The Saga of the Hick in New York City, Part 1

Owensboro, KY's pastoral river front, with a view of the Indiana side of the Ohio River.

Inside the Big E, during its heyday in the early 1980's. I traveled to New York my first time, in April of 1982. The Big E will be imploded this weekend, leaving the city with little entertainment.

Gabe's Hotel, with a heated swimming pool in the penthouse. It is still standing, but has become a dormitory for the local community college.

Owensboro's all-weather airport, just waiting for a 'big one' to come in.

Our ticket agent, baggage handler, and pilot was a "Skipper" clone.

The airline was a one-man outfit, but had a nice prop plane that only sounded a little like a large rubber band...

View of the Owensboro airport from air. My house was just to the right. When we turned to follow the river, I could see my dog bouncing about in the back yard with my mother.

Pegasus at the Louisvilel Standiford Field. Every time I see this at the airport, my heart lifts with joy!

The picture gallery at the Louisville airport-- before terrorism, I loved to sit and watch the airplanes take off and land.

New York City's skyline! My first glimpse of the skyline was enchanting! The city, teeming with life, lay before me like a jewel!

LaGuardia's tower-- so many planes, all with an exciting destination!

Inside LaGuardia airport-- there is so much to see, and so far to walk, you could stay lost and/or entertained for weeks...

Long about the shank end of the 1970's, I decided that, despite society's insistance on women's place in the home, my professor's predictions of gloom, and my mother's bitter tears, I was going to be a geologist. After a couple of years experience under my belt, I received an assignment to travel to Long Island, NY from my little city in Kentucky. I was to perform a two week pumping test to determine the cause of salt water intrusion for the City of Great Neck, and I was thrilled! I was going to land at the famous La Guardia Airport! I was going to the Big City!

I grew up in the third largest city in Kentucky, which, probably isn't saying much. Despite civic pride in the Big E Hotel, Convention Center and table-side concert venue, and the fourteen story tall Gabe's Inn, little Owensboro just isn't all that cosmopolitan. Sure, we had well-known artists come to perform on the small concert circuit—Roy Orbison, Juice Newton, Crystal Gayle, et. al., but unless you had money, and none of my friends or I did, there just wasn't all that much to do.

I had the idea that New York City was just a larger, busier, Louisville, KY. New York and Long Island had fabulous sky scrapers, **Broadway**, and the millions of people all stacked, one on top of the other, in huge apartment buildings-- only there were so many people, that arms and legs probably hung off the edges of Manhattan, and dangled close to the oily water, which teemed with dead bodies dumped by the Mafia, tug boats cheerfully tooting their horns, and the Statue of Liberty. Somewhere in all that was the Empire State Building, Radio City Music Hall, and the 'Rockettes'. My joy knew no bounds, just to be near all that excitement!

Dear Little Owensboro is inordinately proud of our "all-weather" airport. "All-weather" means that it has radar, and supports instrument landings. We had just lengthened our landing strip to accept larger planes, (like 707's), so the whole city was primed and waiting for a big one to 'come in'. Since a big one had never come in, yet, I was doubtful that I could even get a connecting flight to Louisville. I called the local air service, and asked, "Do you have any flights to Louisville on Monday morning?"

The lady at the other end of the line said, crisply, "Yes, we most certainly do!" Well, it was a surprise to me. All those years spent perched at the end of the runway, looking for a plane, any plane, to even circle around the airport had convinced me that if we had a flight anywhere, scheduled, it would be a miracle.

I asked, "Would you have a flight about 10 or 11 a.m. on Monday morning?"

She thought a moment. Finally, she asked, "What time can you be here?"

A vision of a little two-seat, biplane flashed before my eyes, "charter" service. But, I was assured of a place on the 10 am flight. She informed me that I could pick up my ticket and boarding pass at the ticket gate, and get luggage tags there, as well, but to be sure and be there one hour early. Mystified at the command, I agreed, and hung up the phone. Who else could possibly be on the plane, that it took an hour to 'check in' and be seated?

Nine o'clock the following Monday, my mother took me to the airport. I had three large, heavy boxes of field equipment, my briefcase, my purse, a box of paper files, a small carry-on bag, and a huge suitcase, stuffed with two weeks worth of clothing. We pulled up to the front of the airport, to unload, and heard an engine, roaring in the distance. I looked at my mother, sick at heart. The engine was making rrrrRRRRrrrrRRRRrrrr sounds--struggling sounds, not 'robust engine' sounds. I told my mother, "If that's my plane, I'm driving to Louisville." She nodded, pale.

Then, a small, oily lawn mower came around the corner, rrrrRRRRrrrrRRRRrrrr. Thank Heavens! We both heaved a sigh of relief and carted all my stuff into the airport on a dolly, which was free for use by anyone that happened to need it.

I was there, right on time, and found the ticket gate, which was fairly easy, since there was only one of them. No one was there, so I kissed my mother goodbye, and sat down to wait. There was a coffee shop, but it was closed. Finally, fifteen minutes before the flight was going to leave, a large, gray-haired fellow in an airline uniform came out to the ticket gate. He looked just like Skipper on Gilligan's Island. He gave me my ticket and boarding pass, handed me baggage labels, accepted my tagged luggage, and directed me out to the next waiting area, a small glass-enclosed room that looked out on our airplane. There were three of us, and I was the only one with luggage. Probably a good thing, since I had so much.

The plane was a turbo-prop, in fairly good condition, but small—only about six windows down the side. The door was propped open by a Louisville Slugger baseball bat, and a folding staircase led to the inside. Within minutes, the "Skipper" came out to the waiting room, and directed the three passengers onto the plane. He then turned, and grabbed my cart, and followed us out to the plane. As we climbed up the steps, "Skipper" stored my luggage, heaving the boxes up in the belly of the plane, then followed us inside. As I climbed in, I looked for a sign that read, "The USS Minnow", but there was nothing but a permanently lit, "Fasten Your Seatbelt" sign over each seat, all five of them.

Glancing at my boarding pass, I found seat 1A, sat down and buckled in. The "Skipper" slammed the door shut and crabbed his way up to the front of the plane, sat down, and buckled up. He was now our 'pilot'. A One Man Outfit with a cheerful demeanor and a way to make a living. I smiled at him. He tipped his hat with a flourish, and turned around to all three of us, "We haven't any soft drinks, today! Keep your seatbelts fastened!"

"Skipper" started the engine, and it sounded like a large rubber band, whirring loudly. The plane began to vibrate, slowly, then with more force, until it was like being in an earthquake, as it slowly taxied down to the end of the long, long runway. I could see lights flashing by, and then, suddenly, we were up! Oh look, there's my house! Oh look, there's the river! Oh, What Fun! I spent the rest of the 30 minute flight, looking for landmarks all along the river—places I had known since childhood.

We landed in Louisville, and the plane just pulled to the end of the huge airport complex known as Standiford Field. The pilot heaved himself up from his seat, and said, "I hope you enjoyed your flight!" Service with a smile! I thanked him for the fun trip and followed him down to the runway, into the airport, and up two flights of steps into the bowels of the airport. He said, "Wait at baggage handling for your luggage", so I found a cart, (still free), sat down, and waited. In about 20 minutes, the huge baggage handling conveyor began to rattle around, and finally, at the end of it, was all my luggage. So far, so good.

I was in Louisville, always a place of fun in my childhood. Louisville is where we came to shop about twice a year. We went to Louisville to see special movies, like "My Fair Lady" and "The Sound of Music". I knew the downtown area well, the railroad station, the malls, and all the fun places to go! The airport was wonderful, back then. In those days before terrorism, you could find all kinds of places to sit and watch planes take off and land. You could get a cup of coffee, watch all the people, eat a nice lunch, and visit all the gift stores. Everybody was flying "the friendly skies", and everyone was happy to help you! There is a huge, delicate white Pegasus hanging in the front entryway, and the terminals are at a perfect distance-- far enough to offer different views, but not so far that you kill yourself pulling a cart to and fro. I was perfectly content to check my luggage in and wander for the next two hours—utterly amused by the life all around me.

My next flight was called, and I boarded a Whisper Jet, bound for La Guardia. The flight was exciting—flying was still a novelty to me—and then, I could see the skyline of New York City. OH MY! My heart thumped with excitement! Then, we started getting closer and closer to the ground, but it wasn't ground, it was water… WATER. I don't like this… are we going to land in water? The wings of the plane appeared to shudder. Just when I thought that we really were going to land in water, the edge of the runway flashed by and we touched down. Whew! My heart still thumped, but slowly settled. All the times I flew into LaGuardia on subsequent flights, I could never shake that fear.

We disembarked via the usual sky way, rather than straggling in from the runway, and I made it to the luggage handling area to collect all my baggage. I found a cart, but it cost $1 in quarters to undo it from the others, and, of course, I couldn't figure out its complicated circuitry—but a nice man showed me how to do it, mainly to get me out of the way so HE could get one. ($1 was a lot of money in those days, in Owensboro.)

Waiting for all my stuff to emerge, along with seemingly hundreds of others, I saw a wonderful sight—a large African Man, dressed in a gold lame pantsuit, striding confidently through the airport, followed by all 22 of his wives, dressed in brightly colored silks and huge head-dresses. Hare Krishna's beat tiny bells and chanted unintelligibly. It seemed that no one spoke English, as I knew it, and everyone looked to be exotic or interesting—even the stuffy businessmen in their perfect Italian suits. I was probably goggle-eyed, but I was having so much fun! I could have waited much longer, just watching everything, but the luggage conveyor rumbled to life, and slowly, I gathered all my things and stacked them on the cart. Nothing lost, nothing gained—all was well.

Then, with a heave on the cart, and several requests for directions, I found the rental car booth, wheeled my cart up to the line, and waited my turn. A line of Buddhist monks walked by, unconcerned about the hustle and bustle about them. There was a whole group of men in long beards and curls up by their ears, with little hats on their heads. (I later learned that they were Orthodox Jewish men. At the time, God forgive me, I thought they were Amish men with curls.) There were older women in head scarves, speaking a quick, volatile language. An Arab walked by, followed by several women, heavily wrapped in dark Burkas. The man behind me hruummped, to make me move up in line.

Finally, with much ado, I checked in and got my rental car reservation, made it to the shuttle, unloaded and loaded all my multitudinous packages and suitcases, and was unceremoniously dumped a good distance from the airport at the rental car place, with no cart, and all this stuff. It took several trips, but I got it all inside, near the doorway, and waited in line, glancing at my worldly goods frequently.

Nothing mattered. I was in NEW YORK CITY! Sort of, but it was good enough for me! Somewhere out there, lived John Lennon and Lauren Bacall! Somewhere out there was a place called Brooklyn that had a tree growing in it, and Johnny Carson performed live before a studio audience! Somewhere beyond the pale, the famous Wall Street was near the World Trade Center, and there were bridges and tunnels and Central Park! Not that I was going to see any of that, but it was there! Ripe for the Picking! The world was filled with endless possibilities!

Next Up: The Long Island Expressway at Rush Hour – NASCAR Racetrack, Here I Come!

Links:

Part 2, How to rent a destroyer

Part 3, NASCAR racetrack, here I come, doo-dah, doo-dah

Part 4, It's all Greek to me!

Part 5, A fine Irish temper!

Part 6, I said "crews", not "cruise"

Part 7, Alone in the dark

Part 8, 'Twas the luck o' the Irish that saved me!

Part 9, Friends at last

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