Neutral Ground

My homage to the Atlanta Airport — and Happy Birthday Delta Airlines!

The Atlanta Airport was much smaller when my parents divorced in 1970, even though jokes were rampant about dying and going to heaven but first changing planes in Atlanta. There were two concourses I remember from my childhood: one for Delta and one for Eastern. I’m sure the other airlines at the time were gated somewhere too, but my focus was getting back and forth from cities in the South that both airlines frequented: Louisville, where I lived with my mother and stepfather, and my hometown of New Orleans where my father remained.

From the beginning, I felt comfortable traveling. After one flight where the stewardess walked me through the process with an annoying badge around my neck, I told my mother I didn’t need babysitting. She would leave me at the gate in Kentucky (remember those days?) and, once in the Atlanta Airport, I would peruse the shops until my connecting flight, many times buying an Archie comic book and enjoying a Coke at one of the cafes. I was 11 years old.

My parents didn’t divorce nicely, and they continued the fight long after the papers were signed, namely through their children. My father wanted me to move in with him and his new bride and five children. Why he suddenly found interest in his children after ignoring us as a workaholic I’m not sure, but I wasn’t going to leave my new home in Louisville where I found a passion for the outdoors and had a stable family for the first time. My mom would huff at my father’s insinuations and instruct me to ask for child support while I was visiting New Orleans, my dad would insist my mother was brainwashing me into liking Kentucky.

In New Orleans they call mediums, those stretches of ground that separate thoroughfares, “neutral grounds.” It hails back to the days when the Americans took over Louisiana and lived uptown while the French and Spanish residents remained in the French Quarter. Canal Street, with its massive mediums, was known as the neutral area where both sides could conduct business.

The Atlanta Airport was my neutral ground. I was safe here. No arguing parents, no sides to be taken—unless someone asked me which I preferred, Eastern or Delta? I was alone, traveling, reading, reveling in the quiet a layover allows. I even loved the plane food, back when they served it.

My father remained in New Orleans until his death, my mother moved with my stepfather’s job but always throughout the South. No matter where I roamed, I almost always changed planes in Atlanta.

Today, Hartsfield-Jackson is the world’s busiest airport, and if you ask me, the most efficient. That wanderlust I acquired as a child turned into a profession; I’m now a travel writer with a focus on the South and, since four years ago, am stationed in Atlanta so no more changing planes. I leave from here!

And come home again.

I’m on my way to Roanoke today for a press trip and arrived early enough to enjoy coffee and a breakfast sandwich. Outside my window, Delta awaits. They’re ready when I am, always have been. And for that I’m eternally grateful.

In other news...

​I'm pleased to announce that I won first place in the landscape division in the International Food and Wine Travel Writers Association (FWTWA) 2025 Photo Contest with my early morning photo of Lake Lanier, Georgia.

Here's what the judges said: "Your impressive skills and meticulous attention to detail have truly stood out, earning you well-deserved recognition. Your photo beautifully captured the spirit of Landscape, highlighting your distinctive perspective and artistic vision through thoughtful composition, masterful lighting, and flawless execution."

Weird, Wacky & Wild South is written by Southern travel writer Cheré Dastugue Coen, who wishes Delta Airlines a happy 100th birthday. She leaves for the Atlanta Airport—that's the underground between Concourses A and B—and another trip this week.