I think Hartsfield to Pensacola which is less than an hour.
A little over an hour when I've done it, although it's been quite a few years since I did. There was one really memorable time (fair warning: long story ahead!)
I’ve mentioned before that I spent the first part of my career as a defense contractor, and this happened while I was working at Eglin AFB near Fort Walton Beach, Florida. I had occasion to make a day trip to the Boston area (Hanscom AFB) for a meeting. This was pre-Internet, and things like Zoom were just a science fiction concept. It was no big deal, I'd done similar trips before, but this one turned out a little differently.
The Fort Walton civilian airport was quite small; it used the same runways as the Air Force base and was allowed a very limited number of flights per day. You could fly to Atlanta on Delta’s regional affiliate Atlantic Southeast (ASA) or Eastern’s regional affiliate Eastern Metro, or to New Orleans or Memphis on a couple of other little airlines. That was it.
I got up very early to catch the first ASA flight to Atlanta, and then Delta to Boston. Attended the meeting and taxied back to Logan for my late afternoon flight. It was Delta back to Atlanta with a stop at Washington National, then an hour layover before the ASA flight back to Atlanta. The flight from Boston left on time, and we had a pleasant flight down to Washington. It was a beautiful clear day, and there was a stunning view of NYC from my window as we passed by. We landed at National to drop off and pick up some passengers. So far so good, but then things went downhill…
The plane taxied out and began its takeoff run for Atlanta. It was rolling at a pretty good clip when all of a sudden I was thrown forward against the seat belt, there was a shrieking sound from beneath the plane (the tires), and the plane was skidding down the runway and slewing back and forth. I don’t know whether it was an ATC mix-up or pilot error, but another plane landed right in front of our takeoff run, and our pilot had to hit the brakes as hard as possible. We were in an L-1011, a very large plane, and probably going over 100 mph at the time. It took a LONG time to slow down. I kept expecting to see part of another plane come through the cabin wall, but a collision was avoided and eventually we shuddered to a stop.
The pilot taxied back to the terminal so they could check the wheels and tires for any damage. Everything checked out OK, and after a delay we rolled out to try again. The cabin was completely silent as every eye was glued to the windows looking for stray aircraft, but the takeoff was smooth. Once we reached cruising altitude, the flight attendant announced that Delta would be offering free drinks for the flight.
I got a drink and started thinking about the situation. I had an hour layover scheduled in Atlanta, but the incident in Washington put us just about an hour behind schedule. Maybe I could run for it and make the connection? I had no luggage to worry about, just a briefcase. The flights were in different concourses, which was bad, but maybe if the specific gates (which I didn’t know yet) were near the middle of each concourse, it would be a relatively short run. Delta used concourses A and B, while ASA used D.
You can see a map here; at the time of this event, concourses E and F had not yet been built. And ASA didn’t have a sterling on-time record, so it might be doable.
We landed at gate A28 (at one of the extreme ends of concourse A) and I got off quickly and checked a nearby monitor. My ASA flight was leaving in 7 minutes from D36 – pretty much a worst case scenario. Nevertheless, I took off sprinting down to the middle of A, wearing my business suit and carrying a briefcase. Ran down the stairs to wait for the train, which fortunately showed up right away. Took the train to D. Ran up the stairs and down the length of concourse D, arriving at D36 three minutes after the scheduled departure time. The door was closed and the gate agent was wrapping things up. It figured they picked that night to be on time.
I asked if they had already left, and the agent said yes; I asked if there was anything else to Fort Walton tonight and she said that was the last ASA flight, but Eastern Metro had one…leaving in one minute…from C1, at the extreme end of C. Ran back down D, down the stairs, through the tunnel to C (skipping the train), up the stairs, and down the length of C. Got to C1 and found another closed door with the agent closing up.
I went up to the desk, puffing and sweating, and had this conversation:
ME: Have you left yet?
AGENT: Yes, just pushed back.
ME: (expletive deleted) Is there anything else to Fort Walton tonight?
AGENT: No, that was the last flight.
ME: (more expletives deleted) How about Pensacola?
AGENT: There’s an Eastern flight leaving in 5 minutes, but I don’t think they’ll honor your ticket.
ME: Let me worry about that. Where is it?
AGENT: C7
Thankfully, C7 was only three gates away. I staggered down to it and found the flight boarding, but still there! I went up to the agent, showed him my ticket, and said, as pitifully as possible, “Please take me to Pensacola”. He just waved me aboard (things were a lot looser in those days) and I fell into an open seat next to a little old lady. She looked me over and said, “My goodness, you look like you’ve had a terrible time.” I replied, “Yeah, I really have.” She said, “Please don’t tell me about it. This is the first time I’ve flown.”
So I was now on the way to Pensacola, but with a small problem: my car was at the Fort Walton airport. I’d have to call my wife to pick me up. This was before the days of cell phones or airplane phones, and I hadn’t had time to call from a pay phone during the mad scramble in Atlanta. Well, at least I could have a few drinks to pass the time while she drove the hour to Pensacola.
We landed and I found a pay phone to call home. When she answered I just said “This is a long story, and I’ll tell you about it on the way home. But I’m at the Pensacola airport, so please come get me.” We hung up and I went looking for the bar.
I found it, and encountered the final cruel twist of fate: a sign reading CLOSED FOR INVENTORY.
