What Can I Do To Help?

In October of 2003 I took a working vacation to the mountains of central New Mexico. I flew out of Lindbergh Field on a sunny afternoon typical of fall in San Diego. Each morning I read newspaper reports of wildfires throughout the Los Angeles area; yet my home town was safe. Little did I know when I saw my hometown again it would be an inferno of Hollywood special effects proportions.

My first tip came when my cell phone rang just as I checked my bags at Albuquerque International. My sister was on the other end, informing me that the San Diego back country was being devastated by a wildfire of its own. My flight was scheduled to layover in Phoenix; where I would transfer planes with the original plane flying north to Salt Lake City.

The desk attendant at the airline I was flying with informed me that there were no planes flying into or out of San Diego and that our best bet was to fly to Phoenix and wait out the firestorm. I was quite surprised by the attendant’s aloofness, it appeared that she didn’t care whether my fellow passengers and I made it home or not. Undeterred, I made a few more calls in an effort to get a more accurate description of what was going on in Southern California. The final call was to a friend of a friend who happened to be working in a building near Little Italy. Her office was on the fifth floor and working a rare Sunday afternoon, she informed me that the airline we were flying with had planes landing at and taking off from Lindbergh.

Excitedly I informed my fellow passengers that we did indeed stand a chance at making it home that night. I relayed this information to the woman at the desk and she responded with a snide comment about how I was making her look bad. An older couple I had been chatting with between phone calls spoke up to the woman before I got a chance to; the husband said “We care about getting home tonight, even though you couldn’t care less.” The wife added “We’ll be sure and let your supervisor know.”

Moments later we were airborne, twenty thousand feet above the New Mexico desert and soon we were above Arizona’s Mogollon Rim. The Phoenix layover originally planned for ninety minutes was increased by over two hours, giving me nearly four total hours before my connecting flight was due. I waited anxiously at the gate, receiving periodic text messages from assorted relatives and friends from throughout San Diego County. My friend in Little Italy kept assuring me the airline I was flying with was still landing planes although it appeared some of the other major airlines had suspended flights into San Diego altogether.

The Marlins and Yankees were in the World Series that year and I sat in the bar watching Game Two. Usually, if I don’t gave a rooting interest of either team I still tune in. After all, it’s the World Series. Yet the Marlins were skippered by “Trader Jack” McKeon and even if drafting Tony Gwynn was his only achievement for the Padres, he deserves my eternal respect. On top of that, I love a good pregame ceremony.

Even with the excitement of the World Series; I kept a close eye on the clock and after paying my tab on the three beers I had, I made my way back to my gate. Shock and confusion overcame me as I saw the empty waiting area; all my fellow passengers, the people I assured that we had a fighting chance at getting home that night, were gone. I double-checked my boarding pass and realized that yes, I was indeed at the correct gate. By this point, I wasn’t concerned at missing the flight as I was by the thought of losing out on the money I paid for the ticket. A flight attendant walked through in search of any stragglers and informed me that the departure gate was changed at the last minute and naturally, I did the old fist-pump when I learned I didn’t miss my flight.

 The flight attendant led me towards two doors and I opened the one on the left, which was connected to the jetway. “Excuse me, sir?” the flight attendant called out to me. “It’s this way.”

The door she led me out of opened to a corrugated metal stairway of the type I’ve seen on aircraft carriers. I found it odd to be led out of the building and onto the tarmac, a part of the airport I had seen but never set foot on. I looked for my plane among the large jets in the distance, paying no mind to the small, private-plane looking jet with the markings of the airline I was flying with.

“There you are sir” the attendant said, gesturing to the puddle jumper that was to be my ride home and would soon become one of the most thrilling experiences of my life. This plane was too small to use a jetway and to board it I had to walk up a few steps that were affixed to the rear of the door hatch. There was an eerie quiet as I boarded, everyone was speaking in hushed tones. I moved slowly down the aisle and counted the seats as I walked. Looking at the number on my ticket, I spotted my seat a few rows down and I immediately noticed the big red markings above it; EMERGENCY EXIT. My seat was one of three next to such exits. The flight attendant spoke to each of us, asking if we were physically able to operate the exits and mentally willing to do so if need be. Mustering as much stoicism as I could I looked her in the eye and said “Absolutely.”

More passengers piled on, each with a look of concern shared with those of us who were already seated. I noticed one young woman carrying an infant and had a toddler in tow. Two rows ahead of me and across the aisle sat a family with a boy of about seven and his little sister of around four years old. I looked again at the exit handle. I prayed silently, asking for my own safety only in the event of it providing for my ability to help those children should something go horribly wrong.

Before takeoff we were informed by the attendant that if need be, our seat cushion could be used as a flotation device. I don’t know about you but that never gives me comfort when flying over the desert. Next thing I knew we were airborne and heading home to California. Once we reached altitude the pilot informed us that there were indeed some major wildfires in San Diego County and while the plan was to land at Lindbergh Field, there was chance we could be diverted to another airport.

Does anyone remember the 1996 movie “Independence Day”? There’s a scene where alien ships arrive and before they are exposed, the ships are covered in fire and smoke. That’s what my hometown looked like from four miles above the Earth. As we flew closer, the wall of smoke grew. The pilot made an arcing right turn, setting us on a course leading directly back to Phoenix, and blue skies. Another attempt was made to head west, only to turn back a second time, to the left. This left turn took us over the InKoPah Mountains; with the famous lookout tower in view down below. Our third attempt at the smoke took us into a virtual war zone; the only areas that weren’t black and grey with ash were covered in red and orange flame.

Yet another turn had us heading due north along the edge of the wall of smoke. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky on that afternoon but we couldn’t see anything west of us more than a quarter mile away. Throughout the flight I sat next to a woman coming home from a family reunion in Michigan. Her fiancé was waiting for her at Lindbergh and I could tell she was more than a little nervous. Hell, I was too but I knew that it would help no one for me to show it. I talked about smell of the fires seeping into the plane, and how it brought back good memories of sitting by the campfire as a young boy. She remarked at how it was odd that I could seem so at ease with all the destruction taking place below us.

We had flown in a complete circle, part of which took us directly over Lake Cuyamaca. The vivid green of the trees was a sharp contrast to the burning land to the west and north of us.

Again we made an attempt to fly in, this time from the south. I looked out the window and saw a lot of the roads I biked on in high school, surrounded by burning or already burned-out wild land. Our descent slowed and it looked like the burn areas were a lot closer to the ocean than we thought. It was something of a relief to see unburned neighborhoods; yet the smoke brought a haze that limited visibility in a way none of us had ever seen, and some of my fellow passengers were from LA and were very familiar with smog. Our final descent commenced and we all held our breath.

Cheers erupted through the plane as we heard the familiar screech of the tires touching the runway. I held my breath a moment longer, until I was certain the front tires had made contact as well. As we departed the plane, many of the passengers shook my hand and said “Thank you.” I couldn’t understand why; especially since I was the only passenger they were thanking. The girl I spoke with during the flight elaborated “You seemed so at ease, and it helped the rest of us stay calm.” I admitted my initial motivation; talking about past flights and sharing what knowledge I had of the land under us at any given point kept me calm. I did recognize that it helped the girl sitting next to me and knowing I was helping her made me feel even more at ease. What I did not know was that due to the small size of our plane, the majority of the passengers heard our conversation and they also benefitted from it!

I think of that flight often and whenever we are faced with wildfires, the memories come back a little more vivid than usual. When I started writing this blog I wasn’t sure about how I was going to close it. Initially, I was going to write about the moron who started the fire, and the ridiculous slap on the wrist he got for killing fifteen people. But I’ve ranted about him in a past blog and even a brief mention here doesn’t help the situation.

I also thought about closing out by sharing my knowledge of disaster preparedness, but I think that is incumbent on you to know such things before disaster strikes.

Then it came to me; I couldn’t do anything about the fires while I was in the air, nor could I be of much help on the ground. But for a few hours jammed in a metal tube with thirty or so complete strangers flying above scenery much like we’ve seen on the news the past few days, I was able to make a very stressful day a little less stressful for all of us.

Even when you think there is nothing you can do, there is always something you can do…