<i> Angst</i> at 35,000 Feet : American Passengers Buckle Up for a Bumpy Ride

All Susan Small wanted was to get to Chicago. But by the time she boarded this flight Thursday, she said she’d already had a stopover in hell.

The Pasadena resident’s day began at the Burbank Airport, where she learned that her flight no longer existed. She hopped a shuttle to LAX, where angry pickets met her at the door. Seven lines, six hours and two more canceled flights later, she finally buckled herself into a seat. She knew she was one of the lucky ones. But she could only imagine the fate of her luggage.

“I’m sure some guy is walking around in my underwear right now,” the 26-year-old sales representative said wearily. “I just know it.”

After American Airlines flight attendants walked off their jobs Thursday morning, lost undergarments were the least of passengers’ worries. Among the 150 passengers on a midafternoon flight to Chicago, one of American’s hubs, some had missed their connecting flights and held out little hope of finding new ones. Others, like Geri Nothnagle, were so determined to travel in the face of the strike that they volunteered to help out with on-board services.

“I offered to point out the exits and make tuna fish sandwiches, but they didn’t take me up on it,” said Nothnagle, who was trying to get home to Rochester, N.Y., after visiting her daughter in Bakersfield.

Not that anyone went hungry on this flight. The meal was served on time by the frazzled but friendly flight crew. It was not clear what kind of training the crew had--they referred all questions to corporate officials. But pillows and blankets made the rounds, and apologies were passed out like bags of peanuts.

Whether or not the passengers sympathized with the flight attendants, they agreed on one thing: Thursday was no day to fly.

“I’ll give you a scoop: American Airlines sucks,” Rich Hedrick, a Los Angeles marketing consultant, announced when he spotted a reporter scribbling notes in the Super 80 jet’s narrow aisle.

Hedrick was on his way to Madison, Wis., to go deer hunting. Or so he hoped. Bumped off three planes--two of which flew away empty--he was grateful to finally be eastbound at 35,000 feet. But he was fretting about his five suitcases, his rifle and his ammunition. All of it--including a portable tree stand that helps hide hunters from their prey--had been checked through many hours before.

“If I don’t get my luggage, I don’t do anything,” he said glumly. A reunion with his luggage could possibly make him forgive the airline, he said. “As long as I don’t have to throw rocks at the deer.”

Apostolos Athanassakis, a classics professor at UC Santa Barbara, was also worried about his belongings. He could do without clothes, he said--the graduate students he was scheduled to lecture to at the University of Illinois would understand if he looked a little rumpled. But his suitcase also carried books: a valuable leather-bound copy of Homer’s “The Iliad” and a cherished Bible.

“I asked (American officials), and they don’t know where my luggage could be,” Athanassakis said, taking a break from jotting notes for his lecture. Already the flight had given him some ideas. When the flight crew offered free cocktails, he decided to lecture on the importance of gifts.

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“They’re a part of the process of appeasement in any relationship,” he said, not sounding completely appeased.

Not everybody was grumpy. Donna Kamin, a board member for the Joffrey Ballet, sat contentedly in her window seat, enjoying the ride. The lunch--a Caesar salad with chicken--had been uncommonly fresh, she said. The beleaguered flight crew--one of whom told a passenger he was fresh out of training school--and ticket agents had all been incredibly gracious, all things considered.

“Everyone was sweet, accommodating, helpful and apologetic,” she said. “I refuse to get hassled. They really are trying hard.”

Les Scott, a hardware salesman who was returning home to Chicago, agreed. He’d left on an earlier flight than he had a ticket for and was getting home ahead of time.

Don’t worry, he told a reporter who was not likely to get home any time soon, “Chicago is a great city to get laid over in.”

Mark Power and Gayle Winkler were on their way to Detroit, where Power was to be the best man in his brother’s wedding. They admitted they had chosen a risky route. Originally scheduled to connect through Dallas, they decided things were so chaotic that they would be better off jumping on any departing plane.

“Run for the next plane that’s going somewhere--that was our philosophy,” Power said.

Winkler was less cavalier. “His clothes are already there--he’s renting a tux,” she said. “But my dress, my coat--it’s all packed. And our luggage is God knows where.”

Later, on the ground in Chicago, Power and Winkler scoured the schedule for the next plane to Detroit. It didn’t look good. One was canceled, the other indefinitely delayed. Power grimaced and scratched his head.

“I’ve got it figured out,” he said finally. There were other flights to Michigan: “We’re going to Flint.”

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