The Marks Chronicles: ALL'S FAIR IN AIR FARE (1989)

I had a terrible problem with air travel on my summer `89 voyages. First, I had to cancel one of those tickets that can't be cancelled. I got the new one and flew out of Seattle for Charleston, West Virginia. I missed my connection in Chigaco and spent a benign night in that town. Mom & Dad had driven from Cleveland to the Charleston air port to meet me and drive to West Virginia University in Morgantown. What a mess.

I had read in a book titled Don't Get Mad - Get Even or something like that, where they say that physicians get preferential treatment nearly everywhere. In order to maximize my impact, I have the word Doctor on my checks and credit cards. I soon wearied of answering the question "What kind of doctor are you?" in supermarket check-out lines. It takes too much time to give the full explanation. Anymore, I just tell them I'm a neuro-surgeon. Anyway, I'm at the Chigaco airport, I've missed my plane and I'm tired. With the status of doctor in mind, I approach the ticket agent . "I'm a doctor and I need to get to Morgantown tonight!" says I.

She looked at me unimpressed. I like to travel comfortably and was dressed in an old shirt and blue jeans. I played with the idea of telling her that I was scheduled to perform neural surgery at the West Virginia University hospital that evening, but I'm happy to report that my moral fiber won the battle. I ended up staying in Chigaco that night without my luggage. No one was quite sure where it was at. I flew to Morgantown the next morning. They charged me an extra $47 for a shuttle flight. I arrived at the Morgantown airport in the morning and was met by Mom & Dad and a Professor from West Virginia University named Aziz. They had rescheduled the whole symposium around my tardy appearance. Aziz told me that over 100 people were in attendance at the workshop - many more than were anticipated. I told the Aziz I needed to change into my suit and freshen up before I gave my lectures. Unfortunately, no one still knew where my luggage was. I gave my lectures to a totally suited audience in my jeans and an old shirt. Borrowing from Martin Luther King, I told them to "Judge me by the content of my presentation and not by the cut of my clothes". Pretty cute, eh?

You'll be happy to know that my clothes were located in Charleston and I got them that night. I asked the airline representative whether or not my luggage qualified for frequent flyer milage. She smiled.

"Of course. We'll send your luggage free of charge to anywhere in the contiguous United States that you desire."

She was quick.

Mom, Dad & I visited Junior & Justine McHenry and Brenda Miller in Charleston that night. We went to the dog races. I developed a handicapping scheme based on the "frisky factor" and won $26.

I flew from Charleston to Washington D.C. where I spent a week at a conference. My return flight from D.C. to Charleston was cancelled. Mom & Dad were again waiting for me at the Charleston airport. They were less than delighted.

We finally connected and began to drive to Ormeda's. It began to rain in a manner unkown to mortals since the time of Noah. The gas gauge was on empty. The night was dark. The rain was as thick as - whatever. We stopped at a gas station and were waved on because their electricity was out due to the storm. We drove onward, fueled only by faith. A road sign announced "Sutton", the city in West Virginia in which I was born. I remarked "Wouldn't it be ironic if we were to crash and I died here?"

Nobody laughed - and we didn't. Neither did I - yet.