A couple of days ago I was reading a post by my friend, Sujatha, of
Blogpourrie, about long layovers in airports and it brought back some vivid memories of my trip from Madrid, Spain to the US in 1969. I mentioned that to Sujatha in my comment to her and she urged me to write about it. It wasn’t particularly funny at the time, but looking back now, I have to admit I did get a large chuckle out of the memory and I decided to share it with the rest of you who might be planning on a LONG flight in the near future with small children.
In July of 1969 my husband, David, and I were living in Madrid, Spain where he was stationed with the Air Force. We had a daughter, Robyn, who was three and a half and another daughter, Kerith, who was thirteen months. I was six months pregnant with our third child at the time. We were due to go back to the states in October of that year and would be going to Great Falls, Montana where my husband was to be stationed at Malmstrom AFB. We were looking forward to returning to the states in spite of the fact that we had loved our three years in Europe.
There was one little problem, the obstetrician at the hospital informed me that I couldn’t wait that long to return to the states since my baby was due in November. So, we made plans for me to return to my parents home in Dallas, Texas. David would join me there in November and we would continue on to Montana.
The idea of that long of a trip with Robyn alone would have been a no brainer, she was quiet, well behaved, loved books – she was the perfect , adorable little girl and I was certain it was because we had raised her in the best possible way, right?? Then there was Kerith – what can I say? She was more than a hand full, she could be a terror and her greatest joy was to see how quickly she could piss Robyn off. I might add that I had very big babies and while you couldn’t tell I was pregnant from behind, when I turned around I had to be careful not to knock lamps off the tables etc. etc.
At best, this wasn’t going to be an easy trip! In spite of the fact that my very understanding pediatrician had given me a mild medication to keep Kerith sleepy for most of the trip back to the states.
David took us to the airbase that morning in July of 1969 and put the girls and I on the plane. There was a general returning to the states on the same plane and he had been given a going away party which ran over time and delayed his boarding for nearly two hours. Two hours in which the rest of us sat in the plane, on the runway, mumbling obscenities under our breath.
We finally took off and after a uneventful flight, arrived at an air base in New Jersey only to find that we had missed our connection to Atlanta by a half hour. We had to take a bus to Philadelphia to catch the plane for our next destination – Atlanta! Oh, did I mention that it was in the upper 90s and the humidity was about the same! Well, you get the picture!
We finally boarded the plane and took off. Robyn went to sleep immediately, her arms wrapped around a teddy bear. Kerith was still snoozing away and I was finally able to relax a bit and doze off as well. Then came the announcement! The pilots were experiencing some difficulty with the plane and we would have to land in Baltimore to have it taken care of – everyone would have to wait in the airport!
I did manage to talk the pilot and stewardesses into letting me remain on board – even though I knew it was going to be very hot – no air conditioning! But the thought of moving my overburdened body and two kids off still another airplane was more than I was willing to do. They did bring me lots of cold drinks, ice, water etc.; the girls continued to sleep, the baby I was carrying, stopped kicking and went back to doing whatever the unborn do and I was able to relax.
An hour later we were in the air again, next stop – Atlanta! It was two o’clock in the morning and I had to change planes again for the final leg of the “fun” journey back to Texas!
Now, you have to realize that during the nearly three years we had been in Europe, the hippie movement had really moved across the US, the media wasn’t what it is today and while I had read a little about it, I really had no idea how prevalent it had become in the states – that is until I walked off the plane and into the waiting room of the airport in Atlanta. Men with beards and long hair, clothes that looked as though they had never seen the inside of a washing machine, women in long dresses – also in need of a Laundromat , with long hair that could have used the Laundromat as well. Most of them sat on the floor all over the airport. Several women were nursing babies, breasts hanging out uncovered. Numerous little kids were running around, having a great time, as unwashed as their parent/parents and even dirtier – if possible. There were a couple of guys playing guitars and singing songs I had never heard before, pushing tin cups out asking for contributions to the “cause”.
Now, I was never, ever straight laced as they used to be called and I had certainly been a wild one so to speak in my day – well, at least my parents thought I was wild and don’t forget, my husband was black (well, actually David is still black, he’s just no longer my husband – good friend, though and his being black had nothing to do with our no longer being married). What I’m saying is that I was always a very liberal minded woman, but the new face of America in the 60s was still a shock.
And I was still in shock when the three and a half of us boarded our plane to Dallas. Ah, how time changes everything! Looking back I wonder if anything could shock me that much today. Probably not! But it’s been good for a chuckle or two.
