New York city glamour

“Look at them,” a teenager exclaimed to his father, pointing at us while we marched through the New York airport.

“Aren’t they pretty?” the elder man replied.

Men smiled and women looked at us with envy. The five of us were all slim and groomed, with the same make-up, hairdos, and stylish uniforms. We walked in unison, side by side, carrying black purses draped over our shoulders.

We had just returned from Paris. Our airline crew had four days to layover in New York City before flying back to Europe. The station manager had booked us into the Statler Hilton.

We arrived at the hotel’s entrance in a black stretch limousine, listening to honking horns and screeching brakes through the open windows. A porter held the car door open, and one uniformed crew member after another stepped out. A valet took our luggage and nearby sidewalk strollers stopped to stare. If our uniforms had been black and white, we would have looked like a parade of penguins.

Yes, during the sixties and seventies the airline industry was the place to be. What other occupation paid for its employees to stay at topnotch hotels in exotic locations, allowed them to shop at the best stores worldwide, and gave them exceptional wages? I made three times what I had earned as a legal secretary, and I worked half the days. Granted, the workdays were exceptionally long, but they were always exciting.

Once when we ferried a plane to a new location, Captain Chapman asked, “Hey, Bobbi. Want to watch the landing?”

“Sure, I’d love to.”

For the first time, a captain allowed me to sit on the small jump seat in the cockpit. It was humbling to listen to the crew go through their checklists. I had often heard the professional chatter between the control tower and the flight deck whenever I delivered meals. But to hear it as our plane approached the airstrip was awesome. I watched the runway come up to meet the wheels, heard the tires screech, and saw the landing strip lights rush by at lightning speed.

As an international flight attendant, I traveled throughout the Orient and most of Europe. Because our destinations could change, we always packed bathing suits and boots. We could fly one day to sunny Hawaii and a few days later to snowy Alaska. From check-in at dispatch to check-in at a hotel, my flight duties could last up to thirty hours. But when we arrived, we had two to ten days off…a lot of time to explore foreign cultures and unusual customs.

Many of my fellow flight attendants joined me on my explorations. We were considered ambassadors for the airline company, not only on the plane but when we traveled on our own. We had to be impeccable and act with absolute grace—always.

Penn Station and Madison Square Garden were located across the street from the Statler Hilton. The hotel’s number was easy to remember: Pennsylvania 6-5000, made famous in the early forties by Glenn Miller and his band.

New York City was an explorer’s paradise. We went to rodeos, concerts, and dog shows at the Garden. We watched the skaters at Rockefeller Center in the winter, took carriage rides in Central Park in spring, and visited the Guggenheim Museum in summer.

There was always danger, however, when staying in a large city. In 1966, two United Airlines flight attendants were attacked at their Seattle hotel. They had left their room door ajar for their third roommate, still out on a date. By the time she returned, one of the flight attendants had been killed and the other bludgeoned. This type of news traveled quickly through the airline industry. From then on, whenever I checked into a hotel room, I had the bellhop wait while I searched under the bed, in the closet, and in the bathroom.

Whenever my crew had a long layover in New York, I invited my roommates to join me in Connecticut. My parents lived an hour by train from Grand Central Station and they happily welcomed my flying friends. A few months earlier Greta and Rike joined me on one long layover in New York, and I was pleased to show them an American home in the woods of Connecticut.

Surprisingly, my father, who initially hated my profession, now became a delightful host. He had succumbed to the beauty and charm of the flight attendants, and I became a source of pride to my parents.

While in New York, I overheard a business friend ask my father, “What does Bobbi do?”

“Why, she’s an international flight attendant,” he answered, standing a little taller. “With her airline discounts, Florence and I flew to Hawaii last year. We’ve been to England, Spain, Morocco….”

His voice trailed off as he listed country after country. I felt thrilled that he had finally accepted my occupation. I had been rewarded for my determination and hard work.

Back at the Statler Hilton, I stood in my uniform behind the co-pilot at the front desk. My mind had wandered. I had been thinking about my parents and the glamour we enjoyed as flight attendants. Suddenly, Connie poked me.

“You’re next,” she said.

“May I help you?” the receptionist asked.

Just then we heard a rowdy noise coming from the mezzanine. We all looked up, and I recognized a very drunk Marlene wobbling close to the iron railing. She swore loudly and hurled brash comments at the decorative plants lining the balustrade.

Marlene, a beautiful, robust blond, was a member of a different crew of flight attendants staying in New York. Known for being a fun-loving German, Marlene was both entertaining and diligent. You always had a good time with her, but you never knew what to expect.

“Go get her,” the hotel manager yelled at a baggage handler.

He raced up the stairs just as Marlene, her back to the lobby, pulled down her underpants and squatted. From my viewpoint at the reception desk, I could see a yellow stream falling from between her legs to the mezzanine floor.

“Oh no!” I gasped.

The bellhop rushed Marlene and tried to help her stand. In her drunken stupor she thought she was in her hotel bathroom and a strange man had just entered. She quickly pulled up her pants and gave the employee a strong shove backwards. Another bellhop engaged Marlene and the two men struggled to control her. Grasping her arms, they escorted her to the elevator and back to her room.

I glanced at the manager and hoped he had not recognized Marlene as one of our employees. Lowering my head, I continued to fill out the hotel’s paperwork.

“So much for glamour,” I thought.

After unpacking and showering in my room, I experienced a restless night of sleep when the telephone rang. Groggy and half asleep, I heard Connie on the other end.

“Join us downstairs,” she said. “We’re going exploring.”

“Go on without me,” I said, yawning into the phone. “I’ll meet up later.”

Large, prickly rollers in my hair had kept me from a decent night of sleep. I fell back into bed for a couple more hours. Since I grew up near the city, I preferred to rest. I met them the next day in the hotel lobby.

“Let’s take a cab,” I said. “Otherwise, it’s quite a hike.”

They readily agreed. We took a yellow taxi to Radio City Music Hall and watched Love Story with Ali MacGraw and Ryan O’Neal. The legendary Rockettes performed afterwards.

“The matinee movie and show cost only $1.25.” I remarked. “Where can you get a deal like that?”

“Can you believe how high they kicked?” Connie commented. “And in complete harmony.”

“I counted thirty-six girls,” observed Robin. “We’d be hard pressed to do that with just the three of us.”

After the show we had an early dinner at the Russian Tea Room, a dimly lit restaurant with green walls and red banquettes. The smell of coffee and cigarettes hit us the moment we pushed through the revolving doors. We ordered Polish dinners and a glass of vodka each.

From there we walked to the Top of the Sixes, a restaurant and bar at 666 Fifth Avenue. Dressed in miniskirts, we sat at a window table overlooking the city. While we discussed the movie, complimentary champagne flutes arrived with a note from a male customer.

“Please be my guest,” it said.

We turned around and saw an older gentleman in the corner. With a smile and a nod of his head, he raised his glass and saluted us.

“Now, that’s what I like about being a flight attendant,” I said.

“What a life,” Robin countered.

We sat drinking our champagne and looking at the lights of the city. We really did have a remarkable life.

Дата добавления: 2015-08-27