Last Thursday we were invited by Adam Katz, the owner of Talon Air, an air charter operator, to join him for lunch at the White Elephant Inn in Nantucket. I don’t know why but the idea of going anywhere, leaving home, is never a turn on for me. Never has been. In fact when first asked I most often think of turning down an invitation. When I told JH about this one, he had the opposite reaction! “Cool!” he says. “Have you ever been to Nantucket?” he asked. No. “Have you ever flown on a G IV?” No. “Neither have I,” he sez.

And, could I think of a better way to get out of sizzling Manhattan for a day? No.

It’s about a twenty-five minute ride from where I live on the Upper East Side to Teterboro airport in New Jersey — up the FDR, onto the Harlem River Drive, across the George Washington Bridge and a few miles down 46W and you’re there.

Teterboro, if you didn’t know, is all private planes, of varying sizes, and lots of jets. It’s a very busy place and when we arrived there about 10:45 there was a plane taking off every few minutes.

Because Teterboro is sandwiched between Newark and LaGuardia airports, we couldn’t fly direct (as the crow might) to Nantucket, but first flew north, cruising at 23,000 feet, toward Poughkeepsie and then out east over the green hills of New England.

Doesn’t matter: I love looking out the window when flying, (one of the fascinating sights to me in the northeast is the abundance of private swimming pools, almost rivaling southern California in frequency), and JH was already busy taking photos from his window and then the cockpit with the two co-pilots (one of them being Adam Katz — who flies every one of his company’s planes, and Jack Spahn, his president of sales who’s logged 25,000 of piloting time) at the controls.

In less than 50 minutes we were touching down on the overcast island of Nantucket, which from above, despite the recent publicity on its popularity, remains a fairly barren looking island except for the occasional communities of houses and center of the town.

It was a pleasant surprise when disembarking to realize that it was actually cool there. Really cool compared to the furnace we’ve been living in for the past three weeks. Inside the air terminal a lot of people were wearing crewneck sweaters and windbreakers. Outside the temperature was hovering below 70. For a minute I was concerned that my short-sleeved polo wouldn’t be warm enough.

Once assembled, we climbed into a fleet of beach buggies and drove the two and a half miles through town to the White Elephant.

Being a New Englander and having spent many summers on the Cape and occasionally on Martha’s Vineyard, I was used to the scene – tiny, cramped streets, weathered shingled and/or clapboard houses, almost all small in size and in scale; picket fences and flowers festooning on porches or in garden beds along the sidewalks. Sun-drenched, wind-brushed faded pastels-wearing people everywhere. Nantucket like all New England resorts – and very (radically) unlike the Hamptons – is so laid back and so un-fashion-y that to the New Yorker’s eye, it’s almost a reverse pretension. Relax is the word.

Unlike the New England I’m used to, the center of town still has the original ancient cobble-stoned roadways, large round stones laid in a mound, ungainly for maneuvering by foot, with brick walkways crossing the cobblestones and brick sidewalks. Nantucket in the 19th century was a whaling port and there are widow’s walks atop many many of the houses, including the larger more imposing brick mansions that belonged to the sea captains and shipowners. One is instantly reminded of the stark and terrible isolation the wives and families must have felt when the men put to sea for months at a time, with no one ever quite sure of a return date or even a return at all.

The islanders clearly are not excited about the resorty-ness of the town although God knows Nantucket has become a must-have to many of the nation’s billionaires and centimillionaires (the airport and its fleets of private jets can attest to that). The attraction for everyone, however, is clearly the ancient-ness of the place. Its history and its memory are still intact with an emotional charge to any discerning eye. And its emphasis of simple family life, even for the most sophisticated island dwellers, is reassuring and at least momentarily comforting in this botched-up world of ours.

We had a marvelous (and overly filling – i.e., stuffed) luncheon at the White Elephant. Scallops, oysters, clams on the half-shell and lobster for those of us whose eyes are bigger than our stomachs. Fish and/or beef for those who eschew shellfish (and there are those). All washed down with a chardonnay or an iced tea, depending.

Adam at the luncheon table

I sat next to Adam Katz and asked him about his business. Or rather, I should say, his passion, for it is that. When he was a ten year old, his father took the family on a flight to South America and then on to Capetown, South Africa. On the flight from Buenos Aires to Capetown, the pilot asked the boy if he’d like to sit in the cockpit. And there you have it; the best laid plans were made then by the universe.

When he was 17 his mother gave him flying lessons to quell his enthusiasm. When he was 18 he got his first pilot’s license. The family is in the real estate business (three generations – 1000 apartments in Manhattan).

Nevertheless he started buying planes in the 1990s. In 2001 he started Talon Air with one plane – a Twin Cessna – and one pilot (him). Today there are eight aircrafts, 23 pilots and a total staff of 35 working out of their offices at Republic Airport in Farmingdale.

Although he’s a real estate lawyer, by profession, or was until Talon was created, his goal is a dozen aircrafts and a business catering to corporate and wealthy clients who prefer flying private for a variety of reasons. Flying private is a big big business today. It’s easy to see why, if you can afford it (a gigantic IF, to be sure). You go to the airport, get on the plane and fly away. No hassle.

Adam Katz is a stickler for details. I noticed it when he talked about his various aircrafts. I noticed it when he seated us all at his lunch. I noticed it in the itinerary printed up for the few of us, right down to the left and the right and the left you had to make to get from airport to restaurant. I noticed it with the itinerary time and mileage from airport to restaurant (2.35 miles, eight minutes). I noticed it when he showed me every inch of the craftsmanship and beauty of his baby, this G IV.

The main street in Nantucket

So I asked him how he planned to compete in a world where a company like Netjets has 550 planes and some of the richest, most famous and most powerful people flying with them.

Competition to this enthusiast with an eye for detail is simple: A contract with Talon requires no commitment other than the commitment to that flight. And competitively it’s cheaper, price-wise. There are turbo-props to reach smaller airports — his planes can land in 6000 airports all over the country. Unlike his competitors, the client also gets door-to-door service, five-star chef (Daniel, duCasse) meals, concierge service (cars, theatre, restaurants at destination), spa-services (from the newly launched Cornelia Spa on Fifth Avenue). Clients coming into the US get custom overflights (which means they can avoid the big international airports), and there is no liability of ownership. He even subscribes to a service called Medlink to take care of medical emergencies anywhere – nationally or internationally.

He gave me all this information over lunch along with volumes of details about how he maintains his planes, how his staff brings a hands-on expertise (along with his contagious enthusiasm) to their work. I’m a glutton for information when it comes to people who have a passion for their business. I admire it, and although I’m no executive, I relate to it.