Chicago Tribune from Chicago, Illinois • Page 21

SPECIAL REPORT lateway to Gridlock Sunday, November 19, 2000 Section 2 iU I I I I "Htl- I I I 1 it i i I t. i- 1 1 tz Mi i fi i fi ys f4iJv ill! 1 Jii v'-- v-fv. 'v -y: -v- i-v-'1. "7 fr- tJs. Wiimm ivv- I vv ''W Tribune photo by John Lee Two tired passengers find solace in cramped quarters at O'Hare International Airport on a day when fierce thunderstorns paralyzed travel.

Lo est How September 11 eosed the weaknesses of the nation's air travel system Reported by Tribune staff Written by Louise Kiernan Act 0r- A storm gathers HP he air smells like stale hamburgers and un-brushed teeth. It smells like cold coffee, like sour beer. It smells like exhaustion. The air smells as if it has been inhaled and ex the fluorescent lights, the blare of "Monday Night Football" on television sets they can't turn off, the incessant beep of motorized carts. Others stare, glassy-eyed, at lightning flickering against the dark, rain-spattered windows, thinking about meetings unmet, vacations postponed and children who went to bed unkissed.

There are almost 6,000 people at O'Hare tonight. They are all supposed to be somewhere else. They are stuck here instead, in an airport that once prided itself on being the world's busiest and now is notorious for making more of its passengers late than any other airport in the country In many ways, the transformation of O'Hare from sleek symbol of the jet age to the bus station of the skies parallels the changes in air transportation itself: from fine china and travel suits to foil-packed peanuts and cutoffs, dirty diapers jammed into seat pockets and security guards stationed behind the customer service desk. Almost 700 million passengers now fly each year and the system, already outdated and inefficient, can barely handle the load. Some days, like this one, it breaks down altogether.

The people who have seen this hellish slumber party before, who have seen the rows of squeaking, city-issued green cots and the undersize blankets, the overflowing trash cans and stopped-up toilets, have a name for nights like tonight. They call it Camp O'Hare. Camp O'Hare usually opens when' there is too much snow, too much lightning just too much weather for planes to fly in and out. When, like today, a pair of thunderstorms chase each other across the Midwest like children CONTINUKD ON FOLLOWING PACE haled by too many people for far too long and they are breathing it still, snoring and snuffling, sighing and murmuring as they sprawl about O'Hare International Airport like refugees from some invisible war. Everywhere you look there are bodies.

Stretched along tables and the conveyor belts of X-ray machines. Curled up on baggage carousels, slumped against walls and draped along benches. There are people slung out on the floor, their faces inches away from swinging feet, and people draped around one another like sculpture, trying to find comfort in the curve of a shoulder or bend of a back. Some feign or force themselves into sleep, shutting out Editor's note: This special report replaces the Perspective section, which resumes next Sunday..