First Time in San Francisco

The plane landed from Tucscon just after sundown. It was during a time in my life when my wants did not translate in to real costs but somehow my parents came up with the money in 1979 to send me around the country to visit friends from Junior High. We used to live in the same town in Germany but that was the year before. Now the whims and ways of the United States Armed Forces scattered us all to the far corners of the United States and I missed them. After ten days in Southern Arizona I was now on my way to the second leg of the trip, ten days in Northern California with my other good buddy from back in the day.

Arizona was fun but unbelievably hot. I remember my friend's family admonishing me to stop wearing long pants, something to this day I still prefer over shorts but in Arizona I accepted and then came to like the adjustment quite well. After the blistering heat of the Sonora Desert some time in the ocean breezes along the west coast would be welcome relief indeed. My friend and his family met me at the airport and proceeded north in to San Francisco and the Presidio, the famous Army base overlooking the Golden Gate.

I don't remember the precise route we took in to the city but I was understandably disoriented after my time in the Southwest and never having been to the city by the sea before in my life. Part of me was envious of my friend because they were posted to this new and wonderful part of the country whereas my family had returned to familiar territory in Central Maryland at Ft. Meade situated between Baltimore and Washington, D.C. Who hadn't heard the amazing stories coming out of the Bay Area, the bridges, the waterfront, the constant weather and the eclectic mix of people, culture and curiosity. It was all around me albeit shrouded in the darkness of the night and the famous rolling fog that started in from the ocean a tad earlier than usual so I was told.

Unbeknownst to me my welcoming party had planned a small tour and took me straight to Ft. Point just under the south landing of the Golden Gate Bridge. It was dark, it was foggy, there was a mist in the air but out of the car we got and groped our way to the very edge of the water. The waves crashed below us and the mighty bellow of the bridge foghorn sounded up above somewhere in the thickness of the swirl. I was facing north and didn't know it. Alcatraz Island was off my right hand shoulder but I couldn't see it. One of the greatest cities in the world was at my back and I had no clue. I stood there in vocal disbelief that I was anywhere near the bridge as well; there was no visual proof of anything other than the white-gray of the fog swallowing everything as if out of some cheesy 1950s horror film.

We finally made it to the home of my friend and his family deeper in to the Presidio and I welcomed cool linens and a soft pillow after my travels from Arizona and the ride in from the airport. I was safe and happy in San Francisco and though tired couldn't wait to begin touring the area. And I was in for the biggest surprise in the world when we went back to the same spot under the bridge the next morning!

Gotta go.

Football and Flying

One of the perks I received while working in San Francisco was the opportunity to fly on a team charter with the San Francisco 49ers. This was rarified air indeed and despite being a Dallas Cowboys fan I wasn't about to pass a chance like this up!

On this particular occasion the Niners were scheduled to play the Carolina Panthers in Charlotte at the then new Ericsson Stadium. The team owners did it in style in those days, insisting on flying out on Fridays for games instead of the standard day before. This, they felt, along with the DC-10 United Airlines was contracted to provide, made the difference in the team’s performance on Sundays given the distances a west coast team has to travel.

Fine with me! In the two-cabin widebody the front office and coaching staff would be seated in First Class, the media and guests on the all-male charter – the only “distractions” allowed were the hand-picked flight attendants – sat in the middle of the plane in the first coach section while the players themselves all sat in the back, curtained off from the rest of the plane. Each coach passenger had two assigned seats to themselves and I reveled in my window and aisle set just in front of the wing.

Among the other charter rules besides no contact with the players was that they were off-loaded first in to the lead two of five buses for immediate departure to the team hotel. Guests were not allowed on their floor and no begging for photos or autographs unless they were in the lobby where, if they so chose, they were fair game. Team events and even the game itself were optional but miss the charter and you’re on your own. Oh, and no rooting for other teams!

Sports rivalries aside, we might as well have been a diplomatic delegation on a state visit. Charters like this pull out all the stops with First Class dining throughout, private motor coaches and even a police escort to our hotel that evening. This was going to be a great weekend!

Steve Young, above, was gracious enough to stop for fans the Saturday before the game in the lobby after team meetings. At the game itself on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon, seats for charter guests are not what you would call premium. Visiting teams receive tickets for family, friends and guests who are expected to simply enjoy being at the game and not necessarily to have a luxury suite or sideline passes. In most stadiums you can always tell where the charter guests are, usually clumped together in the upper stands, a huge patch of opposing colors all seated together and hoping for the best.

They got pasted, 23-7. In their early years the Panthers had the Niners' number, giving them a beating on nearly every occasion. They dialed up another one that Sunday afternoon, packing us off to the airport for a long, six hour flight back to where we came from.

I learned a final lesson on that flight as the plane droned on in to the westbound night sky: One of the inflight games they like to play after a win is "Apple Ball," where apples are rolled along the floor to see which one travels the farthest before getting lodged under a seat. After three hours of unimaginable physical exertion, when the team loses they don't have much of an appetite for apples or food of any other kind.

What an adventure! I tried to hide the smile on my face which was not because they lost. I ate in silence, alone in my thoughts. Despite the loss these charters are special - routine business for the team, maybe, but clearly once in a lifetime for civilians like me.

This was not a Learjet, Paris or even the playoffs, much less the Superbowl. In fact, the entire event barely registered in American sports history as anything more than another day at the office but for an airplane geek and a diehard football fan this package was a behind-the-scenes peek in to life on the road with backstage passes.

It was only the wrong team short of the Holy Grail!

Gotta go!