I am no stranger to air travel. My first flight in an Air Force AT-6 Texan was made more than fifty years ago. It was followed by a flight from Phoenix to Dallas on American Airlines DC-6 "four and a roar." We reached an altitude of 20,000 feet and a top speed of maybe 250 mph. But it was wonderful; it seemed only a few minutes before we were over Love Field and coming in to land.

My first crossing of the Pacific Ocean was in the same airplane except a military version. We took off from Travis AFB, California, about midnight. I was devastatingly homesick and as we passed over the Golden Gate. The music playing over the sound system boomed out "I Left My Heart in San Francisco;" then a fog bank covered the city. We were nine hours to Honolulu, nine hours to Wake Island, and nine hours to Tachikawa, Japan; I thought they must have moved Japan but it was fun.

A year later, on my return from Korea, jets had been introduced in the system but I was not fortunate enough to get one of those and trundled back across the Pacific in nine-hour increments. It was then I learned the old saw, "If you have time to spare, go by air." These experiences were the beginning of a lifetime of flying. I have enough hours in all kinds of aircraft to qualify for something; at least the wings of a "Command Passenger." Those are the logos with a passenger seat in the middle of the wings.

So, what has changed to take the fun out of winging your way through the skies? For starters, the indignity of being treated like a criminal to get to the airplane. With two artificial knees and an artificial hip I could pass through the metal detector in a bikini (that would be a sight) and still set off the alarm and be set apart as an arch criminal. I suppose it has to be, I blame the guys who are a real threat to our lives and our country, but it is still degrading and takes the fun away. I long for the days when you could walk up to the gate with your whole family along to tell them good-bye and know they would be there at the gate when you returned.

Then there is the flight itself. There is no such thing as a comfortable seat in an airplane that has been engineered to stack the most people possible in the smallest space. This is especially true in the jumbo jets.

We used to complain about the meals served in flight. Then those disappeared and were replaced by a bag of peanuts, tiny pretzels or yellow fish. Now the peanuts have been replaced by a $4.00 snack pack, sort of an in-flight lunchable.

The pack is shrink-wrapped and requires a knife to open; but you donšt have a knife anymore. If you had even a penknife, they would have confiscated it at security. So you fiddle with the wrapper until you find a vulnerable spot that will make a tiny tear and go from there. Once inside you find peanuts, granola, cheese spread, two crackers, two Lorna Doone cookies, and a stick of baloney that you will not get unwrapped until you take it home and use a plastic knife. Yes, a plastic knife. It wonšt open the baloney but I think you could do as much damage with it as you could a pair of fingernail clippers; oh, thatšs right; they do let you take fingernail clippers with you now.

Well, enough reminiscences. As it was, I lucked out on this flight. After an hour and a half delay in leaving Norfolk, Virginia, I was scheduled to change planes in Dallas but because of thunderstorms we were diverted to Austin. The next flight from Dallas to Austin was the following morning. They were not going to let me off the airplane in Austin but just couldnšt stand to see an old man cry and relented. Lifešs like that.