from The Wall Street Journal
In the 1960s and early '70s, every commercial-airline pilot, it seemed, came in the mold of Dean Martin, and the stewardesses were as fetching as Angie Dickinson. When exiting a plane, children could look forward to being given snazzy Junior Flight Crew pendants. Terminal cocktail bars made perfect spots for hush-hush rendezvous with their low lighting and Virginia Slims smoke filtering through the air. Security wasn't the groan-inducing ritual we have come to expect and getting out was no hassle. You knew your ride would be waiting curbside - not shooed off, ticketed, towed or detained.
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