Pan Am Unbuckled: A Very Plane Diary (7 page)

Miami Springs

Pan Am did not offer flights within the U.S. ports. It was exclusively an INTERNATIONAL airline. That is one reason they bought National Airlines in 1980, so that they could procure routes and landing rights within the US. Pan Am held exclusive landing rights at many international airports— which emerging airlines like United Airlines coveted. Pan Am’s culture was to be the high-end, exclusive, luxury airline. It was the unofficial U.S. flagship carrier and it carried all of the diplomatic corps. It also carried the US Mail to many remote destinations like Mali and Wake Island.

Juan Tripp was the founder and first CEO of Pan Am. Pan Am reflected his personality and vision for the airline—of what an airlines was supposed to be. For instance, he drank Wild Turkey bourbon. So, on every aircraft there was always a fifth of Wild Turkey bourbon in the liquor kit. Pan Am was always a luxurious airline and “The World’s Most Experienced Airline”. These attributes made it attractive to potential employees who liked the idea of being part of a high-end international operation.

A month before training was to start, Pan Am sent me a ticket to fly from Tampa to Miami—on Eastern Airlines. Then, a confirmation letter arrived, listing my date of hire as March 10, along with a brochure about training schools. J Walter Thompson was Pan Am’s advertising agency, and their depictions of flight attendants were all highly glamorized. From the moment we arrived at training, we were expected to represent Pan Am in this same glamorous fashion. We had to give a good impression and be able to take care of ourselves—which turned out to be very important attributes of the women who flew on Pan Am. There were young women arriving at training school from all over the world.

The training brochure explained how much I would need to bring with me in American Currency—$350! This was the amount estimated that I would need to take me through training, to my assigned base, and until I got my first pay check. Hotel and transportation was paid for by Pan Am, but I was responsible for everything else, including meals. $350 was a lot of money in 1969, and for a moment I wondered if I was doing the right thing—especially when I learned that I would be paying for my uniforms, as well.

And the wisdom in paying for my own uniform became evident. Pan Am was wise in requiring ‘probationaries’ to be financially self-sufficient from the get-go, given the constantly changing environment of working all over the world. I had choices of items: the core items; and then other items such as an extra smock, long or short sleeve versions, regular or light-weight uniforms; but everyone was required to have the heavy, winter Pan Am overcoat.

Tampa’s airport, like the majority of airports in 1969, was just a walk-up-into-the-plane-on-stairs kind of airport. As far as goodbyes go, we were never a lingering around kind of family, so there was no drama of drawn-out hugging and kissing when I left. It was as formal a send-off as, say, shaking hands would be. My parents walked me up to the gate. But soon they were both gone, and I was left standing by myself at the boarding gate. I felt amazed— standing there completely alone, with no clue what even the rest of that day would bring.

As I waited at the gate, they announced a delay in my flight. Passengers were told that they could all go back into the terminal and would be called when the plane was ready to go. I picked up my vanity case and went into the coffee shop at the airport and bought a piece of pie. It was the first time that I had eaten by myself in a public place. It was something that my mother would NEVER have allowed us to do— eat pie at a café. My mother would have thought it much better for me to sit with my legs crossed neatly at the ankles, alone on some stiff wooden bench, waiting for my name to be called. I felt guilty about buying and eating the pie. It was symbolic of the change I was going through that day— that week—that month—that year— and that decade.

I loved the flight from Tampa to Miami. I had driven that route many times with my family, but had never flown it. The flight followed the Tamiami trail—a trail that followed the western perimeter of the Everglades. Because we were on a prop plane and not at a very high altitude, we could see the Everglades clearly—and it was a beautiful sight! It was the first of thousands of beautiful sights I was to see from the air—in the coming years with Pan Am.

I was totally exhilarated when we landed at Miami International. This was the first time that I ever felt the sensation of being free. I was on my own. I had made it there. Even though my parents were less than an hour away—I was there on my own. I found a taxi and handed the voucher for transport to the hotel, to the taxi driver. I remember the driver shaking his head and saying “Oh, I see”, probably realizing that he would likely not get a tip from this naïve, new hire.

When I checked in at the motel, the first hint that things were going to be a little different, was when the desk clerk asked if I was in the A class or the B class. I said I didn’t know the difference. She said “Well, you must be in the A class”—which, it turns out, meant I would have classes during the day. That was a good thing. Pan Am was in such a hurry to get flight service ready for the new 747’s coming on line that they were running double training classes: The Aclasses met from early am until about 3 pm and the B-Classes met from noon to 7-8 at night. Then, she said “I’ll put you in a room. You are next-to-last going in that room. Good luck!” I asked how many roommates I would have. “Six”, she said, “With two double beds and two fold-outs.”

The room had a classic Florida air conditioner in the window. There was a real heavy door into the room. When I opened it, there wasn’t anyone in the room. Sure enough, there were things on both double beds. There was a fold out in the middle of the room and another one in the corner. I put my things on the one in the corner—this would be my room. It was triple-worse than a freshman’s dorm room, but it was only going to be for six weeks.

I took my key and walked around looking for people and things. There were a lot of women at the pool in bikinis. I thought “Oh, my goodness…this is like a movie set.” I was 5 ft 8 inches, 117 pounds— and yet very self-conscious about being seen in a bikini.

Eventually, all the roommates ended up at the room together. We were not given specific instructions other than to be in the lobby at 6 o’clock the next morning. We discussed who would be in the bathroom first and how we were going to do it. We didn’t draw straws, but, by discussion, decided to take turns. Whoever got to go first one day would rotate to the last the next day—and so on. Three of us would shower in the morning and the other three at night. It was a system that worked well during the next 6-weeks.

The last to arrive was a gal from Milwaukee—Jan. Jan took the other fold-away bed. She and I became great friends. Maybe we felt we were kindred spirits because we were the fold-up-bed girls. Actually, I didn’t envy those sharing a double bed with a complete stranger. At the time we didn’t appreciate it, but this room helped prepare us for what it would be like to stay in crew layover hotels, when female flight attendants were expected to share rooms.

The first day of Training School we were dressed-up in our own business attire and in the lobby at 6 am. The heat of Miami coupled with nylon stockings, a tailored dress and high-heels quickly became uncomfortable. We were picked up by a little blue Pan Am bus that said “Crew” on the side and taken over to the Pan Am Training School. Later, in San Francisco, it was the same style bus— which we called ‘the Blue Bird’.

Flight service training took place in a new building adjacent to the facilities that housed pilot training, FAA simulators, aircraft hangers, and maintenance. We had been warned by someone…perhaps a girl who was in a class ahead of us…that when we walked into the hangar there would be a lot of cat-calling. “Just ignore it and don’t give them the satisfaction of thinking that it’s working.” Sure enough, there were a lot of mechanics howling and pointing the minute we walked into the hangar. Some girls thought it was funny. I thought it was a bit horrible. After awhile, it was just embarrassing.

We went into a classroom that was like an office. We spent the first day filling out a lot of paperwork: passport numbers, residency certificate numbers, international shot cards information, and a lot of similar unfamiliar stuff. Eventually, we were asked to sign forms for health insurance, which would go into effect that day. Everything was referenced to your date of hire. I didn’t appreciate the importance of health insurance. Most of us didn’t, but the thought breezed through my brain that my father didn’t need to take care of this anymore.

Then, I was signing up for life insurance. It didn’t cost me anything. The beneficiary was whoever we chose. As I sat at that desk I thought “I am never going to remember this” and I wrote down as my beneficiary ‘Doug Molitor’. Doug and I had dated and I felt closer to him than anyone else. There was still another guy that I felt close to but he had since married, so that wouldn’t have been a good idea. Again, no clear reason— no life plan to end up with Doug— but I made him my beneficiary.

We signed off to receive our manual. A lot of the testing over the next few weeks was right out of the manual— a requirement of the FAA. We were not to lose this manual and we would not be given another one. We were to carry the manuals back and forth to our rooms every day—and study the manual at night for tests the next day. When we got back to the room that first day, there was a lot of excitement, and conversation about the manuals. I looked at the manual with dread and hoped I would survive it. All I could think was “Oh, God, I don’t want to take any tests! I hate the tedium of all this paperwork. That’s why I left school.” Everyone else studied their manuals quite seriously. Two of the girls meticulously outlined their books and made note cards and quizzed each other. I couldn’t be bothered. The information was not hard and I felt mostly ‘bored’. I was never afraid that I couldn’t pass the tests –I was more afraid I’d go crazy if I had to spend a lot of time in a confined classroom!

I knew Miami from childhood and wanted to get away from the room. The first week I asked the front desk what there was to do around there. “There’s really not that much”, they said. They listed off Sea World, Key Biscayne, and a few other places. “How do you get there?” I asked. “Well, there is a bus stop.” It occurred to me that I had never taken public transportation in Miami. Instead of taking a bus, I dialed Mohawk 7-1429…a number I had known my whole life. Renness Senior – my good friend’s mom—answered the phone. I said “Hi, it’s me”. “Yes, I know… you are here” she assured me. I said “Well, sort-of. I’m in Miami Springs.” She started laughing. “Why are you laughing?” I queried. ”Its okay, honey, we lived in a little place in Miami Springs when we were first married.”

Renness Senior had indeed lived in Miami Springs briefly when she first married Charles Oliver Rogers, but fled Miami Springs as soon as she could. She packed everybody off to Coconut Grove—to a house near my grandmother’s home. It was a house that she remodeled over the years by strategically taking a sledge-hammer to a wall somewhere. Her husband or father would come behind and fix it with a proper renovation.