Because of the ValuJet crash in Florida, followed by the disintegration of a Delta Airlines jet engine, I found myself a bit on edge as the Delta plane I was on taxied out to the reef runway on Wednesday. And I felt a little silly when I jumped when the the landing gear began to retract with a "thunk" right after we got in the air.
Nevertheless, my heart still beat a little more rapidly when we landed in Los Angeles and then again when we took off from L.A. and landed in Salt Lake City.
Safely in the hands of a maniacal taxi driver who's cab smelled like the substance that Bill Clinton didn't inhale, I looked back on the trip with some embarrassment. I'm the son of an Air Force pilot, by god. My brother is a commercial airline pilot. I've flown all over the world. I know flying is one of the safest ways to get around that there is.
Then I woke up the next morning and the first thing I see is a headline in the Salt Lake City Tribune that said simply: 747 Explodes. I turned on television and the story of the tragic crash of the TWA plane in New York was on every channel.
Suddenly I didn't feel so silly and my jet lag had disappeared.
I suppose I will board a jet back to Hawaii next week. But, folks, this flying thing just ain't as much fun as it used to be. If I decide to stay on the mainland for a while, until they get these airplane problems out of the way or until someone can convince me to take a tramp steamer back to Hawaii, someone call my wife and let her know what's going on.
I'm in Snowbird, which is a resort area about 30 miles out of Salt Lake City, to attend the annual National Society of Newspaper Columnists convention.
Snowbird is best known for its skiing. This time of year, however, the mountains are rugged and green. They rise all around the resort like enormous monuments to the environment. It's a bit disconcerting for someone from Hawaii. Everything is mauka.
Even though Salt Lake City is technically in a desert and Snowbird suddenly launches some 11,000 feet above sea level, there still are enough reminders of oceania to make someone from Hawaii feel at home. First of all, thanks to Hawaii's Brigham Young University campus, there are tons of former Hawaii residents here. Second, not to mention peculiarly, the Utah state bird is a sea gull. Apparently, in 1848 a plague of crickets nearly destroyed the harvest here, but sea gulls ate the crickets and saved the day.
I have no idea how sea gulls came to live in this landlocked state (the literature in the hotel bathroom is wanting on that historical footnote), but I promise I will get to the bottom of the sea gull mystery before I leave.
This year, the society will give San Francisco Chronicle columnist Art Hoppe a lifetime-achievement award. I'm sure this will be a real chicken-skin affair. A few years ago we gave Art's buddy Herb Caen the lifetime achievement award. We were ahead of our time on that score. But well behind considering what a legend and inspiration Caen had been for columnists everywhere.
Last year, Caen was awarded a special Pulitzer Prize, the first in his long career and long overdue. He and Art Hoppe had made a pact that if either of them won the award, they would reject it, since they had been overlooked for so many years.
Caen, in good humor, accepted the award and hoped Hoppe wouldn't hold it against him. I don't think he did.
Shortly after that, Caen announced that he had inoperable cancer. I don't know what Hoppe will have to say about all this. I hope that he gets his Pulitzer eventually, but that he remains healthy for a good long time.
And I hope he can give me a lift to San Francisco in his van so I can avoid at least one plane ride.
