Jumpseat- A Tale of Twisted Fate

by E E Valenciana

  My airline came within five days of declaring bankruptcy. No one was a bit concerned about the buried truth concerning 2605; they were all too worried about whether they would still have a job. In one swift act the majority of management was swept away. Mario Reddick, who took the brunt for what was perceived as the company’s failures, was heckled out of the employees’ cafeteria in one of his few remaining days in power. The CEO scheduled a trip to Hawaii but the bag handlers were a group full of scorn. One clever associate in a regulation red shirt and blue pants made sure Mr. Reddick's bags landed in Bangkok.

  “Gosh, all those initialed dress shirts were on their way to Thailand,” I thought when informed of the misdeed. You know, he wasn't a bad guy. In his time he was a master of his game in the industry: cordial, intelligent, with a knowledge and taste for fine wines, but the world had changed. Ackley was gone. Shana James would be asked to exit in a not-so-polite manner. Jack McKay went off into a well deserved retirement.

  “The only people with any kind of a smile these days are the ones in uniform,” observed an F/A on the tram soon after the mass execution. Everyone was devastated and I now had to survive in a much changed environment. A situation which should have pushed me into a panic, didn't. I was comforted by the fact that I had the CVR recording. If I had to use it like a golden ticket to secure my position, then I would.

  “If they screw you over you must go to the media, let loose a venomous retribution.” I found myself agreeing with Antimundo. I struggled with my conscience but was dead set on seeing to the needs of my wife and son. I decided to just lay low. Suddenly, a name traveled through the flight lounges, terminals and hangars in a multitude of airports across the land: a possible savior for our ailing company

  Uncle Dale, as some took to calling him, was a successful business man from the Pacific Northwest. I was willing to give the new chief a chance when I heard he had retained the services of Barry Lane. The new company chief entered the executive offices with just one idea in his mind: cut all possible fat throughout the system and systematically reshape the airline into a united air force of no frills. The destinations the company had secured decades before were still a highly prized commodity. Uncle Dale was sure he could still make a buck on each and every seat. Naturally there was the usual call for the unions to convince its members that concessions would have to be made and nothing was off the table. ALPA, the entity that governed the aviators, might believe they had the most to relinquish but the losses would be no more painful than those suffered by the workers in the company's cafeteria. AFA was also resistant to Uncle Dale's cutbacks.

  Ironically, I found this period of time to be quite a reprieve for my tormented soul. No one cared to stop and ask me difficult questions. I was able to focus more time on Sofia and Cris. Family trips were taken, time was slowed and I dared to hope that the end of my difficulties was possibly in sight.

  The letter came on a normal day while I oil painted, a needed outlet to express feelings. It was obvious the document was of some importance. The insurer of my medical coverage would no longer cover the cost of my therapy with Doctor Joe. The demons deep down stirred. I was pissed but it was not unexpected. Reva, my sly union rep was right on target. As predicted, the insurer was guided by the employees' agreement with the airlines. I spoke on the phone to a lady from the underwriter; I would be evaluated by a second physician. Any payments to Doctor Ramljak would be immediately suspended. This truly was a macabre roller coaster ride. I was sucked into the system and would have to see the process through, like it or not.

  “Doctor Joseph Ramljak was the recommended physician to see and that decision was made by the airline representative, Daisy Ackley.” I hesitated in revealing the ace I had up my sleeve. I would wait patiently for the right time to break the news to the insurer. “There could also be a plus side,” I thought. Being evaluated by a physician, who I assumed would be a hatchet man, looking out for the underwriters' interest in making a profit, could be utilized as a test. Would the experience give me a different perspective with regard to my therapy with Doctor Joe? It bothered me to know that the playing field of this new game would be warped from the start.

  If a guy who comes out of a crashed, burning jumbo jet is determined not to be dysfunctional, what could other patients with deep personal scars hope for? I decided to play by the rules and an appointment was made to travel to Sherman Oaks for the evaluation. Doctor Ramljak was far more concerned than I about this second evaluation. I should have taken note but I stupidly dismissed his warnings.

  Doctor Sidney Hackle was a work of art, a poster boy for copiousness of greed. Arriving for my appointment, I was directed by his assistant to a room where I would spend the better part of two hours completing a series of tests. I was asked to draw a picture of the perfect family on a sheet of white paper and express whether I felt overwhelmed by life.

  “Is he kidding?” Instantly, I found myself standing in the midst of the burning mound of charred metal.

  “Mi mama'! Mi mama'!” The sights, sounds and smells of that morbid day were just below the surface. Have I not been on the edge of insanity? Of course the medical insurer word not simply take my word and after a period of waiting I stood face to face with Sidney.

  “Mr. Valenzula, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to a white sofa. I ignored the mispronunciation of my name. The physician sized me up from behind his thick bifocals. It seemed as though the man was following a ritual.

  “So, what type of injury do you have?” The straight faced evaluator was serious.

  “I was in an accident.”

  “What type of accident?” Was the scrawny man in the white coat for real.? “Do you have my file? Did you read up on anything regarding my medical claim?” Dr. Hackle was not use to being challenged and his face reflected his growing disdain. Sidney returned to his monologue.

  “Exactly what type of accident was it?” I was somewhat confused.

  “What do you mean?” Sidney began to show frustration.

  “What happened?” Finally I realized that Sidney had no idea what the specifics of my case were. The only thing that seemed certain was that he was going to find absolutely nothing wrong with me, details be damned. My anger swelled.

  “I was on a f###### jumbo jet that slammed into two buildings.” The hatchet man was unimpressed. “There was a massive blow to the ship. We first hit a dump truck which tore our right landing gear from our belly. I crawled out of the burning rumble to witness total devastation. You don't think that fried my brain? I was then subjected to the death cries of two young boys.” I began to softly weep. I found myself lost in my oral declaration. Suddenly I turned to find my esteemed evaluator with eyes closed, fast asleep. I was thrown into a tizzy as I knew not what to do. I instinctively coughed loudly and awakened him.

  “Ah yes, I think I’ve heard enough.” The determination was a done deal, unfortunately, not to my benefit.

  I drove away from Sherman Oaks cursing myself for not listening to Dr. Joe's advice. If anything, now I knew why there is the term “hatchet man.”

  “How bad could his evaluation be?” I comforted my mind with false hope. Certainly with the likes of Doctor Ramljak and his impeccable reputation, we would be able to logically explain any minor differences Sidney might express. Until Dr. Hackle's final evaluation was available, payment for my therapy with Dr. Joe abruptly ended.

  “I will see you next week Ed,” Doctor Joe stated as we ended our session.

  “You're not getting paid, Doc,” I blurted out reminding him of the carrier's actions. He stared at me and posted a sly smile, an indication that I would not stand alone. Perhaps it did not take a genius to determine what they were doing to me was wrong. I left his office sure he had seen this type of action by the corporate entities before and he would continue to guide without receiving a penny. I was grateful.

  In time, the report from Sidney Hackle arrived and it was no surprise that his decision had gone against me. What was astonishing
was the length that the sleepy hatchet man went to in order to destroy any source that might indicate that I had a valid case. Page after page carefully outlined his determination that I had not suffered one bit of psychological trauma. Reflecting upon my experience, this determination was actually scary. Dr. Sidney could have screwed me big time. If I had not manipulated the system on the advice of Reva, I could easily have been left out in the cold. This report could have evolved into a significant trigger that would have ignited my fuel of hatred. This physician was dangerous and no doubt may have shattered the lives of many who were weak and broken.

  Instead, I remained calm and logical, sticking to my plan. Dr. Joe was too great a man to say “I told you so.” The intelligent physician examined Sidney's document with interest.

  “You were smart to foresee the complications the system can present.” Ramljak was impressed by the ploy.

  “I need to thank my AFA union rep Reva, she is the one who had the insight.” Dr. Joe peered at me above his glasses.

  The underwriters were quick to arrange a conference call once Sidney's report surfaced. Doctor Joe and I waited patiently in his office when the call came in.

  “According to the flight attendant contract,” a Ms. Harlington began, “we have the evaluation of our physician Doctor Hackle and your physician Doctor Ramljak. Now what is needed is a third opinion by….” I cut the polite woman off.

  “Excuse me, Doctor Ramljak is not my physician.” There was a long pause as I spotted a little smile on the psychiatrist’s jolly face. He was enjoying himself. Confusion became evident in the representative's voice.

  “He is not your Doctor?”

  “No,” I slowly responded. “Doctor Ramljak was selected and recommended to me by the airline. In fact, they are the ones who contacted him and arranged my initial session.” A long pause followed.

  “Is this information correct, Doctor Ramljak?”

  “Indeed it is,” the good healer stepped right in and forced the next move. “According to the company contract with the Association of Flight Attendants, a third evaluation is needed by a reputable physician selected by Mr. Valenciana, is that not correct?”

  “Ah, yes,” the corporate ploy was shattered. Dr. Joe took control of the initiative.

  “I will see that Mr. Valenciana proceeds with this evaluation as soon as possible so that we may accelerate the process and confirm his status with regard to his therapy.”

  “Ah, yes, that is the correct procedure and we will await the third evaluation.” In concluding the conference call I was filled with elation and danced about the office.

  Once I settled down, Dr. Joe indicated he had a colleague in San Bernardino who would be the perfect selection to validate my medical claim.

  “Now, tell me the reasons why you are roaming the streets, putting yourself and others in harm's way during your layovers?” My doctor was not going to let me off the hook.

  Although the airline and my job security teetered dangerously from day to day, the period in which Uncle Dale guided the company brought a sense of tranquility to my life. All the associates had much more important issues on their minds. The crash and its survivor no longer mattered. Eddy Valenciana was once again allowed to join the flight line in lieu of Edmundo. I was able to silently slip into obscurity at work and it was wonderful.

  While under the care of Doctor Ramljak my employment status was still formulated by the guidelines set by Barry Lane. I still did not have to fly Mexico City and also had the ability to remove myself from the reserve flight list without repercussions. With the airline in such dire straits, no one in the new management team seemed interested in my comings and goings. Most likely, no departments other than Scheduling and Payroll even knew of my specific circumstance.

  Try as hard as I could to recapture the carefree essence of my pre-accident flying days, I could not shake the contempt that ate at my soul concerning the injustice and general lies, especially those regarding the families of my crew-members.

  “Let it go.”

  “Get on with your life.”

  “You have a lovely wife and a beautiful son, don't let anything destroy that.” The arguments were quite logical and were sincerely presented by individuals who truly cared for my well-being. Yet, the words were spoken by those whose minds did not carry the memories of the dancing flames or the torn, broken bodies. Their ears did not have to listen to the screams of lost loved ones. Their hearts were not filled with shame and hatred. So, I spent my layover nights on a hunt to satisfy my desire to avenge.

  My list of hunting grounds covered the spectrum of designated cities. PHX, PDX, SEA, LAS, DFW and DEN were just some of the urban battlegrounds. I sought to mingle with the cursed and forsaken, in the dingy dives and bars where the helpless sought escape. For there were always vulture-scum nearby whose ambition was to pick the bones of the defenseless.

  “Hit him again,” Antimundo directed. As time went on I never seemed content with the initial damage inflicted. I would justify my sin by convincing myself the victims were,

  “Not good enough!”

  Roaming the limitless back streets and alleyways enhanced the pleasure in Antimundo's desire, seeking a greater degree of danger. I wanted to spit in the face of Muerto not because I was brave or noble, but because I was so damn incensed by the injustice of it all. I convince myself that my perspective victims were Death's disciples. Antimundo wished them to feel the wrath of my brass knuckled weapon which I now carried on all assigned flights.

  “Welcome aboard, we are so happy to serve you.”

  In time the honeymoon between the airline and its new leader, Uncle Dale, began to sour. With the future of the airline still in doubt, the associates had enough and took action.

  With the aid of massive union concessions from all ranks in the company, the employees, numbering over 10,000, became the helmsman of their own destiny; they became the owners of the airline. With such a bold move the new board of directors needed a bold leader who could not only guide and motivate but also have the insight to deliver the company from the verge of bankruptcy. He would have to bring her back to profitability, which at the time was seemingly impossible. This required someone who could navigate the airline through the ever turbulent waters of deregulation. So, Barry Lane, the Vice President of Inflight Services, the man who was a ship cleaner in 1946, put aside a well earned retirement to become the Chief Executive Officer.

  Barry greeted the obstacle just like great men do, with courage and faith. With all these important issues to deal with he still had the compassion to reach out and assure me that he remained my advocate. The company would continue to endorse any situation that favored my healing process. Despite all my deplorable behavior, I was honored by this champion for my cause. His actions humbled me.

  “I got real lucky,” I reminded myself. In studying the reports of most air disasters and the way in which other companies dealt with survivors and crew-members, I discovered most of their actions to be swift and cold. There were efforts to terminate any relationship with those perceived “not to be in line with the program.”.

  I certainly had no intention of disturbing Mr. Lane early in his tenure as CEO but to my amazement he called me up to the Executive Offices. My erratic conduct supported an impulse to reject the good advice and help of Doctor Ramljak. Appointments were missed as my hatred took control. My will to heal was fading. I was embracing the demon I was becoming. The good doctor was concerned and took action and Barry Lane was made aware of my plight. I was shocked not only for getting caught like a mischievous child but I had also let the good man down.

  “What's holding you back Eduardo?” The CEO inquired as a friend and mentor. “What can we do to help you along?” My head fell with shame.

  “I need to tell the truth.” I quickly regretted my statement. Perhaps I was overstepping my bounds.

  “Go ahead, say your peace.”

  “Hell, nearly everyone in this company has been lied to, directly or ind
irectly, by the withholding of specific information.”

  “You want a chance to express yourself to the new board of directors?” I could not believe my ears. “Look, you get back to seeing Dr. Ramljak and I will arrange for you to meet and speak to the board sometime soon.” Mr. Lane was a busy man and I had been graciously given precious time. I left the executive offices in a trance for I still could not believe what I had heard. Gathering my thoughts I wondered what was I going to tell the directors?

  I returned to the beach house optimistic, but Sofia was distant and silent. Anything related to the crash was the last thing she wanted to hear. I sympathized with her. I was still in deep trouble.

  The extent of support by Barry H. Lane, CEO of the airline was his personal choice. There were no legal grounds demanding or requiring him to provide such an endorsement, especially with my instability.

  Barry was a good man with the belief that it would be in my best interest if I could find a way to just move on from this circumstance. I believe he came to realize that I was determined to see this thing through to its eventual conclusion. One way or another, and he reasoned rightly, that conclusion could be disastrous. He was providing me with opportunities, but more importantly he reintroduced me to hope.

  I sat in the large company room, nicely dressed and extremely uncomfortable. I nervously shook my foot in a continuous beat as years of buried anger began to swell. Once the director's meeting had come to order, Mr. Lane turned in my direction.

  “As you can see, today we have a visitor.” I nodded to the group which also included a flight attendant and a pilot. Some on the far side of the polished table stretched their heads to get a glimpse of me.