The Aerotropolis

mem-airport-2Memphis International Airport:
America’s Aerotropolis!
The sign greets incoming passengers to the very 1960s structure seven miles southeast of downtown Memphis. The building is a fascinating study in the boom and decline of an industry, and it’s not uncommon to find the halls of the aerotropoplis mostly empty. Entire concourses are barred off due to the lack of flights, and two of the three are slated for demolition in the near future. 80% of the gates are usually unoccupied, and the name “Memphis International Airport” is barely applicable as the airport features only seasonal flights to Cancun and Freeport. It barely takes 10 minutes to get through security as there are so few other passengers. The shops and restaurants have no wait either because there is simply no demand for them. It’s not hard to find a quiet space for a phone call or vlog. In fact, I began writing this post at an abandoned restaurant between terminals A and B where the chairs were gated away and there was no longer a name on the marquee (if there ever had been). But how did the Memphis International Airport get this way?

mem-airport-5Already the industrial center of FedEx (making it the busiest cargo airport in America even today), Memphis began a huge expansion in the 1970s.
Northwest Airlines declared it a hub.
An international runway was constructed.
New concourses were erected.
Gift shops were added.
Multiple Starbucks were opened.

Then 9/11 happened.

With America’s faith in plane travel rattled,
Delta easily acquired the failing Northwest Airlines
and began cutting back on flights,
leaving a husk in southeast Memphis.
The number of passengers traveling from Memphis International has steadily dropped
from almost 12 million in 2000
to not even a third of that today.
So all that construction
and all that projected growth
now equates to
3 terminals,
67 gates,
and 38,386 feet of runway
serving not even 4 million passengers.

mem-airport-4And yet the aerotropolis stands, its hallways mostly empty,
a modern Ozymandius,
a reminder always to dream
but to dream always with caution.

As I waited for my flight there in the mausoleum of Gate B8,
a quick clip-clopping cadence echoed up the hallways of the empty aerotropolis:
a pair of high heels hightailing it to where we waited.
They belonged to a Delta employee who interrupted our little vigil by distributing small American flags and explaining in a tone so energetic that it must have been the result of three or more cups of coffee: “A group of World War II veterans will be getting off this plane! They’re returning from a visit to Pearl Harbor, and we want to give them the proper welcome! Let’s get ready to smile and cheer, everyone! Lift those flags high, and give them a round of applause as soon as those doors open!”
Employees came from around the terminal,
leaving behind the empty gates and empty shops.
A banner was hung from the ceiling, saluting these soldiers for their service.
A firetruck pulled up outside to volley off a water cannon as the plane rolled gently to the gate.
The nearby TV was silenced as presidential candidates mouthed at each other.
And wheelchairs and walkers emerged from the jetway,
their occupants carried not by their metal frames,
but buoyed by the applause of the crowd.

 

Leave a Reply