Patience a Virtue Like Never Before

If you’re flying from Milwaukee to Appleton, Nashville, Grand Rapids, Green Bay, Louisville, Madison, Moline or Wausau, chances are you’ll be at General Mitchell International Airport by the time a cold dawn breaks over this city of beer and bratwurst. And thinking there’s not a prayer of catching your flight.

The line of passengers reaches from the security gates at the mouth of Concourse D, through the terminal, past the Christmas tree, the deli, the newsstand and out onto the covered walkway leading to the parking garage. Then it doubles back. It’s 7:20 a.m. The plane to Nashville leaves at 8:30. There are 700, maybe 800, people in front of you, as many behind. What time’s the next flight?

Welcome to the fraternity of air travelers, post-Sept. 11. It may make some folks nostalgic for the “good old days” of commercial flight, but Americans are adapting. They have greeted the new security rules with few complaints.

The line on this morning seems stalled. People are fumbling to find photo IDs and boarding passes, to take laptop computers out of carrying cases, to empty their pockets of coins and keys.

Metal detectors beep like a chorus of canaries. Each is set at such a sensitive level that even belt buckles activate the alarm. “Darlene, what about these scissors?” a screener asks her colleague. “Kid’s scissors with rounded ends. Are they OK?” (They are.)

Luggage is opened, clothes are unpacked. Passengers become scarecrows--immobile, expressionless, arms extended as hand-held wands sweep over their bodies. Beep, beep. “That’s just the brass buttons on your blazer,” a screener says.

The funny thing is, no one’s antsy. As travelers inch toward the checkpoint, they have Milwaukee Journal Sentinels with another headline from Afghanistan tucked under their arms as they sip cups of takeout coffee. It’s as though they have all the time in the world.

The line is orderly, single file. No pushing, no shuffling of nervous feet. No one grouches at the uniformed airline employees who show up from time to time. People nod and say good morning to two citizen-soldiers from the National Guard, one of whom before Sept. 11 was a high school teacher, the other a mechanic.

“Anyone got an 8:20 flight? Step out and follow me up front,” says a female security agent. “Does 8:30 qualify?” a salesman asks. “No, just stay put for a while, please. We’re doing this in 10-minute increments,” she says. “Thank you, ma’am,” he replies.

In a recent journey through nine Midwestern and Eastern airports, several common denominators reflected the changing face of air travel:

* Patience. Passengers are loaded with it. It’s the price for improving security, and travelers accept the trade-off. Cabin attendants say passengers are far less demanding than before the terrorist attacks. Food, service and legroom doesn’t much matter anymore. For now, at least, only a safe ride to one’s destination does.

* Security. It has improved, but it’s still less stringent than what travelers experience in much of Europe, and certainly in Israel. Security varies from airport to airport, making it appear as though the anti-terrorist plans have been designed by local entities rather than the federal government.

* Numbers. They are down. Passenger loads fell 23% in October. And the U.S. Bureau of Transportation Statistics says that of the 51 million people who had planned to travel for Thanksgiving before the terrorist attacks, 9 million changed their minds. But while more Americans are staying home, planes on heavily traveled routes, such as Washington to Chicago, often are full.

United Airlines Flight 603 left Washington at 8:30 a.m. for Chicago, with not an empty seat. It is one of the selected flights that usually has an armed U.S. marshal on board. The door to the cockpit has been reinforced to deny access to passengers. On some days, the preflight briefing for the crew and cabin attendants includes advice on self-defense and defending the plane.

“The biggest change I’ve seen since Sept. 11,” said Holly Schickler, a flight attendant for 29 years, “is that we’re not alone anymore. If anything happens in the cabin, the passengers are ready to help. There is an awareness we’re all in this together. That was definitely not the case before.”

Added her colleague Lore Mills: “Passengers are not as demanding as they used to be. They know the new rules. They know there’ll be no food. They know we’ll only make one pass with drinks. They know they’re meant to stay in their seats. They don’t complain.”

Midday in Des Moines, Ill. It’s a snap getting through security, even for passengers randomly flagged by the computer for an inspection of checked luggage. Two elderly security agents unzip the bags and give them a quick once-over, without missing a beat in their conversation. “The Bears were tough last night,” one says. “Holding Minnesota to no touchdowns, now that’s what I call defense.”

Sgt. 1st Class William White, who is in charge of the airport’s National Guard detail, walks by. This is the third deployment of his 19-year career; he served in the Persian Gulf War and in Kosovo. When he was activated after the September terrorist attacks, he told his wife: “At least on this deployment, I get to stay home.” Homeland security, he notes, is something the Guard was performing long before international terrorism became a threat, and he hopes people appreciate how much members give up to fulfill their duties as citizen-soldiers.

“Passengers have been great,” he said. “They’re happy to see us around. They stop us to tell us that. There haven’t been any serious incidents since we deployed. But just with our presence here, we’re putting in their minds that it’s safe to fly again.”

Not everyone is convinced.

More than half a million passengers rode Amtrak trains over the Thanksgiving holiday, and 3.5 million cars clogged the New Jersey Turnpike--a main artery between Washington and New York--the Sunday after Thanksgiving. A Greyhound spokesman says the average length of bus travel for one of its passengers is 450 miles; since Sept. 11, there has been an increase on the 1,000- to 1,200-mile routes.

“We recognize people have concerns about flying,” says Cathy Holland, manager of aviation development for the Metropolitan Nashville Airport. “We’re trying to alleviate that. We want them to know they’re entering a safe and secure terminal, and we want to prepare them for the new realities of flying so they don’t get blindsided by delays at security. On our Web site, we put in boldface the advice: ‘If you’re traveling over Christmas, don’t wrap your presents.’ ”

In Orlando, Fla., there are small American flags on the check-in counters and signs by security that read: “No photography of any kind.” The digital departure board lists 50 or 60 flights, all on time. Boston businessman Ray Wilkins shows his ID and boarding pass for the third time. He puts his computer on the X-ray belt and rolls up his pants so the screener can see the buckles on his loafers. He puts his driver’s license in his breast pocket for easy access at the next security check and doesn’t forget to collect his cell phone when it clears security, as he had done briefly in Birmingham, Ala., earlier in the day.

“You just have to learn new habits,” he said. “Once you do, you sort of forget what flying was like before 9/11.”