In the monolithic shadow cast by Pan Am’s flying saucer of a terminal crouched an ugly duckling of an extension, a warren of undulating driveways and corridors with squat ceilings. This was Kennedy Airport’s Terminal 3 horseshoe — a 1970s fluorescent-bulb vision for 747 travel — that my uncle loved.
For 15 years, he worked as a check-in agent, suited in navy blue and immersed in the hullabaloo of passengers, in the heart of the horseshoe.
“Elegantly efficient,” is how he remembers it.
It was geometry that made a mad dash to catch a flight possible; a layout that allowed families to linger together longer, hand signaling on either side of the glass separating Gate 4 from check-in; a design that effortlessly released smokers from the gate area to relish a final curbside puff.
And the cherry on top: rooftop parking. “What views!” my uncle raved. “You could reach up and tickle the plane’s belly!”
I giggled at his simple wonder; he responded with foreboding silence. He had seen air travel transform from luxury to quotidian, 767s succeed 747s, 9/11 and the ensuing alerts. Through it all, the horseshoe kept pace, albeit precariously, or in my uncle’s words, “miraculously,” for it had been built for a future that had long been outstripped.
The horseshoe finally succumbed; demolition began in June 2013. My inner magpie unabashedly welcomed glass-and-steel Terminal 4, especially its Shake Shack. Yet as I am engulfed in the serpentine security line that leads to the planes and promised malts, I remember the horseshoe.
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