Two years ago today, I got on the first flight out of L.A. after the airport was reopened. It was quite an experience. I didn’t have a blog back then, so I thought I would commemorate the anniversary with posting the essay I wrote a few days after our flight.
Our flight was scheduled for Thursday afternoon. We had planned to fly from LA to Pittsburgh, make a connection to Hartford, then rent a car for the week and a half, leaving the next Sunday from BWI. We had two weddings, one this weekend in upstate NY and the other in Virginia the next weekend.
After Tuesday’s incidents, we were pretty sure we weren’t going to make the first wedding, and maybe not the second. We called the airline several times to discuss our options for rescheduling or refunds, our last call being on Wednesday night. At that time they confirmed that all US Airways flights for Wednesday were cancelled, despite what it said on the website. So we went to bed sure that we weren’t going anywhere for probably a week and we didn’t pack.
On Thursday morning, my wife Anne called her friends and family back east on the way to work to tell them that she wouldn’t make the wedding. When I woke up later, I immediately checked the news and heard that flights would be resuming at 12pm PST. So I immediately called the airline and they said that my flight would indeed fly. I called Anne and discussed if we thought it would be safe. We weren’t sure, but in the meantime, the second leg of our flight was cancelled, so I changed it to fly into Albany instead of Hartford. I picked up Anne at work and we began to pack, though we still weren’t sure what we were going to do. At one point, she didn’t want to go but eventually I convinced her – only to start doubting if it was such a good idea myself.
The airline was telling us that we should be there 2 1/2 hours before our 1:35 flight. This was complicated by the fact that the airport wasn’t supposed to open until noon. This was all very disconcerting. We weren’t sure how we were going to get into the airport, if we would miss our flight of not. If we caught the flight, would it be scary? If we caught that flight, would we make the connection in Pittsburgh? We still needed to rebook our car in Albany and figure out where we would stay that night. I dug a friend in Albany’s new address and phone number and rebooked the car.
At this point we were all packed and rebooked, but we still weren’t sure if we were going to actually go or not. Our parents had all pleaded with us NOT to go in days previous, but it would be disappointing not to go and miss a vacation! I argued that you’d have to be a pretty bold hijacker to go out and try to hijack a plane when everyone was looking for you and all your “buddies” were all either dead or fled the country. But we were still pretty nervous about going. We stared at each other for a few minutes, each of us wanting the other to make final decision. I paced and swore at myself. It didn’t help.
I don’t know what drove the final decision. It may have been the momentum of the last few hours, the spirit that seemed to be spreading about not letting ourselves be defeated, or maybe I’m just stubborn. We decided to go. It remained to be seen how stupid I would be. I called a cab and 15 minutes later we were off to the airport.
At 11:30, the airport was still closed. The cab waited in line to talk to some parking enforcement guy who finally told us that we couldn’t drive into the airport. We had to go to one of the off-airport lots where we could take a shuttle bus in. We had been to these lots many times before, but suddenly we didn’t remember where they were. We followed another cab and found our way to parking lot C, just outside the airport.
As we pulled up the curb beside the parking lot, people started to approach the car, apparently trying to hire the cab to go somewhere else than parking lot C. This was not a good sign. We unloaded anyway. Hey, we got this far, we have to keep going.
As we looked out into the parking lot, we saw something we had never seen before in this lot – hundreds, maybe thousands of people just standing there, bags in tow. We walked closer to discover that the line that ended at the depot wrapped around several times before we could get to the end of it. Like sheep, we got in line and stood in the noontime sun.
Since I moved to LA two and half years ago, I’ve come to one conclusion about the people there – they’re all snotty, superficial snobs. But the people we started to talk with in line weren’t like that. They were all in pretty good moods considering the situation, laughing at the absurdity of the whole thing, acknowledging that there were people on the other side of the country that it much worse that people stranded in a parking lot. Then I realized why – these people weren’t from LA.! They were all people stranded here from other places, trying desperately to get home. They must have thought us crazy when we told them that we lived here and we didn’t HAVE to get on a plane – we wanted to!
The shuttle buses lined up weren’t letting people on yet and the line was growing. I joked to Anne that no hijacker would wait in a line this long! The rumor was that they would start moving people at noon. They were letting a few people that worked at the airport on the bus, but the rest of us were just standing there. I was nervous and didn’t stand there for long; I took short walks around to get my mind off things.
A half-hour later, some police arrived. They started to try move people back, apparently off the street so the buses could start to get through. A note about moving a line of people several hundred feet long – start at the furthest end. These cops did not do that. They insisted that the people in front move first, which quickly frustrated them since they couldn’t move without the people behind them moving. So everyone was yelling at people behind them, telling them to move back, mostly because the people in front of them told them the same thing. Eventually this worked and we moved 50 feet back or so. Once we finished moving this distance, the cops then insisted we move an additional three hundred feet back! By this time, they had gotten out their bullhorns so the people in the back had some idea of what they had to do. We waited for a few more minutes until the cops explained that someone had left their bags when they moved back and now they had to check the bag for a bomb before we could all go back.
By this time, the news crews had arrived and they were wandering around, putting cameras in people’s faces. They were stuck on one woman in the front of the line who was screaming loudly but incorently about getting people to move back. Everyone was laughing at her.
We had been out there an hour by now, and we were thinking that even if we got to the terminal, there was no way we’d make our flight. Some people were distributing sunscreen. Noon came and passed and while we had heard one plane’s engines on the tarmac, we saw nothing take off.
Suddenly the cops announced that the bag was OK and in a few minutes they were going to allow us to move forward. We had two options, they explained; we could wait for the line of shuttle buses, or we would walk to the airport, a 3/4 mile walk. Considering the huge crowd, we thought the walk would be our best bet.
The cops tore down the yellow police line tape and huge wave of people rushed towards the parking lot exit and the shuttle buses. It reminded me of the Doo-Da parade they have each year. It’s a parade where people dress up and carry themselves on strange vehicles like hospital beds. Only in this parade, everyone had different types of luggage and they were all in an incredible hurry.
We zig-zagged across the parking lot and then funneled out of the exit to the street. Some people weren’t as patient and were throwing their bags and then themselves over a 4-foot cement wall. We crossed the street and started heading up the elevated ramp that brings people over Sepulveda Boulevard to the Airport. It was a very odd sight. This swarm of people was climbing up the ramp, into the street toward the airport. Some people stopped to take out their cameras. No doubt they wanted to capture a memory of this incredible sight – people actually walking somewhere in LA!
We were going as fast as our rolling luggage would go and as fast as the people in front of us’s rolling luggage would go. Police cars kept going by, yelling at people to stay on the sidewalk. People did, but only when the cop was right next to them. We caught up to one poor guy who was drenched with sweat. His suitcase didn’t have wheels and it looked heavy. He stopped to heave it onto his shoulder and lumbered on.
At times Anne or I would end up in front or behind each other by several people. We looked back or forward to the other occasionally to make sure we still could find each other, but it was clear neither of us were slowing down for the other. The goal was to reach the ticket counter at all costs. The other would catch up.
Thankfully US Airways was in the first terminal and we got there quickly. It didn’t seem as long as 3/4 mile, but it was hot out and by the time we actually reached the lines at the counter we were exhausted. I thought we had moved pretty quickly, but there was still a long line ahead of us. Our flight to Pittsburgh was still there on the board, as well an earlier flight to Philadelphia.
Now, if nothing else, we felt like we had accomplished something by actually getting to the airport. The walk over was looney, but we made it and we seemed to actually have a shot at getting somewhere today. The worries of being hijacked were displaced, if only momentarily, with the hope that we might catch a flight at all.
They were calling people out of line to check in for Philadelphia, which was supposed to leave an hour before us. It was the first flight out on US Airways from LAX, possibly the first of any airline from LAX. We had some time to rethink our plans while in line. Our goal was to be in Newburgh, NY on Friday night. Pittsburgh-Albany would get us there if we made our connection, but that was a big if. If the Albany flight was cancelled, we could rent a car from Pittsburgh, stay overnight, and do the 6-7 hour drive the next day. Not much fun, but possible. We had some good friends in Philadelphia though and that’s a lot closer to Newburgh than Pittsburgh. I pestered an agent until she told me that there were seats available on the Philadelphia flight. We could try to go standby to Philly, and still take the Pittsburgh flight if we had to. We switched lines and prepared to take our third itinerary of the day.
The board said that the 12:20 Philly flight was still on-time, but it was already past 1. We waited in line and made it to the counter. The agent was in a surprisingly good mood considering the frantic work happening all around. We emphatically denied that we carrying anything given to us by unknown persons and she proceeded to try to get us on the Philly flight.
Since she was in a good mood, we asked her how safe she thought the flight would be, realizing that we may have to face actually getting on a plane in a few minutes. Her answer wasn’t very encouraging. She said that you can’t stop people who really want to hijack planes. They had tiny knives. “How are you going to stop that??” she said. She did seem to think that airlines had gotten lax about security though and that these recent incidents would force them to at least get as secure as international flights.
After a few minutes of staring down and banging keys, she announced that we had confirmed seats on the Philly flight. We were simultaneously amazed and terrified. But again, we had gone this far, why not go further? If it got too scary, we could always just turn around and go home. We headed up the stairs to the metal detectors. The checked our IDs against our tickets and passed us through. They used wands to search us and padded down our ankles. The hijackers had strapped their knives to their ankles. They searched Anne’s backpack and made us open up my toiletries bag. The hijackers had used razors to make other knives. We passed security and headed toward the gate. They were already announcing boarding.
We quickly pulled out cell phones and called our parents to tell them which flight we were on and our friend in Philly and another in LA. We were glad that no one was home and we just left messages. They surely would have tried to convince us not to go. But we were this far, so we went on. After we hung up, we got in line to board the plane.
As I was in line, I couldn’t help but look around at the people about to get on the plane with me. Did any of them look suspicious? Certainly I would have thought twice if I saw a few Arab men in line. Would it be worse to be racist or potentially dead? Luckily we didn’t have much time and we got on the plane.
It was clear that the plane wasn’t very full. All the people we talked to were trying as hard as they could to get out of LA and get back home. I felt selfish for trying to go on a vacation. We talked to a flight attendant to settle ourselves. She denied ever having to deal with a terrorist incident. She mentioned that they couldn’t have hot meals anymore since they required metal knives. We joked about a strict “no sporks allowed!” policy. Overall, she was pretty happy to be at work and seemed calm. That was good.
Soon the plane finished loading and a confident-sounding captain came on the intercom, talking about how long the flight would be and what the weather was like. Everything was going to be good, he said. The plane had been well maintained. It looked like a newer 757, which was also good. I thought about the fact that all of the planes on Tuesday had crashed within an hour or so of take off. I thought that would be our critical hour as well. The captain announced we were next to takeoff. When he said ‘next,’ I hoped he didn’t mean ‘first.’
As we sped down the runway, I thought about what I would do if the plane were hijacked. I gave up when I realized that I didn’t have a clue. I doubt any of the people on Tuesday did either. The plane seemed to race down the runway for a long time. “Pull up!” I thought. Finally it did. Anne clutched my clammy hand and worried to me aloud about how loud it seemed. I assured her that it was just because we were in the back of the plane. We were now aloft and the plane banked left hard to make a U-turn away from the Pacific. Even this seemed disconcerting. I picked up some boring reading and tried to forget I was on a plane. All the decisions had been made now. I was definitely headed East.
The first hour passed pretty quickly. I devoured the cold chicken salad. I hate cold chicken, but I was unable to eat anything the whole morning, so I was thankful for it. I passed on the movie and pulled out some more reading. It was still boring. Thankfully most of the flight was the same.
About an half-hour before we landed, we hit the worst turbulence I have ever experienced as we passed through a storm. The plane had several sudden violent shakes. I closed the windows next to me to try to ignore the lightning flashes. The violent shaking was harder to ignore. It passed in a few minutes though and we landed safely. I felt like clapping. When the captain announced we had arrived in Philadelphia, everyone did.
We passed along our blankets and pillows to woman who was sitting in front of us. She was trying to get to Manchester and had missed her connection. I had spent a night in the Philadelphia airport myself once. It’s neither comfortable, dark, nor quiet. We wished her luck.
As soon as the plane was parked, everyone including the both of us whipped out our cell phones and called the same people we called immediately before we boarded the plane. My Dad was happy to hear from me. Anne’s Mom apparently was a wreck.
Our friend in Philly had gotten our message and left a message while we were in the air that she would meet us at the airport, or as close as she could, since they weren’t allowing unticketed people at the actual gates. She was there. The airport seemed very empty. While we waited to pick up our bags, I used a phone to cancel our second car reservation in Albany.
We drove home to our friend’s house outside Philadelphia. We heard about the news of the day, including that a few more Arab men had been arrested in New York for carrying knives onto a plane. While this was all reported later as exaggerated and mostly false, I felt like we had dodged a bullet. We were happy that we didn’t have another plane to get on because we probably wouldn’t have gotten on it.
I don’t think I had ever been so happy to be in Philadelphia. I don’t think that it really mattered that it was Philadelphia versus Albany versus Pittsburgh. It was more that I was anywhere safe was relieving. I was so happy, I didn’t believe it was real. I thought I must have been dreaming. In reality, I was surely dead after another hijacking.
As I laid in bed, Tom Brokaw still babbling on in the background, I remembered an old trick I had once learned to determine if I was dreaming. Look at something, look away, and then look back at it. If you’re dreaming it will change between the two looks. I looked down a hallway, closed my eyes, then slowly opened them again. It looked the same. I wasn’t dreaming. The hallway didn’t change, but in the last few days, it seemed like everything else did.