MARANA, Ariz. -- At a 1,600-acre compound in the desert outside Tucson, Ariz., an aging Boeing 747 is making its last trip, bereft of passengers, its engines silent. Unlike the ceremony that heralded its delivery to Qantas Airways 20 years ago, the only witnesses now are the driver of a dusty tug and a helper.

By the time you read this, the big plane will have been stripped of its engines and landing gear. By next week, the entire 747 will be chopped to bits, its useful parts scavenged for resale and its aluminum on the way to becoming your next beer or soda can.

For all the ignobleness, this spot in the Arizona desert is one of Boeing Co.'s favorite places. Every jetliner that meets its demise here is one fewer old plane that the airlines might choose to resurrect when times get better in the aviation industry. "The airlines usually scrap 200 planes a year just as part of normal attrition," says Toby Bright, Boeing's chief aircraft salesman. "We'd like to see them scrap 600 this year."

Storage lots such as the one operated here by closely held Evergreen Air Center Inc. hold an important answer to the question of how quickly commercial-airplane manufacturing will rebound. In recent weeks, almost everybody with a stake in commercial aviation has canvassed the handful of aircraft purgatories in the high deserts of Arizona, New Mexico and California and come up with a different answer.

Since Sept. 11, about 800 commercial jetliners have been banished to the desert as part of the airlines' attempt to cope with the drastic drop in air travel. At the same time, the airlines began deferring or canceling the delivery of dozens of new jetliners, many of which already were completed on the assembly lines at Boeing and Airbus. The two manufacturers reacted by cutting their production rates in half and laying off thousands of workers.

The most visible testimony to the upheaval can be seen here in the desert , where the tails of parked jetliners can be seen for miles in the distance like sails on the horizon. "If you like airplanes, a sight like this can take your breath," says Trevor Van Horn, president of Evergreen Air Center. During the past four months, Evergreen has chopped up 22 older planes, and it has 18 more waiting their turn. Many older-generation planes, such as the Lockheed L-1011 and early McDonnell Douglas DC-10s, were rendered almost worthless by the sudden glut of airplanes. "You're going to see a lot of these old birds disappear," he says.

The question is how many. If not destroyed, any airplane left in the desert could compete with a newer one. That threat became apparent within days after Sept. 11, at one point prompting some in the industry to talk about forming their own Superfund to buy up all the old planes and scrap them to help prop up the values of those that remained.

That plan never got off the runway, but the manufacturers can't help being a little nervous about pitting a new jetliner, which can cost $35 million to $235 million, against one that can be bought in the desert for a couple of million bucks.

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