Every time I fly I think to myself… this time this great girl will sit next to me, we’ll hit it off, exchange numbers, meet some other time and boom… we’ll start going out!

Sure, sounds easy enough except it never happens… and when you do sit next to someone your age (or close), that’s funny and nice she’s usually travelling to meet her boyfriend or lives nowhere close to where you live!

Does this ever happen? Is this even less likely than playing the lottery? Or am I so lame that I think this is really an easy and zero effort opportunity so that’s really what I’m looking for?

I don’t know… it still hasn’t happened to me but I’m still at my family’s so I have a flight home soon… wish me luck!

Consolidated PBY-5 Canso Catalina

William Star Blanket felt the engines rumble to life through the the throttle levers in his hands. First engine number one. Then number two. He could almost tell what the RPMs were by those vibrations. Looking back and up over his left shoulder, he could see blue smoke billowing from number one. But that was expected on startup. After all, these engines were over 60 years old. Quite a bit older than Willie himself.

The twin Pratt & Whitney Wasp radial engines growled in the churning water. He leaned out the mixture and the blue smoke turned a light grey and then disappeared altogether. He tapped the glass on the RPM gauge but the needle kept twitching. I thought we replaced that one already, he thought. It’s probably just a vibration from the engines running at this speed. But I will have to keep an eye on it, he told himself. He pushed forward on the throttles and the old bird started moving forward in the water.

The Consolidated Canso Catalina water bomber had been floating silently in that big lake for over an hour while Willie lay there in the back bunk wide awake. His thumb rubbed the small white cardboard box resting on his chest.  It rose and fell with his every breath. Small waves lapped at the aluminum under belly of the flying boat. He stared at the the rivets in ceiling of the fuselage. He could still hear the hammer of the riveting gun back when he had repaired that gaping hole in the roof. He was intimately familiar with ever rivet, nut and bolt that held the airplane together. In fact, he had rebuilt half of it himself.

He thought about all that had happened in the six years since Ellie’s death. He thought about the way company owner had played him along for years before finally laying his cards down. He thought about what he was about to do. And he thought about where he was going from here. But mostly Willie thought about Ellie. He missed her laugh, her smile, her smell. He missed the soft, white skin of her shoulder that always felt cool to his lips. He missed holding her most of all. He wished he could be holding her right now. He closed his eyes and dreamed she was here in the plane with him, his head on her shoulder.

A change in wind direction caught his attention.  The vertical stabilizer and swung the airplane ten degrees to port. Willie could hear the wind starting to whistle through the antennas.  It made the fuselage twist and creak on itself and it made the skin of the airplane hum. He raised his head just a bit to peer out the starboard gun blister, one of two large glass bubbles located behind the wing the plane. Still miles from land, he thought. In a boat, he added. He put his head back down and returned to his thoughts.

********

Waskasoo Aviation in Prince Albert, Saskatchewan, was owned and run hands-on by a rough-hewn, old red neck named Harold Badger who lived up to his last name with particular ferocity. He micro-managed the entire company. He got into everyone’s business. He was a tough, mean bastard whose heyday was back in the fifties when the modern day idea of water bombing began to seriously take root in North America.

Willie Star Blanket had started working for Harold Badger as a young aircraft engineer in the mid-seventies. At some point early on in his career, however, he began to get a thirst for flying and went back to aviation school during the winter months. Harold could see the two-fold advantage of having a certified pilot/engineer on staff, so he helped Willie pay for his flight training and even paid him a living allowance. As part of the agreement, Willie would continue to work for the company for three more years.  Little did he know he was going to be there much longer.

Willie continued his flight training with Waskasoo and spent a summer back seating on a twin-engined Douglas A-26 Invader water bomber before he was certified Captain.  He was the youngest in the crew.  Soon, he was flying solo and working fires just like the other.  In a short time, he had become a very good pilot.

Willie had heard her voice on the radio before he had met Ellie.  He was inbound to the Prince Albert air base in the A-26 Invader after tackling a tricky fire west of Shellbrook on that hot July afternoon.  She calmly gave him his flight instructions and directions for home.  He found her voice warm and lilting but concise and in control.  Just the way he liked his radio dispatchers.

Willie landed in Prince Albert and taxied to the air base.  While the fuelers refilled his airplane, he calmly caught up on his paperwork sitting in the cockpit.  Then he descended the ladder, signed the fuel receipt and walked crossed the base, stopping to chat with other pilots here and there.  And when he finally got to the office with his flight report and saw the new dispatcher for the first time, standing there in that purple dress talking on the radio, it was as if Willie had been struck by lightning!

Only years later, would Ellie admit to feeling the same thing upon meeting this young, handsome Blackfoot pilot.  But she only told it to Willie.  She would not let on how she really fell for him to anyone else.  No one would have believed it anyway. Certainly no one on the small town farm to the southwest where she was born and raised.

Ellen Beris Armstrong was a young, tall, stunningly beautiful brunette with happy, sparkling brown eyes and a larger than life smile. At six feet, she was nearly four inches taller than Willie. Willie thought it made her look much more elegant than most other women. He loved to watch her float across the air base, delivering messages, taking lunch orders and making sure everyone was always informed of the current fire situation.

Owner Harold Badger was especially protective of Ellie. He would not let any of the young pilots near her. And if they had to be in the same room as her, he made sure they only discussed business matters – and were very brief about it. He was not quite like this with any of the other girls in the office – just Ellie. In fact, he moved his office down the hallway across from the dispatch room so he could keep an eye on her.  He claimed he wanted to be be able to hear the radio chatter.

So, it was with a great deal of caution and secrecy that Willie Star Blanket began to have a secret after work relationship with Ellie Armstrong.

Things heated up very quickly.  They were on their first date when Ellie leaned across the table in the restaurant and boldly asked Willie if he would mind it so much if she called him by his middle name, Star. He laughed and pointed out that Star was a part of his last name. She asked what his second name was.  He said he didn’t have one.  She said, “Well, now, you do.”

Later that night, they could be found walking through an empty field on some back country road, talking and laughing.

The next day when Willie arrived at work, Ellie chimed in a cheery voice, “Morning, Star!”

And so it went after that.  They would exchange quick glances and silly smirks during meetings and at lunch hour, but they rarely spoke to each other.  Off base, they would meet in diners and movie theaters on the edge of the city where co-workers would not likely hang out.  They talked in code on the radio.  She gave him a purple scarf to wear when he was flying.  But they kept their relationship as quiet as possible.

Ellie carried herself with an air of procedure and purpose at work. She was a fast learner.  On the radio, she dispatched airplanes with meticulous precision, clarity and timing, enunciating each and every aviation and firefighting term and expression as though they were lines that had been written and practiced by her. There was never a blank pause or the misstep in pronouncing a word in her speech. She was always in complete control.

As a pilot, Willie liked that.  It was good to hear her tell him his next instructions or give him directions for home.  It was comforting.  She was his rhythm in the madness.

When she was away from work, however, Ellie’s long, beautiful hair would come down. In the bar, she could drink and laugh and shoot pool and tell stories with the best of them. And on the dance floor, she was the presence of grace and refinement. And she and Willie loved to dance.  Whenever an old country love song would come on the juke box, he would turn in his seat and find her there with an outstretched hand and a sparkling smile.

Willie liked the idea that her shoulder was at lip level when they danced. Ellie liked the idea that his ear lined up perfectly with her lips. While they waltzed, Willie would place tiny kisses on  her shoulder and Ellie would giggle in his ear.

It didn’t take long for co-workers to see the sparks between them.  When Harold was finally clued in by Ellie, he grumbled, “Why doesn’t anybody ever tell me what’s going on around here?” He reluctantly cut the young pilot some slack on the base.  Still, Ellie couldn’t help but notice Harold wasn’t taking the news easily.

On cloudy or rainy days, when the fire hazard was low, Willie and Ellie would put together a picnic basket and drive northeast toward Meath Park, then turn north down an old dusty road a few miles until they came to a small wooden span stretched wide across an as yet unnamed creek. There, under the bridge and away from the rain and passing motorists, they would spread out a blanket and eat quartered sandwiches and cheese and drink wine. Sometimes they brought bannock and tea and fresh strawberries.

Most of the time when they had finished eating, they were content to just lie in each other’s arms, legs crossed like scissors, and let the slow, murky Saskatchewan water drift by.  Sometimes, they would talk the day away about dreams they had. Then they would make love there under that bridge surrounded by the thrum of the rain around them and the rumble of a pickup overhead every now and then.  They happily discovered that the difference in their height was not a factor when lying down.

Willie would often play his guitar and sing for Ellie and the sound of his voice would reverberate between the concrete abutments on opposite sides of the creek and across the water below.  Ellie loved the sound of his voice when he sang there, so she called the place Echo Bridge. Together, they brought so much light and warmth into that dark spot that Echo Bridge became Willie and Ellie’s secret place.  They never told anyone about it.

Ellie sometimes flew with Willie when they were moved to be based in the north of the province when lightning storms were forecasted there.  The times when they could fly together were the most exciting of their young lives. Often, Willie would turn the controls over to Ellie in the back seat. She would giggle wildly as he showed her how to make sharp turns and how to climb and descend. Sometimes they would find a river gorge and follow its twists and turns, flying well just above the water. Ellie would watch the trees whip by and scream like a banshee from the back seat, but she loved every second of it.

Their love caught on like wildfire out of control and within a year of meeting, they were happily married.

********

Over the years that Willie Star Blanket worked for Harold Badger, their relationship had also formed into a marriage of sorts in the sense that they got on each other’s nerves more and more as time went on.  They were both hot heads.  Harold fired Willie about the same number of times as Willie quit the company.

But it was always Ellie who fixed things.  She would inevitably get one of them to make that phone call the next morning that put things right again. After all, Willie had become Harold’s best pilot and firing him meant Ellie would go, too. He couldn’t let that happen and Willie knew it. And Willie knew that Ellie loved her work at Waskasoo Aviation.

The three of them worked together like this for many, many years; Willie being married to both Ellie and Harold; Harold being very protective of Ellie while being very hard on Willie; and Ellie loving both men.

********

The company grew over the years and Harold now had more and newer and bigger airplanes and more staff to manage.  He retired some of the older planes to the “back forty” as he called it.  They were now to be used for parts.  Willie was moving up in the company in seniority but chose to remain an operational pilot because he loved fighting forest fires.  With the larger staff, Ellie had also worked her way up into up human resources, but she remained in the pool with the new dispatchers because she liked the work, too.

Time passed, and Ellie lost her father, who, by now had been suffering from Alzheimer’s for many years.  Soon after, her mother was gone, too, with cancer.  Both were devastating for Ellie but Willie and Harold were always there for her.  Harold flew Willie and Ellie out to her hometown for both funerals.

At her father’s funeral, they played Where’ve You Been by Kathy Mattea.  At her mother’s, they played 26 Cents by the Wilkinsons.  Looking around the tiny church, Willie would see how death could hit a small prairie town.  It was sad because every person who dies is a just another reminder that rural life was on the way out.

Aside from an only sister, Willie and Harold were now all the family Ellie had.  And the wide and often wild river that divided Willie Star Blanket and Harold Badger was bridged only by her love for each man.

********

Things took a turn for the worse for all three, however, about 8 years ago when Ellie got sick. Within days, they received news that, like her mother, she now had cancer. Harold let Willie take all the time off work he needed so that he could take care of Ellie. He even kept paying Ellie her regular wage, even though she spent so much time in the hospital going through all the tests and treatments. Willie quit flying and went back to being a mechanic for the company so he could be close to Ellie.

From there, it was a long, slow, drawn out spiral that took every bit of strength they had.  The disease made it’s way through their lives like a fire creeping through the forest underbrush. Bit by bit, it ate away at them both.  Ellie became weaker and weaker with every month she was in the hospital.  Some days, the fire seared painfully deep at Ellie’s insides.  It licked at Willie’s thoughts every minute of the day.  But it could not destroy the love they had for each other.

Within a year, Ellie knew she had lost the war and she was now ready to come home.  She was glad to be away from the hospital – the smells, the sounds, the food, the indignity.  And she knew she and Willie would be in the same bed together every night from now on.  And Willie was happy she was home, too. Now he could cook for her and clean and keep her comfortable.  Most of all, though, he was just happy that she was home.

Willie was always there beside her, bringing her tea, rubbing her back, her legs and her feet whenever she became bed sore.   When she couldn’t sleep, she would put her head on his shoulder while he read to her.  He read her all the classics she had never gotten the chance to read like Little Women and Pride and Prejudice. He even read her Charlotte’s Webb.  She wrote letters when she was strong enough. When she was not, she dictated letters to Willie.  She would cry sometimes when Willie was in the kitchen. Sometimes she could hear him crying in the kitchen.

Some nights, he would take out his guitar and sing her to sleep.  Sometimes, he would rewrite old country love songs and put in new words that rhymed with “Ellie” – like “smelly” and “belly” and “jelly”.  Sometimes he would just sing without the guitar.

But her favourite song was now 26 Cents by the Wilkinsons because, with the loss of her mother, it had become the story of her life. She loved it when Willie would sing it for her.  He could never finish it because as soon as she started to cry, so did he.

Each and every morning when she awoke, Ellie would whisper to Willie – just like she had said all these many years since that first date – “Morning, Star.” And he would repeat those same words back to her – just like he had all these many years since she had taken both his middle and last names -  “Morning, Star.”

********

There is an insidious kind of smoldering fire that firefighters have trouble dealing with and are many times never able to fully control.  It’s the kind that burrows deep underground through squirrel caches, under big stumps, cracks in the rocks and big tree roots, fighting to stay alive even through the coldest of winters.  This was Willie and Ellie’s love for each other at the hardest of times.

On long, difficult nights, it was never far away, always simmering somewhere just below ground level.  Then on some days, flames would leap to the surface and they would feel a sudden great passion for each other.  They would laugh, cry, sing or make love. Then, when it hurt too much to laugh or cry or sing or make love, the fire would burrow itself back down into the cracks again.  But it would not, could not, be extinguished.

********

Ellen Beris Star Blanket had just turned 38 and was bone-thin when she passed away in the arms of William Star Blanket in the small hours of that April morning.  All Willie heard Ellie whisper in the end was, “It’s your echo…”  Then she smiled and was gone.  Their bedroom window was open and a light breeze moved the curtains around.  The first rain of the spring began to fall on the roof and Willie could feel the last of Ellie’s young life being extinguished in his arms.

Like smoke, he would remember later. Just like smoke.

Willie cried and pulled her closer to him. He held the back of her head with one hand and the other he wrapped tightly around her waist. He whispered her name over and over as if she might hear him and return.  But if she could hear, she didn’t return.  He kissed the cool, white skin on her shoulder. He kissed her forehead. He kissed her eyes. His tears rained down on to her cheeks.

When Willie looked up again a while later, the rain had stopped and he could see stars flickering again in early the morning sky. He rocked Ellie gently in his arms and he sang to her until the sun came up. Then he whispered in her ear, “Morning, Star”.

He made a call to Harold Badger a while later, saying he wouldn’t be in that day. Harold didn’t say much, either. He just whispered, “Yuh.” That was all. Willie could hear the big, noisy lumbering bear of an airplane called Harold Badger starting to break apart in mid-flight as he hung up the phone.

********

Willie doesn’t remember much about the memorial. It was all a blur of dark people moving around in dark clothing. The sounds were muffled as if you were listening from inside a dark closet full of dark coats and dark hats. There were soft dark voices mumbling nice words. There were quiet whispers and sobbing tears. Lots of warm hugs and hands on shoulders. But Willie doesn’t remember much else.

He doesn’t even remember cutting off all of his hair in mourning. Mostly, he just remembers how beautiful Ellie looked when they wrapped her in that purple star blanket that his aunt in Calgary had made for her. And he remembers kissing Ellie’s shoulder that one last time.  He tried to tell her something, anything while she lie there, but he couldn’t speak.  Not a word.

Finally, he remembers there was just no longer any voice on the radio giving him flying directions home.  Because there was no such thing as home anymore.

Harold Badger was a rock – for everyone. He wasn’t one for words at times like these and he said very little. But his presence was felt everywhere. He took care of everything. All of the funeral and travel expenses were covered by the company. People were flown in from other fire bases in the province to say goodbye.  Harold supplied the airplanes and the vehicles.  He paid hotel bills and gave people money for their personal expenses.  He took one of the airplanes and personally flew Ellie’s only sister, Rose, up to Prince Albert. He made sure Ellie had the freshest flowers on her grave.  He didn’t care what it cost.  This was family.  His family.

And although he refused to show it, everyone knew Ellie’s death had broken him in two, as well.

********

For days afterward, both Willie and Harold shuffled about the base in a cloudy brine of stupor. They bumped into desks and walls. They dropped tools and files.  They weren’t listening when people tried to hold conversations with them. They could often be seen just standing there alone in the parking lot or on the the front lawn trying to remember where it was they were going. Or they would sit in the cockpit of one of the junkers under tarps in the back forty staring at the instrument panel for hours.

In the weeks that following Ellie’s death, however, Harold decided to make another deal with Willie and he called Willie outside to the tarmac.  When Willie got out there, Harold told Willie to walk with him.  And he did.  They walked side by side in the tall, swaying buffalo grass along the runway for a little while.  Then  Harold began to talk.

“Willie”, he said, “I got a call from some rich American airplane nut looking for a PBY-5 Canso Catalina. I told him I had one here in the back forty, but it needs a lot of work.  He offered me a pretty good price if I could completely rebuild to the point where it is air worthy and sellable.  I think we can do it, so I gave him an estimate.  I told him it might take a few years to clean it up, get all the parts and put it back together and he was fine with that.

“So, here’s the deal: we can’t work on it during the day because of our contract with forestry.  But if you are willing to put in a couple of hours every night with me, maybe more on the weekends, I could pay you a regular hourly wage.  No overtime, mind you.  You can think of this as something to keep your mind constructively occupied, if you know what I mean.  Whadda ya think? Just you and me.”

Willie thought about it for a day or so and let Harold know he would take the deal.  In his mind, he really had nowhere else to go.  This was as good as home was ever going to get.

********

So it was, over the next several years he and Harold spent a couple of hours every day after work rebuilding the old 1940s amphibian. They stripped much of the old skin off and replaced it. They tore the old engines down and saved what they could, replacing what could not be fixed. They removed the entire front cockpit instrument panel assembly, stripping gauges, old wires and dried up hydraulic lines. At least the glass was still good and they managed to salvage both rear gun blisters and front mounted gun turret that had been a mainstay of this airplane during the Second World War.

The repairs went on like this for a long time.  In the process, Willie discovered that Harold had a deep and intimate knowledge of old planes and Willie learned a lot from him.  And, as Harold promised, Willie’s mind was kept constructively busy.

On many nights, when Willie felt no reason to go home, he would sleep in a makeshift bed in the back of the Canso. Sometimes he wouldn’t go home for days.  But Harold didn’t care if Willie lived out at the airport. In fact, he thought it was good to have someone on the base during the night keeping an eye on all that equipment.

When he couldn’t sleep -  which was often – Willie would take out his guitar and a folding deck chair and climb out on the top of the Catalina wing and place the chair down between the two big, round engines.  There he would sit and play his guitar as the bats whizzed by his head and between the propellors in the failing light.  He knew the chords and the melody and he tried to remember those words – the ones from 26 Cents.  But they wouldn’t come.

So, he never sang again.

Willie and Harold continued to work on the Catalina together like they were on fire.  But without Ellie there, they also continued to get into more and more arguments and soon the marriage between Willie Star Blanket and Harold Badger began to unravel.

It all came to a grinding halt the day they were replacing missing rivets on the fuselage. Willie was inside the fuselage with the riveting gun while Harold was on a stepladder holding pressure on the the rivet from the outside. For some reason, the rivet would break every time it was tightened and quickly both began to lose their composure. Within seconds, they were at it once again, arguing, nose to nose, chest bumping, each blaming the other.

Then, just when Willie was in the middle of calling Harold a “fucking red neck”, Harold suddenly shouted, “Well, goddamn it, I miss her, too, Willie! Every fucking day! She was like a daughter to me.” They both stopped.

Harold caught his breath, backed away and lowered his voice.  His eyes were red, as were Willie’s.  Harold continued, “For Christ sakes, Willie, I never had time for a wife…kids. Family.  Always too busy.  Flying this or fixing that.  But Ellie knew what was missing in my life and she was like a daughter to me. No, she was my daughter. And you were…no, you are…no, you know what? Fuck it!” And with that, Harold walked away.

They never fought again.

********

When the Catalina was finally ready for testing, Harold taught Willie how to fly the airplane as they put it through trial run after trial run on the ground, in the water and in the air. There were plenty of bugs to be worked out, but by the time it was ready to be inspected for certification, Willie had grown to know and love the old war plane. He knew her creaks and groans in the skin.  He could tell you which gauge would start to act up and when.  And he could tell exactly which cylinder was misfiring in the bunch.  It was going to be sad to see the old Cat heading south soon.  But Willie was prepared for the loss.

********

The Catalina was finally certified as air worthy a year ago. The two Transport Canada inspectors were pretty impressed with the way it flew for a machine built in the nineteen-forties. One of them quietly made a joke about the airplane, saying, “She may be ugly, but she sure is slow!”  They both laughed.  Harold did not.

After the Certificate of Airworthiness was signed and presented to Harold, the inspectors left.  Harold sat there in the cockpit of the Catalina for several minutes looking at the certificate.  He threw it on the co-pilot’s seat and climbed down from the airplane. He found Willie there in the hangar poring over a busted magneto. He hollered at Willie to come outside. Willie came out wiping his hands on a white rag, squinting in the afternoon sun. Harold had his hands in his pockets and was looking at his feet when Willie approached him. Calmly, Harold began to speak without looking up.

“Look, Willie. There ain’t no rich Big Daddy Warbucks American buyer for this airplane. Never was. But I thought that after Ellie, well, you know, after she…passed on, there would be nothing left to hold you to this place. There was really nothing to hold you any place. So, I needed something to keep you here. You’ve given pretty much most of your life to this company. You’ve pretty much fixed and flown everything I have to offer. So, I know now, I realize that there isn’t much of anything to keep you here anymore.

“I know that one of these days I’ll show up at work, and you’ll be gone. Right into the blue. And for good, this time. So, I figured…well, I figured you might need a ride to get you to where you’re going, whenever it is you decide to go.

“The Cat’s yours, son.” he said.  “Always was.”

With that, Harold Badger threw Willie Star Blanket the keys to the Catalina and walked away.

********

Last week, William Star Blanket found two envelopes in the front pocket of his old flight suit, a suit he hadn’t touched in years.  Both were addressed in Ellie’s handwriting.  He looked at the envelope that said “William” and found a quarter and a penny taped to the outside.  Inside he found a letter which he began to read:

My Darling William:

It is said that the fire that burns the brightest also burns the shortest.  And although we have not spent a lifetime together, it feels as though the fire we have shared has now become brighter than the sun itself.  And I know this means that very soon it will burn itself out.

To  some, it would seem we have lived such a simple yet joyous life.  In reality, however, I think it has been pretty exciting.  I am afraid, as I write, that my mind is starting to not work properly and I do not have the strength to remember any of the big things we have shared.

All the little things, on the other hand – Oh, boy, do I do remember those!

Like the night you chased and caught me in that field near the airport on our first date.  I knew I was yours from then on.

Your smile every morning when we would see each other for the first time.

Those playful gazes we exchanged at work early on.

Your cool lips upon my shoulder when we would dance to “26 Cents”.

That beautiful day you asked me to take your middle and last names.

Chasing wild rivers and deep valleys and holes in clouds with you in your airplane.

The times when you would try to make bannock and always forget the baking powder.  ha ha

The passion in your eyes when we made love.  I can only imagine it is the same look you have when you are fighting fire. I swear I could actually see flames in your eyes.

And the way your long flowing hair lay across my breast while you slept.

I thank you for showing a little girl from a small prairie town the true, true meaning of Love in all its power and passion.

I thank you for being an amazing Captain and keeping me safe during our fantastic journey together.

I will always be there beside or behind you, whenever you fly, wherever you go, whatever you do.

And finally, my darling, I hope you will find your way home again to someone else. It will be okay.  Just please don’t fight the fire in your heart when it starts up again.  On the contrary, let it go wild!

I hope those last four lines echo forever in your heart.

And I hope these echos always remain a bridge to mine.

I hope you soar again.  And soon. And often.  The good Lord certainly did not give eagles wings so they could walk.

And most of all, fly safely, my darling. Make sure you get home.  Always.

Forever yours, Ellie.

********

And so it was, in the dark hours of this morning when Willie arrived at the base. His hair was trimmed short and combed neatly. He wore his brown leather aviator’s jacket and his flight suit was clean and ironed. He wore Ellie’s purple scarf around his neck.  His shoes were polished.  He clutched a small white cardboard box tightly in his arms.

He unlocked the front door of the main office and went directly to Harold’s office. He placed the box on Harold’s desk along with a sealed envelope.  It was addressed to Harold and it was in Ellie’s handwriting.  It just said, “Dad”.

As he was leaving, Willy paused at the doorway of the dispatch office.  The radio lights flashed red and green in the dark.  He listened closely, but all he could hear was a bit of static on the radio. No voices telling pilots where they should be going. No voices telling pilots how to get home.  No voices with his call sign. No voices at all.

He locked up behind himself and headed back to the truck. He fetched his duffle bags and a second small white cardboard box identical to the first one.  And he climbed up the short stairs into the Cat.

********

The stars were still out when William Star Blanket taxied that yellow Catalina off the tarmac of the air base.  The engines were warm and the heat was billowing throughout the cabin. The new control panel dial lit up Willie’s face in the cabin like it was Christmas. He took the small, beaded deerhide pouch hanging around his neck, kissed it and slung it around the compass on top of the instrument panel.  Inside were a quarter and a penny.

Willie called the Prince Albert air tower on the radio and filed a flight plan with them. He pulled the Cat onto the taxiway flanked by tall buffalo grass.He reported two souls on board, because he knew it was illegal to fly this airplane with just one. He had strapped the small white box in the co-pilot’s seat next to his.

When the Catalina lifted off the pavement that morning for the last time, Willie thought to himself, the Cat is no longer a car.

********

He called Prince Albert air radio again before settling the Cat gently into the middle of Candle Lake some forty miles away to the northeast. He shut the engines down and took the box to the back. For an hour, he lay there on the bunk with Ellie resting on his chest. Together they watched the sun rise. And when the sun was fully up, Willie whispered to her, “Morning, Star.”

It was time.  Willie got up and found the toolbox strapped in the aft of the plane along with all the spare parts Harold had left for him. With a screwdriver, he carefully removed the top inspection covers from both of the water bomb tanks. Then he carefully opened the white box and poured a bit  of its contents into one tank and a bit more into the second tank. Making sure there was still a bit of Ellie left in the box, he folded the flaps back up. After resealing the inspection covers, he returned to the cockpit, strapped himself into the pilot’s seat and began the engine startup procedure checklist.

Soon the Catalina was heading into the wind, picking up speed. At 60 knots, Willie lowered the probes and a great gush of water came flowing from the lake through short system of pipes and into the water bomb tanks in the back. Willie thought he could hear the sound of his wife’s giggle churning in the water as the tanks filled. Within half a minute, both tanks were full and at 80 knots the lumbering water bomber began to pull herself off the water. 

The Cat is no longer a boat, Willie thought to himself.

It didn’t take long to find his target. Willie circled low and slow a couple of times to make sure no one was on or near it. Then he climbed a bit and began to follow the meandering line of the creek. He swore he could hear Ellie screaming and laughing hysterically behind him over the engine noise but he knew it was probably just his imagination. He armed the bomb button and just when he was on the threshold of his target, he hit the button.

The load of water came forward with full velocity from the belly of the airplane, then it slowed and began to rain down on Echo Bridge.  From under the bridge, however, he imagined it would sound like a heavy rain. He knew what that sounded like. So did Ellie.

Willie closed the bombay doors again. He brought down the flaps a few degrees, wiped the tears from his eyes and began a slow climb. Then he banked the old flying boat and leveled off, heading east, directly into the sun at a hundred knots.

Slowly, Willie looked around him and watched as, like a forest fully regenerated after fire, the old boat that had come out of the ashes was now being transformed into a big, beautiful flying yellow bird. The Cat is not just any bird, thought Willie.  She’s a Pheonix.

Willie pulled the flaps up and eased the throttles back to cruising speed. The RPM gauge needle no longer danced. He smiled and looked up at the compass.  It swung wildly back and forth with the close proximity of the quarter in the deerskin pouch hanging from it.  Willie didn’t mind.  That’s exactly the direction he was going.  And there was no looking back.

A brilliant flash of purple bounced off the nose.  William Star Blanket put on his sunglasses and looked down at the spot where he had hand-lettered in purple, the name of his airplane.  Her name was Morning Star.

Back in Prince Albert, Harold Badger was just arriving at work.

—————————————–

Fearless Frederick Lepine
Yellow Point Road
Ladysmith, BC

Fantasy of Flight Aircraft Collection

28º 10’ 52” N / 81º 48’ 33” W

Polk City Florida USA lies between the Tampa and Orlando. Kermit Weeks chose property there to not only house his extensive airplane collection but to build an entire experience. A wealthy man, he built an airfield to resemble a WW II era air base. The visitor observes a retro water tower with its checkered livery, a grass air strip (underlain by an engineered surface to enhance draining) and a lake for landings by aquatic aircraft. Inside there is a Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress one walks through and around — as it sits as if being serviced in the field. And then one walks into the first of two hangers. There are more aircraft here, by far, than in most museums. Only national museums rival the scale of this collection. The range of airplanes on exhibit spans aviation history from its earliest times through WW II — no jets here — notably, the majority are kept in flying condition.

Consolidated PBY-5A Catalina and retro water tower of the Fantasy of Flight Aircraft Collection — photo by Joe May

There is one aircraft here that drew me like iron to a magnet, the Short Brothers Sunderland Mk V — a four engine flying boat flown by the RAF in WW II. As a bonus one is allowed to walk through the main deck to see the aircraft as used when it was an airliner, not a military maritime patrol aircraft. The aircraft is immense and one can see it as it sits on beaching gear in one of the hangers. What it must have been like to tow the Sunderland to the water, float her and then remove the unwieldy beaching gear? There is not only a Ford Trimotor but one of its contemporary aircraft, a Stinson Trimotor.

Fantasy of Flight Aircraft Collection North Hangar with Short Bros. Sunderland Mk V — photo by Joe May

Stinson Trimotor — photo by Joe May

There are too many aircraft to list here but there are about four dozen housed in both hangers. Three of the especially historic aircraft are a Grumman F3F (nicknamed Flying Barrel), a Cierva C.30-A Autigiro* and a replica of a Bachem Ba-349 Natter (Viper). There are many more, to be sure, including a Curtiss TF-40  Kittyhawk, Supermarine Spitfire Mk XVI, Lockheed Constellation, Grumman J2F Duck, North American P-51C Mustang and Fieseler Fi-156 Storch (Stork).

North American P-51C Mustang — photo by Joe May

Getting there is easily done by driving along interstate I-4 to Polk City. The nearest major airports are Tampa International Airport and Orlando International Airport. Entry is about $20, there is an excellent diner/café and modern restrooms. Extras are also on hand … a tour of a third hangar used for restoration work, a tour of the restoration wood shop, a daily flying demonstration and biplane for-hire rides.

Martin B-26 Marauder — photo by Joe May

The post scheduled to be published on 2 December 2009 will describe the Fieseler Fi-156 Storch flying demonstration I thoroughly enjoyed watching.

* For more on the Cierva C.30-A Autigiro please see 007! He knows what to fly! — Little Nellie and other autogiros, which published on 7 October 2009.

The following is my summary of the autobiographical sketches written at unknown dates by the automotive pioneer Henry Bourne Joy,  whose papers are found in the Bentley Historical Library at the University of Michigan.

Henry B. Joy brought Packard Motor to Detroit in 1902.

1. Boyhood of Henry B. Joy

2. With J.F. Joy in England—July 1884

3. Development of Aviation Interest in Detroit

4. Joy-Beecher Controversy

Boyhood of Henry B. Joy.

Henry lived the first 28 years of his life two blocks from the Detroit post office “until I embarked on the sea of matrimony and removed to another part of the City.” His father James F. Joy, was president of the [Michigan Central] Railroad, with depot, office, and shops six blocks away from the family’s home. John F. Griffiths was Mr. Joy’s secretary. Young Henry liked to play with the telegraph in Griffiths’ office: “The result was chiefly a great deal of trouble, because I did not understand that I should leave the telegraph key closed after I had finished ‘operating.’” In the railroad’s shop “I was entranced with the big machine tools turning car axles and making big shavings of steel, on which, of course, I had promptly to burn my fingers.”

Charles Austin Fosdick, who wrote 'Frank in the Mountains' under the pen name of Harry Castlemon.

It was “intensely hot” at the Exhibition, but Henry “was to fall in love” in one building: “There I met my fate.” A Corliss engine furnished power to the machinery hall. Over the next few days he sat on the platform by it. The engineer “let me touch the engine; he let me fill the oil cans; he let me go around with him as he oiled the vast machine. Yes, I may as well confess, I was enraptured.”

Back at home, Fred went to military school in Orchard Lake; Henry envied his uniform. He was allowed to enroll the next year and was put in charge of the drum corps. “In that drum corps I finished my musical education.”

He stayed at school over Thanksgiving and on Thanksgiving Day was skating on the lake when he fell through the ice. “I was really at the time quite interested in getting out.” He persisted and did hoist himself onto solid ice once again.

Naturally enough “the family had not been greatly pleased with my failure to come home Thanksgiving.” He did go home for Christmas. Santa gave him and Fred telegraph instruments. “We got a hold of some old wire, and while the family was absent, we proceeded to tack wires on the nice woodwork from one end of the house to the other, and set our telegraph company in operation. It was wonderful. It really worked. When mother returned, and we ran to her to show her what we had accomplished, we were disappointed at the effect of our skillful wiring work.” Later, after investigating at the Detroit Fire Department Telegraph Headquarters and the Western Union office, he figured out how to conceal the wiring, which he then surreptitiously installed throughout the house.

Easter was a repeat of Thanksgiving, and he stayed at school reading “Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea” and “The Count of Monte Christo.”

After another year at military school, Henry transferred to the Patterson School, in Detroit, and “fell under the instruction of a woman, a splendid woman” named Miss Hosmer. Mathematics now became an “enjoyable pastime.” Unlike his father, whose library of 10,000 volumes included an “elaborate” collection of Latin and Greek volumes and perhaps more than 3000 in French, young Henry was less of a language scholar, although he still “got by successfully.”

1916 Packard

Neither father nor mother ever spoke a cross word to each other. “It was a happy home of good cheer and good will and left an indelible impression on me which will endure with me to the end.”

With J.F. Joy in England—July, 1884

J.F. Joy was “vastly interested in keeping the Wabash as an entity and having it made tributary to his city of Detroit.” This would give Detroit “an entrance…for business to the great southwest.” The elder Joy “had become engaged in the effort to extricate the Wabash from the mire of financial complications into which it had been lead [sic] under the masterful guidance of Jay Gould.” The railroad’s health was also important to those Detroiters who were “engaged in the establishment of the new Union Depot gateway.”

Returning from Yale in June, Henry learned of his father’s plan to go to London. Having always found it “exceedingly entertaining” to follow his father on business, and relishing the opportunity to meet “very distinguished and prominent people,” Henry used “sincere effort” to go along. It was to be his first sea voyage and first visit abroad. Besides Westminster Abbey and the Tower of London, he was keen to “follow out some of the descriptions in Dickens.”

Cunard's 7700-ton 'Etruria,' of 1885

There proved to be but few diversions during the journey. “I, myself, being a moderate reader, thought the load of books I carried on board for my father to last him the ten or twelve days of the voyage would have lasted me, I estimated, approximately six months.” That is, if he had been able to read Latin, Greek, and French at the pace his father maintained. (Here, he reveals that his father, then 74 years old, had come to Detroit in 1836 and hung out his shingle as a lawyer.) There were some after-dinner conversations with Garrett and Depew. Of the latter, Henry thought that “a more interesting and entertaining man could never have lived in the world. His unending supply of stories and anecdotes kept the company entertained in the highest degree.” But Henry was later somewhat disabused of his high esteem when his father called Depew “Mr. Vanderbilt’s man Friday.”

Reaching port in Liverpool, they made their way to London, where they stayed at the Langham, reputed to be London’s best hotel. In comparison to the hotels of New York, Boston, or Chicago, Henry found it to be “dark, gloomy, forbidding, and unattractive throughout its interior.” The roast beef and mutton chops were good, though.

Chauncey M. Depew

“What? You here, Harry?” Mr. Joy said.

“Could I do anything for you, Father?” Harry asked.

“No,” his father said. “I’ll be back to the hotel in the afternoon.”

But Captain Pavey overheard all and acknowledged Harry. “I want to tell you that you should be proud. We’re going out to lunch and then down to my office for a meeting. Would you not come along?”

This time Harry “lost no time in assenting.”

It wasn’t the last time during the visit to London that he was invited along to meetings in Captain Pavey’s office.

Development of Aviation Interest in Detroit

Dictated by Henry B. Joy at the request of Harold H. Emmons, Detroit, Mich., December 3rd [no year given]

Joy Aviation Field, later to become Selfridge Field and elements tending to develop interest in Aviation locally

Joy began earnestly to study aviation and how Packard Motor could contribute to the service of the country “in case war should lead us into such difficulties as participation.” He had been increasingly interested in aviation since the Wright Brothers demonstrated flight at Fort Myer, in Washington, D.C. “I decided to drive towards an aviation motor in the Packard Experimental Department…”

Lieutenant Thomas Selfridge

Two years into the war, the board decided not to pursue the testing ground, so “the land purchases which I had made were left in my ownership and possession.” Joy lived on the square mile in a tent, “spending as much time there as I could directly supervising the grading, going back and forth to the Packard factory each day over mud roads hub deep.” His interest was engaged because no such problem of drainage and reclamation had ever been attempted in the Detroit area.

When America entered the war on April 7, 1917, Joy was living in a frame house that he had built at the property. Much building of dikes, grading of ditches, and seeding of fields had been done at his own expense. The land was a foot lower than Lake St. Clair and really “was nothing but a ‘cat-tail’ swamp.” The federal government and Joy Realty Company worked out a three-year lease deal paying five percent on the calculated $195,000 price for land purchase and development. An option to buy was included. The road Joy had opened to Gratiot Avenue was paved with concrete by the State of Michigan and named Henry B. Joy Boulevard. A railroad was built on the property and buildings erected.

Joy Aviation Field became the first training center for military aviators.

“There is an interesting sideline in connection with my effort to develop an Aviation Field in the vicinity of Detroit as above outlined, which few people or practically none, know about or appreciate.”

The crash of the Wright Flyer that claimed the life of Lt. Selfridge.

Joy Field was renamed after Lieutenant Thomas Etholen Selfridge, whom Joy had seen killed on Sept. 17, 1908, in a crash with Orville Wright at Fort Myer.

After the war, the government did not exercise its option to buy at $195,000, so the property reverted to Joy’s control but the government continued to occupy it.

Whether Selfridge would become a permanent air base became “purely a political matter.”

“Finally the military authorities and the politicians in Washington decided to retain Selfridge Field, but instead of coming to me and discussing the matter, they instructed the District Attorney to institute condemnation proceedings and I was charged in public print with trying to get rich out of the Government and selling the property at twice its value, etc., etc.” An assessment process carried out by the D.A. showed the value between $400,000 and $500,000. So the authorities approached Joy about reinstating the option.

Joy agreed to this and the $195,000 was paid “in due time…after much silly negotiation and the matter was closed.”

He had felt that the base would be a benefit to Mt. Clemens, but ultimately he concluded otherwise because “the constant flying of planes all day long, daily, including Sunday, and the target practice which is incident to military training, causes so much disturbance in the contiguous area as to be decidedly detrimental to the upbuilding of a community anywhere within the vicinity of such a military aviation training field.” 

BEECHER-JOY CONTROVERSY

(A matter too obscure for summary here, involving the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher’s contention that Republican Party presidential candidate James G. Blaine had solicited a bribe from James F. Joy.)

Leaving behind my family to go see my other family.

In my one and a half years, and last semester at Gustavus Adolphus College, I have come to meet  some of my closest and most dear friends. My roommate Brandon, the two “girls next-door” Lareesa and Allison, Brandon’s and my suite mates, Wade and Julio and our “senior citizen,” Jenn. Our last months together have been so great, so fun and much too quick.  It seems like yesterday when I first moved into IC, met my roommate Brandon, with great skepticism might I add (not knowing what to expect as a result of a horrible first-roommate-experience my freshman year. Who could ever forget Thomas Lany?) but, thank god, he turned out alright , seeing my girls, Lareesa and Allison again, hanging out with the P.I.C. Jenn, that is “partner in crime” for those old folk, and getting to know two awesome people in Julio and Wade.

All of us have become so close, and it is so amazing to have such a great group of friends and be included in a group that shares so much in common with each other. Memories that come to me most from this semester are: our late, late night study sessions in the lounge of 3rd floor IC, Brandon introducing me to the best show ever “How I Met Your Mother,” he even watched all four seasons, again, with me, Julio and Wade gaming on Brandon’s PS3 for hours on end, seeing how many cheese balls we can fit in our mouths, well I wasn’t there but I got to see video, Jenn’s and my adventures to the cities and through the Arboretum, watching Lareesa and Allison beat Brandon’s ass. My friends are the greatest, and I am going to miss you all so much.

Departure for Denver.

Lareesa, Brandon and I left Gustavus for MSP at around 3:40, Brandon was late from doing shopping in Mankato…No biggie roomy . Lareesa’s iPod synced with the radio and the PARTAAAAY MIX!!! blasting, we hit the road. Not too much went on in the car, mostly the singing of old country songs, which we are never allowed to do because Allison hates country music. A nice breath of country. We started counting cops after about the 300th cop car, Brandon explained that the Nicolette County Police Department had screwed up a case and where trying to “make up for their stupidity.” We got onto 494 at about 4:15 and of course entered into the bowels of rush hour traffic. This tragic event, turned our trip from jolly to miserable in all of about 45 seconds.

Moving at the speed of slow, we weaved our way in and out of traffic, trying to find the quickest lane. Lareesa didn’t like this at all and kept sharing her thoughts on how actually inefficient it was to switch lanes when it might change our arrival time by 3 seconds. In frustration, Brandon and I began screaming obscenities out the windows, not in the direction of anyone, simply to release tension. Lareesa also didn’t like this and subjected Brandon and I to the silent treatment for the remainder of the drive.

Finally, moving at a speed above 10 mph, we arrived at MSP with an hour and a half for me to get to the gate. We all hopped out of the car, Brandon got my bags out (what a guy) and Lareesa got happy again, maybe because I was leaving…. I hugged both of them, we said our goodbyes and I got in line. The lines for check-in were not bad at all, surprisingly quick. I reached the gate with an hour before departure. I questioned getting food but decided against it, realizing Nanny would cook me anything I wanted once I arrived.

The plane ride was very comfortable. I sat in an exit row (more leg room), the only problem was my seat had no recline, always a sacrifice. Nobody occupied the middle seat, and the woman in the aisle seat was most kind. I didn’t talk to her until the last 20 minutes of the flight, and sort of regretted not doing so. Turned out she was a world traveler, and had been to all the places, to which our J-Term class is traveling. Needless to say, she made me even more excited for my trip.

We arrived in Denver 45 minutes early. As soon as we landed I called Nanny, and was met with confusion on the other line. She had just dropped Araselli (sorry if I butchered that spelling), Alex’s girlfriends off at the airport and driven all the way back home. Thank god she loves her grandchildren. I enjoyed walking through the Denver Airport and seeing the giant tepees, one of my favorite airports.

Baggage claim was quick and I soon met the embrace of  my grandmother. Nanny never looks any different, 77 and still looking 50 what youth! We caught up on the 20 minute drive home and like I had expected, I was almost immediately battered with questions about what I would like to eat , gotta love those grandmas. Digiorno’s Pizza, a giant salad, cran-grape juice and the best brownies and milk a grandson could ask for. After I was finished eating, we headed to the McDonald’s (not to eat, I’m not fat) to get a couple Red-Box movies. I chose “Ghost of Girlfriends Past,” (don’t judge) “The Ugly Truth,” and “Ice Age 3.” I watched them all, and finally went to sleep at 4 am, for some reason I have turned into a night-owl of sorts.

Day 1 in Denver to come.

This flew over my house this week. I stood and stared, wondering if I’d suddenly Flashed Backward. Today, the slide show appeared in the San Antonio Express-News.

Pretty cool.

Photo Funday — photos and a caption for the weekend

North American F-100 Super Sabre at the Evergreen Aviation & Space Museum — photo by Joe May

The F-100 was the first US Air Force fighter that could exceed Mach 1 in level flight and was nicknamed “The Hun” which was a clever double entendre … shortened from “hundred” but also relating to the noted combat leader, Attila.

The distinctive snout of the F-100 — photo by Joe May

Note: I have published several posts on the Evergreen Aviation & Space Museum as her aircraft, if you are interested in reading some of them, please type “Evergreen” in the SEARCH box and thanks!

Or rather, my pictures of mostly airplane wings.

What brought this on? Today I went to the Lufthansa Technik hangar in Villamor Air Base to cover for Mabuhay the blessing of the new plane of Philippine Airlines (PAL), the Boeing 777-300ER (Extended Range). It’s the first 777 to join PAL’s fleet. It arrived in Manila late last night from Seattle.

I met up with Thessa dela Paz of PAL and she showed me around the plane (no, I won’t be spilling details on what I saw! ), and while walking around, I remembered my first plane ride. And that whenever I ride a plane, I want a window seat as much as possible.

More pictures after the jump.

Nardos Matusala has been coming to CRC for a long time. She works for a nonprofit, Quality Living, that provides services for people with special needs. I’d always wondered about Nardos’ accent, but until this week I didn’t know the dramatic story that has been her life.

Nardos was born in Eritrea, a country in the Horn of Africa. She was born in the midst of a war between Ethiopia, which had taken over her country, and Eritrean freedom fighters. She remembers her family running from her home to a hole in the yard for shelter whenever they heard planes overhead. To this day, she shutters when she hears the sound of an airplane.

When she was eight, Nardos’ family fled Eritrea. Her  mother put two sets of clothes on Nardos and her four sisters and they literally walked for a month to a refugee camp in Somalia where they spent the next three years.

The family arrived in the United States in 1982. They were placed in an apartment in Philadelphia where they knew no one.  They were afraid to go outside. On their first Fourth of July in America they cowered when fireworks went off, thinking for a second that they were being bombed.

In college, Nardos was asked to write a paper on her childhood. She wrote a paragraph. When the teacher read it, he asked her to write more. Six pages of fear, repression and anxiety emerged.

Today, Nardos is anxious to return to Eritrea for a visit. Her brother, not yet born when the family came to America, doesn’t understand the struggle the family endured. She wants him to understand how precious freedom is.

America has many faces and stories. Sometimes, sitting at the dock door waiting to load bleach and detergent into a van, I get to hear one of them.

I spent my afternoon skipping through pages of books in the shelter of the local Borders. Since I was there for a purpose, my travels were mostly limited to the children’s section. To some it may seem a dull section, but to me and young readers alike it is a section of limitless possibilities. In no other section could I devour green eggs and reside in a juicy peach or befriend a cookie-addicted mouse.

After scouring through the most well known books I came across a book far less talked about. Out of instinct, I pulled up one of the cheap supplied stools and began to read. At first glance it looked very ordinary. After scanning its reviews, I quickly decided against that assumption.

Most children’s books never address the true trials and hardships of life. It is rare to meet a child in a picture book with a debilitating disease or in dire financial need. Instead, children are fed spoonfuls of rainbows and fulfilled fantasies. Of course, we want to create optimistic children. Yet, shouldn’t we also want children with a realistic view of life?

I have yet to dive in to the realm of children’s literature myself. I imagine how hard it may be to write a book for a child and immediately become intimidated. But, as always, why?

Alongside of fairy littered stories and tales of epic baseball wins, there is always a moral. Hidden in a character, or in the depths of an event, is a small lesson the author hopes to convey to each child reader, one he or she will hold forever. Children’s authors cannot make these morals too obvious though. No child wants to be lectured in their favorite storybook. Authors are then forced to teach through entertainment. That entertainment must then be at a level of understanding that a child could grasp. A children’s story is full of hurdles.

It did not take me long to finish my newfound picture book. Forty pages of easily understood words and to-the-point sentences. At the end, my eyes were damp with tears. It was a touching story, especially in these economic times. My experience occurred in the pages of Eve Bunting’s Fly Away Home.

As I left Borders, I considered the endless possibilities of ideas for children’s books. Now, writing this, I dream, that one day far from now, I may write an unknowingly influential children’s book. Time shall tell.

Mystery solved!

The Northwest 747 that was parked on the north side of the San Diego, CA (SAN) runway was the Philadelphia Eagles’ charter jet.

Why was this a mystery, you ask?  I’m so glad you did!

A few reasons:

1) It is rare for a 747 to even fly through San Diego.  For a little while, British Airways flew a “non-stop” from San Diego to London.  But because our runway is so short, a fully loaded 747 can’t take off without running into the lovely folks in Point Loma.  The British Airways flight would fill up with passengers and enough fuel to get to Phoenix, where they would pick up more passengers and more fuel.  Not surprisingly, the flight did not last long.  This is why it is so rare to see a 747 at SAN.  (the last time a 747 flew through SAN was a Japan Airlines 747 taking baseball players to the World Baseball Classic)

2) Northwest’s hubs are Detroit, Minneapolis, and Memphis, and Delta’s hubs (Delta owns Northwest) are Atlanta, Cincinnati, Salt Lake City, and JFK.  You may notice that none of those cities include Philadelphia, where the Eagles are from.  You know whose hub is in Philly?  US Air.  Frankly, I don’t blame the Eagles for going with ANYONE other than US Air (The Basheret and I had a horrific experience the last time we flew US Air).  Interesting, nevertheless.

How did I figure all of this out?  I’m glad you asked again!

I sent an email to the address on the “Contact Us” page of the San Diego Airport website.  Seriously.  They responded in a timely manner, they were courteous, and they provided just the information I requested.  I understand this is often hard to find, and it’s a little thing, but it is surely appreciated!

Sometimes, if you have a question, email the people in charge.  Be friendly, and you’ll likely get a friendly response.  Remember, the people on the other end put their pants on one leg at a time, just like you.

Remember: It’s all about the little things.

I always have a hard time not eating in airports, and it’s even more so lately, since I live in the middle of nowhere and the converses at these big hub cities are filled with representatives of restaurants I don’t get to enjoy unless I’m traveling. I tend to get so very excited about any place that has vegetarian fare. Today I’m trying to limit myself to just Starbuck’s nonfat lattes. Getting away and going to a conference where no one knows me is a good opportunity to severely restrict and drop out of this plateau. These past few days, everyone’s been pushing food on me, starting with my mother (but we’ve been through that). I grew up with the teaching that people show love through food and declining food is declining love (whoa…. that’s a thought to explore later: is restriction a way of pushing away love we don’t think we deserve?) so especially when lonely people bring in food for me, I have a hard time saying not taking an appreciative bite.

I think my dear man is catching on to my enjoyment of not eating, he’s been questioning if I’ve had dinner more than usual. Luckily I have a fridge at the clinic that I have a stash of tide-me-overs that I can claim to have eaten, especially if I’m working late. He’s one of those guys who would eat a meal of potato chips, and that would be his meal of the day so for him to notice me not eating is pretty significant. I should be more careful.

Heehee, just saw a nice-looking kid walking though the airport with the size sticker still slapped on the back of his jeans, a stripe down his thigh declaring him a size 38. So like something that would happen to me.

I like layovers. I like sitting with my cup of coffee and listen to music and watch people. Airports are such exciting places. I never get tired of imagining all the places people or going, things they’re doing, friends they’re meeting. It’s like a dynamic still-life. Having Buddhist tendencies, I find it a wonderful place to zone out and just be. No phones to answer, can’t rush your departure time. I wonder how people would react if I just dropped and sat in lotus for a good half hour. I wonder how muslims find an inconspicuous place to pray. Here’s my beauty queen comment: I would love to see a day when it’s acceptable to be any religion in public. Can’t we all just get along??

Speaking of getting along, Women Do Not Like Being Touched By Bodyparts Of Random Men. If you are large and spill over the sides of your plane seat, please try to spill it out in the aisle, not onto my lap. And while I understand that air expands at altitude (I’ve been in enough altitude chambers to know about height-induced farts) please excuse yourself to the restroom before letting the gas release. Being crowded between the window and Super Size Me and having fetid air pumped into my small space had me more nauseated then ever on a non-high performance aircraft.

And he was talking graphically with all his similarly-girthed friends about the deer he killed while on his hunting trip, which added to my discomfort, but that’s a less universal complaint, I suspect.

Wings Over Miami Air Museum

25º 39’ 00” N / 80º 26’ 00” W

In Miami’s metro area, if you make your way to the end of the road that leads through the Kendall–Tamiami Executive Airport you will happen upon a small, dynamic and fascinating aviation collection — the Wings Over Miami  Air Museum. The aircraft number about a dozen, or so, but the actual population fluctuates. There are permanent airplanes, there are aircraft under restoration and there are aircraft in the hanger on the occasional temporary basis. 

Wings Over Miami Air Museum hangar view — photo by Joe May

There are no decrepit exhibits and all the aircraft are in pristine condition. Amazingly so, I think, given the few members in the cadre. Equally amazing is that almost each time I visit, this quiet and out of the way museum, inevitably aircraft have been respotted due to the ever on-going work. Aircraft are flown in for the work and for special handling the musem can provide. One case, a recent one, of special handling was the disassembly for shipment of a Stearman Kaydet. There it was – wings and tail resting on the hanger floor, the landing gear set aside and an engine hoist chain slung around the power plant. Experts at work — and in Florida’s subtropical August heat! Thankfully, the office is air conditioned and well equipped with restroom facilities. There is a drink dispensing machine just outside the main door and a café is not really necessary since a plentitude of eateries can be found just outside the entrance of the airport. A modest entry fee is asked for a day’s admission.

Some exhibits have come and gone. The wings and empennage of the WW II Kawasaki 川崎市 Ki-61 飛燕 (Hien, roughly flying swallow, Allied codename Tony) that once were on display have gone back to their owner, as did the TBM Avenger that had been taken down to bare metal.

Some aircraft are there for safekeeping – a Consolidated PBY-5A Catalina and a Douglas C-47 Dakota, are examples. Another aircraft — a Douglas B-26 Invader — was freshened up and moved about 1000 feet (~300m) to a newly built memorial to the Cuban and American pilots who perished during the Bay of Pigs Invasion — or La Batalla de Girón as it is known in Cuba. [Please see the post, A new monument to fliers – the aviators of the Bay of Pigs Invasion & the Douglas B-26 Invader, published on 21 October 2009.]

Consolidated PBY-5A Catalina — photo by Joe May

A Grumman F-14 Tomcat is the largest aircraft displayed as is one of the most beautiful North American SNJ-6 (also known as the AT-6 Texan when flown by the USAAF) I have seen. On my last visit not one, but two, other Texans were undergoing complete rebuilds for flying — zero time wings and engines — serious and professional work.

North American SNJ — photo by Joe May

North American SNJ nose art — photo by Joe May

Adding to the remarkable accomplishments of this small museum are the foreign made aircraft on exhibit. They are: a Nanchang CJ-6A from the People’s Republic of China, an Aero L-29 Delfín from the former Czechoslovakia, and a Yakovlev Yak-52 from the former USSR.

Nanchang CJ-6A — photo by Joe May

Nanchang CJ-6A fuselage art detail — photo by Joe May

This museum is not to be missed and is worth the detour for any aviation enthusiast or historian visiting the Miami metro area. The main entrance to the Kendall–Tamiami Executive Airport is located on SW 137^th Avenue between SW 120^th Street and SW 152^nd Street in Miami Florida USA. Flying to the airport is possible in private aircraft but regular airlines can be used to fly into the Miami International Airport or the Fort Lauderdale–Hollywood International Airport.

Dear Going on a Trip,

How, exactly, do you involve quite so much work? So many lists, and so much Getting Things Done before I go?

Only to be repeated when I come back? There’s the laundry and the picking up my apartment so I don’t cry when I am tired and just off the plane when I return. There’s the cleaning out the refrigerator but also trying to make sure there is some kind of food in the house because when I come back, life does not stop to let me catch up and rest after my vacation. There’s the making dinner plans for tonight and tomorrow. Oh wait, that’s just normal. Um, there’s all the work I have to do before I go, and all the work I have to do while I am there, and all the work I have to plan to do when I get back. There’s not only watering my plant today, but figuring out who is going to water it while I am gone.

There is figuring out what to do with my car while I am gone and how to get to the airport and then how to get back from the airport and get my car. And laundry. Did I mention laundry?

There is also, by the way, figuring out what to pack for cold weather and rain. You do know that packing warm clothes takes up more space then just throwing some sundresses in a bag, right? That taking boots makes things heavier, as does taking a stack of books? Don’t tell me there are books where I am going; I need these books. And yes, I am going to do work while I am on my trip. First of all, I am determined. Second of all, I don’t really have a choice.

Taking 12 days for Thanksgiving in the middle of the semester doesn’t exactly mean those are 12 days off.

LIST. I need to make a list.

Adio, cheerio, bon voyage, make a list, ahh! my brain!

MM

Here’s the link to my article “I believe I can’t fly” which appeared in the TOI, National Edition, on November 17th, 2009

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/home/opinion/edit-page/I-believe-I-Cant-Fly/articleshow/5236749.cms

Yesterday, Sunday November 15…..the Dubai Airshow was held in the United Arab Emirates…here are some stills from the opening day…….and more info and pictures…..

As always, we are delighted when a reader offers a concrete suggestion as to how to improve the airline mess. Here is a terrific example from Mr. Bob Schaeneman.

I have a suggestion to save all of our financially strapped airlines. I suggest that they all raise the price of soft drinks and water to $10 each, the price of movies to $25, the price of food to $50 per tray, the price of having a ticket agent wait on them to $100 and the price of their first piece of luggage to $200 (which by the way only encourages people to carry gargantuan bags onto the planes and try to cram them all into the overhead bins; pretty smart, huh?)  They could also put coin slots on the display monitors to check for departures and arrivals, say $1.00 each viewing.  And maybe another fee to use one of the chairs at the terminal gate, say $5.00 per hour?  Then, once they have jacked up the prices of all the incidentals, the ticket itself could actually be given to the customer free of charge!!!  Seems like an idea that might appeal to the airline marketing wizards, doesn’t it???  Feel free to pass these suggestions along to all the folks who are so rapidly ruining what little positive image they have left.

I can hardly wait for all of the airlines to begin asking the government to bail them out because business has dropped off so much, never realizing that they actually ruined their own companies by “nickel and diming” their customers to death.

Now seriously, how did it not occur to the airlines to simply raise the price of each ticket $50 or $100 bucks, with an explanation that the increase was for additional fuel charges (which we all could have easily understood and related to), leaving soft drinks, water, baggage and movies free???  Of course, that wouldn’t have contributed to the airlines lousy image, which they seem so skillful at creating.

For those of you who have NOT seen the video of the drunken fright attendant for Delta Airlines, here it is:

If you’d rather read the CNN version of the story, here IT is.

Personally, we like any story that begins with “A flight attendant appeared in court Monday to answer charges she was drinking alcohol on the job and told a captain “You’re dead” as she was removed from the plane.” (CNN.com)

Yea, yea, yea…we’re all human…Isolated incident…not representative of the industry….

Might your Aircomplane.com Spite Crew recommend her sentence?

Sit on a plane with no food, water, and 20 of your colleagues for 10 hours. And let’s keep it real: They won’t tell you why you’re there, how long you’re going to be there, and that the only plane that DID take off just delivered your luggage and bottle of Jack Daniels to Salt Lake City.

The pisser is that in six months after rehab she’ll have a talk show.

Even your Aircomplane.com Spite Attendants are reassured that they are not the only ones keystroke-happy enough to share their travel frustrations. Here is one of your fellow travelers who took the time to shed his or her special brand of sunshine in a posting on the San Diego Craigslist.org. (And congratulations, it actually made “Best of Craigslist!”)

Be forewarned (and to the likely glee of the many Fright Attendants out there) they also take a pretty good and hilarious shot at their fellow passengers. Enjoy.

best of craigslist > san diego > RANT: Airline Travel Etiquette
Originally Posted: Wed, 28 Feb 08:31 PST

RANT: Airline Travel Etiquette

Date: 2007-02-28, 8:31AM PST

Alright people, some airline travel etiquette needs to be established. Here are a few suggestions that will make everyone’s life easier, so please… pay attention:

Rule #1 – Security. Yes, it’s a bitch. Yes, the TSA employees they hired from the nearest clinic for the terminally stupid are an insult to anybody with a hint of gray matter, but com’on. Throw the rest of us a bone here:

You’ve been standing in line for 45 minutes. After 45 minutes you finally get to the table with the little gray bins. Now is NOT the time to hold up everyone else in line while you take off your six earrings, your 20 bracelets, your necklace, your watch and anything else you KNOW DAMN WELL will set off the alarm. The time to do this was sometime during the previous 45 minutes when you were standing in line complaining about how slowly the line was moving. Take all that stuff off and throw it in your carry-on BEFORE you get to the table.

For those of you with laptops, yes you need to take it out of the bag. The 8 signs you past while standing in the aforementioned line weren’t kidding. Have it out, put it in the bin and move along.

Rule #2 – Potty breaks. With certain exceptions, potty breaks are denied within the first hour of flight. It’s your own damn fault you decided to wait in line for 15 minutes at the terminal Starbucks for your daily non-fat chi extra-tall cup-of-crap instead of taking care of business (and by therefore compounding the problem). If you’re that bad at time management, or set your priorities such that you can’t take 2 minutes out of your busy day to take a leak, then it’s your own damn fault and you can just hold it. Exceptions would include: (1) you’re in an aisle seat, (2) children, or (3) you have a baby with a poopy diaper – and yes I can smell it. Yes EVERYONE within 10 rows can smell it. Feel free to do what you got to do but PLEASE don’t ignore it.

Ladies, if you’re pregnant, insist on an aisle seat. The airlines will accommodate if you push them hard enough. Old people, if you have a weak bladder, the same goes for you.

Rule #3 – Bitch. If I’m unfortunate enough to ride bitch (aka, the middle seat) then I automatically get both armrests. It’s called making the best of a bad situation. I don’t care how much you spent on your ticket – and if you had that much money you would be up there in 1st class with the rest of the I’m-so-important-I-need-a-curtain-to-shelter-me-from-those-coach-people crowd.

Rule #4 – Assumptions. When airborne, you need to make some assumptions. For those of you seated behind me, you need to assume that I am sound asleep in my chair trying to get a little sleep before my big presentation in a few hours. This means that you are NOT to use my chair to pull yourself up out of your seat, shaking it violently as you struggle for balance. I realize there isn’t a lot of room, but the solution is simple… use your armrests, slightly turn your body, and use YOUR chair for balance. If works for me, it can work for you.

For those of you seated in front of me, you need to assume I’m feverishly working on my laptop for that big presentation and EASE your seat back, nice and slowly, allowing me to make adjustments as necessary. This means NOT reclining your seat with such fury as to crack the lid of my laptop because it caught on the tray-table latch (I’d especially like to thank the lady seated in 19B on United Flight 920 on February 21st from San Diego to Dulles for that one). I don’t care if you want to recline your seat, just GO SLOWLY.

Rule #5 – Do Not Disturb. If I’m wearing headphones, listening to my iPod, it’s code for “please leave me alone and don’t try to engage in conversation.” I don’t care how excited you are to be visiting your 19-year-old niece who lives in Santee. I don’t care how pretty she is and that she’s pregnant with her third child from as many fathers.

If it looks like I’m sleeping, I probably am. It might be hard to tell as I often wear sunglasses when I try to sleep on a plane, but think about this – if I haven’t moved in awhile, I’m asleep. So please, use common sense if you choose to rouse me from my slumber (ie, something catastrophic happening like a wing falling off). The flight attendant serving drinks DOES NOT qualify.

Rule #6 – Parents, control your kids. I’ve traveled all over the US as a kid and I know how incredibly boring even a short flight can be. However, a cramped airliner is NOT the place for tough-love. If your kid is throwing a tantrum, GIVE THEM WHATEVER THEY WANT – PERIOD. If your child is kicking my chair I WILL say something – and not to the child, but to YOU. The other day I ran into a local 7-11 and they had portable DVD players on sale for $60. Seems to me like a pretty inexpensive insurance policy – otherwise I suggest adding a triple shot of Children’s NyQuil to their grape juice, also available at 7-11.

Rule #7 – You finally made to your destination. Congratulations! Don’t stop. That is to say, you just walked off the jetway and are now in the terminal – KEEP MOVING. Every single airport I’ve been to in this country has signs posted everywhere, so if you aren’t quite sure where you need to go, simply walk strait ahead to the far wall and figure it out from there. Stopping at the jetway door or in the immediate vicinity creates a hellacious roadblock that the second half of the plane has to navigate around. Some of us actually have the ability to walk and read at the same time – no problem if you’re not one of them, just please don’t slow those of us down who can.

This last part isn’t really about travel etiquette so much as it is about the Airport Nazis that patrol the pick-up and drop-off area at San Diego Lindbergh. I’ve been meaning to write something… suppose this is as good a time as any.

You guys are the biggest bunch of fucking assholes I have ever had to deal with in my entire life. When I go the airport and you guys are giving me shit, I say, “see kids, that man is why you need to study hard in school and get good grades – you don’t want to end up like him, right?” I can understand ticketing someone who parked out front and walked away – fuck tow it or even set it ablaze for all I care, but what you douche-bags do is downright harassment. News flash – me driving slowly, waiting for my passenger – WHO I CAN SEE AND IS WALKING OUT OF THE TERMINAL, is not the same as being as being parked or stopped. Here’s an idea, if my vehicle isn’t moving, why don’t you go stand in front of it while you write me that ticket? Yeah – that’s what I thought.

With that said, minus the KSAN Airport Nazis, I hope you found this beneficial. Please refer back to it as often as necessary.

Thank you and have a nice day.
Location:
San Diego

it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

“…would really be delighted if you could publish this one…

Thanks a lot !!
Paolo Tron

NIGHTMARE TRIP WITH BRITISH AIRWAYS

Before going on with my “travel story” a couple of simple considerations:

1) I am perfectly aware that as no human being in this planet can be sympathetic to every other human beings, too an overseas flight can be very pleasant or very unpleasant…

2) what happened to my son and me is very common, tragically common, but considering how facts happened, I am really keen of sparing this with you:

British Airways Flight # BA0279 London Los Angeles June 28^th 2007.

With my son, Massimiliano, we arrive in L.A.X. at 1.30 pm – one hour wait for our luggages – when no more luggages go around in the tapis roulant a B.A. guy arrived and told us: “luggages did not get here but on the external B.A. office…you need to go out and ask at the desk”.

About 20 people follow his advise, step outside that area and, with another 20 people, start the line at this B.A. office/desk, with only two employees taking care of over 40 people involved with the problem – after another two hours wait they gave us:

a) a sheet with printed a code and a 1-800 number to contact B.A. and the website to check with the future situation …of the luggages….

b) in that very moment we understand the luggages did not made it through…

c) they assure us the luggages will be consigned within 48 hours…

d) they gave us a VISA Debit Card for the amount of 150.00$ (4008 3800 1504 9620) in order to buy the very first necessary items (underwear, toothpaste etc)

We are out of LAX at 5.20 pm…

We soon find a first shop and the mentioned card is declined….oh well ….surprise surprise….with the second we spend 78.00$ and it’s ok…from that point onwards the

Card is dead….always declined…

Of course I check every day the situation of the luggages in the B.A. website with the code they gave me….no news….never ever …..

I try to call the 1-800 number, expressly indicated to us ….it’s an automatic number…

with in the end “press 3” to talk to an agent…..NO WAY !! Never !!

NEVER EVER …..one day I have been waiting 68 mins….uselessly….and that was

during B.A. office opening hours….

In our luggages, besides the usual stuff, antibiotics that my son had to take for an epidermic infection under his left armpit …(he is 17) and he got very nervous when he understood he could not continue his cure – I could not find similar antibiotics around there… none with the same charachteristics….

Apart from that, in the luggages, 800 flyers, expressly realized for the San Diego Fitness Convention I had to attend…..

At the B.A. desk, fortunately (considering the complete lack of contacts) I gave a Hotel address near San Diego where they could, eventually, deliver the four luggages. This happened the 9^th day of our stay in California.

I rushed to this Hotel in Solana Beach to get my luggages.

They were all totally wet – most probably they were left in London under heave rain.

Nothing inside was usable. Not clothes. Not the antibiotics.

Not the flyers…all destined to the garbish and the clothes to a laundry….

The day of our return arrives.

When approaching the B.A. Check-In desk in LA, I ask, nervously, some informations regarding all I went through… my vehemence was not appreciated.

I did not like that, either…..

My frustration was really to the limit.

A couple of B.A. guys made an effort to listen to me and said:

“ohu….you were very lucky…only 8 eight days, some other travellers got their luggages after three weeks….oh oh ah ah uh uh“….

Not nice to see someone laughing at you after all that….what do you think?

These persons at the B.A. check-in desk were unkind (not me), they never apologized to me, none of them tried to give me some information regarding a possible refund, they probably all forgot THEY made the mistakes and that I was the customer … it seemed I was asking for an ice-cream in the Sahara…

In the end, the manager of the check-in B.A. area, very upset for my frustrated attitude, handed me a card and said: “write to the Customers Service in London”….point !!

I must confess I was waiting for another behaviour from B.A….

In the end, I am a bit ashamed to share with you this “common” story….but I needed to write this, for future travellers who need to be a lot more careful than me and need to insure their luggages…..above all if they fly with B.A. …

Apart from that, I would like to know if there is a specialized lawyer among you, who could help me out for some refund….and some excuses….

In case please contact me to: info@tronpaolo.it

I thank you so much for your kind attention and I apologize for my poor English and for robbing some of your precious time for such un-interesting things.”

Paolo Tron – Milano

…would be really deligthed….if you could publish this one….Many thanks !!

Over the years, many of us have seen the evolution of the business of air travel. What used to be a service industry gave way to the clicks and tricks of “efficiency” and cyber-progress.

The Internet is an interesting corporate litmus test. Its applications for commerce are endless — and so seemingly are short-sighted executions.

Somewhere along the line, many of the airlines thought it would be a good idea to offer flights click-click-click like buying books at Amazon. Wow…talk about moving away from service at warp speed.

Well, the Roaming Gnome and promises of cyber-solutions notwithstanding, don’t overlook the power of the travel agent. If you find one with some buying power and balls, you may have some recourse at the concourse. Remember, you’re often dealing with a Destination Dominatrix, er, gate attendant, so stack the deck in your favor. Some guidelines to consider:

1. Select a REAL travel agent. Membership in the American Society of Travel Agents (ASTA) should be a minimum qualification. Avoid the amateurs who hang a shingle in their club basement so THEY get travel discounts. (If you hear a dog or a parakeet in the background or they ask to place you on hold while they take a call about their blowing league schedule, hang up.)
2. Take some time and read some travel agency websites. See what they’re about and how they offer to help if things get sticky. The 10 minutes you spend doing that may prevent two weeks in a Turkish prison. (OK, you’ll also need a lawyer, but a travel agent can help, too.) Everyone gets bumped, overbooked at a hotel, or misses a connection. Think about who you want on the other end of the phone when you need help.
3. If you do use a website to book your travel, select one that is in some way affiliated with a travel agent. Keep it HUMAN. We’re reminded about the pretty brilliant income tax preparation commercials now on the airwaves about the beaten-down husband facing his wife’s wrath over using software to do their taxes. The audit letter comes. The wife says “Oh, that’s right. We don’t have people. We used a box. Why don’t we ask the box?” Have people. Consider a humanless travel-booking website the box.
4. And if you’re in business and have control over such things, don’t leave booking your company’s travel to Ruthie the Intern, a Google search, and a company credit card. Your people are on the road (and in the air, eventually) to make your company money. THINK about that BEFORE they leave the ground. A corporate travel agency may cost you a few bucks in fees, but losing Rodger-your-lead-closer in La Guardia for a few days will cost you more.

So here’s the bottom line: You have to travel. You will face many if not all of the problems Aircomplane.com was founded to highlight and help you solve. You will encounter confrontations with the airlines. It is you against them. (OK, Aircomplane.com and you against them). Have a travel agent on your side. A truly experienced and qualified agent will speak fluent arrogance and idiocy – two of the languages necessary to communicate with the airlines on your behalf.

Sometimes it’s just you and the polyester provocateurbehind the counter. You want to take your plane trip, and they want you to take their power trip. Yes, the everyone-before-you-was-some-kind-of-drunken-moron and so you are one, too school of customer service serves them well. It is incomprehensible that we even have to mention that WE ARE THE PAYING CONSUMERS.

Here’s what your Spite Attendants think it may boil down to:

In any business, whether offering goods or services, there is a sense of accountability by those having regular contact with the customers/clients/consumers. Those enjoying this contact realize that in order to benefit from return business, they must demonstrate some modicum of service and support to those spending money with them. Sure, many of them don’t want to do it, but most of them understand the longer-term and direct benefits. (In most businesses, this ranges from “piss off a customer and get fired” to “we need customers to pay us to pay you.”)

As with most things that make sense, this doesn’t work as reliably with the airlines. The reasons?

Consider these:

1. The airline industry fosters a climate where the value and purpose of money is not real. Fares and fees are whimsical and weird. They follow no monetary, value-based, actual worth, or structured guidelines, so they don’t matter. (“Adam Smith…paging Mr. Adam Smith. You’re needed at EVERY AIRLINE HEADQUARTERS IN THE WORLD.”) To that daily exposure to such monetary nonsense add the financial predicament of the airlines themselves. How many billions of dollars in debt? How much in employee concessions? What is the value of that merger, and what does it mean to me? Nonsense. This confusion breeds apathy (i.e. “I’ll never understand all of this, so I won’t bother trying to understand any of it.”) and acceptance. (i.e. “OK, well they seem to still be allowed to fuel up, and the peanuts are here on time, so despite being in a zillion dollars in debt, they must know what they are doing.) Naturally this translates to an inability to recognize that the person you are supposed to be serving is actually THE ONE PAYING YOU! They may not be, so piss off!
2. Belligerent and impossible airline employees are given what your Spite Attendants like to call the “Latitude to Abuse,” because it’s cheaper than giving them more money. For example, “No Millie, you can’t have a raise (again), but tell you what – treat the passengers any way you like and we promise a ‘supervisor’ will never show up to contradict you. And, if the passenger crosses the line, we’ll throw them off of your flight.” And who said airlines weren’t one of the top places to work?
3. Finally, they are subject to the lack of control control paradigm. This also applies to many retail clerks and checkout personnel and almost everyone at your local Department of Motor Vehicles. It works like this: An employee is so oppressed within their own working environment (and possibly their home environment), that they only have one little area of their life that they completely control…and you find yourself having to wade into the middle of it. We’ve all seen it, and the wisest among us play along and allow it in limited enforcement. “Take your food OUT OF THE BASKET and place it on the conveyor.” and “DON’T YOU HAVE ANYTHING SMALLER?!” are two classic examples that it’s happening to you. Anyway, it is understandable to be reluctant acquiescing when air travel is involved and you and your ass are the one on the conveyor. Resentment is common. Outrage is not inappropriate. You’re messing with their space simply by being in it. Ironically, you’ve paid to be in it. Gotcha!

So where does all of this insight get us? We have no idea. We’re simply offering insight that may help. If better understanding those with whom we interact can help us to interact better, then we should try. It’s kind of like Nancy Pelosi and the Syrians but not really. Anyway, you have to try.

When your Spite Attendant Crew launched Aircomplane.com, we were determined to make it more than a bitch site. It was important to us to provide actual, helpful information on convincing the airline industry we deserve a better flying experience AND as a voice for those among us who have not been heard.

We realized that as with many relevant blogs, however, we may ultimately not have control over the tone it would take. We’re pleased with the direction it has taken and grateful for your input and support.

We have been monitoring the air travel situation closely, and there is a great deal being discussed about a “Passengers’ Bill of Rights.” We will be discussing that in detail here shortly and bringing you up to speed on where it’s going (or not). In the meantime, we have identified some helpful website resources for you.

Airsafe.com is a helpful site with a section dedicated to “How to Complain About Your Airline Service.” See it here. Some other areas they cover that should make for an easier and more event-free trip are:
Top 10 Baggage Tips
Things you Should Not Bring on Board
Cabin Safety Tips
Power Tips for Using the Internet

A special thanks to contributor Matt for suggesting Gethuman.com. We encourage you to spend some time on this site. It really brings to light some of the basic customer service issues to which we, AS THE ONES SPENDING THE MONEY WITH THEM, are entitled. Make sure you visit the Gethuman.com Core Principles and www.gethuman.com/us. The former should be sent en mass to every airline executive you can locate, and the latter is a list of airline (and other) phone numbers and the quickest way to bypass their voice mail systems. Great job, guys…and their readers (and Matt gets a free t-shirt).

Last word here. Joe Sent Me (http://www.joesentme.com/) is a helpful, real site for business travelers. Check it out.

More soon.

Remember, it’s your money, you are the passenger, and you are entitled to respectable customer service and value for your business. Don’t take crap you don’t deserve. Complain until they hear us, and let Your Spite Attendants know if we can help (info@aircomplane.com).

Many of you have asked about Aircomplane.com merchandise (swag) and when it might be available. The good news is we believe we have identified a reliable, quality vendor. The slight delay is in finding out “who’s minding the store.” But we’re closing in.

Yes, flyers (or in many cases, airport fixtures), you will soon be able to proudly display your discontent and determination not to be just part of the herd. Rather, you will be part of “the herd getting heard.” Here’s our logo and slogan that will be featured on most items:

Aircomplane.com™

“The herd getting heard.”

When the t-shirts, caps, travel bags, and other merchandise is ready, we believe we may be holding a contest of sorts for anyone photographed wearing or holding Aircomplane.com swag at an airport or on a plane. If you prefer, we can protect your identity (and maybe superimpose the head of an airline CEO on you). More soon.

So, check back here or drop us a line atinfo@aircomplane.com if you want to be notified personally. We’re pretty excited.