country, there’s a Dickensian twist to our departure. We’re in the air. We’ve just left Los Angeles International Airport. Suddenly, I feel the plane turning around. The pilot gets on the intercom and announces that we’rererouting the flight back to the airport for an emergency landing. There’s an audible gasp in the cabin. Farrah’s got Redmond in her lap. She tightens her grip on him. She is a soldier and a mother. While she may be terrified inside, nothing shows. Redmond picks up on her calmness and doesn’t fuss. I reach over to check her seatbelt, and then give my own a good, strong tug. Farrah tightens her grip on Redmond. The woman sitting next to us pulls out a rosary, starts to pray. Some passengers are crying. Redmond’s unaffected. He seems to think this is a fun new game. The pilot’s voice booms over the intercom again. “Folks, we’ll be using the emergency exit system today. Leave your carry-ons on board, and the flight attendants will direct you to the evacuation slides.”
By now people are on the edge of hysteria. The plane makes its final descent and the wheels screech to a halt. The flight attendants pull open the emergency hatches, inflate the slides, and begin hustling everyone to the exit doors. I ease myself onto the slide, tuck Redmond firmly between my legs, and Farrah sits behind me, her arms and legs wrapped around me, and together our little family descends to the tarmac. “Again, again!” shouts Redmond. He thinks we’re in Disneyland. We’ve been instructed to run as fast as we can to the ditch at the end of the runway. I hoist Redmond onto my shoulders, and the three of us scurry. We’ll read about the reason for the emergency in the newspaper. Apparently the IRA notified police there was a bomb onboard. This was during the Troubles in Belfast. A terrible business, but at least the Irish occasionally warn you first.
The next day we’re back on board and up we go again. The bomb threat has upset Farrah. It’s the first time I’ve seen her concerned about flying. So I take out the travel-size chess set that I’d brought along and teach her how to play, hoping it will keep her mind occupied. Not only does it distract her, but by the time we’re making our approach into London’s Heathrow Airport, she’s checkmated me. I try to be a good loser. She loved that. Farrah was cunning, but when you’re that pretty, people rarely give you any credit for your intelligence. Farrah had a keen mind. When she’d be handed a contract to sign, she’d review every line, and her questions would impress some of the best attorneys in the entertainment business. There was so much more to her than gleaming teeth and a bountiful head of hair. Farrah Fawcett wasn’t beauty with brains, she was brains with beauty.
In London we’re staying at Claridge’s, a classy hotel near Hyde Park. The first night we’re running through the TV channels when, to our surprise, we come across
Love Story
. With Redmond asleep beside us, Farrah and I watch it together for the first time, neither of us knowing how surely it predicts our future. Then again, the evening started out prophetically. A few hours earlier we’d called for room service and when our order arrived, as I was looking for my wallet, the guy dressed as a waiter suddenly has a camera aimed at us. He wouldn’t stop. So I wrestled him out of ourroom. The incident was unsettling because someone must have helped this guy from the inside. I alerted the hotel manager, who was mortified and assured me that nothing like this would happen again. Wishful thinking. The next time we’re so nakedly invaded will be twenty years later under horrific circumstances, when everything else Farrah and I will have endured will bear no comparison.
It doesn’t take long for our family to return to our routine on location, though we do have an unexpected challenge the first few weeks. The nanny, a wonderful woman whom Redmond adores, injured her leg during
By now people are on the edge of hysteria. The plane makes its final descent and the wheels screech to a halt. The flight attendants pull open the emergency hatches, inflate the slides, and begin hustling everyone to the exit doors. I ease myself onto the slide, tuck Redmond firmly between my legs, and Farrah sits behind me, her arms and legs wrapped around me, and together our little family descends to the tarmac. “Again, again!” shouts Redmond. He thinks we’re in Disneyland. We’ve been instructed to run as fast as we can to the ditch at the end of the runway. I hoist Redmond onto my shoulders, and the three of us scurry. We’ll read about the reason for the emergency in the newspaper. Apparently the IRA notified police there was a bomb onboard. This was during the Troubles in Belfast. A terrible business, but at least the Irish occasionally warn you first.
The next day we’re back on board and up we go again. The bomb threat has upset Farrah. It’s the first time I’ve seen her concerned about flying. So I take out the travel-size chess set that I’d brought along and teach her how to play, hoping it will keep her mind occupied. Not only does it distract her, but by the time we’re making our approach into London’s Heathrow Airport, she’s checkmated me. I try to be a good loser. She loved that. Farrah was cunning, but when you’re that pretty, people rarely give you any credit for your intelligence. Farrah had a keen mind. When she’d be handed a contract to sign, she’d review every line, and her questions would impress some of the best attorneys in the entertainment business. There was so much more to her than gleaming teeth and a bountiful head of hair. Farrah Fawcett wasn’t beauty with brains, she was brains with beauty.
In London we’re staying at Claridge’s, a classy hotel near Hyde Park. The first night we’re running through the TV channels when, to our surprise, we come across
Love Story
. With Redmond asleep beside us, Farrah and I watch it together for the first time, neither of us knowing how surely it predicts our future. Then again, the evening started out prophetically. A few hours earlier we’d called for room service and when our order arrived, as I was looking for my wallet, the guy dressed as a waiter suddenly has a camera aimed at us. He wouldn’t stop. So I wrestled him out of ourroom. The incident was unsettling because someone must have helped this guy from the inside. I alerted the hotel manager, who was mortified and assured me that nothing like this would happen again. Wishful thinking. The next time we’re so nakedly invaded will be twenty years later under horrific circumstances, when everything else Farrah and I will have endured will bear no comparison.
It doesn’t take long for our family to return to our routine on location, though we do have an unexpected challenge the first few weeks. The nanny, a wonderful woman whom Redmond adores, injured her leg during
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