When Marie and I sat down to watch Ordinary Angels neither of us could remember whether we had seen it or not—a common occurrence for us. In the story a struggling hairdresser finds a renewed sense of purpose when she meets a widowed father working hard to care for his two daughters. With his youngest, Michelle, critically ill and waiting for a liver transplant, the fiercely determined hairdresser single-handedly rallies an entire community to help.
As the story unfolded, Marie remembered it. I didn’t—at least not until the climactic scene where a matching liver became available. They had only hours to get from their home in Louisville, Kentucky to Omaha, Nebraska. The challenge could be met only by finding someone with a private plane that would give Michelle a free ride at a moment’s notice.
Even though we guessed the outcome, a strong script and superb cast had us sitting on the edge of our seats wondering how in the middle of a blizzard, it would be possible. Against all odds, Michelle lived on.
But I was a mess. You see, about 35 years ago I lived a part of that story. Choking back tears, it all came rushing back:
At 12:30 AM on January 3, 1991, the phone jolted me from a deep sleep. “Can you fly a patient from Chicago to Minneapolis?” said the voice on the line. As the fog cleared, I remembered volunteering to fly a youngster to a transplant with no notice. Instantly awake, I responded, “I’m on it.”
The angels swung into action: The Lifeline Pilots mission coordinator called for a weather briefing on my behalf. She then filed a flight plan and arranged to have my plane pulled from a heated hangar.
I, meanwhile, threw on some clothes and headed to the airport. In the middle of a January night with the air temperature at minus twenty, I barely slowed at red lights to check for traffic, then sped on—almost hoping a police officer would stop me so I could explain the emergency and perhaps get an escort.
The boy and his parents were waiting when I pulled up on the ramp at Palwaukee (now Chicago Executive Airport). I did a thorough, but speedy, preflight inspection, fired up the engines, and we took off.
The urgency didn’t stop there. Contacting Air Traffic Control, instead of my usual call sign November-Five-Five-Romeo-Alpha, I used Lifeguard-Five-Five-Romeo-Alpha. Like firing up flashing lights and sirens on an ambulance. They cleared the airways at every turn to make way for me. (There wasn’t much to clear—it was the middle of a bitterly cold January night.)
An ambulance was waiting for our patient when we landed at 3:18 AM—less than three hours after the phone had rung hundreds of miles away.
On the relaxed trip home I savored the joy of helping a boy in need. But 35 years later, watching Ordinary Angels reminded me that my flight was a small part in much bigger story—about a little boy, his family, and the countless angels who came together to give him another chance at life.
I never learned the outcome in my story … but for a brief moment, my aviator’s wings had become an angel’s wings. How lucky I am.
“In the arms of an angel”…that you are, my friend. Thank you for helping that little boy ! I remember when you took me flying…a thrill. Great story. Keep writing!! Hugs to Marie! ❤️
Thanks, Sue. At the time, it just seemed like another flying adventure. Only when I was shown the bigger picture did I appreciate my role. I was humbled to be a part of it all.
What an extraordinary story. Just when I think I know you well, you surprise me. What a big heart you have.
Thanks, Nina. At the time, I felt like a big hero. Only when I saw the bigger picture did I realize that I was one of many in that child’s story.