Unexpected Lessons In The Middle Of Night…

It is 28 degrees, 12:00 midnight and every star the sky could show is blazing down on the airfield in Greensboro NC. I worked 3rd shift as a fueler for Piedmont Airlines, based out of a FBO (Fixed Based Operations). This is a place on the field where small planes park. Basically it is the General Aviation terminal, rather than the Commercial Terminal.

So as my radio crackles I reach for it on my waist while walking through the hangers in the dark, checking to see everything is locked up.

“You have a vip customer due to be wheels on the ground at 0200 hundred hours. Transportation will arrive to pick up guest. Let them in the building.”

“Understood.” I put the radio back on my waist like a gun in holster and head off to ‘top off the fuel trucks’ (fill them up), do my paperwork and wait for my guest. By 1:45am I hear Greensboro Tower frequencies talking to a Lear Jet approaching Greensboro, descending out of 9000 feet.

I pull my wands, the lit hand-held cones a Line Man uses to direct pilots to parking areas, and head out to the tarmac. As I wait in the black of the night, the blue taxiway lights create a Christmas like feel. It’s one of my favorite places to be.

I see the landing lights from the wings and landing gear on the horizon. Whoever this person is they have money, because that is a Lear 31, and they don’t come cheap. It’s cold, it’s dark, and as much as I love airplanes, I want to be back inside. What I didn’t know was an encounter was about to occur that I hope I never forget.

The landing was normal and the little ‘thrill/nervousness’ I get when facing down a few million dollars of flying hardware was forefront as always in my mind. Even with ear protection, the howl of the Garrett TFE engines are squealing in protest at moving so slow, as the pilot brings the Lear to a stop. I walk up in my bulky winter outfit, put chocks under the front nose wheel and ‘plop’ down my red “Atlantic Areo Welcome to Greensboro NC’ carpet.

I wait for a few minutes till the door opens. Hinged from the bottom and top, one half swings up, and the other swings down toward me with the steps unfolding. I see movement, and wonder who it could be that decided to come to Greensboro NC at 2:00am.

So… a little background. I was born in the South, and though some might not believe this coming from my area of the country, I had to be taught that people were different. I wasn’t born with that ‘idea’ in my head. Some of my best friends growing up were African American, Asian, etc. It took society years of trying to convince me there was a difference, and even then it didn’t stick. Being a Southern born caucasian male, didn’t automatically mean that I was racist. My early childhood was spent playing, learning and growing together with different races, and I never gave it a second thought that we were different. So, the idea of seeing people through the grid of ‘different’ wasn’t really on my radar growing up, and my parents instilled in me a deep respect for ‘all’. As I had gotten older, I noticed there was A LOT of heat about racism (which there still is), and I saw it on TV and heard about it, but in my little world… it wasn’t there. We all went to school, church, paid our bills, loved our parents, parents loved us… and we didn’t know anything else. We did it ‘together’.

So, standing before me was the Reverend Jesse Jackson.  I had to admit, that’s not who I thought I would be seeing at 2:00am. Marie Osmond, oh yea, that would work… but Reverend Jackson… well…

I said, “Welcome to Greensboro. May I carry your luggage for you?” He was dressed in a long beige winter coat with an English driving cap pulled down, and leather gloves to protect  his hands from winter’s cold. He stepped down and reached for my hand.

I gave it and he said, “That’s okay son, I can carry it.”

I said, “I know, but it’s my job.” He handed me his luggage, and off we went to the General Aviation terminal.

Once inside we put his stuff down, and I noticed a black limousine sitting outside the locked doors of the FBO. Reverend Jackson said, “Well, what’s your name?”

I told him, and he asked me what I did in life. I told him I was a student in Bible College which, until that moment, I didn’t think about the fact that he was a ‘reverend’ and he might find that interesting. I went and unlocked the doors and his son walked in, greeted me and went straight for his father. They hugged… like any father and son, and there was true warmth between them. Then his son said, “I have the car ready to go, let me get your things.”

Here’s what really shocked me. Reverend Jackson said, “You go ahead, here’s my stuff, I am going to spend a few minutes with ‘Jeff’, then I will be right out.”

So let me level set this for you. I make $8.00 an hour fueling planes, I am a Bible College student, and, other then being purchased by Jesus, born and raised by Jerry and Lynn… I am nobody. This man wants to spend time with ‘me’?

It’s funny, as my time at the airport had passed, a number of famous people rolled past my door and most of them treated me with indifference, or something akin to the gum or poop you get stuck on your shoes from an unfortunate step.

Not this man.

“Do you have a few minutes, if your duties permit, to sit and talk with me, Jeff?”

“Uh…Yes sir, sure,” and I plopped down in a chair across from him, dressed in my greasy winter aiport wear. We talked ‘shop’. Reverend stuff. We talked ‘people’… and we talked about ‘life’. I kept asking myself, “Why is he interested in me or this conversation?” but I could never come to a final conclusion. This thing I do know… it was genuine. It seemed like he almost felt he owed me something, and his time was something he could give. It was clear his son was waiting, and it was more clear he felt like this was something important to ‘invest’ in.

It was enlightening.

It was unexpected.

It was shocking.

It was wonderful.

He eventually said, “Well, I would love to spend more time with you, but I must leave.”

With that, I helped him with his coat, he shook my hand again, I helped him to his car, closed the door for him, walked back inside, locked the doors and went back to work.

That was the winter of 1983. It seems like a different lifetime ago. Since then, I have seen Reverend Jackson in the news and often shook my head… “Jessie, what are you thinking?”

But this is something I know…

That man demonstrated the art of kindness, goodness, and showed me, that we are all the same deep down.

I wish we all could learn this lesson. An unexpected message given to me through Reverend Jesse Jackson, 1983…