Flying Across the USA in 1965

On July 29, 1965, I started the day in a little town near Pontiac, MI called Keego Harbor.  My step-mother’s family lived there, and when we left the Upper Peninsula in late-June or early-July, that’s where we landed.  My Dad’s new job was with Bendix Corp. at Royal Oak.  So we lived that month with “Moms,” Vera’s mother. She taught me how to play Gin Rummy - and I had the very first Big Mac I ever had!

We found out that my sister was getting married in Phoenix that evening (of July 29).  The original plan to get me home to Phoenix for the school year had been to drive down to my Grandparents’ farm at Alamo, Indiana, and I would ride back to Arizona with them (they were winter residents here). But Dad and Vera seemed to think I’d want to be at Ruth’s wedding, so they asked if I wanted to fly home to Phoenix that day so I could be there.  I was crazy about airplanes so wedding or not, it sounded like a good plan to me.

I wouldn’t be alone for the whole flight – Vera’s family had a friend who was traveling to LAX that day – a lady named Vera Ott.  Today, I don’t remember anything about her – which is unfortunate because without her willingness to share her trip with me the flight wouldn't have even been considered.  But my excitement about flying across the country overwhelmed all other memories.

Flying low in a '58 Chevy

We rode to the airport in Detroit in Aunt Kathleen’s ’58 Chevrolet.  I remember that very well too – I’ve always loved the late 50s Chevrolets; the late 50s Chevies were as beautiful as the early-50s Chevies were ugly.  Anyway, that may have been the only ride in a ’58 that I ever had.  Everyone remembers the ’57 – but the ’58 was every bit as great a car, my opinion.  What I remember most was its absolute smoothness – it just glided down the road.

At Detroit’s airport, they put me on an American Airlines 707 to Los Angeles via Chicago, with Vera Ott.  My first memory of the flight was descending over Lake Michigan, seeing the curve of the southern edge of the lake and Chicago in the sunshine.  The jet was a new turbofan model, but I am not sure which one – American had the 100 series, as well as 300's and 720B's.  At any rate, it was a 707 with fan-jets.  After a short stop in Chicago, and seeing a new 727 for the first time out the window, we departed for LA.

An American 707-123 at LAX

Airline meals were still something to look forward to in 1965.  Especially for an 11 year old whose second love was eating.  The first of course was airplanes and flying…  American served me a breakfast of corned beef hash and baked eggs.  I don’t remember if lunch was served – probably not given the flight was only 4 or 5 hours.  I remember seeing the Rockies, and perhaps the Grand Canyon as we flew over Arizona – but from 35,000 feet or so I wasn’t all that impressed with either view.  I hadn’t even seen the Canyon from the ground at that point in my life – that was still a year or two away.

In Los Angeles, I was handed over to Western Airlines – I would be traveling alone to Phoenix from there on.  That was on Western Airlines Flight 54 (I still have the ticket).  This flight started in Los Angeles, stopped in San Diego and then Phoenix, before flying on north that day for Calgary with some intervening stops.  I was treated like a prince!  The stewardess (they were not called flight attendants yet) seated me in First Class where she could watch me, plied me with hot chocolate and who knows what else, and that smooth Lockheed Electra glided in sweeping banks through the towering cumulo-bumpers all the way to Phoenix.  It was the only chance I ever had to fly on an Electra; I was a little bit fearful as this was only a couple of years after the Electra’s problems with in-flight structural failures and several fatal crashes.  But that flight was one of the best I ever had – and the Electra is still one of my favorite aircraft.  Looking out the big window and seeing those big Allison turboprops was awesome. Just remembering that flight I know exactly why they call the Electra a "pilot's airplane."

A Western Airlines Electra

Phoenix was still an open-air airport in 1965 – it was before modern jetways had been built.  So the airliners pulled up on the tarmac in front of the terminal, they’d roll a set of air-stairs up to the side of the plane (or in the case of the Electra, it had it's own retractable staircase), and you stepped down onto the concrete and walked to the terminal in the sunshine.  I will never forget the blast of 110 degree July Arizona heat that greeted me as I stepped out of the air-conditioned plane in front of the then-new Terminal 2.  For about 3 minutes, that warmth was heaven – and I knew I was home.  

Of course, having just flown across the country, I felt like a movie star.  I’m sure I talked non-stop all the way home about my summer-vacation adventure, and I am also sure my Mom and sisters never got tired of hearing about it.