Jumpseat- A Tale of Twisted Fate

by E E Valenciana

  “All the time,” I responded. As the program broke for a commercial he inquired.

  “What’s your feeling on the stock market?” The clever host of course was joking with me. I walked away that day with a nice bankroll and some fabulous prizes thanks to my inner sense, but reality was testing my so-called abilities. Common sense was telling me that the back stage production crew of the game show was probably playing the situation for their benefit, namely higher television ratings. It didn't matter one way or the other since I was the beneficiary of whatever happened. One thing was true in that I indeed had always had such feelings but fear forced me to suppress them.

  My Roman Catholic upbringing certainly conflicted with these innermost sensitivities that seemed to have some reflection on the insight of my future.

  “Who is God?” I recalled my dear second grade teach Sister Therese asking of her precious little students at the parochial school I attended.

  “God is the supreme being who created all things,” jovial children recited word for word straight from the catechism book. Once out in the greater world I began to question the specific, rigid wording that implied that this greater being was one to be feared if you failed to walk the straight and narrow. Certainly my mother Alicia and her sister, the highly respected Sister Marie Inez of the Sisters of Carmel, would be the first to warn me against putting any value in these strange dreams and feelings pertaining to the future especially concerning a terrible airline crash. Submission, through the guidance of the Holy Church, was the one and true way to find peace and salvation, or so they said.

  I was sure Reina was a devoted Catholic, far more dedicated and worthy of this all-knowing God's direction than I. She placed so much faith in her premonitions that they dominated her life as if they were indeed the direct word of God. I had never had a problem in developing a relationship with this silent God. It was the “guidance through intercession of the Holy Church,” that truly bothered me. I would be reminded of this influence in my life on a four-day trip I received from Scheduling.

  The bulk of the journey took our crew through Utah, Wyoming, Idaho and Montana with a final layover in Arizona. Working the first class section of our Boeing 737 aircraft I embraced the position of Senior, as the rest of the cabin crew was very junior. It was a rare opportunity to work in the forward cabin and have the time to develop a better rapport with the passengers who preferred our airline, our service over our competition. The very last legs of Day #4 took us from PHX to SAN where we would sit for an hour or so before returning home to LAX and a well-earned days off. The crew of two ladies and two gentlemen was indifferent as we were worn down from the four-day work period and we were very anxious to complete the twenty-five minute flight leg that would take us home.

  Finally, the gate agent boarded the plane and delivered the passenger manifest into my hands.

  “You have some VIP's occupying the first class section on this flight,” he announced. As I gazed down at the rows of passengers and their seating assignments, the information made my eyes widen in surprise. Timothy Cardinal Manning, Archbishop of Los Angeles and his entourage were about to board my aircraft.

  “Holy crap,” was the most undignified statement I made. A Prince of the Roman Catholic Church was headed down the jetway and panic set in. I rushed into the first class lavatory to make sure my appearance was respectable. I stroked my hand through my hair while still holding the manifest list. I quickly gazed at the rest of the names. There was a Bishop and Monsignors listed with two lowly priests rounding out the group. With the exception of His Eminence the Archbishop, none of the names jumped out as being recognizable.

  “Boarding!” I informed the rest of the crew as the distinguished men in black approached. They seemed too preoccupied with personal conversation to readily acknowledge me, the representative of our airline standing in the forward galley to greet them with the most sterling smile I could produce. Certainly the group's focus was on the slender, senior official with the red cap and red sash.

  The Archbishop occupied the window seat in the last row of the first class cabin. I immediately saw to the storage of the delegation's very formal black briefcases, filled, I imagined, with all the dealings of one of the largest archdioceses in America. I carefully and efficiently went about my professional duty of listing their preferred beverage to be served once up in the air for this short stage of the day's travel. With the task completed and the shepherds of the Catholic Church settled in, the rest of the passengers began to board.

  “Welcome aboard.” My greetings were sincere to each and every traveler entering and retreating to the coach section yet my mind remained centered on the Cardinal. My mother would truly be amazed if she could have seen me at that time surrounded by what she regarded as the cream of the crop of her precious faith. She saw to it that her children had only the highest esteem for such “men of God.” Alicia Valenciana would settle for nothing less than the most proper and humble display of service for such individuals. In hindsight I acknowledged that such quality of service was due to all passengers of my airline.

  Once we were in the air and leveled off I was able to deliver the requested drinks, The group relaxed and took very little notice of the sole F/A in their midst. There was a very handsome and self-assured member of the entourage seated next to His Eminence. He took the Cardinal's soft drink from my hand and placed it upon His Eminence's tray table while the Cardinal enjoyed the vista outside his window. I returned to the galley and checked the manifest again. The tall, confident man seated next to Timothy Manning was a full Bishop but I was not familiar with the name.

  Curiosity began to get the better of me. I was sure that my dear aunt, Sister Inez, might be familiar with one or two of these distinguished guests. I hesitantly approached one of the seemingly lower ranking clergymen sitting forward, farthest from His Eminence.

  “Excuse me Father.” I approached the thin, balding, bifocal man of the church, who then put down some reading material. “I realize you probably know quite a few nuns in the service of the church but I was wondering if you know any from the order of the Carmelites?” The stern looking clergyman asked for her name. “Sister Mary Inez.” He thought for a moment then shook his head. I was not surprised as there were thousands of women who had dedicated their lives in service to the church. I headed back to the forward galley when suddenly I heard a strong voice.

  “Sister Marie Inez?” I turned and saw that the tall bishop had overheard my inquiry.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I know her. How are you associated with her?”

  “Well, she is my aunt, my mother's sister.”

  “Your Eminence,” the right-hand man excitedly turned to the Cardinal. “This young man right here is the nephew of Sister Marie Inez.”

  The Cardinal had been caught off guard but quickly replied.

  “Sister Marie Inez? What a wonderful woman, my dear Lord, just a marvelous individual.” All eyes in the first class cabin were now firmly fixed upon me. The words could not come fast enough out of the mouth of Timothy Cardinal Manning as he extended his hand up towards me. I grasped it and kissed the large ring, the insignia of his important standing in the Vatican.

  “I better kiss that ring,” I thought. I was sure that both my mother and aunt would ask if I had enough sense to kiss the ring once informed of this convergence. I kissed it a second time for assurance. The smiling Archbishop continued to hold my hand firmly as he spoke.

  “Your aunt is one of the most precious ladies I know.” Now the Bishop joined in on the praises being lauded upon my aunt. Did they assume that I must be a good Catholic young man of outstanding character? I wanted to shy away as the official of Rome's Church made a fuss over me that I felt was not warranted. Any commendation should be restricted for Sister Inez and her alone. If they thought, I too, might carry a bit of holiness within me...slim chance!

  “Such a blessed woman,” was the last statement I heard as the No Smoking sign came on, signali
ng descent into LAX.

  The cabin was quickly prepared as all unnecessary items were stored away and all trash collected. The landing upon the concrete runway was flawless.

  “I'd like to welcome you to Los Angeles and request that you please remain seated with your seat belt firmly fastened until we come to a complete stop at our gate.” I was upbeat as I thought that my brief audience with the Cardinal went well.

  The agent threw the front door wide open and quickly stepped aside. He was well aware there was a VIP on board. The entire cabin was filled with activity as the passengers rose and shuffled about for position, trying to gather their belongings and quickly depart the cylindrical tube. The lesser clergymen were also making haste to allow His Eminence a smooth exit. I slid into the forward galley extended my pleasantries and gratitude to those who had chosen to fly with us.

  One black robe quickly passed by as another battled somewhat with a heavy looking briefcase. Then the tall, confident Bishop and Cardinal paused before me. His Eminence faced me with his commanding presence and piercing eyes.

  “Well young man, it was wonderful to meet you, what did you say your name was?” The Prince wanted my name, dear God.

  “Eduardo, your Eminence,” I said softly. Family protocol required I use my legal name when addressing an authority of the church. More importantly I was very aware that word of this was going to get back to my mother and dear aunt. My presentation in this circumstance would be of great interest to them.

  “Edw...ard,” he leaned forward to catch my pronunciation. “Eduardo,” he correctly stated,

  “Valenciana,” I worded the family name slowly. I glimpsed past the Cardinal. I could see a huge logjam in the deplaning process and His Eminence was the log.

  “Yes, Valencia,” the Pastor stated. I did not correct the mispronunciation. Instead I quickly knelt onto one leg, clasped his hand and began to kiss the ring once more. I needed to hasten this meeting of fellow Catholics and get these people out as I spotted the ship cleaners waiting patiently in the jetway. The gate agent was on the verge of panic as he had a tight schedule to keep. Even the Captain came out of the cockpit as he could not hear any passengers deplaning and wondered about the hold up. Finally, His Eminence seemed satisfied with his little meeting and blessed me. I arose to my feet and he was gone. Like a stream of water set free from its bondage the passengers quickly slid by. I gathered my suitcase and garment bag as the other F/As and captain stood staring at me.

  “What was that all about?” The aviator asked, a puzzled look upon his face

  “Oh, the Cardinal was hearing my confession. You know, I had a lot of sins,” I said with a straight face.

  The rest of our crew gathered and deplaned. I entered the LAX flight lounge still shaking from the experience. I prayed I had done my mother and Sister Inez proud. Even though I'd just returned from a four day trip, I headed right for the gym, The experience had created a great amount of anxiety I needed to dispose of.

  I was determined to be a good pupil like the most serious bodybuilders who staked their claim at the Animal House Gym. Anatomy, kinesiology and nutrition were just a few areas of knowledge I came to understand under the tutelage of these “muscle men.” I had increased my physical size over the months and would be further challenged in the process of dieting correctly. I needed to showcase my personal gains at the Midwest competition and continue to pass my monthly weight check with Shana. Purchasing a pair of military combat boots I could be seen running along the soft sand of the South Bay beaches to strengthen my legs and burn more calories. The elimination of significant amounts of carbohydrates from my diet made the ordeal even more burdensome and I quickly found myself becoming edgy. Depression soon set in.

  In September I calculated my bidding process to create a block of ten days off in the middle of October to prepare and compete in this contest. This meant working long flight days back to back while maintaining my strict diet, resisting the aroma of airline food. I spent the majority of layover time in any weight room I could find, at or near the hotel. As the percentage of body fat was drastically reduced, I could see that some fellow crew members wondered if I was okay. There were very few people in the company who knew of my endeavor. In that culture few would have shared my obsession, and in reality I didn't understand why myself.

  Once released from the October flight line, I focused on the latter stages of preparation for the competition. The first part of my plan was to ensure I had the best tan in the competition. I was apprehensive about being clothed only in a pair of Speedos so I resolved to be a golden-brown stand-out, I boarded a DC-10 and headed off to Honolulu.

  Timmy Leong had been Mr. Hawaii in 1952 and '53. His gym was small but very unique. Noted names in the field of bodybuilding considered Timmy's a home away from home when in the islands. The old building with wooden panels was lined with memories of glory days past. Black and white photos of a young, Mr. Hawaii in his heyday showcased the road to his current reputation. In these pictures champions of the day and future cinema stars stood either side of their Hawaiian mentor. I staked my claim at Timmy's Gym, resuming the intense final workouts.

  The availability of fresh fish helped me keep to my strict diet. Upon arriving at Timmy's I was somewhere between 5-7 % body fat, but the day before leaving HNL (just days prior the competition), I had lowered it to 3.2% body fat. Of course that would change drastically right after the event. I had endured the absence of beer, pizza, french fries, ice cream, greasy burritos and soft drinks of any kind for over six months. I was determined to gorge myself at the conclusion of the contest.

  For some reason, while in the training process, I was attracted to the importance of timing: adherence to timing in execution at the airline, in the gym during the workout, and especially in the diet. I recognized it was not a simple decision to go to such extremities, such change. I did not understand how a physique contest could supply a revelation. Yet, something tugged at me convincing me that its true meaning would be forthcoming.

  The morning I was to leave for the Midwest, I arrived at LAX with time to spare. Standing in the gate area I heard a familiar voice

  “Holy shit, you shaved your legs,” came the wise crack remark. Tommy Acoba is and always will be a gift in my life, my best friend. Our friendship dated back to ninth grade, enduring adolescence on athletic fields, drive-in movie theaters and at that certain liquor store on Fourth Street that sold beer to insistent teenage boys. Tommy was a mathematician in an important position with a major aerospace company, one of many that dotted the landscape around LAX. We even traveled together in Europe for some time prior my airline days. My tall, strong structured friend found his discipline in running marathons. He knew the importance of routine, diet and commitment, heck he knew a lot about everything.

  “Yeah Acoba, I shaved my legs, what of it?”

  “What would your brother the cop say?” Tommy sized me up as he had not seen me in a while. He quickly noticed the drastic change. “Shit, you're cut to ribbons.” I noticed his flight bag and I became excited. My buddy was boarding the plane with me. I wasn't worried anymore for my dear friend would be at the competition to cheer me on.

  In the frigid weather of the Midwest, it became very evident that I had the best tan in the entire state. When questioned how I had attained it, I simply responded, “Tanning booths.” I performed with dignity in front of a crowd where I did not know a single soul in attendance expect Acoba. I went for it and figured, what the hell, I will be on a plane in the morning and be gone.

  “Man, you are ripped!” A fellow competitor's show of respect added to my confidence. I was asked about my training diet by others attending the show. The boys at the Animal House knew what they were talking about. The diet was the key and everything else fell into place. The stage was lined with competitors who also endured a small hell for the limelight in such a small window of time in one's life. It hit me that no matter what, in my entire life, I would never again be in this fit a condition. I
was 27 years old and if I lived to be 100 I still would not be able to attain this level of physical conditioning. I was at a peak and I did not know exactly what made me do it.

  “When you see one double bicep pose you’ve seen them all,” Tommy 's sarcastic evaluation of the competition had some logic behind it. But now it was over. The need for pizza and a cold beer took on a new priority. Because of my low body fat I became intoxicated with one small can of beer. I gorged like a naughty, sloppy little pig. When the pizza was finished I followed up with a cheeseburger, everything on it, extra mayo and of course french fries. It did not take long for the full meal to be consumed but moments of contentment were soon displaced; all at once I ran into some bushes by a park and heaved the whole lot. I took a few minutes to clean my face, settled myself down then I was off once again looking for more food. Pie a la mode satisfied me but only for a short time. Mashed potatoes and thick gravy was the dessert. The disgusting cycle repeated itself again. It was time to leave and go back to the West Coast. The commitment was over.

  I viewed the setting sun from above as my flight headed back towards the Pacific Ocean. The subtle colors of yellow and orange mixed with the shades of purple on the clouds marked the conclusion of a short period of time in which I was no wiser for all my effort. Nine months of dedication and sacrifice for what? Respect? Hadn’t it all started with respect? Physically, I could not have been any better. Mentally, I seemed lost and confused. The event was not the splendid culmination I had envisioned for the better part of a year. In a moment of impulse I turned to Tommy, and murmured,

  “I know you’re going to think I’m crazy, but I’m going to be in a plane crash.” Tommy gazed at me. I began to feel embarrassed.

  “Do you believe you will come out of it?”