Those were the days.

Before the savagery and idiocy of 9/11, the aviation world was calmer. More relaxed. Nicer. And w-a-a-a-a-y before, when I flew as a stewardess in the ’60s, and ’70s, the atmosphere allowed for lots of wonderful experiences.

Every flight has a designated lead flight attendant. In those days we were all women. We bid for specific positions on trips – each position has slightly different job responsibilities. I enjoyed bidding for the #1 position for a few different reasons.

In my early flying days, I was airsick. A lot. I didn’t mind working the coach section, but the rear of the plane sways a lot more than the front. I quickly realized that as soon as my seniority allowed me to bid the first-class section, I was going to take my whoopsy stomach up front.

Then there’s my nosy habit. Ever curious, I like to know what’s going on at all times. The #1 flight attendant coordinates boarding with the gate agents, checks the aircraft interior, the catering, and completes all the flight’s paperwork. Inflight, she reports to the captain. She serves the cockpit crew meals and is the communication link between the captain and the cabin crew.

I was fascinated by the flight protocol in the cockpit. The first time the captain invited me to sit in the cockpit jump seat for landing, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. The last five or ten minutes of a flight is a busy time in that little room with all the buttons and dials. I knew enough not to talk, although occasionally the crew would point something out to me. The radio transmissions intrigued me – the closer we got to the airport, the more we heard between the tower and other flights.

I flew into San Diego a lot in my early years. The final landing glide slope descends down a natural hill in midtown San Diego – over hotels and commercial buildings, then the airport parking lot, then WOW – right onto the runway.

A new hotel was built near the top of the hill with a rooftop restaurant called Mr. A’s. It was the new glamor spot at the time, with large windows overlooking downtown. Soon after the restaurant opened, I was on the jumpseat when the copilot said, “If you look really carefully, when we pass Mr. A’s on the right you can see the cherry in the Manhattan glass.” Gulp. He was right. I never understood how nothing EVER happened on San Diego landings. Those guys were good.

Once on a flight from Los Angeles to New York, the captain rang my call bell. I reported to the cockpit and he said, “What do you think if we take a short tour of the Grand Canyon?” I was stunned. I asked if we would arrive at Kennedy on time. He explained to me we were way ahead of schedule and had plenty of time. “You can tell me what kind of passengers we have on board. Would they enjoy it, or would it bug them?” I said we had a lovely mix mostly of families and tourists. The perfect combination.

On the cabin intercom, he explained that we had tremendous tailwinds on our flight path and would be very early landing in New York. “I thought you might enjoy a little added adventure on your trip today. I’ve received permission from air-traffic control to take a low-level tour of the Grand Canyon. I’ve been there a lot and will be your guide. There is one rule.

Please do not get up and cross the aisle to see anything. Stay near your window, as we cannot shift the weight load. We’ll criss-cross the canyon so you will see everything when I dip the wings for viewing.” And so he did – for 15 minutes. He invited me to the cockpit for the tour, so I had it all in front of me. I’ve never visited the canyon in person, but I definitely feel like I’ve been there. It was grand indeed.

Another captain did something similar on a Chicago trip to New York. There were extended landing delays in New York, and he asked for permission to take us on a short tour of Niagara Falls. He knew his Great Lakes geography and again, it was an enormous treat on an ordinary flight.

Looking back, I was extremely lucky to have been invited to the cockpit so many times. The view is so very different from up there that I briefly explored pilot training. And then I remembered. I lose things. And I’m forgetful. Not the best profession for me.

But the many days and nights I saw the wide, exciting world from my high seat behind the captain – those spectacular views are engraved forever in my memory.

Pretty pictures.

Marcy O’Brien writes from Warren, Pa.