Plane sighting brings airport memories
Picking up Dad took a back seat while the Roughriders were hosting the Tiger-cats
The other day, at approximately 7:58 p.m., I looked up and saw ... wait for it ... an airplane!
I could only shake my head and wonder: When did I last see a commercial aircraft?
A month? Two months? Before COVID -19 began to dictate so much of our lives?
No idea.
Since April, I have ridden my bicycle near Regina International Airport more than a dozen times. Even on those occasions, I had not witnessed any takeoffs or landings.
The slump-breaking flight was Westjet 3264, arriving from Calgary.
It was the last of only three flights to Regina, the others being Air Canada 7939 (from Toronto; arrived at 10:01 a.m.) and AC8572 (from Vancouver; 5:37 p.m.).
Such has been the norm due to travel restrictions necessitated by the pandemic.
While pondering the miracle of flight, I began to reminisce — and an admittedly tangential column idea was born.
When I was a little kid, Dad used to take me to the airport on Sunday afternoons to watch the airplanes. Back then, you could put your nose to the glass in the main area of the terminal and enjoy a fantastic view of the runways.
On the luggage carousel, which always fascinated me for some reason, there was a sign:
KEEP OFF
INTERDIT
A few years later, on Sept. 18, 1977, Dad arrived at the airport after spending the week on a jazz cruise.
We were so excited to see Dad that we kept him waiting for at least an hour.
The Saskatchewan Roughriders, you see, were playing host to the Hamilton Tiger-cats on the very same afternoon that Alan Vanstone, jazz pianist, returned.
Ron Lancaster had one of those days when he simply could not miss.
He completed 23 of 29 passes for 294 yards, including touchdown tosses to Joey Walters and Molly Mcgee. Tommy Reamon rushed for 125 yards, including TDS of 61 and 10 yards. Paul Williams returned an interception 51 yards for a score.
Then a sapling of 13, I was in a good mood over the Roughriders’ 38-17 victory.
In that spirit, I asked Mom if we could watch the Roughriders head to the team bus after the game. In those days, the team’s dressing room was not located at Taylor Field, but instead at old Regina Exhibition Track (roughly where Queensbury Centre is now located).
There was merriment all around as our green and white heroes ran a gauntlet of admirers and boarded a city bus. As soon as the players were seated, most of them lit up cigarettes. (Yes, it was a different time.)
Only after the entire team passed by — and after I had made a point of telling Williams that I liked his touchdown dance — did we head to Mom’s vehicle.
Very soon, her rebellious roadster was much like the Roughriders’ players.
Smoking.
Meanwhile, Dad was stuck at the airport.
Smoking.
The car was running, barely, but Mom did not want to risk getting caught in heavy traffic if her clunker, which may have been personally inspected by Henry Ford, were to expire.
Therefore, we waited ... and waited ... and waited until the post-game snarl had eased on Elphinstone Street.
Only then did we head for the airport, without any assurance that the ailing car would make it that far.
This was long before the cellphone era, remember, so we had no way of informing Dad that we would be very late.
In fact, the Tiger-cats might have made it home before my father did.
Miraculously, we showed up, after the slowest trek to the airport in automotive history.
Dad was rightfully rankled. Mom was apologetic.
I was annoying.
As we greeted Dad, another flight had just arrived. The ranks of the recently disembarked were milling around, waiting for their bags. I wanted to join them.
“Can we stick around for a few minutes?” I asked my parents.
“Why?” they inquired, frustratedly.
“I want to watch the interdit,” I pleaded.
The WHAT?
“The interdit.”
HUH?
I then explained to them that the “interdit” was the luggage carousel.
Dad rolled his eyes before informing his non-prodigy of a son that “interdit” was a French word for “prohibited.”
Oh. And for all those years, I thought the sign was telling people to keep off the interdit.
Thank goodness I did not become a pilot.