A recent graduate of Penn State, I had been teaching art in Lower Merion, Penn., and was asked to dance with my students during the prom. Something wasn't right. I had to get out of Philadelphia. I wanted to see the world. Couldn't join the Marines. That was too rough.
I was going to become a stewardess -- yes, a stewardess. (This was what we were called, not a flight attendants, please.) And for the best airline ... Pan Am. This was 1966.
Moving to Kew Gardens in New York was a requirement. A woman had just been stabbed in the street, 48 people watched. Nobody tried to help her. This was to be my home for one month while I trained, then I moved to Manhattan, and found an apartment with a German stewardess who was promiscuous, and a spinster virgin in her thirties.
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The uniform was fabulous, I felt beautiful in it. And sexy. It was a tight blue skirt (well, not too tight) with a slit, a crisp white blouse and a fitted jacket all in sky blue. Like my eyes. The movie “Catch Me If You Can” has a scene with the stewardesses on either side of Leonardo DiCaprio, and we looked as stunning as in that film.
My first flight was to Bermuda. As we circled going in for the landing, I felt dizzy and ran to the bathroom to throw up. But I was out of Philadelphia and happy about that. I was about to see the world. I felt like Candide. Voltaire would have understood.
Bermuda was enchanting, all pink, and we stayed in a white hotel. After I was over my nausea, I had 24 hours to see the island then get back on the plane and fly back to Manhattan. In three days I was to fly to London then Paris then Rome. In London we stayed in a hotel on Hyde Park Corner, but it was so noisy I had to put the mattress over the window and sleep in the bathtub.
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I only had 12 hours for the layover and needed my sleep. The noise was overbearing. Same thing happened in Paris, and Rome was a disaster. Layovers were 12, 24, 48 hours and in Beirut we had three days before we flew onto Bangkok. Sleep became a problem.
On the layover in Beirut I managed to fly to Jerusalem, but the guards detained me at the airport as they thought I was a German Jew ... My maiden name was Wagner. After being held by police for an hour, I only had two hours to see this ancient city. Then my girl friend and I were thrown out of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. Her dress was too low in the back, and mine was too low in the front.
Never mind. The city had all been rebuilt and was a haven for salesmen selling cheap trinkets. It
