Daniel and Mr. B

When you see the inner person...you don't see the impairment
Heather McKeown JFK Inflight

When we get the heads up about a customer being boarded on a straight back chair, we know we're in for a treat. The quadriplegic or paraplegic that needs such assistance is at the mercy of folks contracted to push, pick up, put down and secure him. The people working in airports as wheel chair pushers are usually overlooked because this isn't a prestigious job but, let me tell you, the majority of uniformed men and women, usually first generation Americans or immigrants getting in on the ground floor of this country, are the salt of the Earth. They can develop relationships with their charges between the curb and the gate as surely as flight attendants do from take off to landing. It's a trust issue when the partially immobile have no choice but to submit to handlers. As if air travel wasn't stressful enough, these challenged souls must accept that whoever transfers them from wheelchair to a skinny little chair on wheels to an airplane seat and back again, isn't going to cause more injury through carelessness. It's usually the paralyzed person who's giving patient instruction and encouragement to the neophyte hired hands. Sometimes, with great humor and others with firm do's and don'ts, the instructions are followed and sighs of relief are universal as the passenger is settled into or off the plane.

        On the flight from Vegas to JFK one fine day, we were told that two straight backs were being brought on board. This caused my eyes to open very wide because this would probably mean a very long boarding. One was, by his own request, to be taken to the very last row of the aircraft. The other, was to be placed in the aisle seat of row two. 'Why the back?' I wondered. The second row is close to the entrance and just easier all the way around, but the back? There were multiple things I didn't know or couldn't imagine about my soon-to-be-met gentlemen.

        Straight back boarding is best done before anyone else is blocking the aisle, schlepping carry on baggage or slowing down the process. So, the first face to come to the forward entry door was that of Daniel. And what a face his was! Under the shiniest, curliest, just above the shoulder black hair, sparkled the black eyes of a man who'd take the breath away of any woman half my age. He had a face artists have always tried to recreate beauty. Grace, too, there was grace in that wonderful face. He evoked an energy that was steady and secure but it was evident and beat out like steady pulsations. It was a controlled event but strong enough to have step back and catch a breath. The emission of his life force was not quite a punch but it felt like a huge, flat hand forcing me out of range.

        He wore a thin, skin tight cotton tee-shirt. It wasn't put on to enhance his upper body's development, but thrown on in a sweeping finish to the dressing routine so he could get to his next adventure. Of this, I'm positive. He didn't exude vanity. His beauty was something he just lived with as just one more thing that he wouldn't allow to get in his way. His pants were of a navy blue cotton and they covered atrophied legs. He'd lifted himself from his personal wheelchair onto the straight back without the aid of his handlers. They dutifully strapped him up and began the slow and steady entry to the forward galley.

        “Welcome aboard our plane, sir.”

        “Thank you.”

        “May I ask your name, please?”

        “Daniel.”

        There was a slight accent so I asked, “Sir, are you french?”

        “Israeli.” he beamed and then he was pushed away from me and down the aisle

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Before he was out of earshot, I said, “OH! I should have guessed. I owe my life to the Israeli army.

 I'll come back and talk to you as soon as I have time!” Oh, how I remember the electrified men and women of the Israeli army. Those indomitable people of Jerusalem and Tel Aviv are branded in my mind's eye. They had a kinetic and contagious way about them that was super charged. The newly boarded man was a catalyst for the mental images I hold dear. It's true. The Israelis that saved me when I was unceremoniously tossed into a busload of men, to be used in whatever way they deemed fit, were strong, smart, alert, awake and so ALIVE that I've always thought them to be among the most amazing races on this planet and beyond. But, that's another story.

        The second loading of a straight back customer wasn't as smooth as Daniel's. This was a big man of about seventy years of age. A steel brace kept his right hand and forearm in some sort of hideous position. His eyes were dull and his body completely inert. The three men trying to shift him from his fancy electric wheelchair were at odds with just how they were to negotiate this difficult task. That's when I saw and heard her voice...it was the man's paramour and she was a short, squat, polyester suited woman with short hair and at least six plastic bags in hand. “Ha ha ha ha. He's got the sling, so just pick him up and swing him onto the little seat. Ha ha ha ha He's OK and you'll do it easy if you can get a good hold of the sling handles. Yes, yes, yes. You've got it. There! Whoopsie! He's tilting over.” I went to them and, upon the second heave-ho, we got the man upright onto the straight back. “I'll take some of those bags, Ma'am. You're in row two.” She gave them to me in a heap and to row two I marched with the straight back, the attendants and the ebullient woman following. Then I heard it again. “Ha ha ha ha He'll be just fine. We'll get him in there and I'll jump over him to my seat. I can JUMP!” The woman was a dimpled dumpling and a cross between Shirley Temple's innocence and Charo's vocal and physical lustiness for Xavier Cugat. She was fabulous!

        Throughout the flight I had multiple opportunities to talk to my friends in the second row. What a great couple. What I'd assumed was dull-eyed passivity in the man was simply an acceptance of his condition and a complete trust in his wife's ability to organize his life and care. He was very witty and an obvious success at life in general. His wife was an Hispanic force of nature in her own right. We laughed quite a bit during those five hours and it was with great pleasure that I made fresh coffee for her and tucked her beloved's blanket around his shoulders whenever it fell away. They were just so relaxed and full of Vegas vacation cheer.

        The anticipated chat with Daniel didn't arrive until a couple of hours into the flight. He was alone in his row, working on his computer.

         “Will I be interrupting something if we talk now?”

         He shut his laptop, so I wondered if his work was private and felt like an interloper. “No, please. It will be fine.” he said with a face that was lit from within. That resolute beam of something very special just shot out of those black eyes.

        “You were working on something.”

        “A bit of work but watching movies, too.”

        “Israel. I love it so much. Where do you live?”

        “Jerusalem. A little bit away from it in the mountain region, really. Do you know it?”

        “Not the surrounding areas, but Jerusalem is a wonderful place. What is it that you do when you're not flying around, if I may ask.”

“I play basketball and I study.”

        “Are you a professional basketball player?” I asked, thinking of the incredible athletes I've seen participating in the paralympics.

        “No, I just play.”

        “Well, what are you studying?”

        “Ancient History now. I was studying Physics but now it's just Ancient History.”

        “You're in the perfect location to study the subject if you're in Israel.” I said.

        “Not really. I should be in Iran. That's where civilization began.”

        “This begs the question, what do you predict for Israeli-Iranian relations?”

        “It will not be war. I hope not. It will be a lot of anger and words until it all comes down to politics and handling it that way. Both countries want to out scare the other one. It's always like this. It's all about fear.”

        “It's addictive, fear. It's the same here in North America. There's going to be a huge storm. There's a mass shooting. There's always something predicted to move consumerism or to make tabloid headlines so nobody has energy or time left to address issues of economics or other newsworthy subjects.” said the scholar.

        Continuing, Daniel added, “The USA makes friends according to their need for oil or other needs. They choose to befriend Iraq or Iran or Israel and the world watches this chess game. This play of friends today and enemies tomorrow. The USA is always trying to rush each regime into the century Americans are experiencing. The Middle East can not be rushed from one ancient culture into the present day ways of Western Civilization. Yet, the push is always upon those in power to adapt immediately to the needs of the USA and its culture. It's an impossible expectation.” None of this was said with rancor. His black eyes didn't burn with any militant rage or resentment. He was merely talking and it was wonderful to engage with someone who wasn't angry about the USA but merely stating a truth. It wasn't a debate but a calm delivery of a student of ancient history.

        “The regimes tumble. Thrown over. Thrown out. Some, like what's going on in Syria now, are fighting to maintain their command and rule of the country. When the population threatens to overthrow a dictator, he kills them. They're his subjects and they can't survive if they try to eliminate an absolute ruler, a tyrant. The slaughter is of people who could rise up against the despot. They don't have much of a chance. Egypt is doing a bit better now. Turkey, we don't see that sort of thing, either. Tunisia, it is not unlike Turkey in that it's changing to a bit of a democracy. A bit. It takes time and no country can or should push it upon another. The ideas and actions must come from a natural evolutionary process or slaughter will result.”

        I listened and was totally drawn into his lesson. I wanted to stay and ask him about dark matter, theoretic physics and my own ideas about the missing and, as yet, unidentified elements within our or a parallel and unreachable Universe which might possibly hold all of them, but I had to get back to serving the thirsty and hungry on that flight. I never got another chance to talk with Daniel. I'll regret this for the rest of my life.

        After everyone else was off the plane, both Daniel and Mr. B. awaited their straight back chair rides. First, Daniel thrust himself up and gently landed on said vehicle. The attendants strapped him in. When the leg bindings were tightened, the considerate fellow inquired, “Is this too tight on your legs?” Daniel, so naturally and, just as he expounded upon the state of the USA in its quest to hasten the evolution of Middle East, gently said, “They feel nothing.” Thereby putting his caregiver at ease and, once again, displaying his lack of ego in all things. His voice, resonant and manly was one of an ancient soul who accepted his inability to walk as easily as his ability to share knowledge and his own comfort with himself. I gently held his shoulder for a bit because I wanted him to look up at me. He did and I smiled ever so faintly. I wanted to paint his face on my memory and inhale his intellect and soul with a final deep breath. I did and Daniel knew that's exactly what I was doing. Others he meets must do the same. He expected it and gave without hesitation. This beautiful and brilliant Israeli will never tread a step, but he'll walk in my mind. Forever.

        When it came time for Mr. and Mrs. B. to deplane, two small men arrived with the straight back. The sling had been beneath Mr. B. throughout the flight so it was just a matter of lifting and placement. However, these two men were miniscule and I doubted they were strong enough for the job. Yet, with practiced coordination and a count of three, Mr. B. was successfully transferred in the blink of an eye. Again, I marveled at their professionalism and ability to allow the disabled man to feel their complete respect.

        “Now we have to drive three hours to Reading, Pennsylvania.” said the jolly woman.

        “I'm driving.” assured Mr. B. “I'm tired and I'd like to ask her to drive, but I'll get us there!”

        Mrs. B. collected the bags and sallied forth behind her love. Before reaching the door, she stopped and turned to the crew. “Ha ha ha He's happy. I'm happy. When I see him happy I get happy. What else is there but happiness?” she bent backwards and let out a long and loud series of “hahahahahahaha's” before following Mr. B. onto the jetbridge. Turning back, she grabbed and gave me the biggest hug and kiss ever. It was warm and wonderful and beautiful. “Be happy! God bless you!” Then, looking at both pilots and my wonderful flight attendant partner on this trip (Richard Cyr), she said, “Thank you. Thank you!”

        No, Mrs. B. we thank YOU. What an example of love, laughter, adaptability and JOY. It was after 1:00 A.M., we'd flown from San Francisco to Long Beach to Vegas to JFK in one long, long day and night, but we were all smiling and happy because some people have contagious glee despite their challenges. Others, like Daniel, have more strength in their being than any able-bodied human.

 

Thanks Heather..... your stories are always welcome and enjoyed by the readers