April 11, 1973
A hundred of us had just completed six weeks of flight attendant training at Breach Academy in Kansas City (minus two unfortunates who failed the final weight check by a pound or two). We'd clambered into and out of the life rafts in the swimming pool, jumped the 747 escape slide from the second floor to the ground, and completed mock first class meal services in the cabin trainers. The women attended mandatory hair appointments and the few men with mustaches (myself included) had them carefully measured with a ruler. Not a single hair could touch the upper lip.
We were given 72 hours to travel to New York. While we'd all bid for preferred domiciles, everyone was assigned JFK International. TWA booked rooms for us (at our expense, but with a discount) at the San Carlos Hotel on E. 50th St. in Manhattan. Accommodations were three to a room: two double beds and a roll-a-way. On Tuesday, we were officially released to crew schedule at Hangar 12.
Twice a day, at 10 a.m. and 10 p.m., schedulers updated a taped message with numbers and names. The lower your number, the more likely you'd be assigned a flight. Mandated report time? No more than two hours (later we learned to our chagrin that scheduling kept track of who lived closest to the airport. The closer you lived to the airport, the less notice for a flight you got).
The tape sometimes droned through over 150 names, usually far fewer. Dialing out from the hotel was expensive, so we'd call scheduling from the pay phone on the corner. With a high number one night, I didn't expect to go anywhere soon (we'd heard it was VERY unusual to get called anytime but late morning through afternoon, as all international flights but one – flight 702 – JFK-LHR – departed at night).
The phone rang just past 3 a.m. The scheduler said, “Report 6:30 a.m. Hangar 12, limo to McGuire Air Force Base, disposition later.” That last phrase meant “everything's subject to change, we're not sure where you're going, or when you'll be back.”
Fortunately the first CAREY bus from Grand Central to JFK left around 4 a.m. With crew kit packed and new uniform freshly pressed, I grabbed a cab to Grand Central.
Hangar 12 was completely deserted. Here I met my crew. Our cabin team consisted of five brand-new-first-trip flight attendants, and a new purser (also making her first trip as purser). Our aircraft was to be one of several TWA 707s assigned soley to military charters. It differed from the standard high density/all coach charter configuration in that the forward aux bar (a supplemental galley area just inside the forward left door) had been removed. In its place was an additional row of coach seats for a total of 188 seats. Nothing but a galley curtain (open for takeoff and landing) kept us from rubbing knees with front row passengers.
Our captain seemed annoyed as he talked further with operations. Apparently our “limo to McGuire” (16 miles west of Trenton, NJ) was not to support the 10 a.m. departure he'd been told, but rather 10 p.m. that same night. Apparently we were all dressed up in new uniforms with nowhere to go.
We all piled into the van and headed for New Jersey. The captain, apparently recovered from his annoyance with crew schedule and operations, jovially asked “anybody hungry?!” We all were. Within minutes (and with 14 hours to spare), we pulled into a rest stop on the New Jersey Turnpike. Apparently not a common sight, this fully decked-out airline crew created quite a buzz at Howard Johnson's. Parents took pictures while their kids asked for autographs.
We arrived at McGuire mid-morning and were assigned rooms at the Wrightstown Inn. Definitely NOT a glamorous European hotel – think instead more Motel 6.
Enroute to the motel, the captain noticed the base bowling alley. While checking in at the hotel, he asked “Anyone up for bowling?” Why not? Our first layover activity: bowling a few games. Naps followed.
The base commander apparently felt badly about the departure delay, or he was just a really nice guy. In any case, he invited us to join him for dinner in the officer's club. Our uniforms couldn't compete with the dress military uniforms everywhere in the club, but we enjoyed an enormous prime rib dinner courtesy of the USAF. A heavy meal – perfect to start working an all nighter.
More bad news: our aircraft, inbound from Europe, was even more hours late. Instead of a 10 p.m. departure, it now appeared we'd leave about 1 a.m. From that initial 3 a.m. Crew call, we finally climbed aboard after 2 a.m.
A Few Words About Our Itinerary and USAF Charters In General
We were scheduled to depart McGuire AFB and ferry empty to Quonset Point, RI. From the naval station there, we'd pick up a Polaris submarine crew destined for 90 days underwater after arrival in Prestwick, Scotland.
Another ferry flight: this time from Prestwick to the USAF base in Frankfurt. After a (now much shortened layover) in the town of Mainz, we would again ferry to Torremolinos outside of Madrid. There, we'd pick up military dependents (wives and kids). We'd fly them back to McGuire, then limo to Hangar 12. End of trip.
Air Force charters went by the book. Inspectors threatened fines for infractions. Rules included a limited beverage choice of coffee, tea, water, or milk. Absolutely no liquor, definitely no soft drinks (sometime later, the USAF relented and allowed soft drinks).
All food was USAF issue, nothing was from TWA caterers. The remaining aux bar at the left aft door, normally loaded with mix kits of soft drinks, was instead provisioned with individual cartons of milk, apples, and bananas. A serving of fruit and a carton of milk was mandatory on every tray. No TWA-issue china entre plates either. Food was boarded in USAF-supplied individual foil plates with matching tops (their lobster thermador was pretty tasty). Under no circumstances could trash bags be used. Veterans of 707 charters remember that trash management was problematic. Typically, we'd fill trash bags floor to ceiling in one of the aft lavs for landing. Not so with the USAF. Air force personnel often raced straight to the lavs after arrival to ensure they were trash bag-free.
Still another problem...upon landing at McGuire, the #2 engine reverser stuck in reverse and refused to re-stow. As a newbie, I was curious how highly-trained maintenance personnel dealt with a stuck reverser. I was disappointed to find a lone mechanic beating on the reverser with a rubber mallet. It worked!
The empty ferry flight was uneventful, landing just before 3 a.m. As we taxied in, our entire passenger compliment lined up at attention to greet us. In mid-April, it's still quite cold in New England and those poor guys were plainly uncomfortable. We boarded them as quickly as possible and departed for Scotland.
Considering it was a first flight for all of us, it went pretty well. The biggest issues? Predictably, all that fruit and trash management. NOBODY touched the fruit or the milk. Picking up meal trays in turbulence with apples rolling everywhere, milk spilling everywhere, was an experience. We'd carefully unpack the apples, bananas, and milk for dinner, now we repacked it just as we'd found it. There was no other place to put it.
Trash Management
Our aircraft had four galley cans (red plastic trash tubs) in the front galley and six more in the back. They quickly filled up, with plenty more trash to follow. Absent trash bags, we removed meal carriers from the galley to access the galley cans. Then, the preferred method was to roll up your pant legs and stomp on the trash. Yes, we were human trash compactors. We were careful to pull the galley curtains so no one would see us.
So much for my first sight of Europe. We landed in a dense fog at Prestwick, unloaded our passengers, and took off for Frankfurt. Our planned mid-morning arrival there was now late afternoon. A shower, a change of clothes, a quick dinner, and off to bed.
A reprieve: Instead of our early crew call and scheduled late morning ferry to Spain, late inbound equipment changed the plan to a mid-afternoon arrival. In Spain, we quickly boarded our load of dependents – 188 wives and an almost equal number of screaming infants – and left the gate. Unfortunately, it was just in time for evening thunderstorms.
Most airlines offered an infant bassinet which attached to the bulkheads in coach and first class. While some of our mainline aircraft offered the same option, our military configuration 707 had no bulkheads. Thus, the TWA 'sky cradle,' a cardboard box with a pillow and blanket. Baby, sky cradle and all, was placed on the floor underneath the seat. Each cradle was provisioned flat and had to be carefully assembled, with multiple cardboard flaps, folds, and tucks. During our ground delay, I assembled 27 of them. My flying partners did the same.
It was now late, the infants finally fell asleep, and again, nobody touched the fruit. We trash can stomped our way across the North Atlantic.
I can't remember anything about the trip from McGuire back to Hangar 12. All of us instantly fell asleep. End of trip.
After a guaranteed number of hours of crew rest, it was back to the pay phone on the corner to start the whole process again. Welcome to the line!
My next trip? Domestic crew schedule (a completely different operation in those days), 'borrowed' me for a 5-day, multi-leg tour of the Ohio Valley on a DC-9 – a story for another time.