My Turn: Missed connection made for a special reunion

Upon graduation from Plainview Old Bethpage John F. Kennedy High School in 1971, my good friend Gil and I attended college locally, he at Hofstra University, I at Hunter College. We remained close during college but drifted apart as our lives went in different directions. At the time, he was dating a woman from Puerto Rico, so our group of friends assumed he had moved there. But no one knew for sure.

About 20 years later, in the mid ’90s, I was sitting in front of my computer at home when I received a message on a chat program: “Excuse me sir, are you Wardo?”

Wardo was my nickname, an abbreviation of Eduardo, my name in high school Spanish class. I hadn’t heard it for some time. Who could this be? I typed my reply: “Yes, my friends in HS called me that. Who are you?”

“My name is Michael, sir. I think you knew my dad, Gil, back in HS. We live in Puerto Rico.”

Michael put me in touch with Gil, and we renewed our friendship. So much so that I arranged to meet Gil at the airport in San Juan during a brief layover on a flight to New York from a family vacation in St. Thomas.

I couldn’t wait to see Gil and introduce him to my family. It was all I talked about during our vacation. At the hotel, on the beach at Magens Bay and shopping in Charlotte Amalie, all my family heard was Gil, Gil, Gil.

When we arrived in San Juan to change planes, I was surprised and disappointed that Gil wasn’t there to greet us. My loving family, on the other hand, found great humor in this. For the next hour, to no avail, I scoured the airport for Gil. We barely made it back to the gate to board our flight.

In a state of depression, I lowered myself into seat 17E. How could Gil abandon me? How could my wife and kids show no sympathy for my plight? They told me I was a hopeless romantic, that I was naive.

As we prepared to leave the gate, the engines revved and the plane slowly reversed. About 30 seconds later, the engines powered down and we returned to the gate. The boarding door opened and two large, heavily armed security guards made their way down the aisle.

“Mr. Weinert, Mr. Edward Weinert, please identify yourself,” one said.

I slowly raised my hand.

“Will you please come with us, sir?”

It wasn’t a question. They escorted me off the plane, one behind me, one in front. Stunned, my family pretended not to know me. As I passed rows 16, 15, 14, 13 and so on, I heard the whispers: “It must be drugs.”

I was terrified. As we exited into the jet way, the guards directed me to a man and a woman at the end of the ramp. Good cop, bad cop: I was toast!

As I approached them, the man, who looked familiar, shouted: “Wardo! They changed your gate at the last minute, so I couldn’t find you. The chief of security is a patient of mine, so he stopped the plane for me. Say hello to my wife, Vicki!”

We had a wonderful, very brief, reunion — and remain in contact to this day.

After we said our goodbyes, I reboarded the plane with all eyes on me.

“Relax everyone,” I said. “It was just my old high school buddy Gil. He stopped the plane so he could see me. Best of all, I’m not going to jail!”

Ed Weinert,

Melville