Flight Path

I took this photograph in June 2001, pre-9/11, back when exhibiting a fascination with airplanes was not a cause for concern. My behavior on that summer day — jumping up from a strategically chosen window seat in a restaurant next to Chicago’s Midway Airport to take a picture every time a plane came in — elicited no concern or suspicion from my fellow diners. Neither did the large airplanes that barely cleared the telephone poles across the street.

Anyone who knows Midway well knows that it is an exercise in bad airport planning. Its location is so shockingly close to homes and businesses, it gives the impression that there were no qualified city planners on board when it was squeezed into the urban landscape of the southwest side. But it is simply another example of a regional airport that has outgrown its location. I’ve been flying into and out of Midway for years, and the aspect that is always most amazing upon landing is how, when the plane breaks through the inevitable cloud cover, you immediately see below you rows of houses in such close proximity to the airplane that you can almost distinguish the bratwursts from the hot dogs barbecuing in the backyards. It is this phenomenon that I’ve always wanted to capture in photographs. It is also the phenomenon that created the ever-present potential for an airplane collision with cars, streets, houses, businesses and people — a potential that was realized last week. Those of us with a connection to Chicago watched with fascination but no surprise.