lthough I fly frequently, I don’t know any unruly passengers.
Except one, I admit.
Me.
This incident occurred the time I boarded a flight to Minneapolis and buried my nose in an airline magazine.
Vaguely, as I read, the flight attendant greeted passengers with the final destination being — Oh, no!
“Did she just say Seattle?” I shouted at a fellow passenger.
I about broke his toes as I darted to the front of the plane.
“I’m on the wrong flight,” I cried, waving my boarding pass. “I need to fly to Minneapolis, not Seattle.”
The stewardess remained calm, “We land in Minneapolis and continue on to Seattle, sir.”
The walk back to my seat was long.
Perhaps the flight crew judged me more squirrely than unruly.
I hated when airlines ditched giving out magazines. A good part of my income was writing pieces for the in-flight market. When I freelanced full time, I turned out about 65 articles a year.
One of my clients was Ozark Air Lines. I had a regular sports column, plus often turned out one or two features. As a result, I wrote under my own name and the pseudonyms “Henry Joseph” and “Thomas Granger.” Magazine editors often discourage double bylines in the same periodical.
In July of 1983, Ozark’s editor published my featured interview with rookie Kansas City quarterback Todd Blackledge, but held a second story for another month. I happened to fly Ozark that month while headed to Los Angeles on another assignment to interview auto racer Danny Stewart.
I sat next to a gruff, burly man who looked like a retired secret service agent. He flipped open his magazine.
“I wrote that article,” I said, after he paused on the Blackledge article.
“Oh yeah?” he challenged me. “Let’s see some identification.”
I looked down at the page and blushed. The byline read “Thomas Granger.”
All the way to L.A., my companion made it clear he was seated next to the world’s biggest fraud. Worse, I dumped a glass of orange juice on my shirt and had to buy new clothes at an expensive airport shop.
I also have a problem with airport parking lots. Too often, I’ve returned from extended trips only to draw a blank on where I left my car. It’s embarrassing to call an airport security guard for help.
Last year in Anchorage, an airport employee ran toward my rental when he saw I was stuck at the pay exit.
My wife had handed me a ticket. I jammed it in the slot. Each time, the ticket was rejected.
As the good Samaritan approached, I read the ticket.
“Gosia, this ticket says `Dayton airport.’” She had an old ticket in her purse.
“Oops.” The gate went up as the employee approached.
“Problem solved, thank you,” I called out and left the gate.
That was one of the few times I had an opportunity to throw trash talk at my wife. Usually, she’s the one nailing me with one-liners.
Recently we went through security at the tiny King Salmon, Alaska airport. I asked an agent for a card that said I was over 75 so that I could keep on my shoes.
“No way,” she said. “You don’t look anywhere near 75.”
I preened like a peacock as I turned to my wife Gosia. “Did you hear what she said?”
“She’s just being kind, dear.”
I’m used to getting no respect.
Take the time I boarded a plane in Los Angeles after an appearance the previous night on a national late-night TV show to talk about an article I had written.
It was a plane with no assigned seats.
I was single then and thought the Lord had been very good to me as a flashy woman plopped next to me. “Hello, Hank,” she said. “I watched your show last night.”
We enjoyed a memorable and scintillating conversation for 15 seconds.
Actor Lee Marvin passed us in the aisle.
She left me and hit on the handsome actor. “Hello, Lee,” she cooed.
Maybe I should switch from planes to buses.
Hank Nuwer writes books and journalism while based in Fairbanks. He and his photographer wife Gosia love visiting remote Alaska villages and landmarks. In May 2024, the Alaska Press Club named him columnist of the year.
This column originally ran in the Aug. 9 issue of The Cordova Times.
Originally published: https://thecordovatimes.com/2024/09/15/last-frontier-days-airlines/