Hunt The Wind

           *     *     *     *     *         Boston-Logan International Airport.       On Final Approach - Runway 22 Left – at Boston-Logan International Airport.      It was mid-October, 1986, when I did one particular Boston layover and found myself tossing and turning, unable to get any sleep.  At last giving up, I decided perhaps a brisk walk would tire me out.      Presidential had put us up at the venerable Omni Parker House Hotel, #60 School St., built originally in 1855.      I went around the corner to Tremont Street, and found the thoroughfare being relatively empty that night.       My wandering route that night from the hotel.      As I sauntered past the Old Granary Burial Ground - observing its badly weathered, leaning gravestones – the hair on the back of my neck came to attention.      This is the final resting place for many notable Revolutionary War -era patriots , including three signers of the Declaration of Independence, Paul Revere , and five

               *     *     *     *     *      My second landing attempt at Miami – despite the pressurization bumps to our ears - was successful without further incident.  As for my captain developing a bad case of the “shakes,” I never did determine its cause.  He seemed to be alright on the flight back to Dulles a couple of days later.  So as not to embarrass him, I refrained from bringing the subject up.      One of the worst events, in a jaded airline crew’s life, is having to wait aimlessly for the hotel’s van to pick them up.  Especially when they’ve undergone a long, tough day as my crew had.  Currently we were on the sidewalk at Miami Arrivals, and, as usual, our hotel’s van was late.  So my worn out crew – resembling Miami’s homeless - copped a squat on their suitcases.      I mean these kids’ rear ends were really dragging in the mud, dear reader.  It was time for Dr. Chisholm’s magic elixir!      I told the crew to keep an eye on my stuff, as I raced back i

                *     *     *     *     *      As I mentioned before, it was a fantastically clear night, thank God, and eventually I could observe the jewel-like lights of Miami on the horizon with the stars beyond.  Directly below and ahead was the black abyss of the everglades – issuing no lights whatsoever - conversely emphasizing the jeweled-beauty of Miami in the distance.      And at this instant, dear reader, a very odd sensation engulfed me - prompting a chill to climb my spine.      An event that occurred on 29 th December, 1972, came to mind.  An Eastern Air Lines   Lockheed L-1011 TriSta r crashed here at the everglades, at 11:42 P.M., causing 101 fatalities and leaving 75, badly banged up, survivors.  The crash occurred as a result of the flight crew becoming preoccupied with a burnt-out landing gear indicator light, and failing to notice the autopilot had inadvertently been “bumped” to the CWS (Control Wheel Steering) mode.  Subsequently, while the fli

             *     *     *     *     *      Towards the end of August, 1986, I was scheduled for a Miami layover.  And I looked forward to revisiting some of my favorite haunts from the old Air Florida days.      It would be a long day: Zipping up to Boston, then back to Dulles, continuing down to Atlanta; afterward proceeding to Orlando and then Miami.       I swear, dear reader, flying into Atlanta was always a colossal pain.  On every single trip we’d end up in holding patterns at two, sometimes three, different waypoints; while Atlanta ATC struggled to find us a slot in their massively congested air traffic flow.          Atlanta Airport.       It was well after dark when we lifted off at Orlando.  The maximum passenger capacity on our B-737 was 111 – on this leg we were hauling 76.  Being my turn to fly, I anticipated  an easy, short hop down to Miami, as I climbed to 25,000 feet on such a beautifully clear night.        Orlando is home to Disney World.