Delayed Reaction

 I'd only had one delayed reaction in my life, before yesterday. I was in my boss Ed's King Air, leaving MIA with his friend Bill at the controls. Right after takeoff, the twin prop-jet started shaking, and turning to the left. Bill radioed "Mayday" and told the tower we needed to return.

Compounding the problem, Bill had weakness in his legs, as a result of an earlier seaplane crash -- and so he kept yelling at my boss, in the co-pilot's seat, to "help push the fucking rudder pedals!"

I was sitting behind, trying to keep calm, and I casually poked my head forward, asking what was up. Comically, both Bill and Ed turned to me and shouted "Sit the fuck down and put on your seat belt!"

I complied, and then was suffused with a calmness I never had. I was SURE I was going to die -- I remember picturing in my head the failing plane's path. Would we maybe crash into Lake Osceola on the UM campus? I so love it there. Or maybe into the Atlantic -- then I would be with my beloved Dad -- without the need for cremation.

It was eerie how calm and accepting I was. I try to replicate that to this day --haven't been able to titrate enough vodka to get there.

Anyway, somehow the two up front fought the plane, we made a big circle, and landed. Bill pulled off the side of the runway and diagnosed the problem. A maintainence guy had left the rudder's trim tab setting in the extreme left position -- so as the plane went faster, it kept wanting to turn left. He simply turned it back, and we got in line for another takeoff, which we did, and then flew to Tampa. We lauged it off, and said we would celebrate our brush with death that night at Bern's Steakhouse. Indeed, Ed ended up buying a $300 bottle of wine which we enjoyed, along with our martnis. Bill, flying home later, had half a sip of the wine, to simply taste it.

But during the deposition, probably 4 hours after the incident, my hands started shaking, uncontrollably. I hid them under the table -- it was like I had end stage Parkinson's Disease. The shaking stopped after a half hour. I never forgot that.

Well yesterday, we had a near miss. Fortunately all were ok, and at the time, I was my usual calm self -- directing family members, trying to lower the temperature and deal with the auto issues that arose. 

It ended with a visit to the ER at UHospital for Wifey -- where she was given the all clear. We were all thankful.

But sure enough, last evening, as I sat at my keyboard, that old, terrible hand shaking started again, as I composed a long email. I recognized my old frenemy -- the delayed reaction -- and knew it would subside. It did, fortunately, after a half hour.

My son in law Jonathan, on a business trip in Nashville, but privy to all the details, texted that maybe last night was a good one to violate my "I never drink alone" rule. I didn't -- luckily go to sleep, after a LONG talk with the Big Man, thanking him for the un-thankable -- sparing my family from what may have been a destruction we couldn't have recovered from.

I don't ever want another delayed reaction again.

Regarding the plane crash, my friends and co-workers minimized my tale -- we weren't THAT close to crashing.

Well, years later, Paul and I hosted Ed and his crew at Villa Wifey, to celebrate a joint case result, and to thank Ed for his years of mentoring to us. We sat around the table. Bill was a guest.

And he confirmed it -- in his LONG career in aviation, including the above mentioned seaplane crash -- without a doubt the closest he came to dying was on that flight from MIA to Tampa. See? I was vindicated!

Hopefully yesterday was my last time...