It was a turtle with wings.
I’m not kidding.
When a Lockheed Constellation lifted off from Hillsgrove Airport in the early sixties, my sisters and I watched from the observation deck. Its four propellers roared, its nose rose, and then it seemed to climb at approximately the speed of a car rolling its last inch toward a stop.
How could something so enormous stay in the air?
Uncle Mario and Auntie Rose lived in California, and their visits to Rhode Island were events. We could park, walk into the terminal, climb the grand staircase, and watch the planes come and go. Nobody asked to see a boarding pass before we stood there, faces pressed toward the windows, waiting for a glimpse of them.
More than sixty years later, Trish and I were on our way to Sicily when I saw her again.
A Connie.
There she stood beside the restored TWA terminal at JFK: a Lockheed L-1649A Starliner, polished and magnificent. I couldn’t tell you whether she was one of the planes I watched as a boy. I didn’t need her to be. The sight of that distinctive triple tail carried me straight back to Hillsgrove, my sisters, and the excitement of knowing Uncle Mario and Auntie Rose were coming.
The aircraft beside the hotel has a remarkable history of her own. She carried TWA passengers beginning in 1958, spent years in other service and in neglect, and eventually made a journey by road from Maine to JFK to begin a new life. You can see her journey here.
We loved the hotel. Its curves, exhibits, and little scenes from another era invite you to linger. Yet standing beside Connie made me think about more than the pleasure of looking back.
Consider what life was like when this story began, or go back another generation to 1936.
An infection that we might treat today could become a family tragedy. A child’s illness could leave parents frightened and helpless. Safe water, refrigeration, and dependable electricity were beyond the reach of many people. A call across the ocean was an occasion; seeing the face of someone you loved on the other side of the world belonged to science fiction.
Now I can turn on a tap and take a hot shower. I can carry a camera that captures a bird in flight with astonishing detail. I can pull a device from my pocket and hear a familiar voice from almost anywhere. Trish and I can cross an ocean together and arrive with time to explore.
That is extraordinary.
It is also easy to forget.
Our lives are the result of generations of people who asked questions, cared for the sick, built and discovered things, taught children, challenged injustice, and insisted that tomorrow could be better. The benefits have never reached everyone equally. That should make us more determined to share them.
We have a voice, too. More ways than ever to learn, speak up, organize, and help someone whose circumstances are harder than our own. We can use that voice to protect the places and creatures we love. We can make a difference in a neighbor’s day. We can leave something better for the people who follow us.
I’m grateful for the people who brought us this far. I’m grateful for this astonishing planet, and for the chance to do my small part in caring for it.
And right now, I’m grateful to be traveling to beautiful Sicily with the love of my life and two cameras.
The boy on the observation deck would be delighted.
Smiles.
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