WHAT MY FRIEND SAW ON AN AIRPLANE
This column was written by a man named Gary Urbonis, he lives in my town. He had an experience and wrote to me about it, and I thought I’d share it with you.
All things considered, at Independence Day, when we remind ourselves that freedom isn’t free, it seems like an ideal message.
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I had the opportunity to fly to Columbia, South Carolina, this week.
The flight brought me through Reagan National airport… an old friend as airports go. I spent some 18 months ten years ago commuting from Florida to Rochester, and this was on my regular route. I know the layout, the restaurants, and where the coffee was hot.
More importantly, I always took pleasure in seeing the capitol from the air. The Washington monument, the Capitol building, the Lincoln and Jefferson memorials always filled me with pride to be an American. Modern architecture has never had the ability to capture the greatness that these magnificent structures do.
My flight in this trip was no different. I was pleased, and a little relieved to see that there was no for-sale sign on the Lincoln Memorial, and no foreclosure sign on the Capitol building. I felt my faith in our country strangely renewed as we landed.
I sat, as I often had, for nearly two hours waiting for my connecting flight to Columbia.
With nothing else pressing to do, I sat people watching in the crowded airport. I thought what a strange group of young people were awaiting the same flight. I thought that perhaps it was a school trip of some kind. After a few minutes of taking in their almost infectious exuberance, I realized that these young people were on their way to Fort Jackson, S. C., outside Columbia, for Basic Training.
I remembered reading that Columbia was the home to the largest Army training camp in the country.
I took in the bits and pieces of the conversations around me as they called our flight to board. The rush of young men and women literally ran to the gate. They were so excited. “I can’t wait to get a uniform,” one remarked. “I’ve never been this far from home,” a young lad from New Hampshire commented to a friend.
They were all overflowing with the enthusiasm and vitality of youth. They seemed like good kids… kids next door. Most were rather meek looking, some geekey… all were young. None looked like the schoolyard bully or the jock type.
I found myself wishing that I could be on their first flight home after basic to see the change that I was sure would come.
My flight home took me a different route, but was once again filled with young men and women. This group was different. They carried themselves differently.
There was a striking young lady with cheekbones that belonged on a Paris runway. Her confidence did not come from clutching a Gucci handbag, but rather a cammo backpack with her last name printed neatly under the “Army Strong” patch it bore on the back.
There was the young man sitting across the aisle from me, fresh from Afghanistan. He was only a few years older than the fresh recruits on the flight down, but carried himself with the confidence of a corporate CEO. He talked about Afghanistan, and how he was going home for two weeks, then “re-upping” to join the paratroopers.
My wish had been granted, I was looking at those new recruits… where they were going… and what they would become.
The trip home did not take me through Reagan National, but I did not have to look out the window to get that feeling of national pride.
I just looked across the aisle.
- by Bob Lonsberry © 2009
