Around the World in a Bad Mood! (8 page)

F
OUR YEARS HAD PASSED
and by now, Bitsy and I had acquired a little more seniority and a bit more panache. We considered ourselves real New Yorkers and had a scam going with the studio: We had different people coming and going and had almost reduced our rent to nothing. Not only that, but we were starting to enjoy the free travel benefits. I'd taken some pretty fancy vacations to Greece, Paris, Rome, and Frankfurt, and felt, well, very cosmopolitan. Bitsy, too, was becoming quite well known in certain New York social circles and was being invited to some pretty swanky affairs. Of course, it was always a problem trying to bring a date home. I mean, first I had to drag him into a one-room apartment, which is bad enough, but when I arrived at our one-room apartment, I never quite knew what to expect. There might be someone washing her uniform in the bathtub (saves on dry-cleaning), or there might be another couple on the futon already in the middle of a romantic moment, or you could walk in to find four women sprawled out asleep at 8:30 on a Saturday night because they all had a 4:00 check-in the following morning. In any case it was always a surprise and usually a lot of fun, plus it was a good way to get a character reading on your date. The guy could either roll with the punches or he couldn't, and we had no use for the poor chaps who couldn't.

However, some of the happiest times I recall were when it was just us girls sitting around, drinking coffee in the morning, rehashing the events of our latest trips. There were always the common complaints like late flights, full flights, canceled flights, and so forth. Then there were more dramatic occurrences, like when a flight attendant came to work for her India trip with a small cut on her finger, and after working in the germ-ridden galley for a few hours she began to notice that her thumb was turning red and was about three times its normal size. In addition to that she was running a fever, and then she noticed a red streak running up her arm. The crew paged for a doctor, and the only doctor on board was a Japanese man who spoke very little En­glish. There was another passenger who was available to act as a translator, and by then the flight attendant was lying down on the floor of the cockpit, into which were crowded the Japanese doctor and an Indian passenger who spoke Indian, Japanese, and English, as well as the three pilots trying to fly the plane. The doctor had given her some sort of fast-acting antibiotic that he just happened to have in his carry-on luggage. The captain was trying to determine if an emergency landing was necessary, but it was decided that the antibiotic was working well enough to land as scheduled and take the flight attendant to the emergency medical clinic in the airport. By now her thumb was swollen as big as a grapefruit and it was very tender, but her fever was gone and the red streak was disappearing. Upon arrival in India the Japanese doctor escorted the flight attendant to the clinic, which was really just a room next to customs that had an old-fashioned faded yellow curtain that pulled closed, offering the illusion of privacy. It was there that the Japanese doctor informed the Indian translator, who in turn informed the flight attendant, that the doctor would now perform a procedure to release the “poison.” With that the doctor pulled out a sharp, blunt instrument that resembled an ice pick—in fact, we believe it was an ice pick. “Hey, wait, aren't you going to, like, clean that thing first?” cried the flight attendant. “You can't just jab a dirty ice pick into my thumb, and you gotta give me something to numb my hand. It hurts just to look at it, let alone stab it!” There was a lot of conversation between the doctor and the translator, but the final verdict was that our suffering flight attendant must “bear the pain.”

“Hey, this is the nineties, and people don't bear pain anymore. Tell him I don't want to bear the pain. I'll wait until I get back home, thanks just the same, man!”

The doctor agreed to sterilize the ice pick and after doing so he approached his victim, who was feeling a bit woozy and being held up by the Indian translator, with great precision. Without warning he plunged the ice pick into the wounded, tender thumb. A sudden, piercing cry, which was rumored to be heard at the Taj-Mahal, followed the procedure. As you can see, being a flight attendant is not a career choice for the faint of heart.

Not every story was so dramatic, and sometimes they had not been experienced firsthand, but had just been heard about from someone else or read about in the newspaper. For example, you've probably heard the one about the pig; yes, pigs do indeed fly, and first class at that! The story goes that someone brought along their hog for a trip. He wasn't just any ordinary hog, though, he was a “therapeutic companion”—sort of like those assist dogs you might see guiding a disabled person. Because he was considered a service animal and the passenger had a note from the doctor, the pig was allowed to come along for the ride sans cage or restraints. Apparently, the poor pig didn't fare so well on the descent and by the time they were taxiing to the terminal he went bananas and was reported to have run through the cabin squealing, snorting, and trying to bust in on the boys up front. Actually, that doesn't seem all that unusual to me. As a matter of fact, I've seen quite a bit of squealing and snorting on many flights over the course of my career. I guess I've finally come to understand why it is that airline personnel worldwide dread these two words: “Summer Sale.”

T
HERE IS DEFINITELY
an absence of glamour in the airline industry these days, but that wasn't always the case. There was a time (before deregulation, the current hub and spoke system, air rage, and the overall cynicism pervading the industry) when graciousness and gentility reigned. The following is taken from an airline promotional brochure from the 1950s, when the industry was young.

Step up to the red carpet with pride. This is the double-deck Stratocruiser, the height of flight luxury! Your crew is the pick of the airways. Your comfort is catered to with every innovation known to the air age. Cabin temperature and pressure is altitude-conditioned for perfect ease. A new and exciting travel adventure awaits you.

T
HE
L
ADIES'
L
OUNGE:
Lovely leather walls—completely mirrored. For convenience, the room is divided into two sections with twin dressing tables to keep you “travel-poster” pretty! Another example of luxury.

M
EN'S
D
RESSING
R
OOM:
Mirrored walls, outlets for electric razors, three washbasins, and a dental basin—plus a never-ending supply of hot water. Everything you need to stay fresh and comfortable en route.

B
ERTHS:
Conveniently lighted—wider than the conventional railroad berth—and curtained for privacy. Also we proudly feature Sleeper Seats, made of deep-cushioned foam rubber. Easy-chair comfort with lots of legroom—at night the chair reclines fully to “chaise longue” position for a smooth slumber.

M
EMORABLE
M
EALS:
The gleaming galley is completely equipped to serve oven-fresh full-course meals and delicious between-meal snacks. Prepared on board by professional chefs and graciously served by your stewardess. No tipping at any time, of course.

S
TRATO
L
OUNGE:
Just step down the spiral staircase to the most distinguished club in the world. Beautifully appointed with built-in bar, horseshoe-shaped couch, and circular table. A unique flight experience.

V
ANDA
O
RCHIDS
F
LOWN
F
RESH FROM
H
AWAII:
Our gift to you in memory of your trip on the Stratocruiser.

Times have certainly changed and you don't have to be a rocket scientist to recognize it. My mother was a flight attendant (or, at the time, an airline stewardess) from 1951 to 1959, when air travel was considered glamorous, exciting, and even elitist. People actually dressed up for their trips. They wore shoes. Back then most people traveled by car, bus, or train, so taking a trip by plane was a special event, and being a stewardess was a special career. In my mother's day, stewardesses wore white gloves and little boarding hats, they learned to serve lobster thermidor tableside on the airplane, and they had to practice the art of polite conversation with one another so they could better communicate with all the sophisticated passengers. You can only imagine my surprise when I began my career in 1985: Instead of wearing white gloves, we're wearing rubber gloves, and instead of learning to serve lobster thermidor tableside, we're learning to put handcuffs on unruly passengers. Instead of practicing the art of polite conversation, we're practicing the art of self-defense in case we encounter air rage!

Not everything was entirely rosy back in her day, though. For example, stewardesses had to quit when they got married or reached the age of thirty-two. Many women hid the fact that they were married in order to keep their jobs. Secret marriages, how intriguing! They also had to wear girdles. In fact, there was a girdle-checker to make sure they were wearing them and there was also a weight-checker. Stewardesses who stepped on the scale and were over the predetermined proper weight were grounded without pay until they lost the weight. Back then stewardesses had to share hotel rooms on layovers, which would be unthinkable in this day and age, and often women were not allowed to apply for the purser position, which paid more and was only available to men. Still, it was a coveted career and my mother had many fond memories of her days as a stewardess. When I was a little girl she told me stories of the interesting people she had met on her flights: Helen Keller, Duke Ellington, and Richard Nixon to name a few. She grew up on a farm in the Midwest during the Depression and didn't have indoor plumbing for most of her childhood, so it's easy to imagine how thrilling it must have been for her to have a career that allowed her to meet those people; to literally get off the farm and travel the world. She also loved the free travel benefits, and took her parents to places they would never have seen otherwise, like Hawaii and New York City.

Because being a stewardess was such a coveted profession in those days, the airlines could afford to be very particular about whom they hired. Around World War II, some of the earliest stewardesses in commercial aviation were required to be nurses. This requirement was most likely influenced by the military presence in the country at that time. By the 1950s the requirement was dropped and the new trend was to hire beautiful, elegant women (there were very few male stewards at this point in history). Apparently the airlines would announce that they were seeking applications via newspapers across the country and then call in qualified candidates for interviews at the headquarters, much like they still do today. In any case that is how my mother, Maxyne, found out about the job. Actually, it was her younger sister, Janice, who saw the advertisement in the newspaper and wanted to apply, but there was a vision requirement and Janice wore glasses. However, Maxyne, with her 20/20 vision and a burning desire to get off the farm, took a strong interest in the idea and decided she would apply instead.

Within three weeks the girls were on a small plane to the main office for an interview—Maxyne dragged her younger sister along for moral support—and neither had ever been on a plane before. As the story goes, the two girls rented a car and drove from the airport to the personnel office, where Maxyne went for her interview while Janice waited in the car. The airlines could afford to have very specific standards for those they hired, and what they wanted was very beautiful women. Unfortunately Maxyne, although very beautiful, had one small flaw: When she was a little girl a dog bit her, leaving a small scar on the left side of the bridge of her nose. It really was barely visible, but the man in the personnel office noticed it. After the interview he told Maxyne that she met all the qualifications, but because of that small scar, he would have to disqualify her from the application process. This sort of thing could never happen today and if it did, certainly no one would give the actual reason. However, back then that is the way things were, so my mother left the office and went back to the car where Janice was patiently waiting.

Naturally both girls were disappointed and probably figured they would end up spending the rest of their lives on the farm milking cows, or teaching school. They returned the car and went back to the airport to catch their flight back home. When they boarded the plane the sky started turning gray and it began to rain, which was sort of appropriate for their moods at the time. The plane took off and began a very bumpy journey westward; about midway through the flight the captain announced that the weather ahead was worse and they would have to turn around and return to the airport. Janice and Maxyne were not quite sure how this would affect them since the next flight out wasn't until the next afternoon at the same time. When they landed on the ground, personnel arranged a hotel reservation and booked them on the same flight home the following day, thus giving them another twenty-four hours in the “big city.” They decided it might be fun to go downtown and see the sights. Maxyne wanted to visit the fancy department stores and see all the latest fashions, and Janice wanted to look at the architecture. They decided to each do her own thing and meet back at the bus stop in one hour. While Maxyne was on her way to the fine furs area, she passed by the cosmetics counter, where she overheard a well-dressed woman and a salesman discussing a foundation cream that covered blemishes and made skin look pure and translucent. Suddenly something clicked in her mind and she approached the man as the other woman was leaving. She told him about her experience with the airlines and showed him the little scar. He put a little bit of the cream on her face and the scar disappeared.

Without hesitation my mother purchased a jar of the cream and then ran to meet her sister at the bus stop. Janice was amazed at how well the cream covered the scar and even more amazed at Maxyne's plan to return to the airline personnel office first thing the following morning. She wanted to go right then but the office would have been closed. In all actuality it was a good plan since their flight was not leaving until the following afternoon and they had nothing else to do until then. So they both agreed it couldn't hurt to take a chance on going back. After all, the man in personnel told my mother she was exactly what they were looking for. Now that the scar was gone, why wouldn't they take her?

When I first heard this story I was amazed by my mother's tenacity. It took courage to go back after she had been rejected, particularly in that day and age when most women just accepted their lots in life and had very few choices—especially when it came to careers. In any case she went back the next day and showed the man how well the cream worked. Between that and my mother's charm she got herself a fine little job with the airline that lasted eight wonderful years. It was a job she would have kept forever, but the airline forced her to quit when she married my dad in 1959.

As a child I heard a lot of stories about the “good ol' days” and one of my favorites is the one about my mother's friend who was a captain. They would try to get on the same flights because they always had so much fun together; one of the things they liked to do was bid trips out to the West Coast. While they were flying they discovered that they passed right over North Dakota, which was my mother's home state. Her pilot friend figured out how he could pass right over the family farm, so they would tell my grandmother in advance what time they would be flying by and my grandmother would stand out in the backyard and wave her dish towel. Then Mom's captain friend would make some kind of crazy announcement like, “We're now flying over the Peace Garden State, North Dakota. If you look out the right side of the aircraft you can see one of the finest women in the state outside her farm, waving her yellow dish towel, sending you her greetings from the farm!” If that happened today someone would probably report them to the FAA or the CIA or AA.

I've read some of my mother's diaries that she kept throughout her career and I find it fascinating that I'm flying some of the same routes that she flew, doing the same hard work she did nearly fifty years ago. The major difference is that back in her era they seemed to have a lot more fun! There seemed to be more camaraderie. Maybe it's because the airlines were smaller back then. Maybe it's because the industry was new then. Or maybe it was just the way my mother told the stories that made it sound as if they all enjoyed their lives so much. Of course, today we still have fun on the job but it seems to be a different sort of fun than they had. I guess you could say this about a lot of things.