For as long as I can remember, I have always been fascinated by flight. The flight of a butterfly, the flight of a bird, the flight of a helicopter, and the flight of a jet airliner always cause me to stop and observe. Each one, distinct in its execution, offers a unique view of the ground below. In the case of a jet airliner, we wonder how something so big can leave the ground with huge payloads, travel at speeds approaching 585 mph, then land safely thousands of miles away. Years later, even after learning how flight happens, I still find myself breath-taken, inspired, and completely in awe.
My first flight on a commercial jet took place near the end of my senior year of high school. I was representing the tiny state of Delaware at the National Junior Achievement Awards Banquet. It was a big honor for me and my family but, honestly, taking that first flight was the real highlight of my early life. It was a short trip, Philadelphia to Indianapolis via Allegheny Airlines, one of many regional carriers dating back to a time when the skies were filled with small airline companies. I spent most of that flight with my face pressed against the window, absorbing views of the ready to bloom rolling hills of Pennsylvania and Ohio. From the high-pitched whine of the Pratt & Whitney engines, to the sound of the wheel doors closing, it was love at first flight.
I’ve always maintained a private relationship with God and it was on this maiden flight that I really began to understand his power and grace. There I was, soaring above the world and all of its troubles. It was the spring 1970. Yippies, SDS, the Vietnam War expansion into Cambodia, and Richard Nixon were all headline news. At that moment, I said a prayer for the pilot and crew. I prayed for good health and clear minds as they identified ways to get us to our destination safely and on-time. That prayer became a personal pre-flight ritual in later years.
After that first flight, several years passed before I was airborne again. In 1985, living in Dallas, Texas and working as a compliance auditor, I found myself traveling around the country week after week. A few years later, following transfers and promotions that took me to cities like Tucson, Boston, and Denver, I eventually returned to Dallas.
As an Area Sales Director, I made regular flights to each of the markets for which I had responsibility. Oklahoma City, Tulsa, Little Rock, Kansas City, and St. Louis were my homes away from home. Living and working in tornado alley made for some frightful, heartbeat-skipping moments on the ground. In the air, it was challenging to schedule flights around the time of day when the atmosphere was most unstable. Typically, I flew in the early morning hours, but as business required, I traveled whenever necessary. That’s how I found myself booked on a flight from St. Louis to Dallas late one afternoon in the spring of 1999.
Weather conditions were ripe for severe storms in a large portion of the south central United States, including Missouri, Oklahoma, and Texas. I sensed that if we boarded the jet on time, we could get to DFW with minimal need for airport circling over north Texas. Meanwhile, in the terminal, it was extremely busy – which usually translates to noisy. But on this Friday afternoon, it was eerily quiet. Businessmen and women wore tight faces and blank stares as they clutched brief cases and Blackberry communication devices. Severe weather conditions have a numbing effect on everyone, especially business travelers.
American Airlines flew Fokker 100 jets on this route. I liked the Fokker 100. It was a regional jet made in The Netherlands. Years earlier, one pilot I flew with described the F-100 as a sports car in the air. He said it was quick, lightweight, and easy to maneuver. I found myself repeating his words as the flight crew pushed through storm cloud after storm cloud on that one and one-half hour nightmarish flight to DFW. The Fokker bumped, grinded, twisted, turned, dipped, and dove the entire time. With the exception of a few panic-stricken, inexperienced travelers, the entire cabin was silent. The zombie-like expressions we wore was something right out of an episode of the Twilight Zone.
The prayers I recited on my maiden flight 29-years earlier were put to good use on this trip. And, based on the muted cabin silence, I suspect that my fellow travelers had their own prayers working overtime as well.
Pre and post-flight prayers have served me well by calming my fears and helping me find inner peace. I recall the ecstatic joy I felt as the flight crew maneuvered that Dutch sports car to a safe touchdown in Dallas – thanks to the power and grace of God.
To date, I’ve logged more than 2 million miles on American Airlines and other carriers. That St. Louis to Dallas trip was my final flight on a Fokker-100.
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