Jumpseat- A Tale of Twisted Fate

by E E Valenciana

  “Eduardo, you fortunate young man.” There was a tone of excitement in his voice. His mirthful manner puzzled me since I was despondent. I stood silent with my mouth wide open. “Come over here boy, there is something I want to show you.” I was to discover that Jack McKay was a man of action and it seemed as though he was willing to freely share vital facts that had been unearthed. The desire for any reliable information out weighed his odd behavior.

  McKay invited Diego, Hugo and me over to a large table which held a sizable diagram of Benito Juarez Airport. It was all there: runways 23-Left, 23-Right, block images of the terminal and surrounding structures. Someone with a bit of art talent had sketched the outline of a DC-10 and dotted a flight path starting at the nose of the craft indicating a hypothetical pattern, ending right at two blocked squares, buildings I knew no longer existed. McKay seemed like a boy with a new train set as he gazed at the map.

  “Here is where you touched down and hit the truck, then the aircraft clipped a tractor off to the side of runway 23-Left.” The executive's eye grew wide has he continued. “That turned your plane about 15 degrees to the right, eventually ending up at the buildings.” Jack Mckay had a theory he wanted to share with me. Pointing to the map, he traced the dotted line from the nose of the sketched aircraft at the point of first touchdown on Runway 23-Left, a pathway the Mexican Government was now claiming was closed to traffic that morning. He proceeded with his finger to the point that 2605 clipped the tractor on the side of the runway.

  “At this location, I believe the aircraft turned. He then continued on an imaginary route, the one that would have occurred if the DC-10 had missed the tractor on the side of the runway. That imaginary path led right to the main terminal building. The man stood straight up. Without say another word we all knew what that conclusion would have been.

  “The morning of the 31st there were five 747’s all lined up, fueled to the max and ready to depart in the next few hours.” Jack McKay revealed the full calamity of what really had been averted. There was a long pause of silence in the Operations room. A chief pilot interceded.

  “We estimate that you were traveling at about 280 miles at the point of impact.” McKay began to chuckle, not because any particular thing was funny, it finally became apparent that he was expressing a genuine happiness at my good fortune. The airline chief slapped my sensitive back.

  “You lucky son of a bitch!” The jovial Scotsman took a great liking to me, an act I will always be grateful for.

  I found comfort in this man as my attitude changed and I thought hard about the thankless job the executive had been assigned. McKay would certainly need all his skills to cleverly nurture a position of leadership while also guiding our airline to its final investigative conclusion by Mexico. Maybe he had the skills of a “poker player,” a master in the art of wheeling and dealing. I supposed the company had selected the right man for this pivotal position.

  Senor Valenzuela, the company’s Mexico chief, joined us in operations. Upon shaking my hand, he also gave me an “abrazo,” the customary Hispanic hug.

  “How are you feeling Senor Gato? Ah yes, we have heard the reports of your heroics.” The airline's Mexican chief exhibited a pleasing grin. My face reddened. I was just vaguely aware of the role the Mexican newspapers had bestowed upon me. Witnesses of the cataclysm testified that a flight attendant had made a difference in helping others despite his injuries. The airline's hierarchy was pleased as they grasped to try and find something positive evolving from this messy circumstance. Any credit I garnered goes to Barbara and the flight attendant training instructors for I only reacted to vital knowledge they instilled in me.

  The pain on my blistered back was intense now but I remained silent, just happy to be in friendly hands. McKay began to compliment me on my physical condition, mentioning that it probably helped me survive the initial impact. My desire for drastic change in my life and imposing that change on my body was now seen not as an obsession or freak hobby, but an action to be admired.

  “You took a beating. I read all your hair was burned off.” I smiled recalling the reporter at the hospital.

  “Don't believe everything you read in the newspapers.”

  “That is so true my boy.” The V.P. remained giddy. The public wondered why I had made it through while so many others perished. Was there divine intervention at all? Somehow it seemed easier to accept my physical conditioning was the reason: not God favoring me while abandoning Reina, Javier and the others.

  “Everything will be okay.” The calming inner voice soothed me. I was spared for a reason and I knew that the task to discover that explanation would require a high price.

  Diego finally interceded to remind everyone of my appointment with His Excellency, the Minister. I firmly shook McKay's hand despite the pain. I would need friends in high places. We all exited through a backdoor that took us past the many conveyor belts that carried the thousands of bags which would be loaded into the bellies of the day’s flights. My inexperience with the newly acquired crutches slowed the procession to a snail's crawl. Airport workers looked on as we passed, breaking into smiles. A young luggage loader stopped his task, reached out and touched me. The motivation for their action I assumed was part joy, faith and local Indian superstition. I cared not which, for warmth was evident in their eyes. Suddenly, my heart jammed up into my throat as I spotted a plain-clothes federal officer with an automatic rifle in hand.

  “Chavez!” I muttered. The anxiety made me panic-stricken. Diego recognized the problem immediately and took charge to assure me that there would be no repeat such actions. The bright, young government official had earned my trust and a lasting bond was formed.

  As we approached the ministry offices, I began to wonder what specifics regarding the incident I would be required to relate. A quick look over Don Diego's way told me that the young aristocrat had it all under control. Entering the lobby, I found myself in the midst of chaos once again as everyone seemed to be bumping into each other. All at once the media spotted me struggling with my crutches and rushed my way.

  “Valenciana, why did the plane crash? Is it true you served the pilots alcoholic beverages on the flight?” The anger in me swelled.

  “Who told you that? Who is spreading that lie? Speak up!” The entire hallway fell silent. Intimidated, the reporters now pressed lightly to get their answers.

  “Por que usted no se murio en el avion?” A tall man inquired.

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to interview God for that answer.” He immediately jumped on the statement.

  “I thought you did not speak or understand Spanish? Un pocho?” My protector took control.

  “Gentlemen, Eduardo has been through a great ordeal, he is meeting shortly with His Excellency the Minister. Please, let me escort you to the waiting area where Senor Valenciana will have a statement before he boards a flight back to Los Estados Unidos.” I felt deeply embarrassed for my outburst as Diego quickly ushered me away into Minister's outer office. I was extremely upset with myself as guilt and shame cut sharply into me for the mishap. Hugo stood by me.

  “You sure you’re okay? I nodded then noticed that there was another man present nearby, a slight looking Mexican man. Hugo nodded to the stranger, “Well, I’m going to get a newspaper as long as everything is okay here.” As on cue, Don Diego picked up the obvious sign to also excuse himself.

  “I will see if His Excellency is about ready to receive you mi amigo.” The young aristocrat entered the Minister’s main chamber closing the doors behind him. Confused, I found myself abandoned by my entourage and alone with this stranger. He gazed around and spent a second sizing me up, then walked over and took the seat next to me.

  “You’re Senor Valenciana, are you not? I am Victor Estrada.” The man seemed deeply disturbed.

  “Are you with the company? I inquired.

  “I was one of the controllers in the tower that terrible morning. There are things I wish you to know. It was not that poor man�
��s fault.” In my mind I assumed he was speaking about Carl Herbert. I sat shocked by this man’s words. For a long moment, we just stared at each other in disbelief. The Mexican man's face revealed the torment branded upon his heart and soul since Halloween morning.

  “We need to talk,” I said, not really knowing how such a goal could be achieved. He quickly scrawled his name and phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to me with a shaking hand. Just as quickly he rose once more and returned to his original seat on the other side of the room. He spoke not another word.

  Hugo Garcia was the first to return carrying a newspaper, followed soon after by the young aristocrat from the inner office. The stranger now arose and exited back out into the terminal, into the chaos.

  “Do you know Senor Estrada?” Diego asked me innocently as I sat overwhelmed by what had just occurred.

  “No. Why do you ask?” I baited the official wanting to know more.

  “He is a good man. I hope his infant son will be okay.” The conversation was left hanging as Hugo interrupted, displaying the Mexican newspaper upon my lap.

  “Look at this mess. ‘Error de piloto.' How can they say that after only two days?”

  “Because there is no honor among snakes,” I retorted. Diego checked his watch and gestured for Hugo to assist me into the main chamber of the Minister’s office. I grabbed my crutches and hobbled my way into a very elegant state room. There, seated behind a massive wooden desk sat, very hospitably, a light haired, buxom young lady in a red dress with white trim. She arose to greet us and was introduced by Diego as the Minister’s private secretary, Raquel. First impressions can be deceiving yet I am sure the same thought was on all our minds. Graciously, Raquel informed the visitors that His Excellency was awaiting our arrival. I struggled with my crutches once more as my attention was focused on the assistant’s low-cut dress. I almost paid the price for my indiscretion when I stumbled, misplacing the base of a crutch. Luckily Hugo Garcia was there to catch and steady me.

  “I’m calling for a missed-approach.” I stated in a fluster to no one in particular. Supporting me upright once again, Hugo whispered into my ear.

  “Your heart is racing my young friend”

  “Madre de Dios.” I prayed for strength. Raquel smiled radiantly, pleased to see that I had regained my footing and continued on as she led us into her superior's private office.

  “Ah su Excelencia.” Don Diego provided a firm handshake then an abrazo.

  “Diego, y sus padres?” The Minister inquired. It was evident from the beginning that Diego Suarez de la Vega was well in his realm of the blue blooded upper crust in Mexican society. The cabinet minister was a big man, dark hair nicely groomed with a very respectable mustache that curled to a point on either end. He displayed the lighter skin, the trace of the European bloodline that distinguished most of his social class. His dark blue suit was freshly pressed and he continually adjusted a pair of dark black rimmed glass he wore.

  “Mi padres estan bien, muy bien.” Diego assured the minister that his parents were indeed well. His star shone brightly in diplomatic affairs. With pleasantries concluded the distinguished cabinet head turned his attention to me as I stood supported on my crutches.

  “Y este joven Americano aqui? Por favor Señor Valenciana, sientase, siéntase como si estuviera en su casa.” The warmth in his voice hinted that everything was going to be okay, yet a certain look in the seasoned politician's eyes warned me to stay on guard. His Excellency continued.

  “Estoy muy feliz de que ud. este con nosotros aquí en este dia.” Diego politely interceded as translator automatically supporting my ruse.

  “His Excellency is happy you are still with us today.” I acted surprised by Don Diego's words responding my gratitude in a thick gringo accent.

  “Muchas Gracias, Excelencia.”

  “Please forgive me,” the Minister spoke in English. “I now recall that you do not speak our native tongue. Please, make yourself at home Senor Valenciana. Do you find your accommodations satisfactory?”

  “Everything is okay now, thanks to Don Diego,” I stated but continued on. “Things were not so pleasant before that.” I tried to restrain my frustration.

  “Ah yes, I am aware of your mistreatment. We are extremely sorry for your experience with Comandante Primitivo Chavez. How would you say, he is a very loose cannon? But now things are better, no?” My gracious host nodded in an approving manner indicating that he did not wish me to reflect upon my mistreatment further. I gazed up on the wall of the lush office to view another photo of Presidente Jose Lopez Portillo, This version was similar to the one I saw in my cubical of torment as I sat upon my little black milk box. The very official looking photo reminded me that I was still very far away from home.

  “When in Rome....” I muttered to myself. “I realize one person does not represent the actions or feelings of an entire country.” I said. I got with the program as I decided to walk down the diplomatic path believing it would provide the best opportunity to getting me on a flight back home. “I too am a Mexican and am proud of my rich heritage.”

  “Where is your family from?” I explained how my maternal grandfather Alvaro Francisco Cota, originally from the seaside town of La Paz, Baja California had been displaced, like thousands of others, during the Mexican Revolution in the early twentieth century. The educated chemist had immigrated to Los Angeles, worked hard and eventually became a successful attribute to his adopted community. My mother Alicia was the youngest of five children and was raised in the Hispanic dominated neighborhood of East Los Angeles. The cabinet man seemed pleased with the information I provided, for in our culture la familia es lo primero.

  “Well, you know you are quite a celebrity in our country now, Senor Valenciana.”

  “What do you mean sir?”

  The Minister removed a local newspaper from his desk buried under numerous papers and documents. He unfolded it and looked for a particular article. Once identified, his plump face broke into a smile as he handed the newsprint to me. At that point I realized it made no sense to play my ruse any longer; the minister knew darn well I understood Spanish. Hugo leaned over my shoulder. The article reported I had torn open the fuselage of the burning aircraft with bare hands in a desperate attempt to free screaming school children and save blood soaked women. Although it seemed rude, I could not help but laugh.

  “What a bunch of crap.”

  “Quite an accomplishment,” His Excellency stated.

  “Do not believe everything you read, sir.” I tossed the paper aside. “There are already enough lies going around concerning the demise of my crew-mates. We need not add another one.” I had overstepped my bounds and Diego placed a finger over his lips, signaling for me to shut up. He was indicating that the smoothest path was the one of least resistance.

  “I am sure you are just being humble Senor.” The Minister was sizing me up, needing to determine whether the little hero was an asset or a possible deterrent.

  “Are you interested in economics Senor Valenciana?” His inquiry threw me off.

  “I've really never had a reason other than my own accounts,” I replied with a tone of confusion. My host paused then locked eyes with me in an effort to get a point across.

  “It is really a matter of supply and demand, Senor Valenciana. For instance, millions of tourists visit Mexico each and every year. They come for the sites, the hospitality and the rich culture.” The Minister rose from his large desk and began to stroll across the room. I noticed a shelf of nicely displayed framed photos of people who I assumed were relatives. There was also one of His Excellency with Lopez Portillo. This was a man of influence, a person with important friends, a man who wielded power.

  “These welcome visitors contribute greatly to the economy of our country and in return we provide them with a wonderful holiday experience, the product they are seeking. We have many partners in various enterprises that participate to the bigger picture that fulfills the needs por las turistas
, those visiting our lovely country.”

  At that moment, the Minister of Transportation reached into his inside coat pocket and removed the blue pack of those same filthy cigarettes that the comandante consumed endlessly. I became fearful as the official continued.

  “Your own airline, Senor Valenciana, is a working partner with our government in creating the economic success that is our tourist market.” The wily diplomat paused and gave a serious glare in my direction. “Do you understand what I am saying, Eduardo?” I glanced at Don Diego who was already looking at me moving his head ever so slightly in a positive manner.

  “Si senor,” I softly responded. My fear pushed me to try and calm the minister's suspicions. “In my position with the airline I encounter those happy travelers on each flight, looking forward to their stay in your beautiful country.” The distinguished cabinet head smiled.

  “Ah yes, I knew you would be understanding.” The minister seemed delighted and relieved by my much improved attitude. “You know, Eduardo, your own company is rewarded nicely by our partnership in this market. Daily flights to our country make up a great percentage of their revenue, our revenue and that of the lowly taxi drivers, the hotel workers, even the vendors in the streets whether in Mexico City, Acapulco or Guadalajara. That, my friend, is economics. The success lies in that all our partners are in agreement, work in harmony and not make waves.”

  The Minister of Transportation grinned widely seemingly pleased with himself as he continuously puffed on the wretched cigarettes I had come to detest. “Certainly cooperation must be kept a priority.” The Minister was fishing and I realized that the right answer was not to convince the official of what I knew but to satisfy him with the belief that I knew nothing at all. It would be so simple to do just as Diego requested of me and play the game, but I believe the odor of the tobacco caused my anger to boil over once more. I grabbed the Mexican Newspaper Hugo had picked up and was now folded neatly on his lap, I shook it violently.