OUT ON THE RUNWAY

November 1978

The East Village lays west of the East River. Alice and I lived at 256 East 10th Street. I was in love with the hillbilly actress. Alice was a little bit country and a lot of David Bowie.

In the light of the false dawn I marveled at the marble whiteness of her naked skin and how she breathed like Pygmalion struggling for life.

Alice liked sleeping in late. I wished I could do the same. I was an insomniac and most mornings I lay awake and listened for the Concorde's massive engines roaring from JFK across Brooklyn to Manhattan. During take-off the Olympus 593 turbojetRolls-Royce/Bristol Siddeley screamed fighting to lift the SST into the sky. Destination either Heathow in London or Charles De Gaulle Aeroport outside Paris.

Top speed was more than twice the sound of speed.

Passengers paid.

Occasionally Alice woke and murmured, "I wish I was heading to Paris."

The price of a one-way ticket was $7500 or twice the yearly income of most Americans. Neither was us could afford the flight, yet every morning I embraced the power of its engines and fell asleep dreaming of the Eiffel Tower in the afternoon

She never said 'we'.

For my mother's birthday I booked a flight to Boston on Pan-Am. A surprise visit of her second son.

12:05 take-off. No time to waste. I kissed Alice good-bye and caught a taxi to JFK.

The previous day a snow storm covered the highway approaches to JFK. My watch ate away the minutes, as the taxi crawled down the Grand Central Parkway. We finally arrived at 11:5O. I ran up to the desk and handed the female clerk my ticket and she said, "Our flight to Boston to pulled away from the departure gate three minutes ago."

"I was trying to surprise my mother for Mother's Day."

She picked up the phone and said, "Just a second. maybe I can get you on the plane. It's a long shot, but I'm Irish like you and we believe in long shots and a mother's love."

She whispered into phone and smiled, "We're going to drive you out to the plane. It's a prop and has easy access to the cabin. Go and go fast."

A security guard approached the gate and she order him to get me on the plane. "Peace."

We ran to the gate. A Pan-Am van waited for us. I could see my flight, but also the Air France Concorde ready for tomorrow morning, but I wasn't interested in the Eiffel Tower or the Bourbon palace Versailles and boarded the Fairchild F-27. I sat. I buckled up. We taxied by the SST and within minutes were airborne bound for my old hometown. After the pilot announced the flight lasted forty-five minutes the stewardess offered me a beer.

"Could I have two?"

Of course. Anything for the loving son."

"Two Heinekens."

We floated over Long Island and I thought they could have never pulled this trick on the Concorde, then again I wasn't going to Paris. I was a New Englander and a son visiting his family in his hometownn.

The Free World

Back in December of 1981 I showed up late at JFK for a Pan-Am flight to Boston.

"No worries." The young clerk picked up the phone. "The plane is still on the tarmac. We'll drive you out to it."

"Really?" I couldn't believe my good luck.

"We aim to serve."

I followed him out of the terminal. Snow was melting on the ground and the sky was a winter blue.

Air France's Concorde was across the runway.

There wasn't a guard or cop in sight and I said to the clerk, "What if we hijack that to Paris?"

"I don't think that would be a good idea." He blew into his hands. "It's already going to Paris. I would want to go to Miami."

"Not a bad idea."

A Pan-Am car rolled up to the gate and took me out to the waiting prop plane.

The ground crew shut the door and I sat in my seat.

It was great living in the Free World.

Flying For Fun PAN AM

Pan-Am was America's airline, connecting the north and south continents, then island hopping across the Pacific to Manila and then straddling the Atlantic to London and Paris. I flew them often to Boston from New York back in the 1970s. The service wasn't up to the fabled clipper class of the past, but they got you on your plane. Once I arrived at the JFK terminal after the gate had been closed by the ground crew. "Sorry, the plane has pulled away from the gate." The woman at the counter picked up the phone and spoke to someone, then hung up and said, "Come with me. We'll drive you out to the plane." We hurried through the terminal to the lower floors. A luggage cart was waiting at the doors. I threw my bag in back and the woman shouted, "Bon Voyage." The driver zigzagged through the maze of tarmacs to find the prop-engined puddle-hopper idling before the main runway. The rear door of the plane was open and a crew member was waiting by the stairs. I ran to the aircraft and jumped on board to take my assigned seat. As I fastened my seatbelt, the captain apologized for the delay and announced that we were ready for take-off. The engines roared and the aircraft raced down the runway into the air. That was traveling.