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        As I was completing my third year on the Boeing 707, SAUDIA informed me that I was the recipient of an unbelievable piece of luck.  I was ordered to report to the TWA Training Center in New York, during the second week of February, 1983, for first officer (co-pilot) training on the Boeing 747!

          Honest to Christ, dear reader, I had to pinch myself when I found the company’s directive in my mailbox.  Currently the 747 was the biggest airliner in the world!  Totally unattainable for a ragged-assed helicopter pilot to ever be checked out in!  Immediately I flashed back to 30^th October, 1970, when I flew a sheriff’s helicopter alongside San Francisco International, and drooled over the new Pan Am 747s parked below.

          Never could I have possibly imagined - that over 12 years later - I’d be checking out in one!  Bottom line:  Aviation can throw a pilot a set of seriously bizarre curves...both good and bad.  Although, in all honesty, if Valerie hadn’t entered my life...this never would have happened.

          It also turned out to be the last 747 class to be trained in New York.  In future SAUDIA’s 747 simulator would be up and running at Jeddah – condemning all future classes to be trained there.

     Lady luck had smiled on me; I’d be spending six weeks in the “Big Apple,” being paid a phenomenal per diem, in addition to an increase in salary!

     On 17th January, 1983, I completed my last flight on the 707 (a round trip to Cairo). 

     I had really fallen in love with the old girl, she was a fantastic craft, and the lessons she taught me would more than prepare me for the 747.  Carrying a huge set of mixed emotions, I reluctantly left her. 

     They gave me two weeks off, before having to report for TWA ground school at JFK in New York.  So I zipped over to Spain as a passenger on SAUDIA - played in Madrid for a few days – then caught a TWA nonstop to New York.  

     Flag of Madrid, Spain.

      Map of Madrid, Spain.

   

     Heading out across the Atlantic for New York.

     However when we landed at JFK, much to our horror, the 747 touched down in the middle of the worst blizzard New York had experienced in 30 years!  In fact when our 747 turned right, and cleared the runway, I felt all 18 wheels start sliding sideways on the icy surface!  Just before we slid off the taxiway to the boondocks, the crew cut engines Three and Four – the abrupt loss of thrust allowing the tires to gain purchase – stopping our slide!  The snowfall was so heavy; right after we landed the airport was closed to all air traffic.  We had barely made it under the wire!

     Upon disembarking, I came face to face with another horror story: stranded, wall to wall, disgruntled, New Yorkers.  Nothing by land or air was moving in or out of JFK.  Hundreds of people were imprisoned in this surreal, frozen white world.

     Carefully making my way over and around snapping, grouchy, reclining bodies with their squalling kids, I located the main exit.  Where I spotted a payphone next to a large plate glass window, and made reservations at a Howard Johnson in Manhattan.  While I was engaged in this activity, my gaze fell outside.  Where I noted enormous snowflakes tumbling out of the darkness, creating knee-deep drifts, without a car, van or buss in sight.  The floodlights illuminating a glistening, white world devoid of all life.  

     Now, for my next trick, dear reader:  Figuring out how the Devil I was going to get into Manhattan!

     As I literally hung up the phone – before I could even utter a prayer to Kriss Kringle – a solitary yellow cab pulled up outside and parked.  The cabby exited with his two passengers – left his taxi running – and walked inside the terminal.  I at once snatched up my bags - ran outside to the taxi – intercepting the driver as he returned.

     “Can you take me to M-Manhattan?” I blurted out.

     The cabby looked at me as though I’d lost my mind, then replied, shaking his head, “I could...but trust me, pal, you don’t wanna know what it’ll cost ya.”

     “T-Try me,” I fired back.

     The cabby glanced up at the falling snow, rubbed his chin, reached a calculation, and said, “One hundred and five dollars.”

     Before leaving Jeddah, dear reader, I had converted Saudi riyals to $3,500 USD at the money changer’s; a snaggle-toothed, old Pakistani.  Plus I had my AMX card on me.  Therefore, I was fully prepared to pay $500 USD for our cab fare.  So the cabby’s quoted price of $105 USD was no problem.  The puzzling thing...was the five dollars.  What on earth was the extra five dollars for?

     “Y-You’re on, partner, let’s saddle-up,” I suggested.

     “You got it, cowboy, let’s hit the trail,” the cabby exclaimed.

     When we got on the expressway, I underwent one exceedingly strange ride; a journey I would never witness again upon entering the city from JFK.  Our taxi was literally the only vehicle moving on this snow-laden highway that night.  We did pass other vehicles, except they were stalled on the expressway’s shoulders, and merely creating igloo-sized drifts.

     Arriving at Manhattan we found a “Ghost Town.”

     I checked into an empty Howard Johnson, and had a bite to eat in their empty restaurant.

     The next morning, after a fabulous New York breakfast, I strolled over to Times Square.  What I observed that morning was unbelievable – I would never experience Manhattan like this again.  The snowplows hadn’t arrived yet, so the streets and sidewalks were covered in snow running two to three feet deep.  Not a single vehicle was moving; hidden under mounds of white.  The sun was out and, with my mouth agape in amazement, I wandered through a magical winter wonderland.  I never realized New York possessed such beauty or cleanliness – funny how snow achieves this.

     My aimless, magical meandering took me  past the Winter Garden Theater, on Broadway, where its marquee screamed “CATS.”

     Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musical had opened here to rave reviews last October, and was entirely sold out for the next two years!  

     I decided to give it a shot anyway.

     And so, filled with trepidation – expecting to be turned away as a miserable street beggar – I approached the box office.

     Later that night, after a remarkably sumptuous Italian meal,  I immersed myself in the mystical world of CATS – thoroughly enjoying the show in the best seat the house had to offer.

     And how on earth did I manage such an impossible feat, dear reader?  In a word: blizzard.  Because of the snow theater patrons couldn’t reach Manhattan that night.  Ergo...I got their seats!

     

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