It was 1967 and I had been visiting in Pontiac, Michigan. When it was time to return to work in Chicago, I boarded a 12-seater, two prop airplane in Grand Rapids. As we flew over the glistening blue of Lake Michigan, we could see dots of cargo ships and boats. As we approached Meigs Field, the pilot informed us to keep our seat belts fastened; we were flying into a heavy, dense, dark fog. The pilot would have to perform an instrument landing instead of a visual landing.