Back in the 1980s I seem to remember being told the following fact. The most popular flying route in the world was the New York Boston route. Affectionately known as ‘The Shuttle’. Starting at 7 am once an hour a plane would take off at either end of the journey and the final flight would land at around 10 pm. The total journey time including airport’ taxi’ was an hour. The route was served by Pan Am which was on its last legs as a company. The planes, normally 727s, were old and rickety. I vividly remember catching the first plane out of Boston one morning after a drinking session with a client. Feeling awful I sat on the plane as it bumped down the runway everything rattling. So much so that suddenly the overhead safety hatches opened and breathing masks appeared. In that state of semi inebriation/sobering up the effect was terrifying. Sometimes for reasons, I know not, the descent into Boston would be super rapid. The captain would announce the same, everybody would moan and for the next five minutes or so a collective super steep white knuckle ride would ensue.
The Shuttle was a huge money spinner for Pan Am and usually on Friday afternoons, because of demand, a larger plane was put on the route. I can’t quite remember what but it had 5 seats across in the middle. There was no seating plan. You turned up at the airport paid your money and queued up for the plane.
One Friday afternoon I boarded one of these bigger jobs and instead of sitting near the front as my position in the line allowed me to do something took me to the back of the plane where I sat on the aisle end of the middle row. It was an intended act of relaxation as I was able to watch my fellow passengers board and see numerous attempts to get baggage into already filled overhead bins.
The plane was late inevitably and I stated to nod off. Just as I shut my eyes I felt the seats along from me in the central aisle move. I opened my eyes to see an amazing sight. There squashed into a single space was the biggest man I had ever seen. He wore a black vest, yellow pants and on his head was a baseball cap with a foot of long blond hair protruding beneath it. Alongside him was a blond woman who was literally a quarter of his size.
He looked across at me and smiled. The plane was now ready to go almost entirely full. Our row had two spares seats in theory but as soon as the plane got going the large man put his armrest down and spread his muscled frame into two seats, getting close to me. he excused himself and I told him not to worry. I started looking at his body. His arms were literally massive and you could see that he needed a refresh of his body hair shave as stubble was apparent. His yellowish tan was uneven in parts giving away the use of lotion! He must of picked up on my accent. ‘You Australian’? he asked. The first question most Americans ask of an Englishman in the North West of The USA. ‘Certainly not’ I retorted indignantly. As usual my ironic response was not picked up on and instead the man seemed concerned he had insulted me. ‘So sorry’ he said. His girlfriend piped up with ‘I went to London and Paris once’. Anyway we started a conversation around the flight. It was very bumpy and the young lady was not happy. His giant paw grasped her hand as the plane bucked along. Oddly there was always a cabin service on ‘The Shuttle’ it was either coffee or juice and maybe a bag of pretzels. I could not help but notice the cabin crew being somewhat overattentive to the big man. I assumed that maybe he was an American footballer or something.
Anyway we arrived a New York and we said goodbye. I remember thinking how funny it would be to have a picture taken of me with the man. Today it would have been easy of course. we were just about last off and all the crew enthusiastically bid the man a warm welcome to New York. Soon he was gone.
A few weeks later I was sitting with my son watching the wrestling. The WWF as it was. Tom just loved the thing. Huge men throwing each other around and mouthing blood curdling oaths at each other in various interviews. Tom was very excited (i know I was probably wrong to allow him to watch this stuff but he did love it). It was soon to be a championship bout and the World Champion was taking part. Somehow Tom knew who that person was he was called Hulk Hogan, The Hulkster! I sat down probably with a beer in my hand and hoped Liz would not appear advising me to turn off the rubbish as secretly I was fascinated. The lights dimmed a fanfare was played and fireworks were set off and into the ring stepped the mighty Hulk. All six feet 8 inches and 300 pounds of him. There he was flexing his huge biceps and looking deep into the camera lens. It was non other than my travelling companion on The Shuttle.
Tales of a Life Well Lived 