In 1994, our first Christmas after moving to Florida, my parents came to visit us for the holidays. They flew from Salt Lake City to Atlanta and then rented a car to drive the rest of the way to Tallahassee.
That time of year, winter weather often causes flight delays and disruptions, and this trip was no exception. When Mom and Dad arrived in Atlanta, their checked luggage did not. The airline said they knew where it was and that it would arrive the next day. They offered to forward the luggage on to Tallahassee at no cost so Mom and Dad would not have to spend the night in Atlanta. That seemed like the best solution.
Except for one small detail.
Dad had checked two fifty-pound boxes as luggage. They weighed fifty pounds because they were full of frozen meat he was bringing to us. His reasoning was straightforward. It was winter. The cargo hold of the plane was unheated. At cruising altitude, the meat would stay frozen. Just to be safe, he had added a chunk of dry ice to each box.
They checked the boxes at the ticket counter in Salt Lake City without issue and were not asked to declare the contents. But when the luggage failed to arrive in Atlanta, Dad was understandably concerned about what a delay might mean for the meat. There was nothing to be done, so they picked up the rental car and drove on to Tallahassee.
The next morning, after the first flight from Atlanta arrived, we drove to the Tallahassee airport to pick up the bags. It was a small airport, and the staff was helpful.
They brought out Dad’s suitcase.
Then Mom’s suitcase.
Then one box of meat.
Nothing else.
The airline staff told us they knew there was another piece of luggage, but they did not know where it was. They asked Dad to fill out a lost luggage claim. However, once the staff learned the box contents, they told him they could not provide any insurance coverage because the contents had not been declared as perishable. There was no recourse. They said they would contact us if the box turned up.
It never did.
We took the remaining box home and opened it. It was the box that had mostly hamburger packages and a few steak packages. Most of the meat was still frozen. A couple of hamburger packages near the top had thawed some but were still cold. We put those in the refrigerator and ate them over the next few days. Everything else went into the freezer. The lost box had contained all the roasts and a few steaks.
My best guess is that the missing box ended up sitting somewhere in the Atlanta airport and eventually thawed completely. After a few days, when the liquid started leaking out, someone probably opened it, discovered the contents, and disposed of it. It seems odd that we were never contacted.
Dad, however, is confident that one of the baggage handlers figured out what was in the box and took it home. That explanation makes sense to him. It makes a certain kind of sense to me, too. We will never know.
What stands out to me now is not the lost meat, but the logic behind the whole plan. My parents’ way of helping did not change just because we had moved halfway across the country. They saw a problem, thought it through, and acted. Even when it did not all work out, the effort itself said plenty.
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