“The Plane Truth” by Mort Laitner
I picked up the letter and observed the return address
was that of a Circuit Court Judge and tore into it. As I
ripped the envelope, it reminded me of the horrifying
feeling of getting grades in the mail. I scanned the
note, seeing that typed in all caps was the word
CONFIDENTIAL and it was signed by the judge. It
read:
“I appreciated your response to the request for
information. I will maintain the confidentiality of the
information, and appreciate that the involuntary
hospitalization only took one day in the United
States. Thank you for your attention to these
matters.“
So this note would be my reward. With relief, I
plunged into my office chair, as if I received that
passing grade, smiling and saying, “Thank you Martin
Buber for your ‘I and Thou’ essay. It worked.”
I closed my eyes and went back in time— two
months, remembering that I sat in this same chair
when the phone rang. I picked up the receiver to hear
Anthony’s familiar voice. The CDC representative
said, “Houston, we have a problem. A flight attendant
is arriving in an hour at MIA from Spain. She’s got
active TB—contagious. She absconded from a Madrid
hospital against medical advice. She is masked on the
plane and no one is seated near her. We would like
your assistance in quarantining her.”
I replied, “Tony, my friend, I’ll jump in my car and
I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Thanks for the heads
up. She sure is breaking the flight attendant’s code of
being on the plane for the safety and comfort of the
passengers. I doubt she is inspiring the confidence of
those unlucky stiffs sitting on that jet.”
Tony let out a stifled laugh and gave a curt, “Goodbye.”
As questions ran through my head, I pulled out
my statute book and quickly read the tuberculosis
law. Was this lady a threat to the public health? Was
she taking any TB meds? Did she really have this
deadly disease? Would the airport provide me with a
mask so I could interview her?
I drove to the airport, remembering the
stewardesses of the 1950’s and 60’s. They looked
like models, young and shapely in their tightly-fitted
uniforms. They wore those cute air hostess hats and
for male travelers they were a fringe benefit of
flying. These unwed women dressed in their short
skirts serving alcohol and dispensing free mini packs
of cigarettes were a sight for sore eyes. They were
celebrities in an occupation where height and
weight limits were as tightly controlled as the cost
of a plane ticket. The airlines competed for
customers by feeding them steak, mini-lobster tails
and this bevy of beauties. I thought, “Boy, times
have changed,” as I wondered what this attendant
would look like.
Walking through the airport, I thought about the
requirements I’d have to meet to get the judge to
issue an emergency hold on this lady. What would I
ask her? What medical records would the CDC
have?
Pausing next to the airport hotel entrance, it hit
me, EUREKA! — Martin Buber’s “I-Thou and I-It
relationships.”
Here was my chance to conduct a philosophical
experiment. I would have a dialogue with this
human in need of help. I would treat her not as an
object. There would be a dialogue between us, not
a monologue. She would listen and be taught about
this disease– its risks to her and her family, how the
medication worked and what steps she would have
to take. She would respond to the experiment by
voluntarily agreeing to be examined, tested and
hospitalized. There would be no need for the drama
of the courtroom.
Arriving at the airport’s quarantine station, I met
the assembled team: a doctor, some airline personnel
and Tony. We discussed the case.
Tony: The Spanish authorities have e-mailed us
this definitive proof that she has TB. She admitted
The Doctor: We will need to have these notes
translated into English.
Airline Rep: You know she stole her medical
records from the hospital last night and she got on
the plane after her doctors told her not to.
Me to myself: Maybe this is not the right case to
try Buber?
Then we donned our N-95 masks and proceeded
to enter the small bare-walled interviewing room
where the flight attendant, “Doris” sat. She was a bit
overweight, well-coifed and groomed. But in her
uniform she did not reach the standards of those hot
stewardesses of my youth. I listened as she denied
every material fact— except she did admit taking her
original medical records from the hospital without
their permission. While waiting for the others to
complete their questions, I decided to look her in the
eyes and try to get the truth out of her. I would
attempt to engage her in dialogue, without any
qualifications or objectifications—even with the
mask on, and it sort of worked.
Doris agreed to go to the Health Department and
the hospital for testing, examination and quarantine
without a court order; I didn’t believe a word she
said. I did not trust her. Doris would run from the
hospital the minute we turned our backs. This was
not the concrete encounter I envisioned but rather a
judgmental cross-examination.
As we waited in the TB clinic for x-rays and other
test results, I realized that Doris had not eaten since
leaving the plane. I would be treating her as an
object (I- It) if I did not order her a meal. She seemed
genuinely surprised as I handed her salad and a drink
that she had not requested.
While Doris ate and I waited, a Health Department
legal team obtained a hospitalization order to
hold her for the next 24 hours. They also hired an
armed guard to stop her from escaping.
As night fell upon Jackson Memorial Hospital,
getting Doris a bed turned into a nightmare. After
waiting two hours for admission, only the threat
of reaching top hospital officials rendered any
success. I realized how awful the I- It felt.
Before Doris entered her private room, I had
the unsavory task of showing and telling her
about the 24-hour quarantine order and the
armed guard posted outside her room. Now Doris
realized I did not trust her and she flipped out. I
saw her Dr. Jekyll and now I witnessed her Mr.
Hyde. Remaining calm and listening paid off, as
finally Doris accepted her fate and the short story
book I gave her. A tired Doris called it a night.
The next morning Doris and the team learned
her TB tests came back negative. She had told
some truth and she was allowed to fly home. I
had already apologized to her the night before
just in case she was free of TB but explained we
had a job to do in protecting the public’s health.
A month later Doris wrote the judge who
signed the quarantine order asking for some
blood- specifically mine. The judge issued an
order requesting information as to what
happened.
Again I thought Martin Buber and in my I-Thou
response, I spoke of our team effort, the
information received from Spain and the stolen
medical records. My heartfelt story and the
judge’s kind and appreciative response created
that dialogue I wanted.
Eureka – the experiment
