Old Fly Gals
April 2019
When I met Diane in an Erie fabric store
last Monday, it didn’t take too much chatting to determine our mutual
affiliation.
Early in our conversation Diane
mentioned something about “back when I was a stewardess.” Being ladies of “a certain age,” it didn’t
take long for us to establish that yes, we had a lot in common. We had been
young women at the same time, in the same place, in a job that promoted pride
and family. We were both daughters of
C.R. Smith.
No, we weren’t really related. But we entered freely into a warm
conversation, because we were the kind of people that old C.R. had wanted in
his corporate family - people who like people.
We were American Airlines stewardesses –
so long ago, that we were not flight attendants – we were stewardesses.
C.R. Smith was the president of American
Airlines for 34 years, one of the granddaddies of the aviation industry. He was
so respected, he closed $100 million deals with a handshake. He was a smart
leader who cared deeply and personally for his employees. When C.R. deplaned at the end of a trip, he
shook everyone’s hand, called us by name, and thanked us. He embodied the personal customer service
that was the central focus of our training. I hadn’t thought about him in a long time, but
when Diane mentioned him, she brought back instant, happy memories.
Both Diane and I began flying out of
LaGuardia and we were there at the same time.
She flew for five years. I
started two years after she did, and before I moved on from New York, we
determined we had overlapped in New York for a few years. We slipped into airline lingo and references
pretty quickly – more than a half century after the fact.
Judy, the fabric store owner, runs her
emporium with a similar warmth as old C.R., She’s welcoming, and comfortable and
it was with mutual admiration and enthusiasm for her latest purchases that
Diane and I began chatting. The atmosphere was conducive to girl talk.
Like me, Diane had remarried late in
life. But as we talked she confided that
the happiness she had found was now accompanied by her husband’s
Alzheimer’s. She was on a fun errand
that morning, a few rare moments away from the constant care, the cleaning up,
the endless frustration with the futility that Alzheimer’s brings.
She
fought tears as we chatted about her situation and although I wanted to hug
her, I felt that I would be presuming too much as a five-minute acquaintance. Judy had, however, known Diane and her situation
for a long time. Sensing the moment, the
need, she stepped forward with “You need a hug,” and a warm embrace.
Diane and I continued to shop for
fabrics, all the while talking about those golden days of our youth – the workdays
of exploring new people, new places and new knowledge. We talked about the aircraft we flew, airsickness,
trips we worked, and charters. We both
felt every day of our early life was exciting.
Diane confided that back in the early
sixties she had transferred from New York City to American’s crew base in
Buffalo. She told this funny story on herself:
Crew schedule had assigned her to work a
charter for the Buffalo Bills. She was
surprised at the trip assignment, though, not understanding why four people
would need an entire aircraft to themselves. Diane had enjoyed the new movie, The Music Man, featuring the
world-champion barber shop quartet, the Buffalo Bills.
But it seems that the city of Buffalo
had acquired a new form of entertainment called a football franchise, and Diane,
obviously more of a music fan than a sports fan, had never heard of them. We shared a good laugh.
Finally, because she had to get back
home to her responsibilities, she pulled a piece of paper from her purse and
began writing down her phone numbers and email address for me. We exchanged all our contact information, somehow
knowing that our conversation is going to continue. We have too many old memories to recall as
well as too many present-day experiences to share. We liked each other.
And all because we are both the kind of
women that like people, talk to people, take chances on meeting new
people. That was what American hired us
to do and not surprisingly, that’s who we still are. And yes, we hugged goodbye.
C.R. Smith would have been so proud.