The year was 1987. It was late December, just a few days before Christmas.

I was in a smallish airplane, circling over Louisville, Kentucky, on a return flight from Pittsburgh.

Not sure I remember why we were circling, but it must have been a matter of scheduling a safe landing. It was spitting ice and snow. Shrug and wait, right?

No. Some businessmen on the plane were downright put out by this. The grumbling turned to growling as their complaints got louder. As if the flight attendants had a say in the matter.

The pilot got on the horn and told us it would be another 20 minutes before we could land. Now the growls cranked up to angry cursing.

I hummed Silent Night and looked out the window.

It had been a long day. At the time, I was editor of Pizza Today magazine. Our publisher sent me on a mission to make sure an appearance by Captain Pizza went smoothly.

Apparently a three-year-old Kentucky girl who had never eaten solid food was asked what she was looking forward to eating once she recovered from a multi-organ transplant.

Tabatha Foster’s answer? Pizza.

It made national news.

Well. That’s all it took for our publisher to put into reality his dreams of creating a superhero. A costume was designed and sewn, actor chosen, offer made – and accepted – for a hospital visit from Captain Pizza.

Tabatha’s parents stuck with their “no photos” policy (good for them!), but Captain Pizza was able to have a quiet one-on-one chat with her. They talked about Christmas and, of course, pizza. I remember peeking through the door and thinking of my own three-year-old.

Captain Pizza then spent time with some of the other children who would be spending their Christmas in the hospital. They wanted to know if he was friends with Superman.

Cheesy? Sure. And it was a relief that it didn’t feel to me like we’d crossed a line, as coupons were handed out to the 80 young patients, with promises of free pizza once they were out of the hospital.

Flying back home that evening, I couldn’t wait to hug my young son, grateful for his good health. Sadly, Tabatha didn’t survive to see another Christmas; an infection took her that May.

I don’t know if Captain Pizza ever made any other public appearances. But I can bet that young man, along with all the doctors, nurses, and the other patients in that hospital, will never forget Tabatha, her smile, and her third Christmas. I know I won’t.

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