Flag days

Today is another workday for James Carlton, and another notch on his flagpole.

As he directs American Airlines planes to and from the gates at Dulles International Airport outside Washington, pilots will salute him and passengers will press sober faces to the windows, watching the middle-aged man in the orange vest standing on the tarmac with a baton in his right hand and a U.S. flag in his left.

In between handling baggage and cleaning the aircraft lavatories, Carlton has taken it upon himself to be there with his flag for every American Airlines flight that arrives or departs during his shift. He began the routine the day he returned to work after Sept. 11, one man's memorial to 246 people who perished aboard the four hijacked planes. For every victim, Carlton dedicates one day with a flag.

Saturday was the 213th tally mark written carefully in pen on the five-foot pole, row after row filling the wood shaft with the black tip. He has 33 days to go.

Almost a year has passed since Carlton began his commemoration, and still he goes out with his flag in all kinds of weather, much of it harsh on runways where heat shimmers in waves above the concrete and wind drives raindrops like hard pellets.

'Not alone'

"I'd like people to know they're not alone," said Carlton, 50, a retired Air Force jet mechanic who has worked for the airline for 11 years. "I want them to know somebody cares and they're not alone in their grief." Reminders of grief are in plain view throughout the labyrinth of corridors and offices where American Airlines crew members prepare for flights. Two of the four hijacked planes belonged to American. One, Flight 77, which was crashed into the Pentagon, left from Gate 26 at Dulles, carrying a crew of six and a longtime company employee as a passenger.

On one wall is a photograph and poem about Mary Jane Booth, who was secretary to the general manager and was aboard Flight 77 on her way to a conference. Another wall holds photographs of one of the flight attendants, Michelle Heidenberger. And tacked to a bulletin board is a picture of airport employees who lined up to cheer the first plane that left Dulles when flights resumed Sept. 13.

Two days later, Carlton was driving to work from his home in Fredericksburg, Va., when, as he puts it, "I had a little discussion with God."

"I said, basically, 'What can I do?' " he recalled as he waited with his flag furled tightly while a Dallas-bound flight went through final boarding before pulling away from the gate. "I couldn't go back in the Air Force, because I'm too old. And the lines for giving blood were already long. Then it came to me. I had an old cloth flag at home that I was going to give to the Boy Scouts for disposal. It was like a voice in my head said, 'Fly this flag for each person who died.' I started the very next day." He added up the numbers of people who were aboard all four flights. Then he subtracted 19, because there was no way he was going to fly a flag on behalf of a hijacker.

"Bastards," he spits out. "No, ma'am, I don't fly it for bastards." Only once has he carried his flag in the name of a specific victim. That was after he met a passenger's wife when she came to the airport to stand quietly at Gate 26 thinking of her husband's last moments. That day, he carried his flag in honor of the man, and the wife and two children he left behind.

'Up to God'

"Usually, I don't know who I'm flying it for," Carlton said. "I leave it up to God to decide." Greeting every American Airlines flight in or out of Dulles does involve some juggling. Other fleet service clerks who work alongside Carlton frequently swap work assignments so he can be the designated "wing walker" directing the pilot to and from the gate.

"That's just Jimmy," said co-worker Jeffrey "Cheesedog" Womer. "He's a very proud guy - of the country and of American Airlines." The reaction to Carlton's mission has been overwhelmingly positive, though some detractors feel that he is resurrecting memories of a tragedy that already weighs too heavily on their minds.

"There are people, including myself, who want to put it behind us, but it's a constant reminder," said Larry Reid, one of Carlton's co-workers and an American Airlines employee for 30 years. "We all feel bad about it. But I want to get beyond it." Dennis Hazell, the airline's general manager, said he has received no complaints, either from employees or passengers. To the contrary, he said he had heard several compliments from customers touched by Carlton's gesture.

"I knew it would go a long way, not only for the healing of employees, but for customers, too," he said.

Carmen Villani, an American pilot, routinely gets on the public announcement system and explains Carlton's mission to passengers as they taxi past him on the runway. He said he always gives Carlton a salute and a thumbs up. Then he walks down the ramp to thank him, every time.

"It's a fine tribute," said Villani, who often piloted Flight 77 and knew the crew members who were killed. "For me, personally, it's very special." Watching Carlton in action, it appears many pilots feel the same way. He stands on the tarmac, his gloves in his back pocket, his earmuffs guarding against the noise of jet engines roaring just a few feet from his head. Invariably, when planes taxi past him, and the flag billows full in the gusts caused by the jets, small cockpit windows pop open briefly. Inside, pilots and co-pilots can be seen saluting him and giving him a hearty thumbs up.

"What a beautiful reception," co-pilot Mike Gonzalez, flying into Dulles for the first time since September, said after he alighted from a plane that had come from Dallas. "I'm glad to see everybody is still thinking of it and caring about it, not forgetting." Carlton said he receives fewer waves from passengers than he did at first. He doesn't believe it's because his presence is a reminder that scares people awaiting takeoff. Rather, he suspects it reflects the numbing distance of time.

"Some days I wonder, does anybody care anymore?" he said. "That's the American way of life - to get back to business. But then somebody waves at me, and I know some people still do care."