This Side Up

Making time fly and restoring faith in the younger generation

John Howell
Posted 1/20/15

I hadn’t paid attention to where I would be sitting, just happy to have made my connection to Los Angeles. People hovered around the gate, waiting for their group to be called. Some checked their …

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This Side Up

Making time fly and restoring faith in the younger generation

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I hadn’t paid attention to where I would be sitting, just happy to have made my connection to Los Angeles. People hovered around the gate, waiting for their group to be called. Some checked their cell phones, but most looked fed up with another delay and anxious to get moving. Their source of aggravation was my salvation.

“Looks like we could have walked,” I said to the man beside me. He was big, although not as big as the third man in our party.

The three of us were on the same flight from Boston and all making connections to LA. That flight was delayed by 40 minutes, leaving us only 10 minutes to catch the flight from Houston. Flight attendants were aware of the situation and urged the rest of the passengers to let us off the plane first. As the plane reached the gate and the fasten seatbelt sign was switched off, we pushed our way to the front between people reaching in their overhead bins and then waited for the door to open and the race to begin.

I wondered if the really big guy would be able to make it. The other fellow looked fit. The bicep popping from his short-sleeve shirt carried a tattoo and the words “American Boxing.” Would we end up taking care of the really big guy?

I didn’t have time to wonder. The door opened, and the three of us went into race mode, sprinting up the gate and into the terminal.

“Where are you going?” a uniformed woman asked as we paused to get our bearings. “I can drive you, I’m right over here,” she said, pointing to a yellow cart. The really big guy didn’t hesitate. The vehicle sagged under his weight. The other big guy and I jumped into the rumble seats.

Our driver was good. She accelerated through the oncoming stream of travelers, warning those we were overtaking and dodging others as they left shops lining the concourse. But it wasn’t good enough for the really big guy.

“Stand clear, coming through,” he bellowed over and over. He had a powerful voice, and the command had people scurrying to get out of our path. I was awed.

“Looks like you’ve done this before,” I said.

“You might say I’ve had experience,” he responded, smiling.

I almost wished we had arrived just as they were making the final call. But no, now we were standing and waiting…again.

I was in the final group to be called and, as it turned out, in the very last row of seats. It was an aisle seat, and I slid beside a young woman who was next to a young man with a goatee and a dark blue cap pulled down across his forehead.

I was about to have one of the more entertaining four hours of my flying experience.

The woman, who would be spending two days in L.A., was part of a team assessing the purchase of a mortgage portfolio for what apparently was a large financial company. She hadn’t started off in this career direction, but, as she observed, there isn’t a big demand for those who studied philosophy. She thought law might be of interest and went to work for a firm in Philadelphia dealing in real estate. That brought her to the company for which she now works. Then I learned she is engaged to a man who is a practicing Buddhist, while she is a devote Catholic.

“I couldn’t help hearing what you’re saying,” said the goateed man beside her, who professed to be a follower of Moorish Science.

“Moorish Science?” I asked.

That did it. Brianna, as I was to learn her name by the time we arrived in L.A., wanted to hear more. Dontavius stroked his goatee and began talking about the Moors of Morocco. He asked about her beliefs, and it wasn’t long before the man sitting in front of me was leaning over his seat to join the conversation.

He was Catholic and said he goes to church three times a day. Dontavius and I were skeptical, but Brianna said she understood. The man in front seemed to be happy to have made his point, turned and sat down. For the three of us, it was just beginning.

Dontavius grew up in Tennessee. He served in the Army in Afghanistan and was injured in an IED explosion.

That brought us to politics, and where the country is going. Neither Brianna nor Dontavius liked the case for Hillary Clinton or Jeb Bush. Who then, I asked. Brianna likes Chris Christie for being unapologetic about his beliefs, although she doesn’t know whether she’d vote for him.

Dontavius talked of his dreams to buy or build a house. Brianna, having just acquired a condo, gave him advice on mortgages. From politics, dreams and finance, we went back to beliefs. Flight attendants lingered to catch the drift of what was, at times, a lively exchange.

I asked Brianna about the tattoo on her wrist, a Celtic symbol with the name Michael. She told us of her brother who died of a drug overdose and of problems with addiction in her family. We talked about health care.

Dontavius had stories of his own, and the conversation shifted to the ghettos and helping the poor. Brianna would have the church sell all its art and use the money to help people, and that led to a discussion on the distribution of wealth.

In no time, it seemed, we were being told to prepare for landing. Almost in unison, my two back-of-the-plane companions said they’d never had such an interesting flight.

For me, it was reassuring. We hadn’t been glued to our tablets or cell phones. There was discourse, and with it opinions and, most encouragingly, ideas. I’m glad I caught that flight.

John recently traveled to New Zealand to join his son and his family on a tour of the islands. This is his first report.

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