#The 747 was the very best way to fly

“#The 747 was the very best way to fly”

Are we allowed to be sad about frivolous things? Amid far worse news comes a twinge: British Airways will retire its fleet of 747s, effective now. The upper deck of a 747 is, or was, a cozy way of life that has vanished, along with much else.

The 50-year-old Boeing 747 launched mass global travel — and was the last plane to escape with glamor before air travel became the equivalent of the Bolt Bus.

The plane, with its fat front bubble, looks like a child’s drawing of a friendly, smiling aircraft. Friendly, but mammoth: If your flying initiation was on domestic 737s, looking at the 747 is like taking in a multistory building: How will it get up there?

My first trip on a 747, 21 years ago, was in the vast “world-traveler” economy-class downstairs cabin, and it was good fun. This is where you’re supposed to say there isn’t much difference between economy and business. Business is just more legroom, and who cares? You’re flying to the same place.

Sorry, no — there is no flying experience like the upper deck of a 747.

First of all, an airplane with an upstairs! This never gets old: gliding through the short security line, climbing the steep steps and having a no-nonsense attendant who calls you “love” take your coat and hand you a tumbler full of Champagne.

Locker upon locker to check your suitcase — except you have no suitcase: Veteran business-class travelers travel light. Let the downstairs masses fight over the last bin to check their nine pairs of shoes; most of this space remains empty.

Then, settle into the two best seats in the snug 20-person cabin — 63A and B, not near the bathroom, not near the kitchen.

You didn’t have to be in the 1 percent to fly the upper deck. In fact, the only reason the upper deck was available to people like me is because, over two decades, the 1 percent has decamped to private jets, harming the 747 profit model.

Mostly, a seat in the upper deck took commitment, not untold riches. Get the credit card for cheap upgrades, and the virtuous circle widens: The more you go, the more points, and the more cheap upgrades, especially at Christmas and in August, when few business travelers fly.

Flyers in the know, know not to eat on the plane: Take the sleeper flight and eat in the JFK lounge before boarding. Then, after a takeoff cocktail, you can focus on the fun: sleeping.

There’s something decadent about putting your Elmo-textured BA socks on, ripping your fresh blankets from their crisp pouch, slotting into the firm lie-flat bed and hurtling feet-first across the ocean, surrounded by the white noise of the plane and the attendants murmuring in their galley.

Turbulence? What strikes fear into your sitting-upright self downstairs, is, upstairs, like rocking a baby in his cradle.

BA business class has been the object of jokes for its odd configuration: To give each person more room, one seat is backward and one forward, and so someone has to fly backward (strange). In a full cabin, you have to clamber over another slumbering body to get to the bathroom. I found this more quirky than annoying.

And BA, from losing a brake pad on takeoff (oh, well) to forgetting to pack the cassis for the Kir Royale drinks (horror!), has always been amusingly just this side of competent.

Still, the upper deck was one of the safest, most soothing places on the planet, or above it. (BA hasn’t had a fatal crash in 35 years and never lost a 747.)

When the flight landed, you would climb down those stairs, glimpse the remnants of indignity and chaos that was the economy-class flight and pad to the lounge for scrambled eggs and hand lotion.

The British like routine. For two decades, this has been my routine, too, and a liminal life signal: time to go on vacation, time to go home to re-start the year. On Jan. 2, I nestled, taxiing, flipping through my newspaper — glancing over an article about an unidentified pneumonia in China.

There is no telling when I’ll be back on a plane or waiting at passport control at Heathrow. One thing is certain: it won’t be via the upper deck. Like many things on the other side — most of far greater import — it won’t be the same.

Nicole Gelinas is a contributing editor of City Journal. Twitter: @NicoleGelinas