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The 737 shuddered slightly as it banked sharply left, the pilot making final approach to runway 202. The flight attendant announced that all electronic devices had to be turned off and seat backs had to be returned to their upright positions. The woman next to Burke turned off her laptop, tilted the tray upward and turned the latch to secure it. Burke pulled the ear buds from his ears and put his ipod in his jacket pocket. He glanced at his watch-
-5:30 P.M. It would be 6:30 P.M. in Houston. Once he cleared customs, his connecting flight would put him in Green Bay around 9:50 P.M.
Burke was dog-tired. He had spent the week in Mexico City, attending an international symposium on education. Educators from 16 countries had shared their curricula and educational philosophies. The United States had been ranked poorly in the latest U.N. study in Math, Geography, and Literature. Burke had made note that nearly all the countries ranked higher than the United States had varied curricula that separated gifted students from average and below average students. Inclusion was not something that other counties practiced. That custom put
them at a tremendous advantage when it came to test scores, since disadvantaged students and students of low achievement and ability were never tested because they were placed in a separate tract and were never given the chance to achieve any kind of academic success in higher education. Those students were put in a lower vocational tract and relegated to lives of hard work and menial pay.
Burke smiled to himself. The U.S. Supreme Court had ruled very clearly that public educational institutions, particularly through grade twelve, had to jump through many hoops to ensure that each student had the same opportunities, regardless of ability. The old adage that anyone could grow up to be president of the United States was alive and well--at least in theory.
The tires of the big jet gave a short squeal, the thrust reversers, engaged, and Burke felt himself pulled ahead in his seat as the plane decelerated sharply and began to taxi toward the tarmac.
The flight crew made the usual announcements about connecting flights.
Burke grabbed his carryon from the overhead storage compartment and made his way slowly through the walkway and into the terminal.
Following the signage, Burke made his way through the terminal, finally arriving at his luggage carousel. Looking around, he recognized many of his fellow travelers from the flight standing around, waiting for the big carousel to begin spitting out bags.
Three short clangs later the continuous belt began to move and luggage arrived from the bowels of the terminal, clunking onto the belt and spinning into compliance as it moved like a serpent around the big stainless steel structure and carried with it the accumulated largesse of the passengers of flight 1151.
Burke saw his suitcase coming and moved into position alongside the carousel, grabbing it and moving carefully backward. He threw the case on his luggage cart, piled his carryon carefully
atop and began to move toward customs.
The customs lines were long and numerous. Burke handed his passport to the agent, responded to a few questions such as, “Do you have any liquor or tobacco to declare?” He shook his head and was waved through and toward the recheck baggage area for those who had a connection flight from Houston.
Burke showed his ticket to the gentleman standing at the recheck area and was waved into a section cordoned off by a number of stanchions which inevitably led to a luggage conveyer. Burke handed off his check-through bag, grabbed his carryon and moved out of the area back into the flow of foot traffic headed to a myriad of gates.
He found his gate, rechecked his ticket to be sure, checked his boarding pass and , satisfied that everything was in order, collapsed onto a leather seat that was part of a long line of chromed chairs with vinyl seats fastened together.
He could really use a coffee, he decided, so he grabbed his duffle and walked a hundred feet down the corridor to a small coffee kiosk. The sales clerk took his four dollars, handed him his coffee, and returned to his paperback without so much as a smile. Burke thought to himself that paying four bucks for a coffee didn’t ensure that you got Starbucks quality, because airport food was famous for being of high price and low quality. He accepted the shortcomings of the hot liquid in the foam cup and hoped that it would keep him awake long enough to get him on the flight back to Green Bay. He resolved to sleep as soon as he got on the plane.