Air Travel

As I sat in the airport in the autumn of 2010 waiting for the folks at that gate podium to announce the boarding of my next flight, I thought about the first flights I took as a child and how much the flying experience had changed over the years.

The first time my family flew was in 1971. My mom had been wrestling with some attacks of asthma and a perpetual bronchial problem and the doctor’s suggested that some time in the southwest (in a dryer environ) might be beneficial. We took that opportunity to visit some relatives in California and then a week or more in the Arizona desert.

The first flight was out of New York’s Kennedy airport. We were going to be making the trek from New York to California in a little over six hours (a good time in those days). My mom (who was always the worrier in the group) had been fretting over the experience for the prior month. My dad, who was always a bit more mellow, was also privately worrying about the flight but, was maintaining a stoic façade to hide his nervousness. My sister and I were 8 and 10 respectively and were just thrilled to be in the airport and were excited to fact this new experience of flying over the countryside and looking forward to a great vacation in a warmer climate.

When we had boarded, my sister and I vied for the window seat, on one side of the aisle (I won). My mom had the aisle seat so we were positioned on that first flight with myself in the window, my sister in the center seat and my mom on the aisle. My dad sat alone across the aisle. As the plane began to taxi down the runway, I was staring avidly out the window and marveling at how fast we appeared to be traveling down the runway. I did glance over at my dad who appeared to be praying with his eyes closed and his hands making an indelible impression of his hands on the arm rests of his seat. I don’t remember checking out my mom’s impression but, I do remember that dad’s nervousness was amusing to me.

The flight was all kinds of fun for the kids. We were greeted by the stewardesses and received flight pins to commemorate the trip. When we finally arrived in Los Angeles, I wanted to be the first off the plane and therefore the first within my family to touch California soil (or in this case the ground on the tarmac. There were no jet ways in those days so we wend down a staircase and walked across the tarmac to the terminal. I remember marveling at the warmth of the sunshine and the oddness of palm trees that I could see just outside of the airport.

We were met at the airport by my cousin Carol Ann and her husband. I remember the drive out of the airport on a driveway that was lined by palm trees. Having grown up on the East Coast, this was truly like arriving on another planet of sorts. The drive to the apartment complex that they lived in was filled with “ohhs and ahhs” from my sister and I as, it seemed, around every corner that there were more new and amazing sights to be seen and the promise of fun on all fronts.

That amazement lapsed rather suddenly when we arrived at my cousins’ home and we gathered that there wasn’t much to do for kids in this building. In fact, as I later found out, the complex they lived in was strictly “adults only” and my cousins had to secure special permission from the landlord operators to allow us to visit and stay with them for the five days we were going to be there.

I discovered that my cousin’s husband had been in Vietnam and since this was a topic that intrigued me, I wanted to question him on the topic but, I guess like a lot of vets, he didn’t want to talk too much about his experiences over there.

I did learn that he was a photographer / media type person who was involved in sort of a military correspondence position. He never carried a gun but I guess he still saw enough action that he was uncomfortable about talking about it. Especially to an 11 year old kid.

We did get to see the usual touristy kinds of sights during our only trip to California as a family. My cousin took us to Hollywood. We saw the Hollywood “Walk of Fame.” We took turns getting our pictures taken in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. We spent a day at Disneyland.

The second portion of that trip started at the end of that first week of vacation. We flew to Tucson, AZ where we spent the next week driving around the desert. We took a small day trip to Old Tucson. This was an amusement park (of sorts) that used to be an old movie location that was the set for a lot of Spaghetti Westerns in the sixties and still featured a Wild West show and demonstration of filming and stunt activities.

The most memorable portion of that trip was actually the drive out to Old Tucson. The road was pretty winding and went over some mountainous terrain. My mother was the nervous type. I use to joke that she was afraid of the 20th Century. She had a kitten on the drive out to the Old Tucson park, which amused me (I guess all kids are fascinated about what generates a reaction in their parents).

Well, all too soon the vacation was over and we were then going to travel back home via two flights the first from Tucson, AZ to O’Hare International Airport in Chicago, IL and then the second hop from Chicago into Kennedy Airport in New York City.

The first flight took over in the morning and because of that timing, the meal that was served (yes, they still served full meals on flights back in those days) was breakfast, which as I recall consisted of eggs, bacon, toast and beverage. I was a very finicky eater in those days and I didn’t do eggs. When the stewardess came to pick up the trays she saw that I hadn’t eaten the eggs and chided me to eat up. Not wanting to disappoint, I attempted to eat the eggs to please the stewardess.

I guess I’ll never know what exactly caused it but I became very ill. The flight was pretty bumping as we were approaching Chicago. The crew had already given their instructions to return to the seats, fasten seat belts and prepare for landing. Despite this being only my third flight, I knew that there was supposed to be a disposable bag in the seat pouch in front of me in the event that you were getting ill and about to vomit. I looked for this bag but my luck was not going to be good on this particular day and at that particular moment. There was no bag and I knew I was about to vomit. I weighed out my options and decided to bolt for the bathroom.

Upon entering the bathroom, I heard a recording that stated in a very authoritative voice to “return to your seat.” A bright red sign that was flashing over the sink that read, “Return to your seat”, also greeted me.

Somewhat defeated and in a state of increasing panic I left the bathroom and went to the aisle in front of my seat in which my mother and sister were situated totally oblivious to my plight. My mom was seated in the center seat and my sister was sitting on the aisle. I managed to croak out, “Mom, I think I’m going to be sick.” This solicited the reasonable reaction of rifling through the seat pocket to retrieve the disposable “barf bag” that was there and swung around to hand this to me. The problem was she was late.

In the few seconds that preceded my vomiting, I was left with only a few options. I could swing around in the aisle and vomit in the direction of dad or I could remain waiting for the bag that was going to be too late and I vomited on my sister. Well, not on top of her but, certainly it wound up mostly in her lap. This event was most assuredly going to be one of those instances that she will always remember with feelings of dread and mortification. After my initial vomiting in my sister’s lap, I was not done. The stewardess then attempted to hustle me back into the lavatory and proceeded to continue vomiting all over the lavatory. Being still quite young (and now quite sick), I made a pretty big mess in both locations.

I’m quite sure my sister will forever remember this event with understandable mortification. When we landed in Chicago, I was taken by the hand and led to the cockpit. I was given the royal treatment. Some member of the crew (I can’t remember which one) took me by the hand and escorted me down a staircase and out onto the tarmac. This was intended to allow me to get some fresh air but, I only remember noise. The environment on the tarmac was more noisy and louder than anything I had ever experienced.

My sister, unfortunately, was given a towel. An opportunity to towel off and washed her up as best they could. They replaced the seat cushion that she was sitting in (we weren’t changing planes so we had the same seat assignment as in the first leg of the journey). She refused the notion (quite understandably) that she would sit in her underwear with a towel and sat in her vomit soaked clothes during the whole trip to NYC and the drive from the airport to my aunt and uncle’s house where she was finally given a chance to grab a shower. I felt much better after emptying my stomach in the landing into Chicago and the second leg was not as rough.