A PRIVATE FLIGHT ISN’T ALL ITS MADE OUT TO BE

Way back in the late 70’s, I was at a convention outside of Philadelphia in Valley Forge where I had to give a speech in front of the Direct Marketing Association. The topic was “What came first, the chicken or the egg, copy or art?”

The speech went fine, supplemented with humorous slides that I had taken at the office in NYC, and it was received very well. I felt flush with victory as we decided to head home. I was with my boss, and a writer who happened to be a pilot. He owned his own plane, and reminded me often of the fact. As we left Valley Forge, the writer decided that he and I should be left off at Lynden Airport in New Jersey, where he would fly me home to Mac Arthur Long Island Airport in Bohemia, which was 5 minutes away from my home. That would save me a few hours on the train going home. I called my wife to pick me up at 5:00 p.m. that evening, and to meet me at the main terminal. We had two young children by then, being 5 and 4 years of age.

My boss dropped us off at the airport and continued on his way to NYC where he resided.
We boarded the Piper Cub that was parked in his rented space and took off. The flight was a lot of fun, as we flew around the Statue of Liberty, the Battery, and the East Side and headed out to Long Island. The weather and visibility was picture perfect. As we approached the Island, he radioed into Mac Arthur that we needed permission to land. Conversations with the tower went back and forth and we were cut off by another plane seeking permission, as the tower never gave us instructions as to where to park.

The plane descended to the long runway at a fast clip, and as we touched down, the pilot pulled up the brake to slow down the plane to a very smooth landing. Then we started to taxi over to the main terminal and as we did, the whole of airport security completely surrounded the plane, as guards and police got out with pistols drawn. The Little Woman, who was waiting and watching the whole process related to me after the ordeal that my son who was 4, said, “there’s Daddy!” The Little Woman, being the stout and devoted wife she was then and probably still is, grabbed the two kids by their hands and said “NO it’s not”, a real trooper by anyone’s standards.

The mega phones announced that we were to stay in the plane and not move, very loudly I may add. If it weren’t for the tower notifying the security force that we were cut off in the middle of instructions on where to taxi, I would be writing this from prison. The head of security very graciously allowed me to disembark and go into the main terminal from the tarmac.