The old Chinese proverb is "be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it." That, and "may you live in interesting times." These are sardonic sayings because life is full of irony. There are a lot of Chinese and irony isn't lost on a population of 2,000,000,000. I can agree that in some instances what you initially wish for isn't always what you thought it would be. In the late 70s, early 80s, I got to attend various training seminars and meetings related to public transit. I was located in greater New Orleans and flew to Texas quite a lot. I have fond memories of flying in those decades. Lots of airlines. Lots of choices. Free meals. Friendly, accommodating flight attendants who were often attractive women. Fewer cavity searches. To Texas you had TTA (tree top airlines or Trans Texas), Southwest (hasn't changed much in decades and much the model of the industry now) and Braniff. Southwest was also called cattle car airlines for obvious reasons, which you'll appreciate if you've flown with them. They were great for being on time (the cattle car concept worked for that), had an excellent safety record and were friendly and a little weird. I liked that. As I recall, I was flying on a Sunday afternoon in the spring. I often chose Braniff over Southwest because they fed you more than peanuts (another staple of Southwest), gave you a seat assignment, in advance and flew decent jets with leather seats. The kicker was they were about the same cost on many flights as their competition and you got the frills for almost nothing. Probably why they no longer exist.
I was looking forward to a leisurely flight and evening in Houston. I liked to show up early in case I had transportation trouble and that day had none and was quite early, nearly as early as you must show up today. As I approached Braniff's counter, I was greeted by the friendly faces of the airline's staff with a smile. Things were pretty sweet. When the ticket agent looked at my ticket and flight she frowned and said, "you know there's a big storm rolling in and I seriously doubt your flight will take off." Wow, talk about ruin your plans. Then she said, "you know you're early enough and we have a flight due to take off in just about five minutes. It should beat the storm. I can switch your ticket out and if you run, you can just make the door closure." That brought a big smile to my face. I was going to get what I wished for. "Fabulous, let's do it." I love to quote Gary Gilmore.
I grabbed my carry-on and altered ticket and ran down the concourse. If you're old enough you can remember the commercial with OJ running through airports jumping over seats and sprinting. Better times for all, especially OJ. I ran. I jumped. I sprinted. I just made it in time for the doors to be sealed behind me. I even got an aisle seat. What transpired that day can't happen now. We understand the forces of downdrafts, micro-bursts, wind shear and there are detectors at the end of each runway. Not so this day, however. We took off as the skies darkened, as I recall, on the east-west runway, heading east. Normally storms came at us from the west, northwest but I don't know from which direction the storm was coming that day. The reason I say we took off going east is as the pilot climbed and slightly banked starboard, I could see Kenner outside the plane windows below me and if you go west, you only see swamp, north you get the lake. I was on the right side of the plane. As an aside, much of north Kenner hadn't been developed yet. The airport, which was then Moisant Field and is now Louis Armstrong International, is located in the midst of Kenner, which grew up around the airport. The airport was located well out of town when it was built but back then zoning didn't preclude building a house in close proximity. That would change, of course, in time, although the houses in Kenner are still there, at least most of them are. Within a year or so later than my Sunday flight to Houston, PanAm flight 759 would crash into the same Kenner neighborhood, demolishing six houses, killing all 145 people on board and another 6 who were on the ground. It was one of those tragedies that the FAA learned a lot from. Knowledge, however, isn't retro-active and on this Sunday, what became immediately obvious was we weren't going to be doing any noise abatement even though we were flying over a residential neighborhood. The Captain pushed us up into the sky with all the throttle he had but we weren't climbing very well at all. The bumping and jumping began as the plane strained and made funny noises and the lights on the plane were having a hard time staying lit and were flickering and eventually would go out. We were sort of suspended in air with the engines at full throttle and the storm was shaking us like a rag doll and we weren't climbing, we were bouncing. We were moving forward but I felt we were approaching a stall. I could almost feel the back end of the plane begin to pull us down and we didn't have far to go to the ground. I do not ever want to feel that sensation again. The pilot had to give up on the climb and just try to regain air speed. There was a moment of clarity when I realized we were pretty much going to crash. It was imminent. You can't stall a commercial jet like that at low altitude and expect much else. There was really no other conclusion to be had from the events. We weren't going to make it because we didn't have enough air speed. The storm was pushing us down toward the ground and we never should have tried to take off in the first place. It seemed like it went on for several minutes but I know it was only a matter of a minute. A minute's a long time when you're in a commercial jet that can't maintain airspeed and is drifting downward. There was the smell of panic in the cabin. I noticed people's faces were pale with flecks of white on the their skin. I saw a dozen or so people vomiting in bags. To this day, I had never witnessed anybody throwing up in those little bags. There was general crying and sobbing. That, and the throwing-up was epidemic. I was in my 30s and felt I had achieved a lot in my life. I always thought when my time came, I'd be okay with it, as I was satisfied with my life's achievements. This one moment put that to lie. In no way was I ready to die. It was the farthest thing from the truth. I wanted another second, another minute, any chance to survive at all, was acceptable to me. The plane shuddered over and over and just as it seemed we would not stop drifting backwards, the pilot dropped more altitude and brought the nose down and managed to arrest the stall. We had also moved southeast far enough to start to clear some of the wind sheer that was pushing down on us. The plane began to level a bit and we simply flew low until he could use his gradually increasing airspeed to start climbing. In another moment, there was palpable relief on board. The lights came back on. We were climbing toward cruise altitude and sunshine. We weren't going to die after all. I had been on a rough flight where we should have diverted but didn't and laded in a snow storm in Omaha. It was terrible and bumpy and when we landed everybody burst out in applause. There was no applause or jubilation this day. Just embarrassment and relief. In 1982, Flight 759 hit a tree while trying to regain airspeed while being forced down by wind sheer and cold, rapid down drafts. PanAm had had no luck that day. Braniff must have had a horseshoe aboard for this day because we managed to regain our airspeed and climb back up into the sky without hitting anything. In retrospect, I know it was foolish to run to get on a plane taking off into an approaching storm. But in experiencing an event that made me think I was to die, I learned something. I'm better prepared to ask for another minute of life and always willing to wish for it. The Chinese aren't right about everything.
I was looking forward to a leisurely flight and evening in Houston. I liked to show up early in case I had transportation trouble and that day had none and was quite early, nearly as early as you must show up today. As I approached Braniff's counter, I was greeted by the friendly faces of the airline's staff with a smile. Things were pretty sweet. When the ticket agent looked at my ticket and flight she frowned and said, "you know there's a big storm rolling in and I seriously doubt your flight will take off." Wow, talk about ruin your plans. Then she said, "you know you're early enough and we have a flight due to take off in just about five minutes. It should beat the storm. I can switch your ticket out and if you run, you can just make the door closure." That brought a big smile to my face. I was going to get what I wished for. "Fabulous, let's do it." I love to quote Gary Gilmore.
I grabbed my carry-on and altered ticket and ran down the concourse. If you're old enough you can remember the commercial with OJ running through airports jumping over seats and sprinting. Better times for all, especially OJ. I ran. I jumped. I sprinted. I just made it in time for the doors to be sealed behind me. I even got an aisle seat. What transpired that day can't happen now. We understand the forces of downdrafts, micro-bursts, wind shear and there are detectors at the end of each runway. Not so this day, however. We took off as the skies darkened, as I recall, on the east-west runway, heading east. Normally storms came at us from the west, northwest but I don't know from which direction the storm was coming that day. The reason I say we took off going east is as the pilot climbed and slightly banked starboard, I could see Kenner outside the plane windows below me and if you go west, you only see swamp, north you get the lake. I was on the right side of the plane. As an aside, much of north Kenner hadn't been developed yet. The airport, which was then Moisant Field and is now Louis Armstrong International, is located in the midst of Kenner, which grew up around the airport. The airport was located well out of town when it was built but back then zoning didn't preclude building a house in close proximity. That would change, of course, in time, although the houses in Kenner are still there, at least most of them are. Within a year or so later than my Sunday flight to Houston, PanAm flight 759 would crash into the same Kenner neighborhood, demolishing six houses, killing all 145 people on board and another 6 who were on the ground. It was one of those tragedies that the FAA learned a lot from. Knowledge, however, isn't retro-active and on this Sunday, what became immediately obvious was we weren't going to be doing any noise abatement even though we were flying over a residential neighborhood. The Captain pushed us up into the sky with all the throttle he had but we weren't climbing very well at all. The bumping and jumping began as the plane strained and made funny noises and the lights on the plane were having a hard time staying lit and were flickering and eventually would go out. We were sort of suspended in air with the engines at full throttle and the storm was shaking us like a rag doll and we weren't climbing, we were bouncing. We were moving forward but I felt we were approaching a stall. I could almost feel the back end of the plane begin to pull us down and we didn't have far to go to the ground. I do not ever want to feel that sensation again. The pilot had to give up on the climb and just try to regain air speed. There was a moment of clarity when I realized we were pretty much going to crash. It was imminent. You can't stall a commercial jet like that at low altitude and expect much else. There was really no other conclusion to be had from the events. We weren't going to make it because we didn't have enough air speed. The storm was pushing us down toward the ground and we never should have tried to take off in the first place. It seemed like it went on for several minutes but I know it was only a matter of a minute. A minute's a long time when you're in a commercial jet that can't maintain airspeed and is drifting downward. There was the smell of panic in the cabin. I noticed people's faces were pale with flecks of white on the their skin. I saw a dozen or so people vomiting in bags. To this day, I had never witnessed anybody throwing up in those little bags. There was general crying and sobbing. That, and the throwing-up was epidemic. I was in my 30s and felt I had achieved a lot in my life. I always thought when my time came, I'd be okay with it, as I was satisfied with my life's achievements. This one moment put that to lie. In no way was I ready to die. It was the farthest thing from the truth. I wanted another second, another minute, any chance to survive at all, was acceptable to me. The plane shuddered over and over and just as it seemed we would not stop drifting backwards, the pilot dropped more altitude and brought the nose down and managed to arrest the stall. We had also moved southeast far enough to start to clear some of the wind sheer that was pushing down on us. The plane began to level a bit and we simply flew low until he could use his gradually increasing airspeed to start climbing. In another moment, there was palpable relief on board. The lights came back on. We were climbing toward cruise altitude and sunshine. We weren't going to die after all. I had been on a rough flight where we should have diverted but didn't and laded in a snow storm in Omaha. It was terrible and bumpy and when we landed everybody burst out in applause. There was no applause or jubilation this day. Just embarrassment and relief. In 1982, Flight 759 hit a tree while trying to regain airspeed while being forced down by wind sheer and cold, rapid down drafts. PanAm had had no luck that day. Braniff must have had a horseshoe aboard for this day because we managed to regain our airspeed and climb back up into the sky without hitting anything. In retrospect, I know it was foolish to run to get on a plane taking off into an approaching storm. But in experiencing an event that made me think I was to die, I learned something. I'm better prepared to ask for another minute of life and always willing to wish for it. The Chinese aren't right about everything.
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