superstition—that or the fact that, holy crap, the plane frickin’ fell apart and crashed in a former life.
This L-1011 in particular was slated to be sold to a puddle-jump startup based in Grand Cayman called Peacock Airways. As a condition of the sale of the L-1011 to Peacock Airways, WorldAir was only responsible for restoring the structure to airworthiness, which is why zero restoration had been made to the interior of the fuselage. Airlines, when they buy a brand-new plane, get them delivered gutted so they can retrofit the interior with their patented seats, systems, and décor. Since Peacock Airways was buying this plane used, they would have to do the gutting themselves.
The L-1011 airplane was a good candidate for reconstruction, seeing as how the bomb blast had been isolated to the tail section, which broke off cleanly for the most part. Otis himself had been instrumental in reattaching a replacement tail section, as he could not resist anything that required the use of fire and hanging from a harness. (My heart felt a pang of worry as I wondered what came of him. I hoped he was able to crush Hackman’s face like a bug.)
Peacock Airways itself had only been in existence for less than a year and was already off to a bad start. For its ceremonial inaugural flight, packed with politicians and media, the Caribbean PR department for the airline thought it would be a good idea to let loose a flock of actual peacocks to roam the aisles of the plane and entertain the passengers. I guess nobody told them that peacocks are pretty vicious birds. One bit a fingertip off of a local television reporter, which caused the passengers to panic and run to the front of the aircraft to get away from the birds. The sudden redistribution of weight caused the pilot to lose control of the airplane, which immediately crashed just off the shore of Cancún. You can see a number of videos of the crash on YouTube, even, thanks to the gaggle of tourists on the beach with their cellphones at the ready. Four passengers and most of the peacocks died.
That Peacock Airways was still in business is testimony to the complacency of the traveling public, if you ask me. Most people didn’t seem to care about the condition of the plane, or even of the pilot, they just wanted to pay as little as possible for a ticket to Vegas. I attributed this mentality to a theory I had about the perpetuation of mass delusion put upon consumers by the airline industry as a whole. Because in fact it was not normal to be rocketing around in a metal tube thousands of feet above the ground. We all know it’s not normal, but just as people are able to be incited to panic about innocuous things, they can be placated from panicking about things that are anything but innocuous. I once wrote a paper for my online high-school psychology class that centered on that famous case in the sixties in which a woman was stabbed to death over the course of 45 minutes on the street outside her apartment building. Several of her neighbors heard her screams, but did nothing because, surely, if something frightening was happening, wouldn’t everyone be jumping from their seats to make a fuss? Normalcy is an artificial and self-fulfilling construct. The neighbors weren’t evil people, they were just adjusting to the present circumstances with bovine complacency.
Airlines depended on bovine complacency in order to exist. They fortified it with all the inflight distractions available in recent decades—sound-canceling headphones, eye masks, nonstop movies, inflight WiFi, alcohol —all these conveniences perpetuated the illusion that it was normal to be hurtling through the sky in a metal vessel that was one burnt-out wire away from being a smoldering black crater in a cornfield somewhere. In truth it made perfect sense to be terrified to fly, but the artificial normalcy maintained that there was nothing to be frightened about. Because, surely, if something frightening was happening,
This L-1011 in particular was slated to be sold to a puddle-jump startup based in Grand Cayman called Peacock Airways. As a condition of the sale of the L-1011 to Peacock Airways, WorldAir was only responsible for restoring the structure to airworthiness, which is why zero restoration had been made to the interior of the fuselage. Airlines, when they buy a brand-new plane, get them delivered gutted so they can retrofit the interior with their patented seats, systems, and décor. Since Peacock Airways was buying this plane used, they would have to do the gutting themselves.
The L-1011 airplane was a good candidate for reconstruction, seeing as how the bomb blast had been isolated to the tail section, which broke off cleanly for the most part. Otis himself had been instrumental in reattaching a replacement tail section, as he could not resist anything that required the use of fire and hanging from a harness. (My heart felt a pang of worry as I wondered what came of him. I hoped he was able to crush Hackman’s face like a bug.)
Peacock Airways itself had only been in existence for less than a year and was already off to a bad start. For its ceremonial inaugural flight, packed with politicians and media, the Caribbean PR department for the airline thought it would be a good idea to let loose a flock of actual peacocks to roam the aisles of the plane and entertain the passengers. I guess nobody told them that peacocks are pretty vicious birds. One bit a fingertip off of a local television reporter, which caused the passengers to panic and run to the front of the aircraft to get away from the birds. The sudden redistribution of weight caused the pilot to lose control of the airplane, which immediately crashed just off the shore of Cancún. You can see a number of videos of the crash on YouTube, even, thanks to the gaggle of tourists on the beach with their cellphones at the ready. Four passengers and most of the peacocks died.
That Peacock Airways was still in business is testimony to the complacency of the traveling public, if you ask me. Most people didn’t seem to care about the condition of the plane, or even of the pilot, they just wanted to pay as little as possible for a ticket to Vegas. I attributed this mentality to a theory I had about the perpetuation of mass delusion put upon consumers by the airline industry as a whole. Because in fact it was not normal to be rocketing around in a metal tube thousands of feet above the ground. We all know it’s not normal, but just as people are able to be incited to panic about innocuous things, they can be placated from panicking about things that are anything but innocuous. I once wrote a paper for my online high-school psychology class that centered on that famous case in the sixties in which a woman was stabbed to death over the course of 45 minutes on the street outside her apartment building. Several of her neighbors heard her screams, but did nothing because, surely, if something frightening was happening, wouldn’t everyone be jumping from their seats to make a fuss? Normalcy is an artificial and self-fulfilling construct. The neighbors weren’t evil people, they were just adjusting to the present circumstances with bovine complacency.
Airlines depended on bovine complacency in order to exist. They fortified it with all the inflight distractions available in recent decades—sound-canceling headphones, eye masks, nonstop movies, inflight WiFi, alcohol —all these conveniences perpetuated the illusion that it was normal to be hurtling through the sky in a metal vessel that was one burnt-out wire away from being a smoldering black crater in a cornfield somewhere. In truth it made perfect sense to be terrified to fly, but the artificial normalcy maintained that there was nothing to be frightened about. Because, surely, if something frightening was happening,
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