Cadet A1C Is Self-Proclaimed ‘King of Parking Area D’

by Daryl Owens

The sun beats down, cars roll in, aircraft roar overhead, people stream by with chairs and coolers, and C/A1C Meredith Templeton is the King of Parking Area D.

Cadet Templeton is 15 years-old, and stands five foot, four inches in her combat boots. She isn’t tall, and she isn’t strong, and within the Civil Air Patrol she isn’t successful or important. But give her an orange vest, a wand, a patch of grass, and a line of cars, and she becomes a towering figure, Brobdignagian in her impact on the lives of airshow patrons.

A titan among mere mortals.

“I dunno,” she says, gazing contemplatively toward the road leading into the field placed under her care and authority. “It’s like a gift from God or something.”

Templeton is in charge of parking at Lot D of the annual local airshow, for which her squadron performs parking duties. The squadron and the township have had an ongoing agreement for many years.

Joe Harris, the local airport commissioner, is very positive about the arrangement.

“The airport makes a donation to the squadron which is much less than it would cost us to hire people, the Cadets get free lunch and passes to the airshow, and the parking goes smoothly,” he says. “Plus, these Cadets get a little taste of responsibility and authority. And, really, the younger ones are kind of cute trying to look so serious and official in their orange vests.”

Templeton neatly tucks a incoming mini-van with a family of five into the next available spot with a few efficient gestures of her wand. “This is my lot, and I take absolutely zero crap,” she says, casting a critical eye at the line of cars waiting to park. “They put the cars where I want them, when I want them put there.”

Though the day is hot and the cars keep coming, Templeton is committed to her responsibilities.

“Yeah, I was supposed to go to the airshow tomorrow and let [Cadet] Sergeant King take my lot,” Templeton confirms. “But why would I walk away from this? They also brought a box lunch out, but I didn’t eat it, I’m all set.” Templeton profers her open ruck, which is full of cans of ‘Rip-It’ and a large bag of beef jerky.

But it’s not all smooth sailing, Templeton insists. There are times when the people coming in don’t go with Templeton’s flow.

“Some of these people think they’re special snowflakes,” she says. “I had a guy show me his amputated arm to get disabled parking. I told him to show every Cadet on the way so they knew he was okay to park there.”

“It gets worse, though. When someone calls you a [expletive], all you can do is smile and wish him a good day,” Templeton explains. Then she leans in close and says in a conspiratorial whisper, “Of course, then you pour sugar packets from MREs in his gas tank after he walks away.”

Templeton laughs, and takes a big swig from a can of Rip-It. Then she says in a cheerful tone, “I don’t know how that nail got into your tire, sir. There must be debris in this field! But, seriously, nobody parks here without going through me first. The Wing King gave me [expletive] about my boonie hat and plate carrier, and I put him out in the north forty.”

Templeton points out that it’s not all fun and games, and it’s not as easy as it looks. “The trick is to keep the cars moving, and to get them to nose in where you want them and to stop. No backing up and adjusting, just stay where you are or you’ll mess up the guy coming behind you.”

“That’s why it’s so disruptive, and aggravating, when someone wants to talk about where they’re parking. It brings everything to a halt,” Templeton says. “So, we have a special technique we call ‘The Loop’. It’s a part of the pattern where the cones make a circle, and when someone demands special treatment, we make a big deal of moving a cone to let them through, and then they’re making left hands turns like NASCAR. After a few laps, they usually catch on and do what they’re told.”

One of the military demonstration teams roars overhead in a tight formation, smoke trailing from their wingtips. But Templeton, fixated on her task, doesn’t even glance at them.

And the cars roll in.

Several hours later, the show is over, the crowds have trundled off, and Lot D is mostly empty. There are a few sets of sunburned parents dragging or carrying exhausted, whining children back to the family truckster for the voyage home. Cadet A1C Meredith Templeton gazes in satisfaction at her domain, happy with another successful airshow, another job well done.

In one corner of the lot, a clearly exhausted family sits in a car with hood up and the windows open, while the man of the family conducts an excited conversation on his cell phone. “I remember that guy,” Templeton says. “He showed up late and gave me a hard time about being so far away. He’s probably going to need a tow truck.”

Templeton leans close once more and says in a low tone, “I filled his gas tank with the jalapeno cheese from my MRE.”