" She of course was speaking of her own transition into moderate assistance.
Sometimes I'd like to take her outside and sit quietly staring at the stars and tell her we are temporary in this place, and perhaps if we chose or by some mystery or design, we shine like those stars even through the seasons and transitions of our lives.
Well done as always Mike. Thanks again for sharing this one - you inspire me and that is no small gift. -- Carol
__________
Love it. Thanks, Mike. -- Sum
Thanks. Your checks will be in the mail as soon as I can find some blank ones. MB
__________
Your story struck me in several ways. I remember where I was when I first heard on the news that the Twin Towers had been hit. I was putting on lip gloss getting ready for work, one ear on the morning news on the bedroom TV. It's one of those things that people remember throughout their lives - what they were doing when it happened - John Kennedy being killed when I was in homeroom in the eighth grade, Mt. St. Helens erupting and the ash hitting as I stepped off the front porch of my ex husband's grandparents' house - you know.
And then there was your mention of those young girls in their twenties, concerned about things in their immediate world - and not surprisingly - because that is what young people do.
I remember well when I was nineteen, planning a high mass Catholic wedding, marrying a man I was sure would rescue me from the nefarious life I had been leading. He was going to be in law enforcement. God Almighty, what a stupid decision I made - worse than any plan to go out and drink too much lime vodka, smoke too much pot, drive too fast, and have sex with a dirty hippie that at the time rang so many bells for me I was deaf afterwards.
I thought the world revolved around me and whatever I was dragging behind me and carrying in both hands. Naive isn't even close. No, I didn't know one solitary thing about what I was doing - and how astonishingly wonderful I thought my life would be. Immature fog is a mighty big blanket against a world like mine was, and was about to be.
When it got jerked away from me and the cold hit, I grew up. I married the police officer, and six months after that he hit me so hard I rolled into the next room. Six months after that he stabbed me and I almost died. Long story, the details of which I don't think I want to tell. Suffice it to say, the dirty hippie would have been a stunningly better choice. Little did I know. Hindsight, and all that. Oh, my stay with Mr. Longhair would not have been too long, either - but I'd have come out of it so far less damaged.
But, not to feel sorry for myself. Others never come out of such things. I did. However, when I was nineteen...I had no clue the color of the world that would unfold for me. I didn't know I'd end up on the road I did, nor did I know I'd jump off it so fast I didn't even brace myself. I got right up and kept walking. Didn't look back. Not once. Others never get that lucky.
So, thinking back, I have been so many places - both across the country and in my head. And astonishingly, I have come to 60. I've lived 60 years and I've learned some things - life is too short, you can't spend too much time wishing you could do it over, and ... I am eternally grateful I am more wise than I was when I was nineteen. I am glad I see the bigger world - even with the dark corners I never imagined before. I see really good stuff now, too.
Stupid girls. Loved your work, as always. -- A Friend
Thank you. MB
I am thinking of starting a blog. That was an interesting blog entry. Very well written too, if f I may say so.
I once complimented a priest on the ''great" mass that he had just said for the parish, and he acted completely insulted and indignant that , a lowly member of the parish, would ''judge" his mass-saying talent. I was one of the last parish members to stay on at that place, but I left last year.
My brother-in-law told me he had a blog, so I made a mental note never to have one. I consider him one of the worst Internet addicts I've ever heard of. As a matter of fact, I have a secret fear of chatting with him online without knowing. He seems to be everywhere, from what he says, and he's written a book which makes me even fear {chatrooms] even more.
I was in [a chatroom] one night, and two venomous women started talking about a woman I know in a nearby town. I’m sure they were talking about her. The details were too exact, and one of the names they threw around made me totally convinced. It was an eerie moment. After I checked one of their screen names on Facebook, I saw that she lived in my friend's town--so yep, it was her.
But, maybe I will make a blog. I have been considering it for about two months. -- [Name withheld by your editor in the interest of Internet harmony.]
To quote essayist and novelist Joan Didion: “Writers are forever selling someone out.” Also, when Sara Davidson, author of Loose Change - Three Women Of The Sixties, was 13-years-old and in a panic when she had her first menses and didn’t know what was happening to her, she ran to her mother, also a writer, who said: “Write about it! Everything is good copy!” -- MB
__________
I love your reflections. -- Fay
I talked to the reflections and they all say they love you right back. MB
__________
Delightful as always, Mike. I hope you are doing well, my friend. -- Peg
__________
As usual thought provoking, timely and this time pleasant with the 20 somethings.-- Wht
__________
Thanks, I loved that. If I have not said before that you write very well, I say so now, and I have always thought so. -- Trog
__________
Hey Tomato-Fer-Brains:
Whattsamatta? You running out of new material that you gotta recycle your old junk? Jeeze, why doncha get out more often, huh? -- ZipLePrune
__________
You always have a way of touching the heart or the nerve (just the right way) Thanks for sharing this one, i especially love the detail of the day, the attention to each person and each event. Must say my favorite was of course your close.
I'm working midnight shift at a retirement community where we do moderate assistance. One lady asked me the other night “What are you going to do at this point in life?" She of course was speaking of her own transition into moderate assistance.
Sometimes I'd like to take her outside and sit quietly staring at the stars and tell her we are temporary in this place, and perhaps if we chose or by some mystery or design, we shine like those stars even through the seasons and transitions of our lives.
Well done as always Mike. Thanks again for sharing this one - you inspire me and that is no small gift. -- Carol
__________
Love it. Thanks, Mike. -- Sum
Thanks. Your checks will be in the mail as soon as I can find some blank ones. MB
__________
Your story struck me in several ways. I remember where I was when I first heard on the news that the Twin Towers had been hit. I was putting on lip gloss getting ready for work, one ear on the morning news on the bedroom TV. It's one of those things that people remember throughout their lives - what they were doing when it happened - John Kennedy being killed when I was in homeroom in the eighth grade, Mt. St. Helens erupting and the ash hitting as I stepped off the front porch of my ex husband's grandparents' house - you know.
And then there was your mention of those young girls in their twenties, concerned about things in their immediate world - and not surprisingly - because that is what young people do.
I remember well when I was nineteen, planning a high mass Catholic wedding, marrying a man I was sure would rescue me from the nefarious life I had been leading. He was going to be in law enforcement. God Almighty, what a stupid decision I made - worse than any plan to go out and drink too much lime vodka, smoke too much pot, drive too fast, and have sex with a dirty hippie that at the time rang so many bells for me I was deaf afterwards.
I thought the world revolved around me and whatever I was dragging behind me and carrying in both hands. Naive isn't even close. No, I didn't know one solitary thing about what I was doing - and how astonishingly wonderful I thought my life would be. Immature fog is a mighty big blanket against a world like mine was, and was about to be.
When it got jerked away from me and the cold hit, I grew up. I married the police officer, and six months after that he hit me so hard I rolled into the next room. Six months after that he stabbed me and I almost died. Long story, the details of which I don't think I want to tell. Suffice it to say, the dirty hippie would have been a stunningly better choice. Little did I know. Hindsight, and all that. Oh, my stay with Mr. Longhair would not have been too long, either - but I'd have come out of it so far less damaged.
But, not to feel sorry for myself. Others never come out of such things. I did. However, when I was nineteen...I had no clue the color of the world that would unfold for me. I didn't know I'd end up on the road I did, nor did I know I'd jump off it so fast I didn't even brace myself. I got right up and kept walking. Didn't look back. Not once. Others never get that lucky.
So, thinking back, I have been so many places - both across the country and in my head. And astonishingly, I have come to 60. I've lived 60 years and I've learned some things - life is too short, you can't spend too much time wishing you could do it over, and ... I am eternally grateful I am more wise than I was when I was nineteen. I am glad I see the bigger world - even with the dark corners I never imagined before. I see really good stuff now, too.
Stupid girls. Loved your work, as always. -- A Friend
Thank you. MB
