My first introduction to Chicago politics occurred during a huge snowstorm in 1979. To my bewilderment, none of the streets in our neighborhood, save one, got plowed by the city. It turned out that the district in which I lived had not voted "appropriately" in the last election. The retribution for this bad behavior was clear, but what explained the one plowed street? City trucks would come into our area with their plows raised, get to the street in question, lower their plows and clean that one street. It turned out that on that street lived a political ally of the mayor.
Heavy equipment is still used as an implement of raw power by the mayor of Chicago, judging from Richard Daley's decision to send city machinery onto Meigs' Field in the dark of night on March 31st to rip up the one runway and strand several general aviation aircraft. The mayor hid behind the hysterical veil of anti-terrorism as his excuse for the destruction of a city-owned airport.
Chicago is a beautiful city. It was originally planned by Daniel Burnham and Edward Bennett in 1909 and it has grown to grandeur in less than a hundred years. Mayor Daley's father, Mayor Daley, was a well known old style patronage politician, and I knew young Richard slightly when I lived there during the late 1970s. (Our children went to the same school.) The original plans that made the city such a spectacular urban landscape included lots of public land on the lakefront. Many other cities have waterfront available only to the rich or to heavy industry but not to the people. Chicago has been the exception, even featuring a public airport located right on the lake and right downtown, one of America's most spectacular runways.
My ancient logbook records my first Meigs landing in 1973 in a Beechcraft Musketeer. I'd flown to Chicago Midway with some friends, and for the return trip to Saint Louis I decided to reposition the airplane to Meigs. Although the trip home was flown at about 60 knots over the ground, the takeoff next to those impressive skyscrapers was majestic, and the homeward-bound headwinds gave me ample time to savor the visual memory of our spectacular departure.
I next arrived at Meigs on an autumn day of crystal clarity in a Piper Arrow. My wife sat in the back with our new son, and my copilot was a very beautiful three year old with curly blonde locks. As I turned westbound over the lake toward the towering buildings on the left base for 18, I became aware of an insistent tugging at my sleeve. I lifted the right earpiece of my headset only to receive this instruction from the copilot: "Dad, don't hit any of those buildings!"
I've been to Meigs in a Cessna P210 with gusty crosswinds and at night in a Cessna 340 with the lights of the city looming like a wall over the very dark waters of Lake Michigan. A few years ago we transported an assortment of junk to our youngest daughter who had set up residence in the Windy City. We landed our handsome Cheyenne there, unloaded a few old lamps, some badly used salad bowls, a decrepit vacuum cleaner and our dog and took a cab to the very elegant Four Seasons Hotel, looking like the Beverly Hillbillies but enjoying every minute of the immediate downtown access afforded by Meigs' great location.
Every three years for the past 30, I have found myself at a convention at the McCormick Place, Chicago's huge convention center that affords a great view of Lake Michigan and Meigs Field. Often I'd take a break from the convention and stand at the large windows that survey the runway and watch all manner of aircraft deal with crosswinds and overwater approaches. I've always enjoyed the stolen moments of connection with aviation made possible by the propitious alignment of building and airfield.
