On Mailing Film
The Current State of Air
Travel
The Tragedy:
One Man's Story
On Mailing Film
I flew home from San Diego on
the red-eye on Saturday night. Earlier in the day, I
had brought my exposed film to the Post Office. The
counter clerk stated that in view of our changed world,
all mail would be X-rayed. He was unable to provide any
details, and did offer to write "Film/Do Not X-ray on
the priority box, but could of course offer no
guarantees.
I decided not to mail the film,
and took it in my carry-on rolling case. I shall be
making some inquiries of both the US Post Office and
Fed-X tomorrow and will let you know what I find out.
In the meantime, do realize that any un-processed or
unexposed film could be ruined if it is mailed and
X-rayed (by the powerful machines used at major
airports).
The Current State of Air Travel
I have been on three flights (all on Delta) since the tragic
happenings of September 11, 2001. In each case, the carry-on
situation remained unchanged. I was allowed on board with my
rolling carry-on and my 600 IS in a lightweight Domke bag. My
photography equipment was scrutinized more carefully than it
had been in the past, but my requests to have my exposed and
unexposed film hand-checked were honored. I made sure to
arrive at least 2 1/2 hours before each flight.
When I flew from Dallas to San Diego (see below for details)
last Friday, I was one of the first in the country to have my
checked baggage "dump searched." I was randomly selected and
asked to take my bags to a dump search site--two big tables
with a few guards. There, each of my Delsey bags was emptied
and inspected, dirty underwear and all. The whole thing took
about 15 minutes (including repacking by yours truly).
The Tragedy: One Man's Story
On Tuesday
September 11, 2001 I flew from Orlando to Atlanta on a 5:30 am
flight that was delayed nearly an hour. When I deplaned, I was
told that I had missed my connection, but then the agent
realized his error and said, "No, you can make it."
I headed for
the gate and arrived in plenty of time to board a seemingly
brand new Boeing 777. We left on time somewhere around 8:30
am. I was headed to San Diego to do some photography and visit
my dying Dad.
Nearly an hour
into the flight, I was marveling at the incredible comfort of
the huge, leather business class seat and the technology that
comes with it when the captain dinged in and said, "North
American air space has been closed. All aircraft have been
ordered to land at the nearest available facility. We will be
landing at Dallas Fort Worth in about 25 minutes. There has
been an incident involving a plane and the World Trade Center
and terrorists..." I turned to the woman sitting next to me and
said, "There must be more than a thousand killed." She asked,
"Why do you think that?" I replied, "They would not be closing
North American air space if a small plane hit into one of the
skyscrapers."
All were
nervous until we landed, and then things got worse. I grabbed my
cell phone and called Jennifer at the BIRDS AS ART office. She
told me that both towers of the World Trade Center had been
struck by jetliners and that both towers had collapsed and that
all that was left were two piles of rubble. My heart pounded and
my mind raced in disbelief as I shared the news with the
passengers and flight attendants around me. One of the flight
attendants said that she had a brother who worked in the World
Trade Center.
One we
deplaned, things seemed totally surreal. There were long lines
of folks waiting for pay phones and rumors flew. I calmed down
a bit, and decided to call LF Van Landingham, a good friend and
frequent IPT participant. I got him at work on the first try and
asked, "How would you and Marbrey like a house guest for a few
days/" "Who is this?" he answered.
I stayed with
LF and Marbs for 2 1/2 days. For the most part I just stated at
the TV, hoping that I was actually watching a movie or having a
bad dream. Seeing the plane strike the second tower over and
over again seemed completely unreal. By Wednesday, they had
come up with the home video of the first plane hitting. And the
horrific tape of the buildings coming down... It was numbing,
yet I could not tear myself away from the TV.
I was angry
and upset and scared. I cried for the first time on Wednesday
night after seeing an interview with an LA man who was trying
to locate his beautiful blonde wife.
I flew to San
Diego late on Friday afternoon, or was it Thursday? The flight
was nearly empty and the atmosphere at DFW was positively
grim. The flight, however, was uneventful.
Right after I
got to San Diego, I had a pleasant visit with my Dad who
was more coherent than he was when I saw him in August. Though
he had a laryngectomy nearly 20 years ago and has great
difficulty speaking, he was eager to talk with me and smiled
quite a bit.
He went
downhill quickly right after that and when I left San Diego on
the evening of Saturday, September 22, he was being given large
doses of morphine and will be pretty much out of it until he
dies. He is about the toughest man who ever lived, having
survived 13 machine gun bullets and the loss of his right arm on
Okinawa in 1945 (and 19 months in the hospital), a close call
with death during gall bladder surgery in the late 50s, a liver
cancer scare in 1969--it turned out to be an infection, throat
cancer, a heart attack, lung cancer, and most recently, two
brutal bouts of pneumonia the first of which nearly killed him
and the second that left him weak and debilitated. With the
first pneumonia, the doctors stated, "This man will not survive
the night." Two days later, they told my Mom, "He will surely
die tonight after we take him off life support. Two weeks later
he was at home "busting my mothers balls."
His time,
however, has come. But knowing Bob Morris, it will probably
take a while <smile> (At this point, when death does come, it
will be a blessing for all concerned.)
