In more than 30 years as a journalist, I've been called clueless more
times than I can imagine. It's an occupational hazard, I guess.
But, at least for a while on a brilliant summer morning 10 years ago in Big Bear Lake, Calif., I truly
was clueless, and, I'll admit now, happily, blissfully so.
That day, I was one of five passengers on a Cessna Citation 550 jet
that left Las Vegas bound for Big Bear, where that afternoon Oscar De La
Hoya would host a media gathering to promote his Sept. 14, 2002, bout
with archrival Fernando Vargas.
Then, as now, I was a combat sports writer. I was working for the Las
Vegas Review-Journal and had traveled with colleague Royce Feour,
promoter Bob Arum of Top Rank and Mandalay Bay executives Scott Voeller
and H.C. Rowe to De La Hoya's workout.
As we were making the final descent, Feour, seated at my left,
remarked how we were right on time. We were scheduled to land at 11:15
a.m. I checked my watch and it was 11:14. We were at the top of the
trees and would touch down within seconds.
I turned to Feour, intending to answer him, but I never got the
chance. Feour and I were facing the back of the plane. Voeller was
sitting on the other side of the aisle from me, facing forward, directly
in front of Feour.
As I was about to respond to Feour, Voeller shouted, "Hang on! We're going down!"
The next thing I remember was a hard crash. Then there was a series
of very rough bumps, and then a second, very hard crash. The force of
that second jolt threw me to my right and I banged my head on the wall
on the side of the plane.
I gripped the arms of my seat tightly and hung on in an attempt to keep my balance.
And then, suddenly, we were stopped and things started happening quickly.
When we had taken off, Feour had difficulty getting his seat belt to
tighten properly. It was very loose, and so when we landed, Feour was
moving around the plane far more than anyone else.
When the plane stopped, Feour was leaning across the aisle, his head touching my leg.
This is where being clueless benefitted me. I hadn't realized we had
wrecked and would suddenly become mini-celebrities for having survived a
plane crash.
I just thought it was a rough landing and that the pilot wasn't
particularly good. You just don't survive plane wrecks, and so I never
gave a thought to the fact that we had, indeed, just crashed.
As soon as we came to a standstill, the first thought that had come
to mind was why Feour hadn't moved back to his seat. But before I could
process that information, Voeller shouted again. The urgency and
intensity in his voice grabbed my attention instantly.
"Get off the plane!" he shouted. "The wings are on fire."
The way the plane was configured, I had to move to see out the window. As I did, sure enough, flames were dancing on the wings.
