You Were at Snowbird, Why???
I spent last week at the Snowbird Mountain Resort, high above the smog-smudged plain of Salt Lake City. I was there for a string of back-to-back meetings, wearing a grab-bag of hats - middle governing body leader for the Polity Conference, Presbyterian News Service (PNS) reporter both for Polity and for the Middle Governing Body/General Assembly Council meeting, observer-blogger for the presbytery and my own soul’s sake. The backstory of this series of meetings is that the denomination booked Snowbird for a series of conferences a while back, which attracted a less than expected enrollment. They had a contract to work off. Conference services at resorts like this are dirt-cheap (relatively) during the off-seasons, so there we were.
The back to back meeting module was being tried to see if it’s better to leave home for longer, but have fewer travel days than shorter meetings. Here are my reflections, posted in no particular order, as they say in Dancing With the Stars.
Leavin’ On A Jet Plane
When we were moving to western Pennsylvania, eighteen years ago, the old Pittsburgh airport was just in the process of being dumped for a newer model, which was supposed to become a shopping and dining hub for the region. Plus people flying in and out. 9/11 changed all that (the only 9/11 that counts. That’s my Mom’s birthday, and she always points out she had it first.) Security clamped down on airport revenue, and the long, slow painful descent of airlines into bankruptcy followed. They’ve done a good job keeping the store spaces filled at PIT, but, underneath, it sags.
Another casualty was the robust thriving of small regional airports. Whenever possible, I fly out of Dubois, DUJ, which is so small the airport code never shows up at the self check-in kiosk. First the commuter airline concourse at PIT closed, then our regional carrier abruptly closed up shop one day. This was just about the day after they finished a multi-million dollar upgrade to DUJ, which was suddenly only a stopping place for private charters heading out to Montana to shoot things, and the home of a restaurant renowned for wings. The kind you eat, not the kind you fly.
About a month ago, after a long drought of no choice but to make the three hour drive to PIT, rather than the 23 minute hopper, Continental rode in on a white horse, umm plane, and saved the regional service. That’s the good news. The bad news is that it now connects through Cleveland, which, compared to the palatial halls of PIT, is a stripmall. But PIT has taken enough hits in cirect flights that getting to Salt Lake City, SLC, from PIT involved, in one scenario, stops in Cincinnati, Charlotte, and O’Hare before finally making it to Utah three days later (or so.) DUJ hopped to Cleveland, then a nonstop connection to SLC, and the price was exactly the same. With free parking.
So off to DUJ we went, to try out the new service, and to let go of the way it used to be. Much was exactly the same. We hung around waiting at the check-in counter, because the check-in agent also processes the luggage in the back, and also is the one who hefts it into the cargo bay. (That gal, her name is Linda, she knows from biceps.) The pilots - I would swear, the same ones as with US Air - don’t look old enough to possess driver licenses, and close the little folding door going to the cockpit so they can eat their McMuffins and drink their Mountain Dews without us middle-aged motherly types looking like we’d like to lecture on nutrition. I’m pretty sure it was the same US Air hopper, with Continental’s logo painted over.
There were only three of us on the flight. Besides the Kiski contingent, there was a plucky woman with a bold baseball cap where her hair used to be. She was on her way to the Cleveland clinic. Just to stand next to her was to feel the pulse of a life journey filled with both devastation and amazing courage. It was clear that she was taking a great deal in stride - she was traveling by herself, and moved in equal combinations of pain and dignity.
But - have I mentioned that DUJ is tiny? Security is a shoestring operation (they tell you that you have to check in fifteen minutes before the scheduled flight or you might not be able to go) with a couple of chairs on the other side of the scanner. No stores. So, she was another casualty of terrorists. They took her water bottle away from her. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. “I don’t know if I can fly without my water,” she said. The room was sagging with pain. The pilot looked like he wanted to hand her his McDrink. Those of us dedicated to problem-solving dispensed information on how to get a prescription to take water on a plane. For the next time. There was no solution for this time. She made it through the flight, and was still plucky when we decanted at Cleveland, but it was one of those times when you want to kick something to resolve stupidity.
The TSA people, before the painful absurdity of the water bottle floored us all, were cheery. They were definitely the same guys as before. I was hauling two laptops, since the one with all my programs and “stuff” was behaving like the hard drive might spin its last spin any second. And I was hauling the external hard drive, since my backup had inexplicably failed that morning before leaving, and still needed done, as we say around here. TSA Guy cheerfully swiped all my paraphernalia to ascertain they have pics of my kids but no explosives, and positively chattered. “We’re so glad to see all our old customers back,” he enthused. Really, he’s too nice to be a TSA guy. “We were afraid people wouldn’t come back, and we’ve only got a couple of months to get the customer base back.” I assured him I’d tell everyone that DUJ was back in the business of flying as well as 38 flavors of wings, and that I wouldn’t mention the Cleveland part until they’d already booked.
As I got on the plane, I was thinking that DUJ is the model of why small churches can be such an oasis of help and hope. At this airport, the service is efficient, personalized, and they remember your face. When one has to go through security, tiny is good. I need to think some more about why DUJ works as a model of small, and many of our churches don’t. It has something to do with being a place you’d want to go, with a function you need, and being welcome when you get there.
In the meantime, everyone in the room made a unanimous decision that someone needs to put a water bottle machine on the other side of security. I bet the TSA guy gets it done, too.
As we circled over Lake Erie, getting ready to make our descent, it occurred to me that I am going to need to learn the airport code for Cleveland. But not just yet.
Erin C-H
