Jumpseat- A Tale of Twisted Fate

by E E Valenciana

  “You really have the world in the palm of your hand,” a coworker smiled. Sofia and I embarked on an elaborately planned honeymoon. The first stop had never been in doubt. I was filled with excitement to share the radiant beauty and tranquility of the Garden Island of Kauai with her. There would be no trekking through the red mud to some isolated campsite. The amenities of a well known resort on the coast of the north shore were enjoyed greatly and as planned provided the best location by which to deflect any anticipated negative reactions to my healing wounds. While nestled in the island's spirit memory of the crash melted away.

  The happy newlyweds returned to the City of Angels, tanned and content, for a small reprieve in an ambitious agenda. Next, the capitals of Europe beckoned. Madrid and Vienna presented spectacularly romantic atmospheres and wondrous marvels for first-time traveler Sofia. The opulent journey's grand finale was a two-week Christmas holiday in the Tyrolean Alps of Innsbruck Austria, where the sight of Hawaiian t-shirts over our ski attire perplexed our European host.

  “You are from Hawaii?” One gentleman asked in a German accent.

  “We just came from there.”

  “I would have remained there!” He concluded as he shivered in the cold. Sofia and I looked at each other and laughed, barely noticing the chill, for we were lost in a dream, entranced by our love for each other. Since the proclamation of husband and wife by Father Riley, Sofia and I had ventured into a mythical world of enchantment and radiance. We glistered in jubilance. I slept soundly those nights, gratified to be in the arms of my adorable new wife.

  All torments seemed to be wiped clean from my mind as my responsibility to Sofia overshadowed everything. As we glided high over the ocean I pondered our new way of life, but it was also a different world we were returning to. Jimmy Carter had failed in his bid for reelection and Ronald Reagan assumed the presidency with a promise to return America to a status of prominence in the world. The Iran Hostage ordeal would conclude.

  “No one wants to remember.” The voices were stern yet for this one time I heartily agreed. I strongly desired to distance myself from the perplexities that had caused me so much pain. I looked over at Sofia who gently slept on my shoulder. She stirred a bit, fluttered her sparkling eyes and smiled as the jumbo jet settled into its final approach into LAX. Neither of us wanted the dream to end.

  “Honey, after we land let's go home and rest. Tomorrow let's return and stand by for the flight to HNL and head over to Kauai for a few more days.” The new Mrs. Valenciana contemplated my suggestion for a second then smiled broadly and nodded with approval. Just like that the fanciful fable continued.

  “Ed, I have an assignment for you, LAX-MIA-LAX,” the scheduler stated. Sofia and I were still setting up our first home together.

  “Honey, they are sending me to Miami and I have a 30-hour layover. I checked the load on the flight and it looks a bit light, you want to come along?” My blushing bride sat proudly at gate 58, Terminal 5 as I entered the DC-10 with my crew. Sofia would get the opportunity to see her husband at his best as we shared the night flight across the southern stretch of the country. The airline supplied the layover hotel room upon arrival and we picked up where our fairytale honeymoon had left off. Sofia joined me on my next trip to NYC, where we marveled at the field of endless lights from a balcony at Radio City Music Hall.

  “It seems like married life is agreeing with you, Ed,” Doctor Ramljak said as I sat in his office. “You seem to be on the road to healing.”

  “Thanks, Doc.” Yes, I was meeting the goals I had set for myself in my effort to be a good flight attendant. Meanwhile Sofia was delightful, sincere, and labored to make a comfortable, welcoming home.

  “Well, I’m pregnant,” Sofia announced joyfully as she exited her doctor's office. The happy couple hugged. It felt good. The proud father-to-be found great satisfaction in spreading the news; on the company bus, in the terminal and in the cabin of the aircraft.

  But there was another reality that was catching my eye, the lack of passengers on our flights. Deregulation was brutal on our proud airline and it was obvious that other companies in the industry were now taking a piece of the lucrative pie. I had a child on the way and my job security was becoming suspect. My family responsibilities took priority over any other issues, I believed that I could keep the vile issues of my crash bottled up forever. I was foolish.

  On January 23, 1982, a World Airways DC-10 with 212 passengers slid off the runway at Logan Airport in Boston. The pictures on the TV screen screamed at us once again. The jumbo jet tilted downward at the end of the runway with its nose in shallow water. The cockpit crew had landed the craft off the mark. Unlike the many complicated issues related to 2605, this incident truly did seem like pilot error from the beginning.

  I went to bed that night with a scene in my mind's eye. I imagined a long assembly of frightened, unrecognizable people, surviving passengers, crew-members and their families, all in a straight line. They were awaiting their turn to board their own personal roller coaster that was screeching to a halt to load the new passengers. Each poor soul boarded the mad amusement ride which was destined to bestow misery upon them. I imagined the attorneys congregating to create boundaries from which the victims would have to choose sides. Only the cabin crew would have few advocates. I paused the vision to wonder if the flight attendants of the World Airways crash were unionized. I was pretty sure that the captain's fate was a sentenced of slow death by guilt. Such a flying career would now be terminated. I fell asleep as my sympathy went out to all involved in the mishap in Boston.

  “Good morning Mexico Tower, Flight 2605 is inbound for 23.”

  “2605, report over Mike Echo final approach navigation point, wind calm,”

  “Roger, 2605 over Mike Echo.” The fallen angels slyly returned waking me up. I gazed in wonder at the slumber of my expectant wife. The curvature of her body revealed the young child that would soon arrive to be greeted, loved and nurtured. There was a lot at stake and I became afraid.

  Cristiano Valenciana made his appearance at a sizable 9 lbs., 9 ounces. Family members were ecstatic. In Hispanic tradition, the arrival of a male child who will carry on the family name is always greeted as a blessing. I felt deep gratification in the fact that Sofia and I were able to produce a child, one that could represent the cabin crew of 2605. I proudly spit in Muerto's face and mocked him for his failure.

  The airline industry was falling into disarray as prior boundaries dissolved. With much smaller loads being transported the once vibrant company suffered. Flight Attendant Training abruptly ceased new training classes, and associates throughout the system feared for their jobs. Although my particular situation with the airline was somewhat vague, I tossed aside any fears regarding my career in favor of relishing my new-found status as a father. While other crew-members discussed the concerns of empty flights, I spent my layovers finding special toys for a boy I determined would be a child of the world. A stuffed bear in a crate from Anchorage would remain one of his favorites.

  Sofia visited her older sister in HNL to alleviate the physical and emotional effects of giving birth. Since Cris was a strong baby I had no worries about letting her transport him just after turning one month old. I discovered a Star Wars diary book in a Portland department store with colorful drawings and wise proverbs by the Jedi Master Yoda, an ideal child's aviation logbook. I intended to document each and every flight Cris took, and hoped there would be many. The Yoda log book would be sent up to the cockpit where the aviators would document miles and flight times with signatures and personal messages.

  I carried a feeling of pride in the workplace, sharing new photos of Cris with every flight crew. Focusing my mind on the fast-growing boy took the edge off my deepest fears. Returning to LAX from a three-day trip I found a letter from Reva, the Flight Attendant Representative for our AFA union. Apparently, the association was inviting a congregation to their headquarters in Washington D.C. where the actions of those involved in our inci
dent, especially Reva, were to be acknowledged. Although surprised by the invitation, I still felt a bit awkward as I never had filled out an application to join the union.

  “Sofia, would you mind if I went to Washington D.C. for a few days?” The request was not well received.

  “It's bad enough that you are gone a great deal as it is.” Her point was well taken. “Go ahead. I'll have my sister stay with me while you are gone.” I should have look deeper, in between the lines of her statement, but I did not. I went to D.C.

  “Skip. Good to see you brother.” I was excited as Reva, Skip and I were accompanied by Mike Lottergan and another dear F/A friend, HNL union rep Tim Blackman. Skip and I had never really had the time to sit down and discuss any specifics on what either of us may have retained from our ordeals. I restrained from asking what he recollected. He and I would glance at each other, giggling like little girls as we both recognized the potential peril of our motley crew. Thoughts of partying in Georgetown filled our mischievous minds as we boarded the company craft bound for the nation's capital.

  “Remember guys, I'm a married, family man now, no hijinks on this trip,” I warned.

  “Oh sure, don't worry, Eddy, we will take good care of you,” replied Mike with a devilish smile. Somehow I knew I was in trouble.

  This AFA event was designed to be a safety conference involving many flight crews from various airlines. There was a great atmosphere of camaraderie as all flight attendants were housed in the on-site dormitories at the union's training center. Experts from all aspects of aviation safety would be conducting seminars over three days. There were representatives from the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) and the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB). Although the flying public rarely has the opportunity to view the real reason F/As are stationed on their flights, the union headquarters provided an institution and a learning center dedicated to the main focus of our career, safety.

  At the conclusion of the conference, Skip and I joined other F/As on a panel to discuss our involvement in various incidents. The AFA director, who presided over the panel, started the discussions.

  “Let's hear from each of you now. What happened and how did you deal with it?”

  “A woman's water broke right in the middle of the flight,” Peggy, a petite F/A employed by an east coast airline recollected. “The Captain was required to make an emergency landing at a non-scheduled airport. I am happy to tell you that mother and child are doing well.”

  Another woman from a southern-based airline described the fear and anticipation of an emergency evacuation when, on take off in a DC-9 aircraft, smoke came billowing out of the left engine.

  “Grab ankles! Stay down! Stay down!” Hers was a story of a dash to evacuate the cabin once the plane came to a complete stop. “The slides at each exit were deployed and an orderly evacuation was conducted.” The raw emotion and anxiety of the incident surfaced in her narrative. “Fortunately, the pilots had shut the engine down and no further danger was projected.”

  “What about you Skip?” My fellow crew-mate was surprised by the director's sudden attention. I could see that he became nervous and I wondered what he would say. I saw his mind working as he tried to remember events that I was very aware were not pleasant.

  “There was a huge shifting of the aircraft, a flash of light and fire. I just remember crawling.” My dear friend then fell silent as he struggled to recall what was now obvious, a blank period in his consciousness.

  “Eddy? What about you?”

  “The aft section of the craft shifted and broke into three sections as the number two engine exploded and a fireball shot forward through the fuselage.” There was a unified chorus of alarming gasps from all in attendance. Their eyes grew wide and mouths dropped as they tried to fathom the scenario. I looked at Skip who seemed just as interested. I continued to speak frankly but calmly. “I was fortunate to see Skip's hands waving by the firelight right after the werewolf guy had run up to me screaming in Spanish, wanting to know what had happened to the aircraft.”

  “Werewolf guy?” The participants were on the edge of confusion.

  “Oh shit,” I murmured. Then I recalled a conversation I had some time back with Jack McKay.

  “Remember Eduardo, there are only a few of us that know the true nature of what went on down there. Your supervisors, associates and the general public are unaware of the facts of this beast. Toss it aside and get on with your life.” Like a Pandora's box that had been unexpectedly unhinged the madness flooded out in my calm descriptive words, never to be corralled and returned to its casing.

  “The Mexicans never roped off the crash site. There were ice cream and balloon vendors hocking their wares as the general public rustled through the luggage. No U.S. investigators were allowed on the site. And you know, somebody stole the left landing gear from the destroyed jumbo jet.”

  “I think we should move on now.” The words shot forth from the AFA director. I think she did not believe a single word of what I had related. Airline crash sites are handled delicately and overseen by greatly respected experts of the industry. Certainly my narrative could not be true. Perhaps the survivor of 2605 was suffering from PTSD, which was not unimaginable in these circumstances, but a political cover-up? For the first time I recognized how complete the cover-up was, orchestrated by the Mexican Government with the blessing of the airline and U.S. Government.

  “I would like to hear more about your ordeal if you don't mind.” A man in a very professional suit stood before me as the conference was breaking up. “I have spoken to a number of investigators who went down to Mexico after the crash and were stonewalled at every step.” Grant Greenly was with the FAA in Washington and took great interest in my story. “I've tried to look into the specifics of your crash but there is very little information on file at our bureau. It is my understanding that the Mexican agency conducted the investigation,”

  “La Navegación en El Espacio Aéreo Mexicano,” I interjected. Greenly paused for a moment.

  “Yeah, those guys, they still have not released their findings.” The rest of the afternoon was spent discussing specifics which Grant found intriguing. I developed a friendship with the aviator investigator. Our relationship offered me an open door to the agency's headquarters, an opportunity to examine files and evidence of other airline crashes. I was eager to expand my personal knowledge of aviation accidents and the industry as a whole. On the flight back to the west coast I wondered why my crash had dissolved so totally into oblivion.

  “Perhaps if the cabin crew had not been so junior,” I whispered to myself. If the flight attendants had recognized faces with established years in the company maybe there would have been a greater outcry by the associates with whom they had developed sincere and lasting relationships. Such cries may have forced the airline to reveal more of the specifics. Then again as others would remind me,

  “It's a huge motherhood/sisterhood from airline to airline. If anything, the youth of the crew made it more disturbing.” I recalled the angelic face of Karen Smitt, the baby of the crew.

  “Please, please, please,” she begged. If my own union was expressing doubt in my affidavit then there was truth in Jack McKay's words. My mind drifted to my lovely, gracious wife and my sprouting baby boy. I resolved to toss this whole affair to the side. For them, for me.

  With Doctor Ramljak's guidance I was able to dislodge much of the vulgar malady that infested my subconscious. I blossomed in my duties as a respected flight attendant. Edmundo the Magnificent slowly gave way as time passed. New sincere work relationships developed. If there was a kink in the chain that bound my life in tranquility it was the fact that my job required I be in an environment filled with a multitude of possible triggers.

  “We’re cleared on the right, we’re cleared on the right?” .

  “The other runway.” .

  “The right runway.”.

  “No, this is the approach to the god-damn left!” The words of the CVR in my mind
began to haunt me once again.

  “Will we ever be good enough?” The voices whispered once more. I aggressively sought a means to dismiss this vile malignancy. The weight room always was my first choice, followed by body surfing near the pier at Manhattan Beach. But the best remedy and greatest pleasure was with Cristiano who was full of energy, testing limits of his parents' energy. He was a good boy and the love he projected dampened any pain I felt as a result of my recollections. Cris was my joy. He reinforced a belief that perhaps this dormant God really was listening. My son was a living example of hope and I cherished him dearly.

  “How about New York? It’s a 28-hour layover,” offered the scheduler. I was delighted but Sofia was disgruntled for it meant that her husband was dashing off once more while she remained home to care for an overactive Cristiano. Her arguments had merit. One spouse would be enjoying the fast pace activities of the city that never sleeps, the other would struggle with little sleep, changing diapers and seeing to the needs of a feisty little boy. Sofia began to feel neglected.

  Once at the airport any guilt from leaving was dismissed by my crew-mates who were very excited about the amount of free time we would have in “The Big Apple.”

  Our exhilaration grew on final approach when our DC-10 circled high above the massive concrete skyscrapers of Manhattan.

  “Want to hit the city with us, Eddy?” An F/A extended an invitation as we rode the crew bus to the hotel by Shea Stadium.

  “No, no I’m going to get some much needed sleep tonight. I will see you guys tomorrow.” I begged off not really knowing how I intended to spend the layover. I sensed something in my subconscious but couldn't put my finger on it. Upon checking in at the front desk of the hotel the Captain in command of my flight stepped forward to introduce himself..

  “I’ve been anxious to meet you, Eduardo.” I was surprised since the distinguished aviator did not address me as Edmundo.