Them Dawgs Don’t Hunt

“Travel is only glamorous in retrospect.”

Paul Theroux (1941 - ), Washington Post

Another first is eclipsed as I sit once again in the Philadelphia Tarpits waiting for the last possible plane ride back home. Funny my plans never include a trip to Philadelphia, but it appeared as the only hope left in a weather challenged world. I am continuously reminded of the old W.C. Fields quote “I spent a week in Philadelphia one day.” The scent of misfortune hung in the air like a rotting carcass when I looked at the ignorant itinerary a misguided travel agent booked for me. I can no longer stomach dealing with rookie travel agents whose only travel experience is between home and grandma’s house a couple blocks around the corner. They have little idea of what each of the destinations mean as they scroll though the list of possible connections. I have decided to forego using travel agents for the rest of my life. It is my greatest source of aggravation, much like I’m the dog of stupid dog tricks.

The first leg of my ill advised itinerary included a three hour delay in Chicago O’Hara on United while heading to Wilkes Barre. The very first thing they need to teach a new travel agent is the greatest opportunity for complete failure is flying into O’Hara anytime between December and December. In other words the only reason to fly United to Chicago is to get stranded in the airport, get a free roundtrip ticket you will never be able to use and acquire a consolation gift cheap shave kit that will rip the skin off your face like a serrated knife. In other words steer clear of O’Hara like it is ground zero for the black plague. Unfortunately in my quest for simplicity I decided to allow my client to carry my travel cost by using their inept travel agent and travel account.

The brutal carnage in O’Hara is no longer a surprise, if fact the long lines of anger red faced businessmen screaming at arrogant stone faced heartless gate agents surrounded by hordes of abandon families sleeping on the floor seems quite normal these days. The chaos is reminiscent of the fifth level of Dante’s Inferno,a place of constant pain and suffering requiring an eternity to endure. The scene at O’Hara is now so commonplace that it is not really worth writing about on the average travel day. My late night arrival at Wilkes Barre at 1:30 in the morning was only memorable because the airport did not have a single taxi waiting at ground transportation. Apparently the taxi drivers don’t like to drive down from Scranton to wait for fares, so it is necessary to wait for 30 minutes before the dispatcher can convince some bored Somalia to jump in his brother’s car and pick you up. I’m always thrilled about get into my hotel room at 2:30 am, knowing my meeting with the client is scheduled for 8:00 am on the opposite side of town.

The three days of meetings in Wilkes Barre was intensive and demanding with interactive sessions occurring all day then followed by the design team to working late into the night to refine solutions. This rigorous mental activity is always enhanced with sleep deprivation, poor dietary habits and excess consumption of caffeine. Compounding this type of impromptu business gymnastics is the usual array of technological complications, a broken scanner in the business center, the plotter at the printing service with a drive belt on back order, the compatibility issues between the computer networks and blackberry that receives email but won’t send.

On the last day we begin to allow ourselves the luxury of thinking about traveling back home to a familiar environment and some simple comforts. Reading the newspaper during breakfast dispelled any hope that the return trip would be easy with a front page lead story of “Chicago cancels over 400 Flights Due to Weather”. The dominos have been falling for the last 24 hours and there is no place in the entire aviation system that won’t be impacted by this severe hemorrhage. The team members begin watching flight status lists on the internet as the cancellations cascade both east and south. Wilkes Barre is a smaller regional airport with flight options that are extremely limited.

It didn’t take long to find out my United flight back through Chicago is cancelled. The call to our inexperienced travel agent revealed that she that booked me on the only available flight from Wilkes Berre without clearing it with me. With such a proud sense of accomplishment she told me that it was all taken care of and I was rescheduled on Delta from Wilkes Barre to Atlanta to Cincinnati to Kansas City. I truly think she was offended when I told her I would rather have her cut off my left nut and force feed it to me than to embark on visiting all nine levels of Dante’s inferno in a single day. With bad weather already a known factor how can anyone think that going through Atlanta and Cincinnati would accomplish anything but cause me great distress. Delta is the canary in the coal mine for the airline industry, the first sign of trouble Delta drops dead. In biology we would call Delta an indicator species, it’s the first place trouble is evident in a system. This is coupled with five bad experiences on Delta in Atlanta and another four bad experiences in Cincinnati on Comair, Delta’s dysfunctional little sister. This is absolutely the last place in the world to send me.

During one of my long stays in the Cincinnati is decided to look for a new name for the faltering airline. Delta is the fourth letter of the Greek alphabet and in mathematics is the symbol used to represent change. While I like the concept of change and foward thinking Delta is no longer worthy of the name with its frozen brutal uncaring approach. I carefully looked over each of the other Greek letters and their associated symbols and meanings in order to find a new replacement which better represent the airline. I was about ready to pick Iota meaning insignificance when I found that in court transcripts a small Delta represent the word defendant. How appropriate, maybe Delta is named correctly, we just need to change the capitalization.

Talking into my cell phone in a firm but decided tone I informed the travel agent that her first attempt at getting me home was a disaster and she should get back online to try again. Recognizing my own personal need to understand the situation I grab a computer. My first website I pull up is Google maps in order to determine other adjacent airports with better travel options than Wilkes Berre. Newark Airport is a two hour drive east but flights are typically full and most flights to Kansas City travel north into the problematic weather, not a particularly positive solution. Philadelphia is a two and a half hour drive south but it is the “tarpits” , a place where no one ever seems to escape alive. I’m still using solvent to remove tar and feathers from me from my last visit to Philadelphia Airport. However Southwest Airlines does have a direct flight from Philadelphia to Kansas City which is a reasonable option. I notice that driving to Philadelphia we pass Allentown, a city with a bit larger regional airport, which could have some options only an hour drive away.

The next step is to jump on the travel sites and look at available flights from Allenstown. In a minute a long list of options flash on the screen. Scrolling down the list the options, the obvious problem connections are discarded, Chicago already closed, Cleveland weather heading that way, Atlanta just because it’s Atlanta, Washington the delays are already piling up. Wait a minute, Charlotte appears and that airport is never crowded. The flight times are perfect plus they only want $450 for the ticket. This is truly my best option to get home tonight, a one hour drive and a connection through Charlotte. Before I can contact the travel agent, she calls me to inform me that the Cincinnati leg of the flight I was booked on was canceled. I must be psychic to realize that Cincinnati was a one way street to nowhere. It’s not that hard to understand especially if you travel frequently. I make the suggestion to fly from Allentown connecting in Charlotte on US Airlines, only to find in her eagerness to make up for her two stupid move she has booked me on an American Airline flight from Philadelphia connecting in Dallas. It is a lost cause that even Saint Michael could not remedy. Our modern world needs a new Saint for stupid travel agents so I can pray for their souls. The team is already loading the van for our unscheduled drive to Philadelphia. Reluctantly with a resignation of knowing with high certainty what my future is to be, I toss my travel bag into the trunk and jump into the passenger’s seat.

At first I am concerned with the high rate of speed our van was traveling until I find out that since we were switching airlines, the travel agent could not complete the reservation, so we have to get to the Philadelphia gate agent by 4:00 pm in order to convert our reservation into real seats on the flight. I look at my watch and note that it is12:45 with a two hour drive ahead of us. I silently realize that this is not going to happen and decide that it is every man for him self once we arrive at the Philadelphia airport. Without anyone noticing I fire up my computer, turn my broadband card, and start surfing for options out of Philadelphia, because by the time everyone get though the long customer service lines those reserved tickets will be long gone. I focus on a Midwest Airline connecting in Milwaukee. It’s a long shot since the Philadelphia delays may be such that I will probably miss the connection. Hoping for the best I booked the last seat on the 6:45 flight to Milwaukee without anyone in the van knowing what I was attempting. It was a selfish act of self preservation, I not going to the slaughterhouse without attempting an escape.

The high speed steeple chase ends with a furious gauntlet in Philadelphia rush hour traffic. Frantically we bolt from the rental car and jump the shuttle bus to the terminal. Each of the team members is balanced between sheer exhaustion and debilitating panic as they fidget in the fake leather seats. At the first stop the shuttle bus driver announces Terminal A which includes Midwest Airlines at which point I jump off the shuttle. I can hear the team member yelling at me that I’m not at the correct Terminal. I turn and reply “Sorry but you all are headed to a fool’s paradise and I would rather try to get home tonight. I release you all from any responsibility for my wellbeing.” Smiling I glance back to see three stunned faces wondering what went wrong with the plan, why the break in ranks?

Finding the Midwest Airline service desk I am the second in line behind an irate older businessman in a dark three piece suit who is reading the gate agent the riot act trying impress upon him just how important a traveler he is. The gate agent is restrained and polite as the egomaniac denounces every aspect of company policy, finally moving on to a personal attack on the gate agent’s character. This rant continues for over twenty minutes as the line of customers grows behind me. Apparently in his ignorance or more likely arrogance, this savvy world traveler decided not to come to the airport to check in since his flight was delayed for three hours and because of this failure to report his seat was released and given to another passenger. Unfortunately because of the weather delays the flight became oversold and there was no longer a seat to give him. In fact all the flights for the rest of the night were oversold and the alone option for this grotesque tyrant is to book a flight tomorrow.

Finally the gate agent realizes that this barking Philadelphia bulldog is not going to leave until he wins some sort of concession from the airline and this gate agent in particular. In a worthless gesture the gate agent decides to get the line moving again by offering Mr. Big a standby ticket on the last flight out. Waving the ticket as a captured enemy flag and cursing the soul of every airline employees he stomps off to spend the next three hours waiting at the gate with his worthless gesture for a flight he will never get on.

Feeling sorry for the gate agent I try to open the conversation in a conciliatory gesture. “Man, how did you ever keep your cool? I’m sorry I would have finally told that jerk where he could stuff that ticket. Why can’t they realize that it’s the weather isn’t not you?”

The gate agent looks up and shows a slight smile relieved from the past hour of abuse “How can I help you?”

Having just over heard the status of every flight heading to Milwaukee, I realize that my flight is also delayed three hours and there is no way of making my connection. I began in a voice which coveys the hopelessness of the situation, “Thanks, I was trying to get home to Kansas City tonight, but I understand that could be a long shot. I’ve got an interview tomorrow and getting to Milwaukee tonight would help a lot. No offense, but getting out of Philadelphia just suits me fine.”

Without responding the gate agent begins to diligently work at typing away at the computer in front of him. After about five minutes he looks up and hands me my ticket with a bit of a funny grin across his face. “You need to hurry and get to Gate 12.” At this point I’m confused since my flight is leaving from gate 17 and I know it is delayed three hours.

My confusion becomes evident and he explains “Don’t tell anyone but I put you on the earlier flight which was also delayed three hours, but is now just getting ready to push off from gate 12. The flight you were originally on is delayed long enough that you would miss your connection in Milwaukee and need to spend the night.” The slight grin on his face erupts into a huge smile as he tells me the punch line. Slightly leaning over the counter he whispers “I gave you the seat of that bastard that was giving me such a hard time. You better hurry it was the last seat on the plane.” I chuckle while thanking him profusely, finally ending our shared secret with a warm handshake. “Can’t tell you how much that makes my day.”

The shock begins to wear off as I hurry to my gate realizing that this gesture of kindness will allow me to make it home less than two hours late. Most gratifying is that it will be at the expense of Mr. Big, the arrogant business traveler that knew how to bully the system and ended up waiting another three hours before he is told of go away and come back tomorrow. Quite an accomplishment all things considered. The travel gods are smiling. Finally sitting in my seat it occurs to me that I was booked on eleven separate flights today and the revenge of the gate agent allowed me safe passage home.

As I’m settling into the seat my cell phone rings with one of the team members. “Mr. Blue, You wouldn’t believe it, we stood in line for almost two hours and when we got to the desk they had given away our seats. We are now headed back to your terminal, they told us there is room on the delayed Midwest flight to Milwaukee, but we’ll miss our connection and need to spend the night. Are you still on that flight?”

With a slight feeling of guilt I acknowledge “No I was able to jump a different flight and will make the Milwaukee connection.”

“Good for you. How did you know to break rank and head to Midwest Airline?”

“I’ve been doing this a long time and I just knew by looking at the situation that dog don’t hunt. By the way say thanks to your travel agent, I think it might be a long time before I talk with her again”

The voice on the other end of the phone sadly confirm the thought “Yeah I know what you mean”

“Travel only with thy equals or thy betters; if there are none, travel alone.”

The Dhammapada

To Slay Boreas

The time is growing short as I prepare for an epic battle with the Devouring One. My mind is stilled as the New Year approaches setting in motion a legendary struggle between mortal man and the god of the cold north wind, Boreas. Providence as has aligned the stars so that I will battle the white abyss as the first sun of the New Year sets over my small hamlet. So it has been written.

For those that do not know, Boreas was the Greek god of the cold north wind and the bringer of winter. His name meant "North Wind" or "Devouring One". Greek legend described Boreas as very strong, with a violent temper to match. He was frequently depicted as a winged old man with shaggy hair and beard, holding a conch shell and wearing a billowing cloak. During my journey I am sure to stare into his cold fierce eyes challenging his rule. Do not underestimate his power and cruelty as he recently stole Christmas from a quarter million travelers in Denver last week alone. He has been conserving his energy for the time when he is the strongest at which time he will seek vengeance and retribution from anyone that stands in his way. The lands on which we will battle are already known and the mild calm is only a retreat from the fury to come.

In a hundred years my travels will never be aligned such as they are for January. Fate has written this clash in the calendar without reprieve or repentance. I shall only be home about six days in January. As if I was attempting to provoke Boreas by spitting in his face, I will visit the cities of Toronto, Minneapolis, Chicago, Rapid City, Cheyenne and Denver to face the brunt of the cold while Philadelphia and Baltimore wait with ice and sleet. The only shelter I will find is three days in San Antonio to recover my strength and will. No one can expect to walk the razor’s edge for so long without bleeding. I’m sure it will provide the next generation hours of entertainment as the tales of courage are told before a warm fireplace.

Most people consider my actions as a road warrior who has gone insane. Why tempt fate and hurl myself into the lair of the winter gods. Everyone knows that I no longer ski or enjoy winter sports. The sad truth is that this fools schedule is another fleeting attempt to gain fame and fortune. However if I should survive, I will be granted my reward in February when I travel to Australia for three weeks during the waning of the summer season. What can I say “Only fools rush in where wise men fear to tread.” I’ll see you on the white side.

In the dread circle hemmed by glaciers,
Pallid waste where no radiant fathomers,
Columbuses or Gamas, ever pass,
In realms of dingy gloom and deep crevasse
Seized from creation by nonentity,
Beyond ice floe and berg and ice-bound sea,
Deep in the fog that quenches every ray,
In stone waves and rock waters, far from day,
Amid the gloom, there, on the pole, stands black
Archangel Winter, darkness on his back
And trumpet at his lips; nor does he cast
One flash of eye, or blow one clarion-blast;
He never even dreams, being sheer snow;
The winged winds, captives of that age-old foe
Silence, are in his hand—birds in a snare;
His sightless eyes horribly watch the air;
Hoarfrost is in his bones and on his head,
And he is swathed in ever-petrified dread;
He terrifies the Vast, he seems so wild;
He is harsh, dismal, ice—that is, exiled;
The earth beneath his feet, in its dark cape,
Is dumb; he is the mute white stony shape
Set on that tomb in the eternal night;
Never does any motion, sound, or light
Brush the lone giant in that somber pall.
But when, on the timepieces that we call
Stars, the last day, endless and centerless,
Will sound, then the Lord's face will luminesce
And melt the spirit; his mouth will distend
Suddenly, in a savage, dreadful bend,
And the worlds—skiffs rudderless, rolling on—
Will hear the storm-blast of his clarion.

Archangel Winter
by Victor Hugo

Dead Man Walking

Dead Man Walking

The sky is turning steel grey as the sunset highlights wisps of the remaining jet contrails hanging above the worn tarmac. The scene has a sterile industrial appearance with the soft light bouncing off the polished metal machines which line the gates like bees on a honeycomb. The routine has become almost to routine as I follow a well worn path without thinking in a subconscious response like breathing. Entering the concourse through gate B3, I turn left and slowly shuffle with the ear buds pumping Greg Allman singing “the dark side of the road” into my brain as the moving walkway reminds me of its termination for the millionth time in that exceedingly androgynous voice. It’s late and the concourse is largely abandon only littered with a few gate agents milling around waiting for the next cattle car to arrive as I head to gate B21 for the final leg of this trip.

The crowd has always begun to assemble into three simple lines waiting for the jetway door to open. I take my place in line to begin the wait with everyone else. Pain has been welling in the muscles of my lower back which is now attempting to compete for center stage with the low grade thumping headache that has been my companion since Hartford. As my feet burn from standing for the past two days, I mumble to myself "I can’t believe that it’s only Tuesday". The voice over the intercom is droning in the background, but the sound drifts past without importance because it’s someone else’s flight to nowhere in particular. I’ve been conditioned to only respond to the specific drone of my gate like the penguins that can identify their youth after months of separation purely by the small sound of their voice. Like a baby penguin I quietly wait for a familiar drone which begins the process of perpetual motion all over again.

The gate opens as four serious TSA agents scurry down and disappear into the jetway to discover hidden gels and liquids. Travelers have already adapted to the new regulations adeptly discarding all types of viscous personal items without blinking. Less than three days since the spoiled plot to instill fear into the general public, the routine is once again commonplace. The public’s attention span is now so short and dysfunctional that we now act like the last act of terrorism is nothing more than a rerun of a bad sitcom from a show that has been cancelled due to lack of interest. Terrorists are going to need to get creative in order to capture our undivided attention and concern. That’s a problem any more; no one is being creative and simple concepts are being recycled over and over. Even the most diabolical insane terrorist can’t come up with a new idea.

As the door opens again the lines perk up and we start a noticeable shuffle while standing in place. Approaching the gate Ray Charles singing “America the beautiful” filling my head as the TSA agents scurry back out of the jetway past me. I reach up a salute the first TSA agent as he goes by. It just seemed like the thing to do, I guess Ray made me do it. The TSA agent immediately slows to take a good look while a complete shakedown of this potential deviant crosses his mind. The remaining TSA agents press forward distracting him with more important things to do, as they march off like a pack of Elmer Fudds chasing the mythical Bugs Bunny dressed in fatigues and a turban. The line begins to dwindle as I approach the gate in a painful slow baton death march.

Holding out the lottery ticket to win a ride to another location, I’m stopped cold as the gate agent says, “Sir you’re on the next flight.” Stunned I look down at the ticket and see the wrong departure time. “Please step aside, this plane is full.” You mean I’ve been standing in line for the past 45 minutes for a flight I’m not on? What happened to me gate B3 to B21? Sheepishly I wander back to the concourse and start heading to gate A9 for the next flight, when it strikes me that I didn’t need to look at the monitors to know the next gate. I know the 7:40 flight is out of gate B21 and then the 8:55 flight is out of gate A9, then the 9:30 flight is gate B15 and the last flight at 9:55 during the summer is back at gate B21. This realization is deeply troubling to me as I follow the routine and slowly march to gate A9.

Some people might consider this insight and knowledge of airline operations as a badge of honor or a sign of a brilliant photographic mind, but I find it a sign of a hopeless routine of waiting for time to pass. I begin to think that maybe I need a vacation, observing the gates I’m traveling past on my way to A9. B15 Washington DC……no I was there last week. B13 Ft. Lauderdale…….we just got a project there, so I’ll be traveling there a lot. B11 Hartford……….out of the question I just came from there. B9 Detroit……..no way I had a project there a few years ago and I’ve been there enough for a long time. B7 Boston………I was there three weeks ago and will be going back next month. B5 New York……..another trip next month. After awhile I come to the conclusion that maybe a vacation is not such a great idea. I would just be standing in that line instead of this one.

Arriving at A9, I assume my place in the pre-ordained line, this time at the right gate. As the door opens for the flight crew to enter the jetway when I notice that it’s the crew that flies the Chicago-Kansas City-Baltimore-Islip route. Again my sense of well being is shaken by the fact that I can associate particular crews with particular routes. Worst of all the flight attendant smiles and waves as she passes, letting me know that she also recognizes me. I’m of no particular striking physical persona that would make me memorable, just another face in the crowd, in her case a crowd of thousands of new faces each week. Five legs a day at 225 per flight equal almost 6,000 passengers a week, but she remembers me? I must have crossed over into the realm of that stupid little short commercial that bludgeons the airways so frequently that you can’t ignore it. I need to ask this airline about my pension options when I retire, I’m putting in as much time as the crews.

The gentle vibrating of my cell phone is a welcome relief from the depressing thoughts of the retirement dinner the airline will hold for me. I’ve have not heard a ring tone from my phone for the past five years, I prefer to keep the settings on silent so I’m not the idiot that jumps up in the middle of a funeral because his phone begins belting out Barry Manilow. A recent study found that one third of cell phone calls in public are faked because the person is trying to impress the public into thinking they are important. One out of three of the idiots babbling about crap are doing it so I think they are somebody? I need to inform them that I have never found anyone with a cell phone crammed into their ear important, interesting or anything close to a form of intelligent life. Cell phones are an entire subject that I better not get started on.

Answering the phone I recognize the voice of my closest friend for well over 40 years. “Hey mon, you are not going to believe this I’m living your life right now……I’m stuck in Mr. Blue’s hell.”

Knowing that we are now entering our long running game of can you top this I start “Yeah I bet you haven’t been standing in the wrong line for the past hour?”

“No” he replies “I’m been sitting my ass on a broken plane in Seattle for the past three hours and they are now giving me the news that we will arrive in New York at 3:30 am.”

Breaking a smile I need more so I ask “So what’s up with the plane?”

Feeling the anger begin to well he says “They have to replace some stinking part and they don’t have the part here so they are flying it up on the next flight from Los Angeles”.

Knowing he is on the edge and I don’t have a prayer of winning this contest, I begin to badger him, “So what’s the big deal?”

With that little poke it comes rolling out “Dude! I’m in Seattle the home of Boeing, the world’s greatest airplane manufacturer in the world. I’m so close to the factory I can almost see where they make the parts from my seat on the runway and I’m on a fucking French made Airbus!!!!”

There comes a point in our simple lives when we gain comfort in the misfortune of others, smiling I reply “Hey I though you were the one who said how important of a global economy is.”

Interrupting me he says “Mr. Blue don’t go there, right now or else I’ll push this plane to Chicago just to kick your ass!”

In a friendship that has been forged into steel over the years, close the conversation “Hey sweetheart be sure to give me a call when land in New York I want to be sure you made it home okay.”

Placing the phone back into my pocket I hear him talking to himself” I can’t believe I’m Mr. Blue stuck on some god dam plane…………”

For a brief moment my life is brightened knowing that I’m not the only “dead man walking” today.

Tyler Durden: “We just had a near-life experience”

Reality comes home to visit when you least expect it. Thursday night at 11:45, I logged on to my computer to print a boarding pass and was frozen by a new screen on Southwest Airline’s website. The “Incident” page appeared indicating that Midway Airport was shut down until further notice. I was scheduled to travel to Midway on Southwest at 7:00 am in the morning. I sat back and considered what I had just read.

Southwest is one of my most frequent carriers. Last year alone I traveled 87 segments on Southwest, 35 of those to Midway. In the past 10 years can only guess I’ve traveled over 500 segments on Southwest. Midway is a second home to me. In the rainy summer of 2003, I was spending 6 hours a week in delays alone in Midway. My knowledge of Midway probably exceeds many of the employees that work there.

Southwest has adopted a simple business policy that has served them well over the years. They only fly one aircraft, the Boeing 737. Every pilot, every mechanic, every ground crew and every flight attendant knows only one plane; and they know it in detail. As a result Southwest in 35 years of flying never had a fatality, until Thursday.

Southwest described the Incident. Last night, Flight 1248 was involved in an incident at Chicago Midway Airport at approximately 7:15 p.m. CST while the aircraft, a Boeing 737-700, was landing. The aircraft veered off the runway and through the blast fence at the northwest corner of the runway -- stopping at the intersection of Central and 55th Avenues. The weather conditions at the time could be described as one-quarter to one-half mile visibility with snow. The flight, which was on arrival from Baltimore/Washington International Airport, was scheduled to continue on to Las Vegas and Salt Lake City.

CBS News correspondent Bob Orr reported. Investigators on Friday studied the crash scene where a Southwest Airlines jet trying to land amid heavy snow plowed off a Midway International Airport runway and into a street, killing a 6-year-old boy in a car. The crash is the first fatal accident in the 35-year history of Southwest Airlines.

Southwest Airlines is currently the dominant carrier at Midway, controlling 25 of the airport's 43 gates and with 196 departures daily. “Originally named Chicago Air Park, Midway Airport was built on 320 acres in 1923 and consisted of a single cinder runway that primarily served airmail services. During its first full year of operation in 1928, the airfield was home to twelve hangars and four runways, lit for night operations. Air traffic control was handled by flagmen, who would be positioned at the end of the runways, where they were responsible that year for controlling 14,498 flight operations carrying 41,660 passengers. The airport was officially renamed on July 8, 1949, to "Chicago Midway Airport" in honor of the World War II Battle of Midway. Midway reached a height of 10 million passengers in 1959. By 1961, however, the airport faced a 60% drop in passenger traffic, largely due to the opening of O'Hare in 1955”.


Because Midway is surrounded by buildings and other development, the landing thresholds of the runways are displaced to provide a proper obstacle clearance. While adequate and legal for the purposes used, these runways leave little margin for error. Both the FAA and the airlines assure safety by limiting loads and adhering to adjusted weather minimums. The recent Incident has once again raised questions about the safety of MDW's short runways for use by medium-haul commercial airliners, which are heavier than regional jets. Whereas larger airports utilize a buffer zone for overruns, the end of the runway used by the Southwest 737 is adjacent to a fence separating airport property from neighboring streets.

I woke up early Friday to find the airport open. I printed my boarding pass and drove to the airport to travel to Midway not less than 12 hours from the Incident. While waiting in line to board someone asked me if I was nervous? No not really today is the safest day of the year to travel to Midway on Southwest. Today everything is by the book. We boarded the plane and sat at the gate. The first report was that Midway was shut down because of a low cloud ceiling. Our delay was estimated at 90 minutes. The second report was that midway opened but now was under flow control. Flow control in used to space plane landings and departures three minutes apart. This is typical when weather is a problem and visibility is obscured. Our second delay added another 90 minutes. After three hours of sitting in the plane, we departed for Midway.

The flight was smooth and generally uneventful, however as we approached Midway it was odd that the sky was crystal blue without a cloud for miles. Why does the airline assume that I am not intelligent enough to be told the truth? Where was no weather issue at Midway! Where was no ceiling at all? I tend to mistrust anyone who is fearful of telling me a simple truth. I understand that there was a recent Incident and the airport needed additional time to pick up strewn parts. Or whatever the reason just tell me the truth, I’ll decide if it bothers me.

As we landed the downed plane was hidden in the far corner of the opposite runway. A handful of emergency vehicles surrounded the plane which was still in the middle of the adjacent street. I’m not sure if anyone else on our plane noticed the scurry of activity. I disembarked from gate B23 and walked to CTA orange line train to the city.

The following day, went back to Midway at 1:45 to catch my 3:30 flight home. All of a sudden it started snowing again. By the time I got to the gate the 3:30 flight was cancelled. As the snow became thick, the next flight at 5:30 was delayed until 8:45. Midway began to resemble the weather conditions when the Thursday Incident occurred. As soon as this happened Southwest began to cancel every flight from Midway. Phoenix, Tampa, Orlando, Providence, it did not matter the destination. My last flight was cancelled at 6:30. I shook my head and figured there was worst places in the world to be stranded other than Chicago on a Saturday night. I got a good room rate at the Fairmount downtown and headed for the famous Palm Steakhouse to idle away the evening.

I realized while eating a steak and drinking a martini that Southwest was just having a bad day. I’ve seen them fly in weather many times more severe than the ½ inch snow that shut down operations Saturday. Southwest was in the center of the media crosshairs. They just could not afford another Incident and panicked. For as far as Southwest and I go back, they can have a bad day now and then. I’ll be content to have a nice meal and a warm bed. Sunday I headed to the airport again for my trip home. Things were back to normal, the flight departed on time. Everyone is entitled to a bad day, even Southwest. I’ll be back! After a day in the office I’m heading out to Midway again in the morning. Some things never change.