Then and now

For most travelers today, flying is no longer special. Long lines at airports and crowded airplanes only add to a passenger’s discomfort.

But flying wasn’t always that way. As a young woman just out of college, I was fortunate to work as an international flight attendant (or stewardess, as we were then known) between 1965 and 1973, the glamour years of aviation.

Back then, flying was an exotic adventure, almost elitist. Fewer than 10% of Americans had ever flown. People dressed up for the occasion—men wore suits, and women wore dresses with gloves and high heels. Flight attendants sported designer uniforms and carried distinctly styled suitcases.

No movies were shown on board, and no connections for electronic gear existed. Airlines allowed smoking and even permitted cigars on special flights. The captain rarely locked his door and often agreed to cockpit visits.

As fares decreased more travelers took to planes, and today 90% of Americans have flown. We now live in an era of mass air transportation and flying is routine.

My time in the airline industry wasn’t a planned career choice. Feeling stuck in a secretarial position and longing for adventure, I managed to secure an interview and passed the grueling four-week training. In many ways, flying was a dream career. I was paid a good salary and traveled the world. During my layovers in foreign countries, I saw much of Europe and the Orient and had incredible cultural experiences not available to the average tourist. But at the same time it was also hard, sometimes unglamorous, and often dangerous work—both in the air and on the ground.

I learned to savor the joys and cope with the heartaches of flying, as I became a more confident woman. I performed my duties with skill and professionalism and never took my responsibilities for granted. I tasted the world’s pleasures, made lasting friendships and memories, and finally earned by father’s approval.

Enjoy Behind the Smile, an account of one woman’s adventures during a more innocent and glamorous time.

Bobbi Phelps Wolverton

Note: The stories in Behind the Smile apply to both World and Saturn Airways. Saturn was bought out by Trans International in 1976. World Airways is still in business.

FIRE!

Nervous passengers crammed the shaking aircraft. Thunder rumbled, streaks of lightning divided the dark skies, and a massive deluge poured from the clouds.

“Wow!” Janet said to me, nodding her head toward one of the jet’s windows. “Look at that lightning!”

Violent winds rocked the airplane as we made our final approach to Los Angeles International Airport. A torrent of rain drenched the runway as our plane smacked down amid pools of water. I had been a flight attendant for less than a month when we landed late that night. I sat on the front jump seat, facing a crowded plane of anxious faces.

Suddenly I heard a loud bang. Was it thunder? Was it the plane?

Turning toward a window, I saw bright orange flames erupting from one of the engines. The blaze flared on the wet runway and seemed to be reaching for the plane’s undercarriage. Raging fear overtook me.

I stood up and shouted, “ FIRE! FIRE! ”

The nearby passengers, already terrified by the thunderstorm and rough landing, stared at me in horror.

I rushed into the cockpit, and again yelled, “FIRE!”

Slamming the cockpit door behind me, I raced to the forward exit and grabbed the red handle, positioning myself to open the entrance door the instant the plane stopped. A chute would unfurl and the passengers would be able to slide down safely to the tarmac below.

Janet, the senior flight attendant, grabbed my shoulders and shoved me back onto the jump seat.

“Nothing is wrong!” she cried. “It’s a reflection from the engines!”

Janet turned to the terrified passengers. “She’s a brand-new flight attendant and still learning.”

They listened to her polite explanation but continued to glare at me while gathering their belongings. I averted their eyes and lowered my head in humiliation.

“Thank you for flying with us,” I mumbled softly as they tramped down the exit stairs, shaking their heads in dismay.

Once the passengers had deplaned, I hesitantly walked into the cockpit. I knew I faced termination. The flight crew ignored me, busy with their end-of-flight duties. As I began my apologies to the captain, the crew looked up and broke into smiles and laughter. The engines had merely backfired, or, in technical terms, a compressor stall was created by a strong, reverse thrust to the engines. In the darkness, the wet landing strip magnified the flames.

When we were alone, Captain Dean, a robust man in his late forties, gave me a stern lecture and said, “I suggest you study the emergency manual more carefully.”

He put on his raincoat and secured the belt around his waist. He kindly patted me on the shoulder, descended the stairs to the tarmac, and marched ahead, his body bent into the wind. Demoralized, I followed the last crew members into the terminal, agonizing over my future with the airline. I was certain this was my last flight.

Captain Dean was a strict superior, but showed sympathy whenever he deemed it justified. He reported nothing to headquarters.

Дата добавления: 2015-08-27