When a community is capable of erecting a structure such as the addition to the Antonio B. Won-Pat Guam International Airport, it has earned itself bragging rights in this entire region of the western Pacific. Getting it built was a monumental accomplishment over a number of years involving many, many people in the community: members of the board of directors; political leaders; members of the business community; and just plain folks.

There were proud and happy faces during recent ceremonies as deserving congratulations were extended and bows were taken by those who opened the doors to introduce our newest acquisition. By this notable accomplishment, the Territory has essentially declared itself ready to enter the 21st century with flying colors.

The complex is overwhelming in size and design. Its signature is a huge outline of the legendary proa of our Chamorro ancestors, in an interesting symbolism of aviators with modern technology yielding recognition to simple canoe navigators of antiquity.

Before we turn the chapter on our new airport, here's food for your thought and footnote: it was just plain folks who were the original landowners and who were not fully compensated for the taking of hundreds of acres of their ancestral land in Tiyan which were seized in the early years. They deserve our gratitude. It was just plain folks, Chamorro men and boys, members of forced labor battalions during the Japanese occupation of Guam in World War II who felled the jungle and hand-built the original airstrip. They worked under extreme duress, being removed from their own farms and thus limiting their ability to provide food for their hungry families. Not in their wildest imagination did they think that some day, the landing strip they were building would end up being the centerpiece of Guam's economy. We continue to use that strip today as part of the primary engine which brings rice, tortillas and bread to our tables. They, too, deserve our thanks. Finally, it was also just plain folks who, centuries ago unwittingly named that location, Tiyan, which, in Chamorro, translates to stomach, the belly, or, colloquially, the breadbasket.

When next you visit our new international airport, get that chin up, put those hands behind your back and walk around like you own stock in the place. You do. And the kind you own cannot be traded; it cannot be bought; it cannot be sold. It can only be inherited. It is called Chamorro stock.