An American Hero
Published in L'Express
(France) on 11 August 2010
by Philippe Coste (link to original)
(France) on 11 August 2010
by Philippe Coste (link to original)
Translated from
by Rachel Towers.
Edited by Alex Brewer.
I have the impression that all of America, or shall we say the working, labored and poorly-treated masses, identify with the hero of the day: Steven Slater, a Jet Blue flight attendant, who blew a gasket Aug. 9 after an altercation with a passenger after landing at the Kennedy Airport. "Steven" (who now has a Facebook page, “Steven Slater for President”) grabbed the intercom to loudly insult everyone before opening the door and deploying the slide on the tarmac, quitting his job in a truly spectacular fashion. He returned to his place in Queens, where the police arrived a short time after to put him in handcuffs.
The incident feeds, in the middle of a recession, the rebellion fantasies of loyal and extraordinarily non-protesting employees, more silenced than ever by the fear of unemployment. The incident reminded The New York Times of another impulsive explosion that went down as a legend for the workers in the city: In 1947, a Bronx bus driver named William Cimillo, fed up with the frustrations and monotony of his job, began his service as usual one lovely morning before deviating slightly from his usual route. He went south, all right. All the way to Florida.
They found him two weeks later, a few minutes from a road in North Miami, 2,800 kilometers from the bus depot in New York.
I can confirm the following: before putting him in handcuffs, the detectives posed with him in the bus for a souvenir photo. When they got back, the city welcomed him like he was Eisenhower on D-Day. Talk shows snatched him up immediately. Hollywood, via Liz Taylor in person, propositioned him to make a film out of his story, “Bus Escape,” where he would have met a beauty queen on the drive down. The idea was eventually dropped. Cimillo, adored by his colleagues, was never charged, and got his job back. Until his death in 1975, it seems that no one ever heard him complain about it again.
The incident feeds, in the middle of a recession, the rebellion fantasies of loyal and extraordinarily non-protesting employees, more silenced than ever by the fear of unemployment. The incident reminded The New York Times of another impulsive explosion that went down as a legend for the workers in the city: In 1947, a Bronx bus driver named William Cimillo, fed up with the frustrations and monotony of his job, began his service as usual one lovely morning before deviating slightly from his usual route. He went south, all right. All the way to Florida.
They found him two weeks later, a few minutes from a road in North Miami, 2,800 kilometers from the bus depot in New York.
I can confirm the following: before putting him in handcuffs, the detectives posed with him in the bus for a souvenir photo. When they got back, the city welcomed him like he was Eisenhower on D-Day. Talk shows snatched him up immediately. Hollywood, via Liz Taylor in person, propositioned him to make a film out of his story, “Bus Escape,” where he would have met a beauty queen on the drive down. The idea was eventually dropped. Cimillo, adored by his colleagues, was never charged, and got his job back. Until his death in 1975, it seems that no one ever heard him complain about it again.