by Rene Foss
Step up to the red carpet with pride. This is the double-deck Stratocruiser, the height of flight luxury! Your crew is the pick of the airways. Your comfort is catered to with every innovation known to the air age. Cabin temperature and pressure is altitude-conditioned for perfect ease. A new and exciting travel adventure awaits you.
THE LADIES’ LOUNGE: Lovely leather walls—completely mirrored. For convenience, the room is divided into two sections with twin dressing tables to keep you “travel-poster” pretty! Another example of luxury.
MEN’S DRESSING ROOM: Mirrored walls, outlets for electric razors, three washbasins, and a dental basin—plus a never-ending supply of hot water. Everything you need to stay fresh and comfortable en route.
BERTHS: Conveniently lighted—wider than the conventional railroad berth—and curtained for privacy. Also we proudly feature Sleeper Seats, made of deep-cushioned foam rubber. Easy-chair comfort with lots of legroom—at night the chair reclines fully to “chaise longue” position for a smooth slumber.
MEMORABLE MEALS: The gleaming galley is completely equipped to serve oven-fresh full-course meals and delicious between-meal snacks. Prepared on board by professional chefs and graciously served by your stewardess. No tipping at any time, of course.
STRATO LOUNGE: Just step down the spiral staircase to the most distinguished club in the world. Beautifully appointed with built-in bar, horseshoe-shaped couch, and circular table. A unique flight experience.
VANDA ORCHIDS FLOWN FRESH FROM HAWAII: Our gift to you in memory of your trip on the Stratocruiser.
Times have certainly changed and you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to recognize it. My mother was a flight attendant (or, at the time, an airline stewardess) from 1951 to 1959, when air travel was considered glamorous, exciting, and even elitist. People actually dressed up for their trips. They wore shoes. Back then most people traveled by car, bus, or train, so taking a trip by plane was a special event, and being a stewardess was a special career. In my mother’s day, stewardesses wore white gloves and little boarding hats, they learned to serve lobster thermidor tableside on the airplane, and they had to practice the art of polite conversation with one another so they could better communicate with all the sophisticated passengers. You can only imagine my surprise when I began my career in 1985: Instead of wearing white gloves, we’re wearing rubber gloves, and instead of learning to serve lobster thermidor tableside, we’re learning to put handcuffs on unruly passengers. Instead of practicing the art of polite conversation, we’re practicing the art of self-defense in case we encounter air rage!
Not everything was entirely rosy back in her day, though. For example, stewardesses had to quit when they got married or reached the age of thirty-two. Many women hid the fact that they were married in order to keep their jobs. Secret marriages, how intriguing! They also had to wear girdles. In fact, there was a girdle-checker to make sure they were wearing them and there was also a weight-checker. Stewardesses who stepped on the scale and were over the predetermined proper weight were grounded without pay until they lost the weight. Back then stewardesses had to share hotel rooms on layovers, which would be unthinkable in this day and age, and often women were not allowed to apply for the purser position, which paid more and was only available to men. Still, it was a coveted career and my mother had many fond memories of her days as a stewardess. When I was a little girl she told me stories of the interesting people she had met on her flights: Helen Keller, Duke Ellington, and Richard Nixon to name a few. She grew up on a farm in the Midwest during the Depression and didn’t have indoor plumbing for most of her childhood, so it’s easy to imagine how thrilling it must have been for her to have a career that allowed her to meet those people; to literally get off the farm and travel the world. She also loved the free travel benefits, and took her parents to places they would never have seen otherwise, like Hawaii and New York City.
Because being a stewardess was such a coveted profession in those days, the airlines could afford to be very particular about whom they hired. Around World War II, some of the earliest stewardesses in commercial aviation were required to be nurses. This requirement was most likely influenced by the military presence in the country at that time. By the 1950s the requirement was dropped and the new trend was to hire beautiful, elegant women (there were very few male stewards at this point in history). Apparently the airlines would announce that they were seeking applications via newspapers across the country and then call in qualified candidates for interviews at the headquarters, much like they still do today. In any case that is how my mother, Maxyne, found out about the job. Actually, it was her younger sister, Janice, who saw the advertisement in the newspaper and wanted to apply, but there was a vision requirement and Janice wore glasses. However, Maxyne, with her 20/20 vision and a burning desire to get off the farm, took a strong interest in the idea and decided she would apply instead.
Within three weeks the girls were on a small plane to the main office for an interview—Maxyne dragged her younger sister along for moral support—and neither had ever been on a plane before. As the story goes, the two girls rented a car and drove from the airport to the personnel office, where Maxyne went for her interview while Janice waited in the car. The airlines could afford to have very specific standards for those they hired, and what they wanted was very beautiful women. Unfortunately Maxyne, although very beautiful, had one small flaw: When she was a little girl a dog bit her, leaving a small scar on the left side of the bridge of her nose. It really was barely visible, but the man in the personnel office noticed it. After the interview he told Maxyne that she met all the qualifications, but because of that small scar, he would have to disqualify her from the application process. This sort of thing could never happen today and if it did, certainly no one would give the actual reason. However, back then that is the way things were, so my mother left the office and went back to the car where Janice was patiently waiting.
Naturally both girls were disappointed and probably figured they would end up spending the rest of their lives on the farm milking cows, or teaching school. They returned the car and went back to the airport to catch their flight back home. When they boarded the plane the sky started turning gray and it began to rain, which was sort of appropriate for their moods at the time. The plane took off and began a very bumpy journey westward; about midway through the flight the captain announced that the weather ahead was worse and they would have to turn around and return to the airport. Janice and Maxyne were not quite sure how this would affect them since the next flight out wasn’t until the next afternoon at the same time. When they landed on the ground, personnel arranged a hotel reservation and booked them on the same flight home the following day, thus giving them another twenty-four hours in the “big city.” They decided it might be fun to go downtown and see the sights. Maxyne wanted to visit the fancy department stores and see all the latest fashions, and Janice wanted to look at the architecture. They decided to each do her own thing and meet back at the bus stop in one hour. While Maxyne was on her way to the fine furs area, she passed by the cosmetics counter, where she overheard a well-dressed woman and a salesman discussing a foundation cream that covered blemishes and made skin look pure and translucent. Suddenly something clicked in her mind and she approached the man as the other woman was leaving. She told him about her experience with the airlines and showed him the little scar. He put a little bit of the cream on her face and the scar disappeared.
Without hesitation my mother purchased a jar of the cream and then ran to meet her sister at the bus stop. Janice was amazed at how well the cream covered the scar and even more amazed at Maxyne’s plan to return to the airline personnel office first thing the following morning. She wanted to go right then but the office would have been closed. In all actuality it was a good plan since their flight was not leaving until the following afternoon and they had nothing else to do until then. So they both agreed it couldn’t hurt to take a chance on going back. After all, the man in pers
onnel told my mother she was exactly what they were looking for. Now that the scar was gone, why wouldn’t they take her?
When I first heard this story I was amazed by my mother’s tenacity. It took courage to go back after she had been rejected, particularly in that day and age when most women just accepted their lots in life and had very few choices—especially when it came to careers. In any case she went back the next day and showed the man how well the cream worked. Between that and my mother’s charm she got herself a fine little job with the airline that lasted eight wonderful years. It was a job she would have kept forever, but the airline forced her to quit when she married my dad in 1959.
As a child I heard a lot of stories about the “good ol’ days” and one of my favorites is the one about my mother’s friend who was a captain. They would try to get on the same flights because they always had so much fun together; one of the things they liked to do was bid trips out to the West Coast. While they were flying they discovered that they passed right over North Dakota, which was my mother’s home state. Her pilot friend figured out how he could pass right over the family farm, so they would tell my grandmother in advance what time they would be flying by and my grandmother would stand out in the backyard and wave her dish towel. Then Mom’s captain friend would make some kind of crazy announcement like, “We’re now flying over the Peace Garden State, North Dakota. If you look out the right side of the aircraft you can see one of the finest women in the state outside her farm, waving her yellow dish towel, sending you her greetings from the farm!” If that happened today someone would probably report them to the FAA or the CIA or AA.
I’ve read some of my mother’s diaries that she kept throughout her career and I find it fascinating that I’m flying some of the same routes that she flew, doing the same hard work she did nearly fifty years ago. The major difference is that back in her era they seemed to have a lot more fun! There seemed to be more camaraderie. Maybe it’s because the airlines were smaller back then. Maybe it’s because the industry was new then. Or maybe it was just the way my mother told the stories that made it sound as if they all enjoyed their lives so much. Of course, today we still have fun on the job but it seems to be a different sort of fun than they had. I guess you could say this about a lot of things.
Layovers
LIKE I SAID, times have changed. Nowadays air travel is more like a living hell than a glamorous, elegant experience. The airports are overcrowded, as are the flights, people are impatient, and it’s next to impossible to provide the service that people expect. Usually there is some type of delay. Recently I was standing behind a man in line at the ticket counter and overheard the following conversation:
MAN: Well, why is the flight delayed?
AGENT: Weather.
MAN: You know I find that hard to believe. The girl who was here before you just made an announcement, not even ten minutes ago, saying it was a mechanical delay. Now I don’t think you’re being honest with me and I want to know the truth—right now! Is it a mechanical delay or a weather delay?
AGENT: It’s both.
I feel sorry for people who have to travel for work. I can’t imagine screwing around all day trying to get somewhere for a business meeting. I mean, the travel in itself is daunting enough, and then upon arrival having to go deal with clients or business makes it all worse. No wonder everyone is so miserable when they travel. At least after I’ve suffered through a twelve-hour day of travel I’m done! I don’t have to concern myself with any other business matters because I am on my layover. One of the most treasured aspects of being a flight attendant, in addition to a flexible working schedule, is the layover. I must admit that this career has given me the opportunity not only to meet many different people, but also to visit many different places. Some people bid trips for the layover: “I’ve never been to Hong Kong and this month we have twenty-four-hour layovers in Hong Kong. I think I’ll bid a few, just to see what it’s like there.” Other people bid their trips according to what days they would like to have off. Certain people may need Mondays and Wednesdays off because they’re taking a class; they don’t really care what trip they take or where they layover, as long as they have Mondays and Wednesdays off. Some people want to work one-day trips (turnarounds) because they have kids in school and want to be there when their children arrive home. They will fly four turnarounds in a week, leaving at 6:00 A.M. and returning at 2:00 P.M., and never have to spend the night in a hotel. Still others want to fly long trips, such as six-day trips or even nine-day trips, by concentrating all their flying. Then they may be able to have ten or more days off in a row and be able to use one of their free passes to take personal trips.
There is also something else to be said for taking a nine-day international trip. Let’s say you have just suffered a bad breakup or you’re sick of your surroundings, or maybe just sort of sick of your life. You hop on a plane to Asia, Africa, or Europe and you really don’t know what that trip may bring. There’s a sense of excitement and intrigue to it all—even if you have to push a beverage cart across the Pacific. When you arrive you’re in foreign land and you can be and do whatever you wish. Maybe you’ll want to go out with the whole crew, or maybe you’ll want to take off and explore on your own. I love going out with the crew and having a big, fun dinner in Dublin or Florence, but I also love walking around the streets of Tokyo at dusk all by myself and being an outsider. I’m making it sound pretty romantic, aren’t I? Well, there is another side to it and that’s the more common reality of the layover: Usually it takes place somewhere in America. You’ve worked a twelve-hour day, all your flights were full, and you’ve now arrived in some city that looks like the city you were in last night, or maybe it was the night before. In any event it’s late and you’re tired. The hotel van is late, and when it finally arrives, the driver takes you from the airport along an impersonal interstate in an impersonal part of town past all the impersonal chain restaurants at which you’d never really wish to eat, but at this point you’re so hungry that even Denny’s sounds good. You keep driving and finally pull into the hotel; sometimes it doesn’t have an elevator or the elevator doesn’t work, so you have to lug your bags up a few flights of stairs to your cell—I mean your room—which is always located as far from the elevator (or stairs) and as close to the ice machine as possible (that must be one of the requirements of the contract between WAFTI and the hotel). Then you try to unlock your door, but the magnetic key doesn’t seem to work, so you leave your bags outside the door, trudge back down to the lobby, and stand in line for five minutes because there is only one front desk clerk and two people are ahead of you. At last, it is your turn. The clerk has to dig around for another key, you trudge back to your room and are delighted to discover this key works. You enter the room, and it stinks. They all sort of stink—either they smell stale or of some putrid scent used to try to cover up the stale smell—so you try to open your window and get some fresh air, but no luck. It’s bolted shut. It’s now going on 11:00 P.M., and your pickup the following day is 8:00 A.M. You peel off your uniform and suddenly realize you haven’t eaten in about eight hours, except for a bag of peanuts. You’re famished, so you call room service, but unfortunately room service and the restaurant close at 10:30 P.M. They suggest you visit the vending machine. . . . Looks like you are out of luck in terms of dinner. Well, the exhaustion of the day is setting in and you decide it might be best just to take a hot shower and hit the sack. You could stand to lose a few pounds anyhow. You turn on the water for a few minutes and as you step into the shower you realize it’s freezing cold. You let it run awhile longer—conditions do not improve. Finally, you decide to skip the hot shower and just crawl into bed; even the scratchy sheets and hard pillows do not bother you because you are so tired. You set the alarm and drift off to sleep. About two hours later there is someone next door who has decided to turn on the television, full blast. You wake up and look at the clock—it is 1:30 A.M. You toss and turn, maybe get up and go to the bathroom, and now
even though you’re completely beat, you can’t get back to sleep. The “What if I oversleep and the alarm doesn’t go off?” panic has set in. You try to close your eyes and return to your golden slumber, but you keep tossing and turning and looking at the clock—every hour. You might be getting in twenty-minute naps, but something keeps you from going into deep undisturbed sleep; no REMs tonight. The more you try to fall asleep the worse it gets. Finally, around 5:00 A.M., you doze off into a deep sleep, only to be ripped out of it by the screeching of the alarm announcing that it’s 7:00 A.M. and you have to be dressed and downstairs in one hour. You’re hoping the hot-water situation has improved, and it has to some degree, but not entirely. You take a lukewarm shower, get back into that polyester get-up, and off you go in search of a decent cup of coffee. By now you know you are truly living in a fantasy world and until you get home a decent cup of coffee is just another pipe dream. It’s back on the van and off to the airport; it sort of seems like you never left. Then it is the standard drill: go through security, board the aircraft, do the preflight safety check, prepare the cabin and the galley, and brief with the crew just in time for boarding, when another two hundred people enter into your day, asking for pillows, blankets, water for the pills they have to take, and help putting their Winnebagos into the overhead.
A Sky Goddess Speaks
WELCOME ABOARD, SIR, so glad you could join us today. You have seat 4B. Get you a gin and tonic? My pleasure.
Pleasure, my ass. I don’t want to make him a gin and tonic, I’d rather watch paint dry. Come to think of it, I don’t want to make anyone a gin and tonic, except maybe myself. Actually, that sounds pretty good right now. Well I guess since I can’t have one, ol’ 4B might as well. I’ll just take a good long whiff of it while I’m making it.