A Day in the Life of a Senior Leader

Chapter 31. The Plane on the Crane

If you want to teach a California kid about cold, have him fly out to New York in January. Have him pack poorly, and then have him walk out of JFK airport at 3 p.m. with aforementioned poor packing, and watch what happens.

Wait until the sliding door opens.

Wait for it.

And watch.

I did not understand cold until I walked out of JFK in half a winter outfit. It was like getting punched in the stomach…with cold. I forgot how to breathe for four seconds. I looked around at compatriots and realized why they stopped inside the terminal to perform what I now know is an East Coast (and Midwest) ritual:

1. Pull out the scarf, fold it in half, wrap it around the neck, and tie it like a knot.

2. Gloves. Wool works, but wool won’t always save you from deep cold.

3. Put on that black peacoat that falls well below your waist, and pop that collar up.

4. Beanie. Wool beanie. Over the head.

5. You’re wearing wool socks, right? Gosh, I hope so.

It took a few trips, but one January, I was so proud of my cold-weather habits that after checking into my Tribeca hotel, I decided to walk around in the bitter, bitter cold late at night. Stomping around in my fancy black Chelsea boots and 18 layers of warmth, I turned a corner in Battery Park and saw floodlights on the Hudson. Walking to the river, I looked over the edge and saw a half-sunken plane in the Hudson River.

Are You Prepared?

The two books are on the coffee table next to your bed. Both are being read. Jeans on ...