Fatigued by the madness, I was about to reenter the first class section when I noticed a Mexicana Airlines DC-10 taxiing across the tarmac in front of our craft. So sleek and bold, the Mexican colors so bright on her fuselage, then it hit me: I suddenly believed I knew what had happened to the left landing gear of DC-10 NW903.
Mexico's two major airlines were Mexicana and Aero Mexico and both companies flew the McDonnell Douglas DC-10 in their daily services. My theory concerning the detached landing gear was based on airline culture and process of thought. On that foggy, early morning of the 31st of October there certainly would have been numerous airport and airline personnel reporting to work. Did a mechanic from another airline see an opportunity in our wreckage? A lack of parts is a well-known problem in the industry. I supposed that the left landing gear survived the massive G Forces, although detached and still in one piece. Perhaps opportunists licked their chops and jumped on the rubble to claim the prize. I imagine it took keen organization, pure physical strength and sheer will to cannibalize the wreckage, snatch that limb, secure it and haul it off to hide it in a hangar somewhere on the airport grounds. Deep inside, part of me would have admired those guys as it would take balls to complete the task in less than an hour. The only difficulty I had was understanding how they may have felt afterward. If that's what happened, they'd have to come to grips with their rogue task, stealing equipment while there were those who were dying and screaming and burning. Deep inside I believed my slate wasn't clean either. I should have done more. It was becoming crystal clear that I had a perilous road ahead of me psychologically.
Finally, a young Mexican in blue pants and red work shirt climbed the metal stairway, rushing toward the cockpit with the proper papers in his hand: the thirsty jumbo jet had been topped off. The flight was now greatly behind schedule but I was filled with anticipation as my journey home would soon continue. It would not be until the giant bird flew over the last traces of the Gulf of Mexico, that I allowed myself a sense of hope. Soon the glowing blanket of lights of the Los Angeles basin welcomed our approach.
“Certainly Tommy would be there at LAX to greet his dear friend,” I thought. I envisioned the scene with my mother and sister alongside him waiting for the moment we all embraced with hugs and kisses. I pictured my father standing by the gate looking for me as the passengers exited from Customs. I hoped that my brother Mike was able to make it to the airport if he was off duty from the police force. I was sure the company had contacted them all to inform them that my flight had been delayed. The dream comforted me, a fitting conclusion to this chaotic episode in my life. I felt like Dorothy returning from a bizarre trip to Oz, as we began our final approach into LAX. There was a huge sense of relief as the wheels of the huge craft touched down, firmly and confidently.
“It’s all over, Bob!” I turned to my new friend with great jubilation. Bob, unfortunately, would be required to take the next flight back down to Mexico City. Once again the guilt surged as I realized that he was assigned to merely be my baby sitter. Nonetheless, I thanked him for his assistance as I started to let go, relax and try and find my confidence in believing that the worst might be over. I still had to wait for all the passengers to deplane allowing me with my handicap to be the last to exit. Then I heard it.
“Welcome home, Edmundo!” The shrill voice was all too familiar and yet I did not want to believe what I had come home to. Shana, my flight attendant supervisor, boarded the aircraft and informed me that she was in charge of reuniting the “little hero” with his family. Whatever optimism had been planted in my soul, whatever hope had cheered my heart upon landing was snatched away and demolished. The game continued and now, despite all my survivor skills, I was once again reduced to a kindergarten youngster: one who was too deflated to make any attempt to correct the mispronunciation of my name. The last thing I wanted at this point was an in-depth personal conversation with Shana James, so let it be Edmundo as long as I was able to reunite with my family as quickly as possible.
A gate agent who accompanied Shana on board explained that because of the number of press in the terminal area, Customs had agreed to clear me while I was still on the aircraft. Shana had brought her vehicle alongside the jet. I hate to admit it but at that moment I wished for nothing more than to remain in the cabin of the jet. I wanted to go back to Mexico City with Bob Collins.
“Okay, let's get there.” I resolved to push my body and endure the pain to end this portion of my macabre adventure as rapidly as possible. The Government documents were secured and I was hobbled down the jetway stairs to a small dark sedan, a bit sporty for Shana.
“The company contacted your family,” Shana said, “and we arranged for all of them to be at your home in Manhattan Beach.” This gave me some relief for the journey would not be long. I felt a sense of relief but it lasted only for a moment. Shana became nervous traveling on the Pacific Coast Hwy for she continually glanced into her rear view mirror. My F/A supervisor was becoming paranoid as she suddenly swerved the car and turned down a side street, stopping and turning off the headlights.
“A black car is following us.” Or so it was in her imagination. I wanted to pull my hair out by the roots as this brief experience was becoming a different type of torture. All I wanted was to be reunited with the people I love, who I believed truly cared for me and always wished for my safe keeping.
All at once a premonition appeared as clear as the details of the incident itself. I saw myself arriving at my home and being joyously greeted by my mother. My deepest desire upon arriving was to shed any aura of my profession and of my terrible experience, and to just relax in my own home. Now my subconscious was revealing a different scenario. My good intentioned weeping mother would do the basic Hispanic thing; she would invite Shana to stay, to come into the household and join our gathering. Everything I had been through the last couple of days was put aside in my mind for this fateful vision was soon about to happen.
How can I get word to my family and express to them that I wished to be alone with them? That the last thing I want is to have a representative of the company there, right amongst us, a spectator to our deepest emotions.
“Well Edmundo, I think we dodged the press,” my superior stated. I panicked as Shana started up the car once more, comfortable with the fact that no one seemed to be on our trail.
“I've got to warn my mother,” I repeated the words silently over and over. I struggled to contrive a plan. We would arrive at my home, I would exit the vehicle, gather my things and stand on the curb to thank Shana for the ride. I'd try to force her away before entering my residence. That is how I wanted it all to play out but deep inside I already knew that the disappointments would continue to pile up. As the little sporty car turned onto Rosecrans Blvd. my nerves were at the point of fracturing. From a distance I could see a small crowd mingling in front of my home. Shanna parked right where they all stood waiting. Alicia my mother and Alicia my sister hurried to the passenger side before I could even open the door, my grateful mother crying as she hurried to hug her son, a child she believed she had almost lost. I struggled to reach for her as the pain shot up my leg.
“Mom. Mom,” I repeated as I tried to get her attention.
“Eddy, are you okay, mijo?” My mother was worried, confused as both she and my sister frantically embraced me then sized me up making sure I was indeed in one piece.
“I'm fine, Mom. Listen, please listen,” I begged her. Suddenly there stood Shana right next to me, next to us. She had removed my belongings and held my crutches in a picturesque display of virtuous assistance. There was a moment of silence as I spotted my father, my brother, Tommy and my three year old niece, Jennifer, just a few feet away. “Ah, everybody, this is Shana James, my flight attendant supervisor,” I stated a bit awkwardly. Then it happened. My mother stepped forward to introduce herself and shake Shana's hand.
“Thank you for bringing my son home to us. Would you like to come inside and join us?” Shana became giddy like a
little school girl.
“Certainly Mrs. Valenciana, I 'd be delighted.” It was inevitable. I should have been submissive to the vision from the start. What could I have done? It was twisted fate once again. My mother led Shana into my residence, my home. I embraced my brother Mike. Tommy and my father smiled but seemed to be keeping a bit of a distance. Then I realized they were just in awe of the great joy that had been bestowed upon me, a true sense of love. Mike opened a bottle of his special wine from Spain, Diamante, that he kept in reserve for special occasions. He decided that this was certainly one of those times.
Everyone laughed and settled their nerves, alleviated by the fact that I seemed to be physically okay. Yes, I was injured in the accident and Chavez did not help my situation, but all in all my wounds were seen as minor in comparison to the overwhelming carnage on the television screen. There it was again in glorious color and my eyes were dragged right to it. The group gauged my physical injuries but no one could fathom the damage to my mind. Mike recommended more wine. I glanced over at Shana who was intrigued to be in the midst of my family, taking it all in. Up to this point she probably didn't know me from any other F/A in the company, and now she was fascinated, taking mental notes of my personal life. I wanted to scream but shame has a way of bringing you to your knees. My friends were dead, any one of their family members and friends would endure a litany of outsiders just to have another hour or minute with their loved one. I began to cry as I hobbled over to first hug my mother then my sister once again. I continued on to embrace my father in a sincere abrazo and received a high five from Tommy. The men drank more wine and settled down, a celebration of beating the odds and depriving Death of his quarry. But still I remained leery of Shana.
The television projected the image that grabbed everyone's attention. What was left of our DC-10 lay dead on the tarmac of the airport that was now thousands of miles away. The room fell silent as a reporter expressed the grim tally of the dead. “Only a few survivors have been reported,” the analyst stated as the video-tape brought the point home to millions of Americans across the country.
“Such a terrible tragedy,” was another phrase I picked up on as I tried to turn off my mind. A company Vice-President appeared on the screen from LAX reminding the viewers that this was our airline’s first accident in the last thirty-five years of service. It jolted a moment of instantaneous irony in me as I rudely began to laugh. The others in the room gasped as they did not understand what I found so amusing. I was of the belief that the loyal executive had taken a small opportunity to deliver a commercial message to the public.
“Yes, fly our airline, we won’t have another such disaster for another thirty-five years,” How seriously had I been affected by this incident? I am sure everyone in the room began to wonder. Tommy immediately rushed to me and joined in on some laughter as we continued to drink the sweet nectar of the vineyards of Spain.
“I was really surprised that you called me after the plane crash,” Tommy whispered in my ear.
“Why is that?” I asked him.
“Because people don't ever call anyone again after they have been in a plane crash.” The wily mathematician smiled broadly and celebrated life with me. The reality of this whole affair was too ridiculous to look at logically. Sarcasm eased my mental pain, a growing problem I was trying to restrain deep inside me. Shana joined our conversation.
“It must have been a terrible experience, Edmundo?”
“Ah yes, Shanna, it is quite an ordeal.”
Suddenly my sister's small daughter Jennifer began sobbing. My mother and sister instantly
rose to console her. I thought about the other families, those that were not as fortunate as mine. I
imagined the weeping and the screaming that was filling the rooms of their homes. Frustrated once
again, I grabbed my crutches and made my way to the outside porch. I needed a breath of fresh air
and to escape Shana's prying questions which my mother seemed willing to answer. My mother
instantly shut off the television assuming the report had upset Jennifer and me. I gazed back at
Tommy and my father who remained silent. I could see in their eyes that they knew. They supposed that I was plain old Eddy who, by some bizarre set of circumstances, found himself wrapped up in one big shitty mess. Certainly they were happy that I had survived but did not have to treat me any differently or walk about on eggshells afraid to upset me.
It was late in the night when my father joined me outside. We both stood in silence as the cool autumn air quietly flowed across our brows.
“Hey dad, remember Hollywood, the old veterano who used to hang out at the corner store in the old neighborhood?" I had no idea why I had thought about the old weathered Mexican man from the days of my childhood.
“Yeah, what about him?” My father responded surprised by my inquiry.
“Why did they call him Hollywood?” He thought for a second then answered.
“Well, he spent so much time on that corner, most of it drunk, that we figured he was hanging out waiting to be discovered by Hollywood.” I was experiencing a side of my father I had not seen too often. The opinionated senior engineer who worked at Lockheed Aircraft was extremely familiar with the workings and flaws of commercial air travel. He seemed in awe of what had occurred to his son and from that day forward treated me in a more intimate manner. While my personal life may have been about to falter, my relationship with my father only deepened and I was extremely grateful for that gift.
“Oh Edmundo?” Shanna chirped, beckoning me inside. My brother Mike whispered,
“Hey Ed, you want me to choke her out?” Mike was feeling the magic of the Diamonte. I grinned and let the image of his suggestion fill me with pleasure. I began to wonder if I was being too harsh on Shana since she had never really caused me any trouble. Maybe the career airline woman was just trying to fulfill her duties as a supervisor. Is not that what they are supposed to do, supervise?
“You are being rude,” the inner voices scolded me.
“What about your work, your job Eddy?” A mother never stops worrying about her children. “Your position, your injuries, will this be taken care of?” Shana stood up and walked over to my concerned mother. As the official airline representative, she spoke up with confidence.
“There, there Mrs. Valenciana, I’m sure we can arrange to get Edmundo a couple of weeks off work.” The statement was expressed with such conviction it instantly made me ill. Tommy stared in disbelief. Someone sure had a warped perception of what I had just been through.
“Mijo, porque esta mensa pensa su nombre es diferente?” Alicia Sr. had enough. My mother was annoyed at the supervisor’s continued mispronunciation of her son’s name. I looked up at a gold-tone wall clock, Pacific Coast Time indicating three minutes to midnight. It was still All Souls Day leaving just seconds for the faithful to pray for the release of their loved ones' souls from the torment of Purgatory. I shuddered and bowed my head for I desperately wanted someone to pray for me. I realized that my journey through Purgatory was just beginning.
Chapter XI
“Will I ever be good enough?” The words inquired seductively. I recognized the sobbing of a young child. I rushed forward into the rubble in desperation and discovered a filthy, tattered Javier, his clothing ripped and filled with soot. The smell of jet fuel filled the air but initially all seemed calm for there was no fire to be seen or felt. I was in the midst of the crash site but it was dormant of activity as if the disaster had occurred long ago. I grabbed hold of the sad child and lifted him, holding him close as I suspiciously gazed about.
“Where are the others?” the small boy asked.
“I don’t know mijo.” Javier fearfully looked about with growing concern then inquired.
“Have they left me behind, alone?”
“No, Javier, they also left me.”
“But you were supposed to live, remember?” Javier's words shocked me. I turned to inquire how he k
new such a thing, and suddenly the young boy turned his head revealing the brazen, blanched, bone face of Muerto.
“I don't want to live!” I cried aloud as I awakened the morning of November 3rd, drenched in sweat. I was indeed in my own bed, in my own house. Immediately the grief registered deep in my soul as I struggled to gather my emotions. Regrouping, I battled with my disabilities as I showered and made make myself presentable for the visitors who'd soon be arriving.
“Bonehead!” David J. Brooks' specific greeting went back to our high school days where, like my friend Tommy Acoba, we had endured the pressures instilled at the all boys Catholic institution by the Irish Christian Brothers. “You don't look too bad for what I read you went through.” The renowned attorney was a graduate of the University of Southern California Law School and I was fortunate that he and his dear wife Kathy were gracious enough to pay me a visit. Dave soon recognized that I found it difficult to be jovial. Pulling out his yellow legal pad he made it clear he was ready to assist me in anyway.
“It was a mess.” I tried to find words to explain but failed. Kathy's eyes expressed her emotions. She was an agent for a competitor airline. One company loses a plane the pain is felt throughout the industry. “What kind of legal scrutiny will I face?”
Jumpseat- A Tale of Twisted Fate Page 28