Fourth Quarter Update

Dear Friends,

Before seven on the fifth day of the new quarter, on my 19^th anniversary with American, I dispatched an e-mail to 200+ colleagues at the airline, announcing my retirement at the end of the year, and my recycling as consultant (to AA and others) and itinerant B-school lecturer. Feelings were mixed: liberation and apprehension, the end of the security that a regular gig affords and the “open slate” ability to redefine the last of my working years. Cool!

That afternoon, from seat 20A, I looked out at that silver wing, and understood again its bright promise, as luminescent today as it was in 1984 when I joined the business, or 10/5/87, when I signed on with American. The plane was headed to San Diego. We landed mid-afternoon, and a group of us hopped on a chartered bus north to Carlsbad, to the really posh Four Seasons Aviara resort and American’s annual Celebrity Golf event, the fall analog to the ski event, this one benefiting the Komen Foundation for breast-cancer research.

I saw a lot of old friends. Word of my departure had spread, and there were hugs and high-fives for my good fortune at the welcome reception and dinner.

On Friday morning, I was up early, out the door, down the hill to the golf course. A bagpiper, hired to serenade the players, was warming up in the parking lot. There was something incongruous about his tootling “Scotland the Brave” in a California landscape. Ate breakfast with two Bank of America honchos (I did not tell them that I was a credit unionist!) and a longtime manager from the Ford Motor Company. Interesting conversation.

I headed down to the course, carts lined up, and fell in with Kurt Stache, who runs our AAdvantage program, two bankers from Citi (the citi AAdvantage card is a huge win-win for both of us), a banker’s brother from Oklahoma, and a bona fide celebrity, Tom Mack, who played offensive guard for the Los Angeles Rams from 1966 to ’78. I would be the caddy. The course was stunningly beautiful, with flower beds, ponds, and waterfalls. And it looked really difficult, a good day not to be a golfer. But it was tons of fun, joshing with the boys. After nine holes, I peeled off, walked up the hill and foraged around for a way to get back to Lindbergh Field, as San Diego’s airport is still known.

No one was heading to the airport to retrieve late-arriving guests. A taxi would run $75-plus, and it sounded boring. I needed a little adventure, to fend for myself after a couple of days of coddling in a five-star hotel. So I got a cab and rode 12 miles south to Solana Beach, where Amtrak stopped enroute to San Diego. The railway station was new, a half-cylinder design, stylish. Bought a ticket, got lunch at Subway, and hopped aboard the 1:19 train. As soon as we rolled out, I knew this was a fine idea, as we rolled right along the beach, the blue Pacific, surfers, puffy clouds, a signal California scene. We rolled across lagoons, then headed inland, parallel to I-5, snaking around curves. In no time we were in downtown San Diego, arriving at the historic Santa Fe station, a masterpiece of the Mission architectural style.

I had not been in San Diego for quite awhile, and was reminded of what a wonderful place it is, all the natural wonder of Southern California but at a relaxed pace, and with more discipline. Perhaps the strong naval presence explains some of the palpable order – indeed, an enormous gray vessel loomed over the foot of Broadway, a block from the station. I hopped on the 992 bus to the airport and fell into a nice Talking to Strangers moment after I stepped on a rider’s foot. She was knitting, like Linda, which provided a good entrée. We covered a lot of ground in the 15 minutes to the terminal. She was from a place I’ve wanted to visit for a long time, Prairie Crossing, a “new town” suburb north of Chicago. She had just moved there and was enthusiastic about it. She worked for the American Dental Association in Chicago. We had a good yak.

I dipped into the Admirals Club to work my e-mail for 20 minutes, then hopped on a jet and flew home. On the way, I read an interesting and valid view from the founder of Sun Microsystems; writing about the Internet, Bill Joy opined:

The real problem is, by democratizing speech and the ability to post, we’ve lost the gradation for quality. The gradation of quality was always based on the fact that words had weight – it cost money to move them around. So there was back pressure against . . . junk.

I understand that, dear readers, and promise not to ever send you . . . junk!

The following Saturday, we built a couple of wheelchair ramps rather than just one. It was late when I got home, and after a quick lunch I went out on my bike. The crash happened less than a mile into the ride, a spectacular twisting fall that began when my skinny tires got caught in the gap between two sections of old concrete on a busy arterial (I avoid crowded streets, and only planned to be on that one for two blocks). The good news was that I didn’t get hit by a speeding SUV. The bad news was a really nasty set of bruises and abrasions. Naturally, the bike was fine; new ones are remarkably strong. After composing myself, I rode 17 more miles – hey, the show must go on!

On Wednesday the 18^th, I flew down to Miami. On the shuttle bus to the Sheraton, I started yakking with the only other person on the van. He was from Mumbai, about to start a six-month contract job as a lighting technician on a Royal Caribbean cruise ship. We had a nice visit across a range of topics: lingering colonial attitudes on his last cruise ship, terrorism in India, freedom in America.

I arrived at the hotel just in time for dinner with colleagues from our Miami, Caribbean, and Latin America (MCLA) division. It was likely the last time I would present to the group. As I’ve written before, there are more hugs at a MCLA meeting than most weddings. Dinner was fun, and typically long, but I had work to do, and headed to my room. The update the next morning was smooth. High point was the homily from our MCLA SVP, Peter Dolara.

Peter has been an amigo for 17 of my 19 years at AA. He is simply a superb motivational speaker. Mindful of the many duties of the people who run our operations across the Hemisphere, he asked “What can we do to help you, to help you shoulder your burdens.” He noted the importance of looking after self and family. He made us feel good. Really good. When he left the room to loud applause, he shook my hand, and I felt special. But Peter’s genius is that he makes everyone feel special. His grasp was reminder of how hard it would have been simply to leave in a couple months’ time, to walk away from him, and from all these flying friends.

I left the hotel, worked in the Admirals Club, and flew home at the end of the day. When I got home and checked my e-mail, I learned that my friend Howard Springen had died at age 94 the day before. Howard was a hero of sorts – a person of true character, who had lived a long, full life. “I want to be like Howard,” was a frequent phrase. He sang in our church choir until just a few years ago, and when I would look up in the loft and see him, I felt comfort that all was well in the world. He also helped us build wheelchair ramps until just two years ago; his carpenter’s apron bearing the name of the Buxton Elevator Co., from a small town in his native North Dakota, and its three-digit telephone number always said something about continuity and change.

So we all went to Howard’s funeral on Saturday the 21^st. It was the kind of crisp fall day that he would have described as a “humdinger.” We sang our Lutheran hymns and lingered on every word of Pastor Lee’s eulogy: abandoned by his father after his mother died when he was 14 days old; raised by Aunt Sophia; helped by a grandpa who taught him to work with hands and head; a ski jumper (hard to do in flat NoDak!); remarried to May at age 88, in 2001; a lifelong musician; and, like me, smitten with commercial aviation, and, like me, moved from Minnesota to Dallas to work for an airline – Braniff in his case. After the homage, a parishioner and friend, Garner, remarked to his wife, “it doesn’t get much better than that.” Amen. After the service, we repaired to a reception, with punch and the oatmeal cookies that he loved to make. Howard was a cook and baker, too. He could do anything. Standing with my cup of punch and cookies, I imagined angels conveying Howard swiftly upward. Rest in peace, Howard. You were a righteous person.

The following Monday, I left work an hour early. Linda was up in Chicago and I needed to get our dear MacKenzie out of her crate and into the fresh air. I put that extra hour to all kinds of good use, and while shining a couple of pair of shoes (yep, do ‘em myself, always have, always will) I mused about what it would be like from January when these extra hours became more common. The prospect made me smile broadly. That same thought recurred the following Thursday, the 26^th, when I snuck out at 3:30, to prep for a trip the next day. I had time to do it all, including 15 miles on the bike. Wowie!

The next morning we bumped north to Chicago, bump, bump. At O’Hare, I met Matteo Pericoli, the architect and artist who is doing a huge mural for us in our new terminal at New York Kennedy (described in my first quarter update), and Pat Goley, who owns the company that will photoenlarge the illustration and print it on vinyl wallcovering. Matteo’s flight was late, and Pat, his colleague Bob, and I had an interesting chat about their printing and pre-press business in Rockford, 75 miles west. They do a lot of high-end and precise work. Matteo arrived about 11 and we had a speedy meeting about various technical issues. I don’t normally dive into production detail, but having convinced the AA brass to do the mural, I have a strong sense of ownership.

I worked my e-mail, ate a big burrito, and flew to Washington, DC; Linda had flown up earlier. We were in town to see Robin and soak up the last bit of “client entertainment,” a weekend sponsored by Smithsonian magazine. I hopped on the Metro and was at the hotel in time to wash my face and head to dinner at the brand-new residence of the Swiss ambassador. I thought it was just a “rent a room” arrangement, but His Excellency, Urs Ziswiler, and his wife Ronit were at the front door to welcome us into a very cool, minimalist building, in the best Swiss style. We had a glass or two of merlot from Ticino (the Italian part of Switzerland), toured the house a bit, and sat down to a wonderful dinner. I scored some points with the Swiss for my teaching connections at St. Gallen and Bern. Robin came along to dinner, with a friend, and we had a big time. Unhappily, our exit was ungraceful – the tour bus driver drove into the foot-deep decorative pool at the front of the residence, and it took an hour to get a replacement. Ugh.

Slept hard, up at seven on the stationery bike in the hotel fitness center (it’s impossible to imagine a more boring form of exercise); after the “ride,” I walked across Lafayette Square, past the White House, and back. After breakfast the fun began, with a visit to the Reynolds Center, new home of the Smithsonian’s National Portrait Gallery and American Art Museum. The two collections are housed in the former (begun 1836) Patent Office – that this Greek Revival classic was only the third public building in the new capital (after the White House and the Capitol) says something about our nation's early and long commitment to innovation. We had fabulous tours of both before they opened to the public. Just awesome, especially the portraits.

Linda and Robin peeled off, and the group had lunch at the new Museum of the American Indian on the Mall, and a short chance to look around (I’ll need to come back). I then peeled off, changed clothes, and headed to back to National Airport for part two of the trip, teaching in Europe. My flight to JFK was canceled, so I went to Heathrow via Chicago, arriving in London at nine on a cloudless Sunday morning. Showered at the AA arrivals lounge, ate a bowl of granola, and hopped onto the train to Paddington. I had time, so with rolling suitcase I walked about three miles east to lunch with a McCann Erickson friend, Terry McGrath, who with her landscape-architect husband Andy was just back from two years working on Microsoft business in San Francisco.

Venue was a totally old-school fish restaurant called J. Sheekey, just north of Trafalgar Square. All three of us ordered the same first course and main dish: smoked haddock on salad and a really savory fish pie. It was great to see Terry after a couple of years. She was pregnant with twins, and really excited on all counts. We had a great yak, talking a lot about their experiences in California – it was clear they really enjoyed their time in the New World. I said goodbye, hopped the Tube to Kings Cross and the train north to Cambridge. Half the ride was by bus, because they were working on the rail line, and I arrived just before dusk. My digs again were Sidney Sussex College (my third visit), specifically the White Room in the Master’s Lodge. It was so cool to be back. A handwritten welcome note from the college master, Dame Professor Sandra Dawson, suggested Sunday evensong in the chapel at 6:15, and I attended.

It was awesome. The college chaplain, Rev. Peter Waddell, presided. Dr. David Skinner directed the 16 members of the choir (he told me before the service that he was missing a large number because of illness). Evensong turned out to be quite close to a regular Sunday liturgy, complete with a brimstone sermon on social injustice. An hour later, with spiritual needs met, I headed into secular Cambridge, for a pint at The Eagle, by now (my seventh visit) a solid tradition. At the bar, the label for “The Rev. James” ale, from the small brewer Brains of Cardiff, caught my eye, perhaps given my recent worship in chapel. I got a pint, and somehow sat down in the cranks’ section, fellow tipplers deriding Christmas, their bosses, and more. Deep sigh. Finished my pint quickly and headed back to college. I brought this journal up to date and clocked out by nine; given the huge lunch, there was no need for dinner.

Slept ten hours. Whew. Up at seven, out the door to test my running legs two weeks after the bike crash. The first few minutes felt fine, and in no time I was at stride, running along the River Cam, which was filled with college rowing teams out for morning practice, coxswains gently barking orders. Back to college, brief hello to Dame Sandy, shower and dress, and to high table in the college dining hall by 8:15. It was my opportunity for the heart-attack-on-a-plate known as the English cooked breakfast: rasher of bacon, two sausages, fried egg, grilled tomato, potato cakes, canned beans. Yum! Also at table were Lindsay Greer, the vice-master and a professor of materials science, who I had met before; Rev. Keith Straughan, a theologian and physicist; and Chris Page, a medieval English prof. I was only sorry the breakfast was over quickly – I could have yakked all day with this trio. I am so fortunate to have this college connection.

At nine I walked across town to the business school, worked my e-mail, and met host Simon Bell at 12:15. Ate a small sandwich while yakking with a Spanish MBA student, then headed to class for a lecture on airline loyalty programs. After class, I had an interesting encounter with a very feisty Indian student who asked hard questions. I actually really liked the debate, and I told him at the end of our chat that his apology was not necessary – lots of times I get softball questions, so hardballs are fun. I stayed at the B-school for another hour, yakked with more students, and headed back to college. On the way, I stopped into St. Botolph’s Church, which has been in continuous use since 1320. A good place for daily prayers.

I met Simon again after seven for a pint, and at eight we headed to dinner with eight MBA students from the class. Just like my earlier visits, these students were from all over: Poland, Canada, India, Pakistan, Taiwan, and the U.S. An interesting dinner. Clocked out at 10:45, but slept lightly. Rose before 4:30, walked to the Cambridge station, and got the first train to London, then the Tube, Heathrow Express, BA Airbus A320, and by 11:20 was in Zurich. The short shuttle-train ride from Concourse E to the main terminal included some clever video and audio – first we saw a series of backlit images of someone that looked a lot like Heidi, the famous fictional Swiss girl, then we hear a soundtrack that included the alpenhorn, cowbells, and a chorus. It was pure schmalz, but lovely schmalz, imbued with sense of place.

I downloaded my e-mail while waiting for my checked bag, hopped on the train and at 1:15 was in St. Gallen, my fifth visit to that town and its good B-school. My usual host, Simone Janz was ill, and I met Heike, a Ph.D. student from Austria. She dropped me at the hotel. I had about 90 minutes before my lecture, so I wandered down the street to the abbey (kloster in German), founded in 612. In the 17^th century they rebuilt the place in a high Baroque style. I had never visited the library, built in 1758 and reckoned to be the finest Rococo interior in all of Switzerland. There’s a Greek inscription over the entrance, which translates as "The Medicine Chest of the Soul." Nice. The library and its predecessors was one of the main centers of learning north of the Alps, with 2000 manuscripts dating back to 890. The ornateness of the church and library contrasted vividly with my next stop, the stark, cubist B-school, linked in more than 1400 years of commitment to learning, thinking, and writing.

The lecture went well. Afterwards, there was a brief reception, and I headed back to the hotel with a friendly taxi driver who waxed enthusiastically about his camping trip to American 20 years earlier. When I said “auf wiedersehen” and hopped out, I thought about how good it would be in a few months, when I can stay longer – those “parachute visits” are okay, but not as good as they could be.

It was still light at five, so I laced up and ran around the courtyard of the abbey. The church bells began pealing at the end of the run, and it was wonderful to hear them from immediately below the towers. I took a short nap, worked my e-mail, and wandered downtown, looking for the old-style cafe I visited with students on my first trip here in 2000. And I found it, the Stadtcafe, or city cafe, now an Italian eatery. I wanted a Swiss dinner, so I only had a beer.

I headed back to the Old Town, and into Zum Goldenen Leuen (the Golden Lions, visited the year before), in a 1604 half-timbered house (red timber, white stucco, the Swiss colors). It’s a friendly place, with simple fare and great beer from microbrewer Marianne Hassler in nearby Roggwil. Toward the middle of the meal, five young people entered, speaking English. They had two dogs, who sat calmly under the table; it made me homesick for dear MacKenzie. It was time for Talking to Strangers, and I had a lovely chat with Michael and Ambra from Arkansas and Alabama, respectively, and their German friends. Michael was a research fellow at the B-school, but interviewing for a faculty job at TCU in Fort Worth. A good moment.

Walked back to the hotel, worked my e-mail to zero, and clocked out. Was up early the next morning, back on the train to Zurich Airport. Some people buy cuckoo clocks as their Swiss souvenir, but I stopped at the Migros supermarket in the airport train station and bought two big bags of muesli, the Swiss answer to granola. At the gate, I ran into Bob Bagley and Carol Hess, retired AA friends, then a couple of other AA retirees with whom they had been traveling. Flew home, a long ride, into the office, then home.

It was nice to be with Linda and MacKenzie (woof!) for five nights. On Monday the 6^th, I flew to L.A. at the end of the day. I hopped on public transit to get to my destination, USC, an interesting ride, though no opportunities to Talk to Strangers. Worked my e-mail, and headed out for a short walk around campus, especially to see the new Galen Center, an arena complex.

Was up at six the next morning, a warm dawn, across to the campus for a quick breakfast and coffee, then to the first of three of Prof. Joe Nunes’ MBA marketing classes. Each one was lively, with good dialogue. In between sessions two and three, we had lunch with six students, a diverse group: from Turkey, the U.K., China, India, and two from the U.S. After session three, I met Justin Campbell, the brother of Robin’s roommate, and had a good yak. Finished with the students at three, walked across, worked my e-mail to zero, laced up and headed out for a trot. Legs worked even better than a week earlier in Switzerland, almost no pain. Heading west across the south end of campus, I heard the marching band. I turned north and found the Trojan marching band practicing in the interior of the track. Headed in, and onto lane eight for possibly the most inspirational exercise I’ve ever had, running to “Tribute to Troy,” and other tunes. It was just unbelievably cool. After my 20 minutes of trot, I sat in the stands for 45 minutes more, listening to them prepare for the coming Saturday’s halftime show. It was awesome. Headed back, changed, and went to dinner with Joe. We ate an upmarket Korean place in the Wilshire Grand Hotel, in downtown. Nice meal, with a couple of glasses of OB beer. Good conversation. Joe is a swell guy. Drove back.

Up at six, retraced my steps on the MTA express bus, Green Line train, and shuttle bus back to LAX, and flew to Las Vegas on a stunningly clear morning. I wish I had my camera in hand, but it was in an overhead bin a few rows back. Straight over Pasadena, up into the high desert, over the aircraft graveyard at Victorville (visited in ’02). Most of the ride, indeed much of the West, is the color taupe. I never tire of the hue, nor the vast, empty, dry land. Landed about ten, hopped in a cab driven by a Nigerian from the Ibo people, a friendly guy, who, like his Yoruba countryman in Chicago on September 12, was amazed I knew about Nigeria and its many ethnicities. In addition to driving a taxi, he had a ministry, tending a flock of mainly West African hotel and restaurant workers.

It was my first trip to Vegas since 1969, and I took an immediate dislike to its inauthenticity, its excess. Geographers learn respect for all places, but this was a hard place to respect.

I checked into the vast Bellagio Hotel, not far from the airport (the new megahotels are all on the south end of the Strip). Worked my e-mail, had a plate of pricey but delightful vegetable lasagna, and set off on foot to enjoy an afternoon off. There’s little in Vegas that attracts, but there are some awesome thrill rides, and I set off for my first rides since my friend Mike Hindery and I visited Dorney Park in Allentown, PA, when I was studying at Wharton, in 1983. The four-mile walk to the Stratosphere, a hotel with a 1000-foot freestanding observation tower, was a closer look at the bogusness (a replica of the campanile from Venice?), as well as a glimpse of resort life cycle. Further north, the longtime Stardust was closed, and awaiting the wrecking ball. Interspersed were the 1960s motels with little wedding chapels. Remarkable contrasts in land use and more. On the walk, I was struck by the numbers of foreign languages and accents I heard. Occasionally I saw plainly dressed couples from the rural West; clad in jeans or a simple dress, I wondered about them: were they here for a quick escape, a few days of fantasy away from the chores of running cattle or sheep?

I bought a $23.95 pass for an elevator hoist to the top of the tower and the three thrill rides on the top of the tower. Queued for a long time, then was up there. First stop was Insanity, a faster variant of the chair swings popular for 100 years at amusement parks, only this one pivoted horizontally so our arc was completely over the edge of the structure, and spinning us at 3Gs. Shriek! When I got off, I was a bit wobbly, and calmed down by yakking with a 68-year-old rancher from Telephone, Texas, up on the Red River. He was the best sort of good ole boy, quick smile, self-deprecating, open. In ten minutes, I pretty much got his life story, or at least his work history. Talking to Strangers, again.

I was the only passenger on the second ride, the Big Shot, which catapulted me straight up, 4Gs, then freefall down 160 feet. Not that scary. Ride three was the X-Scream, like a roller coaster train, except it shot straight off the building then stopped on a dime, hanging us weightless, and way, way above the street. I would have been happy to do it once, but the cycle repeated. Whoa! Wandering around the observation deck, a number of people said something like “aren’t you the guy we saw on those rides?” Yep, I replied. They complimented me on my bravery. It was fun.

Hopped on a bus back to the hotel, showered, and headed to the opening reception of the 92^nd annual meeting of the Audit Bureau of Circulations, the entity that verifies the circulation claims of U.S. and Canadian newspapers and magazines (an important element of buying advertising space). I was invited to be a panelist the next morning. Met Darynda Jenkins from our ad agency, her husband Billy, and a senior guy from the Audit Bureau, Bruce Johnson. He was a super-nice guy. We four had a nice dinner in the hotel, at a restaurant called Circo, capped with one of the best desserts ever, carmelized bananas, coconut cake, tapioca and passionfruit sauce. Whoa. Vegas might be icky, but the food was good!

Met my fellow panelists for breakfast on Thursday the 9^th, did the panel, left to work my e-mail and check out, and headed into the last morning session, then to lunch, yakking with some interesting people. My lunch tablemates were Frank Whittaker, an executive from the McClatchy Companies, the newspaper chain that has expanded rapidly, and his wife Carol. Really lovely people. Frank’s father was a missionary in Atlantic Canada, and he had some good stories from his childhood. Unfortunately, I had to head to the airport, and missed the midday speaker, Bill Keller, Executive Editor of The New York Times. Wanted to be there for that.

Flew back to DFW, and connected on to Austin. Caught the 9:20 Capital Metro bus into town. While waiting, and enroute, had a good yak with a retired TWA captain who shared my penchant for thrift (the bus into town only costs a buck!). I got off just south of the wonderful state capitol and snapped a picture before ambling on to my hotel just west of the UT campus. I unpacked and wandered across the street for a late burrito at Taco Cabana, then off to bed.

Met my UT host, Linda Gerber, at 7:45, and we motored to the business school. This was the second year of a “managing change” seminar for MBA students. I was the third presenter, following Gannon Jones, a very interesting young exec from Frito-Lay, and Bill Rodrigues, a honcho at Dell who spoke a year earlier. The talk went well, Linda zipped me out to the airport, and I flew home. I was happy to land at DFW.

The following Monday morning I got to the office earlier than usual, worked for a couple of hours, and flew to Columbus, Ohio. I had never been there. Landed at one, met my former AA friend Gary Doernhoefer (he’s the guy I visited in Sweden last year), and headed down to The Ohio State University, where Gary is a contract lecturer (the rest of his time he is a consultant; sound familiar?) in the Department of Aviation. At OSU that means part aero engineering, part pilot training, and part airline management. I was visiting his Aviation Law class for undergraduates. We motored past the enormous stadium and into lunch with the department chairman, an affable fellow named Nawal Taneja. Nawal knows a lot of people in our business, and we had a good yak. Worked my e-mail from Gary’s office, chatted a bit with others in the department, and headed into the lecture at 4:30. Undergraduates, and Gary had set the bar fairly low; about a third of them seemed to be engaged. Nearly half wore Ohio State garments.

After the lecture, I yakked with one of the motivated students, eager for an internship at an airline, then Gary and I headed to dinner north of the vast campus. He suggested the Blue Danube, which looked like an old-school bar and eatery. We thought that because of the name it might serve Slavic or Central European dishes, but it was a wide and eclectic menu and amazingly good home cooking. I had chicken and dumplings, a Burning River Ale from Cleveland (honoring the Cuyahoga, the river that once caught fire), and a slab of homemade apple pie for dinner. It’s rare to find places like that, and we really enjoyed ourselves. Food and conversation excellent. Gary has been in and around airlines for 15 years, and shares my enthusiasm. As Linda would say, “he has the disease.”

We motored back out to the airport, I checked into the Hampton Inn, worked my e-mail, and clocked out. Up at dawn, free breakfast in the lobby, and headed to the airport. The TSA screening process is, to me, just background noise. But occasionally the static becomes unbearable, as it did that morning, when the young crewcut wanted a look at my toilet kit. He seemed especially interested in the solid Mennen deodorant, because the word “solid” was not on the label. He did not uncap it, but held it up and asked his supervisor “Tammy, do you want to go solid on me?” I was girding for battle (polite battle, given the screeners’ reputation for denial of First Amendment speech rights), but Tammy assented, and I was waved through. Fellow passengers on the B Concourse gave me wide berth as I muttered to myself! Truly stupid.

I was home for five days of trots with MacKenzie, for a new wheelchair ramp for Mrs. McFail, and more. Early on Sunday the 19^th, I flew to New York. Broke through the clouds just south of the Statue of Liberty. She was still keeping her promise; she never fails to inspire me. We swooped into LaGuardia, landing early. I hopped on the $2 alternative to a $30 taxi fare, namely the Q33 bus to Jackson Heights, Queens, and the E subway train. I was walking down Seventh Avenue in no time, and into the massive Marriott Marquis in Times Square, in time for my second appearance at Princeton’s student-organized Business Today conference. It’s a cool project, entirely student run, gathering 100+ undergraduates from a wide range of schools – not just elite ones – in the U.S. and overseas. I plopped down at a big lunch table, and immediately began yakking with students about my job, the airline business, Sarbanes-Oxley, and more. The after-meal speaker was Peter Georgescu, retired chairman of the ad agency Young & Rubicam, a very thoughtful guy with some big insights. He was warmly received.

After lunch, I walked a couple blocks east to my hotel on W. 45^th Street, a place called Club Quarters, the latest limited-service concept. New room in an old building, just slightly larger than the bed, with a 3’ x 5’ bath. You don’t get room in The Big Apple for $169. Worked my e-mail and headed back over to meet eight students and lead an introduction to a case study (not part of my presentation, which was the next day). That was done in about 20 minutes, and I headed back out, over to Fifth Avenue, and into St. Patrick’s Cathedral. I was late for 4:30 mass in Spanish, so I wandered to the side of the church for daily prayers. It’s a lovely place.

Took a nap to catch up on sleep, and headed back to the Marriott for dinner. It was a great table. A young Israeli next to me, a kid from Pisa next to him, a Chinese-American woman from UVa on my left. The dinner speaker was David Benjamin, the chief anti-piracy attorney for Universal Music. He redefined rambling, and also managed to belittle a number of ethnicities. It was quite a remarkable performance. After the talk, at a reception in the adjacent foyer, I told a few Princeton students that in the future when I thought American was insufficiently global and excessively heartland-provincial, I would think of that guy and his insults. It was pretty shocking. I yakked about the airline business for about an hour with six or seven students, then walked back to my hotel, called home, and clocked out.

Up at 6:40, laced up, and in no time was trotting up Avenue of the Americas and into Central Park, passed the statues of Bolivar, San Martin, and Jose Marti, the Cuban patriot who lived in New York for 15 years. It was a cool morning, and I was glad I was in tights and turtleneck, with gloves for good measure. But a nice trot. I do love that park, the ponds, the round outcroppings of hard rock. I was back at the Marriott by 8:15, anchoring a table and yakking with more students. They headed off for seminars and I walked down 45^th to work my e-mail at Starbucks. I was back at 11 for another meeting with the case-study group, who had met and was making good progress with the case. Ate lunch quickly, and delivered my presentation at 1:15. Two students I met in Buenos Aires in August were there, and it was great to see Julieta and Juan. Was out of the hotel by 2:40, walking south to Penn Station, on the 3:01 train to Jamaica, to JFK, and home. An interesting time. I handed my card to half a dozen students who promised to tell their profs about my willingness to speak on their campuses.

New York struck me as increasingly decrepit. And lawless. I was dismayed at the huge number of cops around Times Square who sat back and did nothing as any number of clear traffic offenses happened. I muttered aloud, but my protests evaporated in the cold air.

Two days later, Linda, Jack, and I flew north to Chicago, met Robin at O’Hare, and hopped in a taxi for Thanksgiving at Cousin Jim’s the next day. It was a “city cab,” and the driver needed directions to the suburbs. No problem. Vectors offered, I began another Talking to Strangers moment. He was from Eritrea. To my early query about how long he had been in the U.S., he quickly – and assertively – replied, “Long enough to be a citizen.” There was time to get to know the guy. He was Christian, and his family lived downstate, in Springfield, where he had just bought a house. His father had been killed by a land mine, a casualty of strife in that tormented land. He was happy to be here.

We were with Jim, Michaela, and their kids in no time. We unpacked and visited a bit, then our kids, Jim, and I headed to a bar for a beer and a yak. Cousin John, the only Republican among six kids, joined us for the “opposing view.” Watching siblings spar is always good fun. Next morning, Cuz and I were up and out the door on bikes, something we repeated the next two days.

The entire tribe assembled at 1:30 for a picture and some socializing, but the dinner group was smaller. It was big fun. Robin and I manned the cleanup crew. We were in food comas early on. Next day we just sort of poked around. Took a brief side trip 20 miles north to Prairie Crossing, the planned community mentioned earlier in this update (when talking to a stranger in San Diego). She loved the place, and it has gotten a lot of very positive publicity, but we did not find it that impressive. High point of the outing was lunch with Jack and Jim at Bill’s, a ‘50s-era roadhouse in Mundelein.

Next day was a repeat, and we flew home in mid-afternoon. These cousins are the closest we have to true kin, and we always enjoy being with them.

Three days after that, I flew to London, my 117^th Atlantic crossing and last teaching gig of the year. An hour before landing, I started yakking with my seatmate, who turned out to be an occasional neighbor, living less than a mile from us. “Occasional” because she rotated three weeks there and six weeks in the middle of Algeria, near a Bedouin camp, as an accountant for a BP gas field. A nice geography lesson as we approached Gatwick Airport. I promised to look for her at our neighborhood eateries!

Hopped on the 8:24 First Capital Connect train to the City, alighting at St. Paul’s, and walking a mile east to my hotel, another Club Quarters, on Gracechurch Street. It was a clear, warm day, good for a stroll, even with luggage. I passed Old Bailey, pausing to snap a photo of Blind Justice atop the building. The hotel clipped me £35 to check in early. It was an expensive (almost $70) shave and shower. Welcome to London!

Headed by Tube to the London School of Economics, and met my host, Sir Geoffrey Owen for a chat and lunch. As I have noted before, LSE is a pretty cool place, and highly regarded; the undergraduate prospectus noted that for 2007 they expected 17,000 applicants for 1,200 first-year places. American Airlines was one of the case studies in his masters’-level strategy class, and I was there to launch the effort, which would stretch into the next semester. After a formal lecture, a subset of the class (the AA “team”), Geoffrey, two other faculty members, and I moved to a new room for a more informal discussion, which a yet smaller group continued at a nearby coffeehouse. It was after four when I headed back to the hotel. Did some work, and at 6:20 met my ad agency friend Chris MacDonald for a pint. We caught up on social and work stuff, met another agency colleague, Marina Busse, and laughed quite a bit. Chris re-told a story that I had recorded in my laptop in January, only to see it disappear when the PC was stolen two months later; I was happy to hear it again, a hilarious tale of him (age five) seeing a headless chicken run around a barnyard, and later eating it for dinner.

I peeled off, back to the hotel, and out to dinner alone, to a restaurant called Canteen, another eatery reviving British cooking, without overcooking. The maitre d’, a large black man, welcomed me warmly, shaking my hand. It was a good sign. And the meal was lovely, roast duck, greens, roasted potatoes and parsnips, and little sour plums called damsons. Plus a bottle of Whitstable Oyster Stout, a fine black beer. It was a great meal, simple but savory (especially the bird). Walked back to the hotel, worked my e-mail to zero, and fell into a deep sleep.

Slept hard, but was up at six, to the hotel fitness center for 20 minutes on a bike that went nowhere (it did helpfully tell me my heart rate, which zoomed along at peak output). An AA colleague who was to meet me for breakfast rang and said he was sick, so I filled a time-hole by heading west across London on the Central Line, out into the far suburbs to Perivale. In the 1930s, the Hoover vacuum people built their U.K. headquarters and plant there, in a splendid Art Deco building that I wanted to see. The supermarket chain Tesco bought it in 1992, and the back part of it is now a supermarket, handy for a late breakfast of yogurt, jam doughnuts, and a banana. Rode back into town, walked across the posh Mayfair neighborhood, past the statue of Eisenhower in front of the U.S. Embassy, through Grosvenor Square, past the Bentley and Rolls-Royce dealers, to Piccadilly and a store called MacKenzie’s where I bought a square meter of wool in the MacKenzie tartan for our dog MacKenzie. Whew!

Stopped for a large coffee at Starbucks, then back on the Tube to Southwark, on the south bank of the Thames, ambling to the Tate Modern, an awesome museum of modern art in a former power plant. I had never been, and though I didn’t have a lot of time, I managed a quick swing through a remarkable set of galleries and a fast descent from the fifth level on a metal slide. Playground equipment in an art gallery? No, this was art from Carsten Höller, a German. Entitled “The Unilever Series: A Test,” it was a series of four slides from levels two, three, four, and five – and a bit of P.R. for Unilever. Shiny and helical, they were sort of art. The interpretive panel got a bit overblown, but it did make me smile:

. . . Slides could be introduced across London, or indeed in any city. How might a daily dose of sliding affect the way we perceive the world? Can slides become part of our experiential and architectural life?

Just before sliding down, I walked through the “Ready Made” gallery. This alleged style of contemporary art simply takes an object like a toilet or a box of Brillo pads, frames it in a Lucite cube, and affixes one’s name to it. Art? Not at all, and the whole concept was an insult to the genius of Dali, Alfred Stieglitz, and other modern artists whose work is elsewhere in the museum. So much of contemporary art is pompous and hooey, substituting stunt for talent. But the slide was still a lot of fun!

Walked across the Thames on Sir Norman Foster’s Millennium footbridge, around St. Paul’s, and through the Temple Bar, the last surviving gate into the City of London, designed by Sir Christopher Wren and opened (though in a different location) in 1672. A very cool structure. I continued east to the hotel, pausing at St. Mary Le Bow, a Wren church from after the great fire; it burned in the Blitz and was re-consecrated in 1964. A good place for daily prayers for peace.

I grabbed a quick lunch, put on a suit, and walked north to the Cass Business School at City University for my second lecture of the trip, airline pricing to 60 MBA students. Finished at five, worked my e-mail, and enjoyed a very nice Thai dinner with my host, Vince Mitchell. Was asleep early, and up at 4:30, out the door on foot, Tube, and train to Heathrow, and on to Düsseldorf, where it was clear but much cooler. Hopped an earlier train, and was back in Münster by 11:35. It was my fifth visit to that pleasant college city, and it felt good to be back, standing on the platform.

A few minutes later I met Daniel Asselmann, a new Ph.D. student at the Marketing Center in the B-school at this, the second-largest university in Germany. On previous visits, we would pile into a student’s VW, but this time we had a university car, a large and very zippy BMW. Dropped my bag at the hotel and in no time was walking with my host and friend Manfred Krafft toward the mensa, the student cafeteria. We had a nice lunch, then back for a bit of work. My lecture to about 140 students began at 2:30, and was well received, with the loud applause that made me feel really good.

I peeled off, back to the hotel to work my e-mail and take a short nap. At 7:30, I met Manfred and we walked a few hundred meters to dinner at Kiepenkerl, a very cozy and traditional restaurant. Joining us were Manfred’s assistant, Doris Bombeck, and Ph.D. students Tim Tecklenburg (who I have known for several years), Daniel Asselmann, and Heiko Frenzen. It was a fun meal, with lots to talk about, including their recap of the soccer World Cup, held five months earlier in Germany. And a huge dinner of roast goose, potato dumpling, beets, Brussels sprouts. There was no need for dessert!

I slept in on Saturday morning, partly because the sun did not rise until about eight. I laced up and headed through town, then south to the lake called the Aasee. Ate breakfast, and headed out for a bit of Christmas shopping for Jack and Robin, then out on one of the hotel’s bikes for a better look at the city. It was partly cloudy and relatively warm, and the place was packed. Münster is famous for its several open-air Christmas markets, attracting tourists from quite a distance. I rode about ten miles, the cruise easier after stopping at the Radstadion, the bicycle parking ramp at the train station (as I have written earlier, this town is sort of the cycling capital of Germany, another reason why I like it so much), where a kindly fellow loaned me a wrench to raise the seat.

At three, Manfred and his wife Christine picked me up, and we ambled across town to an agreeable café called Mocca d’Or, for a latte and some cakes. At 4:25, we entered the enormous Dom (cathedral), for a concert by the cathedral choir from Mainz, down the Rhine near Frankfurt. The concert was wonderful, varied choral music and organ works by Bach. I actually had to leave early, to meet some students. By 6:15 I was sipping glühwein, the spiced wine that is a Christmastime favorite, with Anke, Simone, and Tim from Manfred’s staff, and two friends, Jan and Geza. After a second mug of wine, the latter two peeled off, and three of us headed to Gasthaus Altes Leve, the best place in town for traditional German food. They celebrate 400 years of business in 2007, so they clearly have been doing things right. I had a plate of grunkohl, chopped kale cooked with bacon, and a sausage. Yum. Hugged my three friends and headed back to the hotel.

Was up at five and out the door to the train station. Hopped on a brand new ICE express train, and was at Frankfurt Airport by 8:50. The flight home sailed over the forests and lakes of northern Minnesota, the closest I’ve been to that special place for awhile. I miss it. Was home by 3:30. A wonderful trip, the last teaching trip of the year. By the numbers, I visited 31 schools in 15 countries.

American held a farewell reception for me the next afternoon, December 4. I was totally blown away by the turnout and kind words. Former CEO Bob Crandall and current chief Gerard Arpey spoke. I gave a talk (below). Linda and Jack came. It was really swell.

Farewell Remarks

You won’t be surprised to learn that I have something to say. A few words about my time here, and about this great and heroic business. I see some of you glancing at your watches, mindful of my professorial bent. Relax. There will be no 45-minute lecture today, but I simply cannot fly off without offering some words to mark my nearly two decades here.

At the beginning, it’s most important to say “Thank you.” First, thanks to my wife Linda, and children, Jack and Robin; they have provided unwavering support, put up with my long hours away from home, and shared my belief in the goodness of what we do. Indeed, one of the greatest side benefits of this job has been the infusion, into our kids, of a global perspective. Second, I say thanks to some bosses through the years: To Roger Frizzell, my current boss. Some of you know that three years ago, he and I were angling for the same job; the fact that he got it and I didn’t might have made him uncomfortable, and created distance. But it did not and has not. Roger has been hugely supportive, respectful, and trusting.

I say thanks to Bob Crandall, who is also here today, for his faith in me a decade ago, for his clear direction, his insights, and his encouragement and support during the last eight years. Well, okay, back then I could have done without Bob’s cranky late night phone calls! I – indeed all of us – say thanks to our overall boss, Gerard Arpey, for keeping us aloft these past several years, for making huge progress on major challenges, and for leading by example. Those who wish to lead should pay attention to that last phrase. By aligning word and deed, Gerard shows us the way. Thank you, Chief!

And I say thanks to Arnold Grossman, also here today, who I have known longer than anyone here, because I knew Arnold before we were here at American. Uncle Arnold and I go back to 1984 when I first entered the business, working together on the turnaround of Republic Airlines. I have learned more about the business from Arnold than from anyone. Period.

Third, I say thanks to colleagues, to all of you. In my daily prayers, I give thanks to God for lots of things, and toward the beginning I always say thanks for my AA job; it has given me a sense of belonging, of being on a team. Belonging is a powerful human need. When I would get restless and contemplate leaving, one of the strongest powerful brakes was the prospect that I would no longer work with all y’all, here and across our system. I especially call out my many friends in Advertising and Customer Research, where I have spent 40% of my AA career, and thank them for all that they have done to preserve and enhance this great American Airlines brand. Those thanks extend to my colleagues at our ad agencies, especially TM Advertising, who have served our brand superbly for more than two decades.

Lastly, I would be remiss if I did not say thanks, casting eyes heavenward, to colleagues who are no longer with us. People like Bob Baker, whose abundant common sense, amazing functional bandwidth, and generous spirit were truly extraordinary. Living a mile from Bob, I often delivered his mail on summer Fridays. Bob would come down off a tall ladder, paintbrush in hand, or turn off his lawn mower, and yak. I relished those times, for I always left his front yard knowing more about this business than when I arrived.

Nineteen years. I stayed a long time, because my career was varied – I had 11 different assignments here. Back in the late 1980s, I was the beneficiary of the strong cross-functional emphasis; unhappily, that focus on moving folks around seems to have gone away. And we need to get it back.

I stayed a long time, because, with two exceptions, I have always been treated fairly. I’ve stayed because this is an ethical company, with a strong compass of integrity. I was raised and came of age in a family quick to criticize moral and ethical lapses in corporations, and much of that stuck. But at American, we do not lapse. And in this day and age, that compass of integrity is a very valuable thing.

I stayed a long time because I always believed that I was able to make a difference. My objective in each of the leadership jobs was simple: to leave the department in better shape than when I arrived. Making a difference was also very much about having a positive impact on the careers and lives of American’s people, by mentoring younger colleagues, teaching others how to write more clearly, how to put balance in their lives, and more. When someone said thanks or sent other information about how I helped, I put them here, in folders labeled “Making a Difference.” These folders make me prouder than anything else I’ve done. If you don’t keep a “Making a Difference” file, you should start today.

So what destination appears on my new boarding pass?

Beginning next month, I’ll be one of those people with the word “Contractor” on their AA ID. My work here will involve writing and speaking – a teacher and a cheerleader, explaining the business to people who need to understand it. I am grateful for the opportunity to stay close to this business and to all of you.

Going forward, I am excited to be able to help with this developing focus on customer experience, for I have long viewed our business through the eyes of the customer. We’ve got work to do on these elements of the customer experience, and on more. For example, we must all learn to speak and write more clearly to our customers, using their language, and not ours. “Inop” and “stowage” are simply not familiar words.

And regardless of our job, we all need to pitch in, and make things better for the people who pay our salaries. Some of us always make sure that aircraft lavs are cleaner when we leave than when we enter. If you like, I can show you how to wipe the seat without messing up your necktie!

My new role will also allow me to spend more time teaching in business schools around the world. I returned yesterday from the last overseas teaching trip of the year, in London and Germany, and am teaching at SMU tonight. By the numbers, this year I will have taught more than 2000 students at 31 schools in 15 countries in the Americas, Europe, and Asia. I began my working life as a teacher, and it is good to be back in the world of ideas, and around the energy of young people. It is an honor to represent American Airlines in this way.

These past five years have tested us all. We who remain have climbed over many obstacles. We persist, in large measure, because we believe in the goodness of what we produce: the ability to carry people safely, reliably, and inexpensively across long distances. To keep the promise of the businesswoman who said she’d be home for her daughter’s 7 p.m. basketball game; to transport a family to a week’s vacation in Hawaii, and back home, in the time it took to get there only 50 years ago; and, best, of all, to facilitate hugs between grandparents and grandchildren, between old friends, between lovers, and many, many other people.

I have said the following many times, and I will say it again: if a time comes when you stand in an airport arrivals area and see people hugging, and are not moved, well, it’s time for you to find another line of work. It is a hard business, but it is a great business.

Thank you for honoring me today, and for being great colleagues during these past 19-plus years.

A few hours after the party, I was back in the classroom, at SMU, for a night class in their Marketing Certificate program. It was a long day, but the teaching made me smile.

The following Saturday, after building a big ramp, I crashed again on my bike. Ugh. Coulda been worse, but I have made a note to self about safe riding in the new year!

Friday, December 15 was the last day of work as a fulltime AA employee, a happy day. We all left early to celebrate with a couple of beers. But before leaving my office, I looked up, and saw a Silver Bird sail over us. I smiled, and locked the door.

Monday the 18^th was either the first day of retirement or the first day of Christmas vacation, but either way it felt great to have the gift of time. I banged through two or three small home-repair projects in a couple of hours. A week earlier, they would have been a hassle, but they were fun (I have always liked to fix stuff). This was a good sign!

At 3:45 on Day 1, Jack drove me to the Arapaho DART (rail) station and I took the train out to American, for a meeting of the AA Credit Union board, followed by the board holiday dinner. Here, too, it was the available time that let me relax on the way, rather than driving in rush-hour traffic (Linda hauled me home). It had been awhile since I rode the train to work, and it was fun.

Robin arrived on Christmas Eve. We had a swell time. I had another Dallas public-transit adventure on December 29. Robin needed a car, so I rode a bus and train to shopping. The bus rides were another window on urban life. I had ridden the DART light rail many times since the line was extended north several years ago, but in 19 years here I had never been on a “city bus.” It was an interesting and leveling experience.

On December 30, the Griffys hosted a retirement party for me. It was a big time.

And a new phase of life begins now.

I welcome your comments and thoughts.