Airborne activity

Steve Barnes

DALLAS – He is hardly a stranger to Arkansas, this old friend, who decided some years ago to leave newspapering for the greater security that an airline job seemed to promise. Never mind that just about every occupation has offered greater security than journalism, for which “no heavy lifting” has served to compensate for the usually mediocre pay scale. The heavy lifting in his new position, he reasoned, would be offset by the travel perk: free flights on a standby basis.

He liked the airline industry and it liked him, so with the rare exception of flu outbreaks and cascading flight cancellations, he hasn’t had to deal with baggage, with heavy lifting, in some time. He’s a supervisory agent now, assisting with major airport operations, sometimes including communications with airborne pilots. As in the instance of a few days ago, an episode which he says he absolutely must share, as it’s just too good to not share, though you will understand that some details have been omitted to protect the — innocent?

So we’ll call it Flight 1234, and when I ask if it originated, or stopped over , in Arkansas, he hesitated. “San Francisco,” he says finally, his smile telling me I can believe that or not. Anyway, 1234 is about 45 minutes from final approach when one of my friend’s assistants receives a communique from the flight deck of 1234: The pilot wants the police waiting at the gate. What’s the trouble, the senior man asks. The other fellow shrugs; he’s only the messenger.

My friend alerts the airport police: The pilot of 1234 wants you guys there when he lands. He’ll be at (we’ll call it) gate B1.

Why, the officer in charge asks. Another drunk threatening a flight attendant? Worse, assaulting him or her? Or trying to open the cabin door in mid-flight, or attacking the cockpit door? Whatever, his officers needed to know the problem aboard 1234.

Makes sense. So my friend gets on the radio with 1234’s pilot. (A learning experience: I thought only the air traffic controllers could communicate with pilots.) The cops need to know what the problem is, he tells the guy in the left seat. The guy in the left seat comes back with nothing more than We Need the Cops at the Gate, a message promptly relayed to the cops. Just as promptly the cops restate: Insufficient info. Are we dealing with an attempted hijacking? Do passengers and crew have a belligerent Bubba or a cantankerous Karen in handcuffs? What? Come on, what? What?

To the jetliner’s captain the agent relays the police commander’s insistence on an explanation. From 1234 there are several moments of radio silence. Then the captain’s voice: A flight attendant reports that … that …that a … passenger is … uh … stimulating … her seatmate.

The agent dutifully informs the cop of the pilot’s account and both relax a bit. Just another couple attempting to join the Mile High Club. But FAA regulations forbid such memberships, even the application. So there has to be an accounting when the plane lands. Fine. But now the cops want to know who they’ll be dealing with when the jets cool, as it were. So my friend the agent asks the pilot and is told the offenders are in seats 15A and 15B.

Into the airline’s database the agent goes. In seconds the passengers in mention are identified. Let’s call them John and Jane Doe. And let’s say they’re from Anytown, Arkansas. Well, scratch the Arkansas. The agent scrolls down, scanning the other info the screen reveals. Such as John and Jane’s ages.

The agent freezes, blinks once, twice, a third time. John Doe’s date of birth is 1942. Jane’s is 1944.

“Uh…” he begins, on the line with the airport cop. “Uh…” a second time. Then he tells the officer that the offending couple, apparently husband and wife, are ages 81 and 79.

“Uh,” the cop says, “are you certain?” He says maybe the agent should be at the gate, too. You know, help the cops. You know.

The agent had to be there anyway. His airline and the FAA required a report be taken, aside from whatever law enforcement decided to do. So all of them were at the gate when 1234’s passengers and crew began to deplane. The captain had observed nothing; he had merely relayed what a flight attendant had told him. That flight attendant: With a roll of her eyes she declined to give a statement. The passenger who spotted the … activity … in row 15: She declined to file a complaint, and rushed away in a crimson huff. The Does, John and Jane, they strolled down the concourse, hand in hand.