Back to the Charles M. Schultz airport in Sonoma, CA

William Farley

After visiting my stepson Tim and his family, I was dropped off at the Palm Springs airport a couple of hours before takeoff. In no particular hurry, I casually went through security, following a very slow-moving fellow wearing plaid shorts and a rumpled short-sleeve shirt. He looked like someone who had spent a lot of time in the sun without the benefit of sunscreen. He moseyed along, somewhat oblivious to his surroundings, mumbling, “I am feeling very old, very old.” Suddenly, he stopped, blocking my path, and declared that he had left his backpack in security. He asked, “Will you go back with me to find it?” I said, “Of course,” thinking, Well, I guess this is going to be my Good Samaritan moment. We quickly recovered his backpack and continued into the large ticketing area.

From the terminal loudspeakers, we heard, “Do not drink anything. The public toilets are down. Please refrain from drinking anything. Thank you!” Looking a bit shaky, I steered my new friend to a seat. He slumped into a chair and asked me to get him a Gatorade. I obliged, and after handing it to him, he remarked that his daughter would have told him he should have gotten water instead. Jokingly, I said, “Well, we won’t tell her.” He said nothing. Sipping his Gatorade, he began telling me about his past. He said he had once worked for a company that found a way to put fiber optics into a box, which became the first computer. “The greatest job I ever had,” he said. He also worked for another company that helped discover what kind of plastic could be used for memory boards, and once again, he declared it was the greatest job he ever had. After a few more sips, he told me that in 1976, he had bought three houses on the Russian River for sixteen thousand dollars each. He had recently sold one for six hundred thousand dollars so his granddaughter could buy a house.

Our gate number was announced, and it happened to be our mutual destination. Now on his feet, he said, “I once had a job in Texas with NASA. The engineers asked me to design a bracket that cameras would be mounted to. They suggested I incorporate my initials into the design. So, I welded my initials into the bracket and bolted it onto the module.” Then he added, “When I was installing the brackets on the craft, I accidentally sneezed. Now, my initials—and my DNA—are permanently on the moon. It was the greatest job I ever had.”

We made our way separately to the gate, and I didn’t see him again. I never thought to ask him his name. So it goes.

2024©William Farley

(Photo from NASA)