dtuuri
Final Approach
While driving this morning I heard on the radio that Billy Graham passed away at 99. It was raining, foggy and cool outside my car and as the wipers slapped to and fro I recalled a rainy, foggy cool night over 40 years ago--the night I met him. Maybe I should say, "The night he met me."
I was a copilot for Executive Jet Aviation, now known as NetJets, and my captain, Rex, and I had been dispatched to Atlanta on New Year's Eve to pick up fans attending the Peach Bowl and take them home. It was one dreary, wet day in Atlanta (EDIT: OK, I checked the records--the "rain" and "fog" must have been condensation on the tinted window in the pilots lounge, but it WAS cold). The FBO paged us to take a call from dispatch back in Columbus.
"Forget those passengers, we'll send another crew to cover you. Beat feet it up to Champaign and fly Billy Graham to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota," said the dispatcher.
So, off we went. That winter of 1976/77 was probably the coldest I can remember, even considering the "Blizzard of '78" in Cleveland. When we landed the Lear 24D at Champaign, the wind chill was 30 degrees below zero. I felt every bit of it, too, through my light-weight red blazer.
As we shut down, a van approached and backed up close to the entry door. An assistant jumped out and opened the rear doors to reveal a cot. Sitting upright, arms folded and wearing a baseball cap was the man I'd seen on TV often, Billy Graham. I stood outside in the freezing wind while his traveling companions helped him into the plane and tried to make him comfortable.
When they were done, I jumped in and went through the door shutting procedure while Rex fired up the number two engine. Satisfied the bayonets were locked in place, I turned to hop into the cockpit and copy the clearance.
"Excuse me young man, I don't think I've met you before," a familiar drawl came from behind me.
I turned around and he had his hand out to shake mine.
"I'm Billy Graham, what's your name?"
I was pretty floored by all this. Here's a guy that 350,000 people stand in line to listen to--and he wants to know about ME?
We chatted some small talk while Rex fired up the other engine and then I had to excuse myself in order to get on with my job.
By the time we got to Rochester and checked into the hotel, the restaurant was about to close, the rooms had no heat turned on until check-in and there was a good quarter inch of frost on the inside of the window pane. A New Year's Eve party was in full swing in the lounge.
That was over 40 years ago, but seems like just last week. Billy Graham's life was barely even half done at the time, yet had he died that night his place in history (or heaven?) was already secured. For me, an amazing memory of an unforgettable man.
I was a copilot for Executive Jet Aviation, now known as NetJets, and my captain, Rex, and I had been dispatched to Atlanta on New Year's Eve to pick up fans attending the Peach Bowl and take them home. It was one dreary, wet day in Atlanta (EDIT: OK, I checked the records--the "rain" and "fog" must have been condensation on the tinted window in the pilots lounge, but it WAS cold). The FBO paged us to take a call from dispatch back in Columbus.
"Forget those passengers, we'll send another crew to cover you. Beat feet it up to Champaign and fly Billy Graham to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota," said the dispatcher.
So, off we went. That winter of 1976/77 was probably the coldest I can remember, even considering the "Blizzard of '78" in Cleveland. When we landed the Lear 24D at Champaign, the wind chill was 30 degrees below zero. I felt every bit of it, too, through my light-weight red blazer.
As we shut down, a van approached and backed up close to the entry door. An assistant jumped out and opened the rear doors to reveal a cot. Sitting upright, arms folded and wearing a baseball cap was the man I'd seen on TV often, Billy Graham. I stood outside in the freezing wind while his traveling companions helped him into the plane and tried to make him comfortable.
When they were done, I jumped in and went through the door shutting procedure while Rex fired up the number two engine. Satisfied the bayonets were locked in place, I turned to hop into the cockpit and copy the clearance.
"Excuse me young man, I don't think I've met you before," a familiar drawl came from behind me.
I turned around and he had his hand out to shake mine.
"I'm Billy Graham, what's your name?"
I was pretty floored by all this. Here's a guy that 350,000 people stand in line to listen to--and he wants to know about ME?
We chatted some small talk while Rex fired up the other engine and then I had to excuse myself in order to get on with my job.
By the time we got to Rochester and checked into the hotel, the restaurant was about to close, the rooms had no heat turned on until check-in and there was a good quarter inch of frost on the inside of the window pane. A New Year's Eve party was in full swing in the lounge.
That was over 40 years ago, but seems like just last week. Billy Graham's life was barely even half done at the time, yet had he died that night his place in history (or heaven?) was already secured. For me, an amazing memory of an unforgettable man.
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