EDITOR’S NOTEBOOK -- nancy cheever

December 31, 1999.

It’s 4:27 p.m. and the sun is just setting on this last day of the

century. I’m sitting on a bench at Gate 86 in Terminal 7 of the Los

Angeles International Airport. The Muzak is extra loud, perhaps to make

up for the lack of hustle and bustle normally found on a Friday

afternoon.

It feels more like the middle of the night here, with janitors mopping

and shining and airline workers yawning and stretching. The few travelers

are either anxious or sleepy, like walking zombies, waiting for the

apocalypse and Jesus to rise from the dead. I wonder where they will be

at midnight.

It’s 4:50 p.m. and this last day of the century has been speculated about

for years now, resulting in the country preparing for the worst. Some

religious people are frightened as hell that a natural disaster or day of

redemption is upon them. But the new century has already arrived in

Jerusalem and Bethlehem, and if there was any second coming, Jesus surely

would have shown up there rather than L.A.

Still, people are scared. They’re scared that crazies will riot and loot

and let loose on the streets. They’re scared that all the computers will

shut down because their programmers forgot about 2000. Most United States

citizens report that they plan to stay home this evening “just in case”

something should happen. I, on the other hand, have decided to surprise

my best friend from high school with a visit on her birthday.

It’s 5:13 p.m. on the last day of the century and this horrible Muzak

seems to get louder and louder. The other people waiting to fly seem

worried that something will happen to them tonight. Some are reading,

some are resting, some are praying. But all are still, just waiting and

wondering and hoping that if they can keep it together, so will the rest

of the world.

One of the pilots just arrived and snuck a peek at the falling sun. I

wonder where he’ll be at midnight.

Here comes the other pilot -- he looks like someone out of the TV movie

“The Langoliers.” That was the cheesy two-nighter based on the Stephen

King novella where we never see any Langoliers, but do experience all the

anxiety of the people flying around on a plane that’s stuck between time.

It’s 5:21 p.m. and I’m thinking about my family, friends and co-workers

who told me I was crazy for flying on the last day of the century. They

warned me that my plane may fall out of the sky like a hungry pelican. I

believe I will live through the day, and share a bottle of champagne with

my friend.

The sky is blue and pink and soon the sun will be behind the horizon on

this last day of the century. Today, every major city has acknowledged

the new year in its own special way. Ours has prepared for the worst --

bombings, computer meltdowns, terrorism, rioting -- with a beefed-up

police force and National Guard stationed all over the place.

Boris Yeltsin resigned today. Ex-Beatle George Harrison was stabbed

during a home-invasion robbery. And Rose Parade volunteers spent the day

putting the final touches on giant floats.

It’s 5:30 p.m. and the sun has finally set on this last day of the

century. Gate 86 has filled with passengers, ready with reservation to

travel to Oregon. I think I’m ready to fly, but a bit hesitant because

there’s an alarm going off on the plane. The Langolier guy is on his way

to check it out. I wonder where he’ll be at midnight.

I’m now crammed in seat 20F on this United flight to Portland, which will

take two hours and seven minutes. The hostages in India were released

today. They spent almost a week on a plane. I wonder where they will be

at midnight.

It’s 5:40 p.m. and people around me are praying and worrying. The flight

attendants are beginning to scurry about, preparing drinks and packages

of snack mix. One of them is an Annette Bening-in-”American-Beauty”

look-alike. I wonder where she’ll be at midnight. She’s coming my way

with a tray of tomato juice. Why do people on planes always order tomato

juice? You never see them drink it in restaurants.

It’s 6:10 p.m. on this last day of the century. The time hasswitched over

for most of the world and, to my knowledge, there haven’t been any major

disasters.

When I was a little girl, I always wondered where I would be on Dec. 31,

1999. I wondered what kind of person I would be, what I would be doing,

who I would be with. I wondered if I’d even be alive in the year 2000. I

never imagined I’d be flying, or that people would be storming grocery

stores to stock up on water and canned goods.

It’s 6:40 p.m. on this last day of the century and our plane is zooming

through the air. The plane was one of the great technological advances of

the 20th century. It spawned a bunch of other space travel. Heck, we were

even able to get to Mars.

It’s 7:40 p.m. and the pilot has announced our descent into the Portland

area. Soon I’ll be driving to Eugene to surprise my friend on her

birthday. I wonder where my family will be at midnight. I wonder how many

people will celebrate this new year free of fear. I wonder how many

couples will kiss and say “Happy New Year, honey.”

Well, I’ll be with an old friend on her birthday. And hopefully the rest

of the world will be as calm as this flight has been.

It seems I will live until the year 2000.

Happy New Year.

* NANCY CHEEVER is the features editor of the Daily Pilot.