The Miracle at Garden City Airport

Dear Mrs Tanner

Dear Mrs Tanner,

I want you to know, I’ve read all the letters you’ve sent me.

I haven’t replied before now because I didn’t believe I had anything to offer you. 

Then, in your last letter, you asked two questions: Do I think a man can change? And, do I believe in miracles?

While you asked rhetorically, those questions spoke to me. The answer to both is yes. I’d like to tell you why. 

I want to share with you the story of the Miracle at Garden City Airport.

Mo Drake

This is not my story, this story belongs to my friend Mo Drake. It occurs in the days following the attacks of September 11, 2001. 

I will warn you, my friend Mo was not an easy man to approve of at this time, but was trying to better himself. You see Mo, like myself, had a weakness for drink and Mo also had a weakness for pills. Pursuing these affinities, Mo wrought havoc on his own life, eventually driving him to his family, begging their help.

“This time will be different,” he’d promised them, not expecting any credence to be paid. 

But whether or not they believed, they loved him, and wanted to help. So they pooled funds and called in favours. 

Mo’s family sent him to rehab across the country in Los Angeles. They knew people there, and hoped distance from friends and habits would give him a fighting chance at sobriety. 

All of which is how, on the morning of September 11, 2001, My friend Mo found himself flying from Washington to Los Angeles when orders were given to touch down at the little known airport of Garden City.

Garden City

Now, if you’ve never heard of Garden City, that’s not surprising. I hadn’t before Mo told me this story.

Garden City is the kind of American city you don’t see on TV. It’s not a metropolis like New York or LA, or a small town where everyone knows everyone. 

Garden City is too big to be called a town, with over twenty thousand citizens. It has a handful of schools, a Police Force, and a pair of Walmarts. It’s small enough that it only takes ten minutes on highway 400 to pass through the whole city while driving from Wichita to Colorado Springs. You can miss it that easily.

But, importantly for us, during World War Two, the Army identified Garden City as an ideal place for an air base. To train pilots on the ins and outs of twin engine Cessnas before shipping them out to conduct aerial battles against German or Japanese adversaries.

The facility has been civilian since 1947, but the old East-West runway had been maintained. 

So, when Air Traffic controllers across America found themselves suddenly seeking places to park aircraft in territory they’d been designed to fly over, the old Garden City runway found itself once again in demand. A destination for an Airbus and a pair of 757s.

On one of those 757s, my friend Mo Drake was attempting to snooze his way to Los Angeles.

Day 1

Mrs Tanner, I appreciate that between your son’s coma and the court case, you’ve already got a lot to deal with. And memories of September 11 aren’t easy.

I promise, I’m telling you this story to offer hope, not add to your burdens.

The first attack occurred in New York at 8:46 EST. Central is an hour behind. So, at the time my friend Mo Drake was waking from his mid-flight nap, it was going on 8 AM Central over Kansas.

Everyone remembers where they were that day. 

I was, I’m ashamed to say, alone in a bar, chasing excesses of the night before with breakfast and a bloody Mary. Had it happened a day earlier, my friend Mo Drake would probably have been with me.

But this isn’t my story of the attacks. 

This is Mo Drake’s. And Mo’s plane, diverted from whisking him to rehabilitation and a brighter future, touched down at Garden City Airport. 

Garden City’s Airport is small, with a lone terminal building. Having outdone itself accommodating an Airbus and two 757s, it found it lacked the requisite equipment to disembark the passengers. A Fire Engine had to be called in, the ladder finally allowing confused passengers to descend.

Even as news spread of the attack in New York, some passengers were troublesome. 

Mo refers to three passengers from first class as Mr Suit and Tie, Mr Old Tie and Mr Young Tie. These three men weren’t related, except by shared characteristics of dress and behaviours of suited men who fly first class for business. 

They were the type of men who talk loudly into mobile phones about “quarterly earnings reports,” and “depreciating returns,” as if the world will benefit by hearing their financial acumen.

Mr Suit and Tie was displeased to find himself in Garden City.

“Do you know how much this delay is going to cost me?” he was heard to ask a flight attendant as he prepared to descend. 

I presume the flight attendant was not in fact privy to this information.

If disembarking had been difficult, the terminal now found itself completely inadequate. My friend Mo thinks at least three times the capacity squeezed into a space designed for a hundred people at most.

“Packed shoulder to shoulder like we were in the world's worst nightclub. All trying to watch one small television, to hear the man on the news tell us what everyone could see. It was bad.”

The passengers stood together watching replays of the Towers collapsing.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in a place more horrible,” Mo reports, “shocked, crying. I didn’t feel human.”

Even Mr Suit and Tie was silent, though the same can’t be said for his companions. Mr Young Tie enquired loudly into his phone about rental cars and Mr Old Tie was demanding the Chief of Police commit to when the planes would return to the air.

“I need to know!” Mr Old Tie would state, over and over.

“I’d tell you if I knew sir. I’d tell you if I knew.” the Chief would repeat.

The only person who did bring light on that dark day was a thirteen year old girl.

We will call her May Sunshine. Like the tie people, that is not her real name, but a commentary on her personality made by Mama Sunshine, “Bless you sweet girl, you warm my heart like May sunshine!”

Mama Sunshine is not actually May’s mother. She is a large hearted individual who, upon discovering that May’s divorced parents had put her on this flight solo, declared herself May’s caretaker for the flight. 

Mama had her own family, but it was her self appointed charge for whom she now found herself in a state of near panic. 

Because speaking of large hearts, May Sunshine was afflicted by a rare condition. Mo refers to it as “reverse Grinch”, and I don’t know its real name. May’s heart is genuinely too large for her body. She is okay provided she consumes her array of prescribed medications at the prescribed times from the assortment of coloured bottles.

Bottles which at this point were stowed in the belly of a 757.

Regardless, where May saw tension, her oversized heart wanted to help. And that room was nothing but tension.

“Excuse me sir, I don’t think you’ve moved at all in five minutes. Come sit, there’s a little space here…”

Or,

“Why hello, you look just like my best friend’s little brother in Washington. Your Mama looks like she needs a hug, can you give her a big hug?”

Or,

“Pleased to meet you, Mo, I’m May. You look like you’re struggling, we all are, come over here and sit down so you’re not alone. I’ll come find you if there’s new news, I promise!”

At thirteen, May Sunshine intuited that watching loops of horror on television was doing something to us. She couldn’t stop the images, but she worked the room, helping people make it to the next moment.

Seeing this, Mama Sunshine was certain divine intervention had placed her next to May on the plane. If May’s parents couldn’t be there in America’s hour of need, Mama Sunshine would protect this girl.

So, while May fought a one girl battle against a tide of hopelessness, Mama went searching for someone to help her break into the cargo hold of a 757. 

Unfortunately, the Chief of Police explained, that would be impossible.

“I’m sorry, there’s a National lockdown on all planes.”

“Well, when can we get in there? That little girl needs her medicine!”

“I’d tell you if I knew ma’am. I’d tell you if I knew.” the Chief repeated.

Day Two

I don’t know if you recall, Mrs Tanner, where you were the morning of September 12th? I woke up in a cell for the first time. 

I’d spent the whole day before in the bar I mentioned, and then attempted to drive home. I was probably lucky that I stumbled into my car in front of a policeman, so I didn’t do any damage.

By morning of the second day, the terminal’s crowd had thinned. Many passengers had been bused into the City, where schools gymnasiums had been repurposed as operation centres and sleeping facilities.

Mrs Tanner, there is another story here, a whole other miracle. 

About the people of Garden City opening their hearts to the strangers on those planes.

As well as transforming gymnasiums, they made phones and computers available, ensuring communication and connection with worried loved ones. Many local businesses offered free food, and other amenities. 

This outpouring of welcome touched many hearts. It is a story worth telling. Worth hearing. It is not mine to tell.

You see, while many passengers and crew made their way into Garden City, some remained. 

My friend Mo Drake was feeling his withdrawal now. 

He later said to me, “I was afraid that if I left that airport, I would find a fix. I’d have gone into a hole, never come out. I needed to get back on that plane.” 

He’d been hoping to escape his demons before. Now, he was determined. “I thought, ‘If the world’s gonna end, I'm facing it with my eyes open.’”

The three businessmen had remained too. As if by force of combined business willpower they could force the planes aloft. Those three didn’t require the operations centre, they had their mobile phones. 

May Sunshine also remained, eager to get her medication as soon as permitted.

Understand, it wasn’t that Airport personnel were unsympathetic. Had it been their decision, they’d have acted immediately, finding May’s bags and meds without delay.

The FCC had rules though. And while you may think the Police Chief was officious, remember how scared we all were on September 12, 2001. Every plane was different that morning. No longer miracles of human engineering, they were now potential instruments of terror.

Because May Sunshine remained, Mama Sunshine remained, though she’d sent her own husband and children to the operations centre. 

By this point, May Sunshine’s condition was making itself apparent. Rings under her eyes represented more than the poor sleep in that small terminal. Her breathing was noticeably faster. She got short of breath easily.

Yet May was calm. Calmer than Mama Sunshine, whose trip to Garden City, seeking any help with medicine for May yielded no results. Unfortunately, the closest source was Kansas City, 6 hours drive away. 

Mama asked everyone, including the businessmen. 

Of the three, Mr Suit and Tie was sympathetic, sharing that he had a daughter not much younger than May Sunshine. 

Mr Young Tie was abrupt.

“I have my own problems!” he almost yelled. He’d discovered all the rentals were taken, he’d waited too long to commit. 

“Look at her, how can you have bigger problems?” Mama was nearly hysterical.

“Look, I don’t have medicine, I can’t help you get on the plane. Talk to the Chief!”

Mr Old Tie ignored Mama entirely, phone continually stuck to his ear.

As the day wore on, May’s condition worsened. Eventually, she gave up her rounds of passengers and crew. They’d have to get themselves to their next moments.

She came over to the corner where my friend Mo Drake was huddled, and sat down beside him. She patted him on the knee, looked him in the eye and told him “don’t worry Mo, everything will be alright.”

Then she lay down, closing her eyes for a long moment.

My friend Mo Drake says that’s the moment he counts his sobriety from.

“Somehow, when that girl told me everything would be okay, I knew it would.”

As evening approached, May’s breathing was in rapid, shallow breaths. Still, if she caught anyone’s eyes, she’d offer them a radiant smile. 

As night took hold, May Sunshine drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Day 3

Mo tells me that when a warm morning wind promises a hot day in late summer, he still thinks of that terminal.

September 13 was windy enough that some worried even if the FCC gave the all clear, they still wouldn’t be able to fly.

And that was an increasingly urgent problem for May Sunshine.

Her uneasy sleep had deepened. Her breathing had slowed, but grown weak. When Mama Sunshine could coax her eyes open, May would smile sweetly, thank her for being there, and drift off again.

Airport staff, ready to break into the belly of that plane, discovered the airport lacked the equipment to deal with 757s. 

The businessmen had fallen out overnight.

Mr Old Tie had declared he was finished waiting. He flexed his bank account and bought a vehicle from an airport staffer for a much larger sum than the car was worth. He and Young Tie had headed for Los Angeles, some 1,250 miles away.

They’d offered to take Mr Suit and Tie, but something had awoken in that man.

Perhaps May Sunshine reminded him of his own daughter. Maybe it was the growing sense of community, inspired by the good people of Garden City. My friend Mo believes that May’s condition is just the right kind of contagious. That Mr Suit and Tie, like the Grinch, felt his heart grow three sizes that day.

Mr Suit and Tie did not accompany his fellow businessmen.

He also bought a vehicle, and, with promises to stay in touch, he, Mama Sunshine and May Sunshine set off into the rising sun. They raced May’s declining prospects across Middle America.

And Middle America was ready.

As they followed the bend outside of Larned, where Highway 156 becomes Highway 56, a siren chirped and blue and red lights flashed.

“Afternoon sir, do you know how fast you were going?”

“I’m sorry I don't, Officer. You see there’s a very sick girl in the back…”

“Not fast enough!”

“Excuse me?”

“Chief Hawkins called ahead and told us to keep an eye out. Fall in behind us, Let’s get that girl to Kansas City!”

And they had a police escort.

When they stopped for food and gas in Great Bend, they found themselves anticipated.

“My Dad works at the high school in Garden City. Is that the poor sick girl who helped everyone when the planes landed? You’re not paying for gas! Get her to Kansas City!”

And in Ellsworth.

“Is that the girl from Garden City Airport? My sister’s in Garden City. Here, we made these sandwiches special. Take care of her!”

And in Junction City.

“We heard you were coming. You’re nearly there! You get that child to Saint Luke’s, my brother works there, they’re expecting you!”

And sure enough, when they got to Kansas City,

“You made it, we’ve got her from here! Nurse, let’s get her on a gurney. The IV’s set up in E302.”

On television the discussion had turned to war and reprisal. Across Middle America, people opened their hearts to save a young girl.

May Sunshine was admitted to Saint Luke’s Hospital in Kansas City at 1:55 PM, Central Time.

At 1:57, my friend Mo remembers the cheer that went up in the terminal of Garden City Airport when Mama Sunshine called.

Flights across America reopened at 2PM Central Time.

Change

Mrs Tanner, if you want to tell me that is just people behaving as they should, I can’t argue, but that is not my experience. If you want to tell me timing is a coincidence, that is your right.

I will offer a few subsequent details.

Mr Suit and Tie’s transformation was not temporary. Since 2001, May Sunshine has grown up and has children of her own.

Mr Suit and Tie is the godfather of her first child.

Of course, Mama Sunshine is godmother.

Mo Drake remains sober. He visits me regularly.

He was in Washington recently. I was supposed to meet him. He would have told me about these people, what they’re doing now. Stories of his life since the miracle of meeting May Sunshine.

Instead, I went to a bar. Then I tried to drive.

Instead, I put your son in his coma.

Goodbye Mrs Tanner

It is not long till the court case now.

In your letters, you say you are trying to forgive me. So that you can heal.

I will tell you, Mrs Tanner, I intend to plead guilty. I tell you not to help you forgive, but to let you know you don’t have to.

I intend to change. Starting with taking responsibility. Mo found the answers he needed in that airport. Maybe I can find mine in jail.

I can never undo what has been done. 

I will try to answer the two questions I think you really wanted to ask.

Can I change?

I will try.

Can you and your son experience a miracle?

I sincerely hope so.

Goodbye Mrs Tanner.

Best Regards,

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