Harry Heidelberg is a Webdiary columnist.
Air Force One is a powerful symbol of the 228 year old institution of the American presidency, a symbol of a power that is literally projected around the globe. Nowhere is the technological, political and ideological prowess of the United States better encapsulated.
The nuclear launch codes are carried in ‘the football’ on Air Force One. Air Force One delivers the American President, and whenever this enormous aircraft touches down or takes off a powerful statement is made. We know how John Howard reacted to the power of Air Force One when it arrived in Canberra last year. It can leave you spellbound.
I was on the tarmac at Sydney airport in 1996 when President Clinton arrived.
As one who loves to travel, I find great meaning in arriving and departing from a place. These moments are particularly poignant when they involve immediate family or close friends, but Air Force One is all about power, not love. And just as Air Force One can deliver power, it also takes it away.
The most tragic case of Air Force One removing power was in 1963, when it carried the corpse of John F. Kennedy from Dallas back to Washington. On board was Lyndon Johnson, who was sworn into office at 30,000 feet. Jacqueline Kennedy was in the background. Her pink dress was covered in her husband’s blood. Her husband was in the rear compartment in a coffin.
The Nixon presidency was another American tragedy. Everyone has seen the image of Nixon boarding Marine One bound for the base to board Air Force One. He had brought great shame to the American presidency and Air Force One would take him home. As the aircraft made its long transcontinental journey back to California, he and those on board heard President Ford being sworn into office.
As the aircraft passed over a town I once lived, it ceased to be Air Force One. Air traffic control at Kansas City Center changed the aircraft designation to that of a regular Air Force flight. It was no longer Air Force One; it no longer carried the American President. The power had been transferred.
I once fantasised about being in Washington to see President Dean inaugurated. That will never happen now. My more mundane fantasy now is closer to reality. My dream is of the day when President Bush passes over Kansas City Center on his way to Crawford, Texas. The radio will crackle “This is Kansas City Center; your designation changes from Air Force One to regular flight 6294 past this point”. The subtext: “You are now a nobody”.
It will bring closure to another American tragedy – the George W. Bush presidency. Almost ironically, it will also be a symbol of America’s strength – the peaceful transition of power.
This man, who is probably not the legitimate President of the United States, will return to where he belongs. Home on the range, back in Crawford, Texas.
Then, perhaps, the rest of us can hold out some very small hope of a better world. I’d rather a small hope than none at all. My dreams are now more modest, but I hold onto them nevertheless.