“Don’t worry. I almost have my instrument rating” – by Laura Resnick Chavez
In the spring of 1978 I flew to Aspen, Colorado from Albuquerque, New Mexico in a small Cessna aircraft. The pilot was my fiancé Rudy’s friend Paul, who had made a fortune in the early ’70s Indian jewelry business, and taken up the rich man’s sport of flying. I was headed to Aspen for the weekend to visit with Paul’s lovely girlfriend, Johanna, and shop at the charming boutiques in search of a unique dress for my upcoming wedding.
Before leaving town, Rudy gave me his credit card and instructed me to, “Fly home commercial if Paul does anything weird.” Paul was a strange dude but I couldn’t imagine what he might do that would make me not want to fly back with him. Not one of my favorite people, he was the kind of guy who consistently appeared at our house at dinnertime uninvited and empty handed, and then spent the next few hours pontificating about all his financial success. Not only was he a bore, but he was also the cheapest SOB I’d ever met.
The ride to Aspen was sunny and uneventful. Johanna introduced me to all the chic stores, and I found a beautiful silk and lace camisole and skirt. Other than the fact that she and Paul had a weird eccentricity–hanging out naked around the house, the trip went fairly well. On Monday, the weather turned from sunny to stormy. I trusted Paul knew what he was doing when we drove to the small airport to fly home. It wasn’t raining that hard, and he spoke with staff at the counter while I sat in a plastic chair.
The minute we took off I knew it was a big mistake. We bounced wildly about in the air, and the rain started coming down in heavy sheets. We couldn’t see three feet in front of us. I asked Paul if we should head back to Aspen. “Don’t worry,” he said, “The instruments will guide us home just fine. I’m good at this even if I haven’t completed my instrument rating.”
Famous last words. The wind was whipping the Cessna all over the sky, and I felt my lunch arriving in the paper bag Paul had smartly provided me before taking off. Glancing at the wedding dress hanging in the zippered bag, I feared I would never get to wear it. I envisioned the headline in the Albuquerque Journal . “TWO ALBUQUERQUE RESIDENTS DIE IN PRIVATE PLANE CRASH IN ROCKY MOUNTAINS .”
I rarely pray, but I did so then, but not out loud. “Please don’t let me die, Lord. I promise I’ll be good the rest of my life, another Mother Theresa if you just let me live to get married and have a family.” Miraculously, four long, long hours later, we landed in Albuquerque. I kissed the ground and kissed Rudy. He had called the Aspen airport and learned that all the commercial airlines had ceased flying out of Aspen that night.
It turns out that Paul had made arrangements to lease out his plane the next day. He had risked our lives flying in a major storm to make a few bucks. I have never flown in a small aircraft since that day, and Rudy, my husband of thirty two years, lost all interest in his old buddy Paul.
Many thanks to Laura for sharing this story. I’ve heard bits and pieces of it before, and I’ve been pestering her to post it on my website. She finally came through, and it was worth waiting for.
A few years ago at a writer’s group function, I suggested to Rudy and Laura that an airplane would be the perfect way to travel back and forth to their home in Taos. “It’s easily within the range of a single-engine four-seater with the two of you plus baggage and fuel. Rudy could get his private pilot’s license, and you wouldn’t have to spend all those hours in a car.”
I distinctly remember that Laura blanched in response. At first I thought it might be that she wouldn’t want her husband flying them anywhere, but this first experience in a small plane had obviously been the reason. Her description of the pilot explains it all. Having more money than brains is a dangerous combination in aviation.
Thanks again to my friend and fellow writer.
The title you gave the story is perfecto!
THE COMMERCIAL FLIGHTS DID NOT LEAVE THAT DAY! Nice, all the times that I have questioned my own judgement, I can think back to Paul, and realize my decision was not that stupid!
Absolutely it was not. In fact, we can best evaluate your decision not on a scale of relative stupidity, but of intelligence and wisdom.
In another post on this site, I talk about the “bulletproof syndrome,” in which experienced pilots consider themselves invincible and do things that result in tragedy.
In this case, the “expert syndrome” raised its ugly head, most often associated with individuals who have achieved professional and financial success. They get so full of themselves that they look at flying an airplane as a piece of cake. “How hard can it be?”
And the answer to that is, “As hard as unforgiving earth, and it will bite you in the you-know-what faster than you can blink.”
That said, I still think you guys need an airplane . . . =:-)