It was a perfect Florida morning. Cobalt blue skies, and 70 degree weather as we’re descending through 3,000 feet. I always loved landing to the east at Fort Lauderdale International. The beaches, and the ocean beyond spread out in Gaugin palettes of blues and greens.
Approach control handed us over to the Tower frequency, and Tower has cleared us to land. Landing check complete and we’re cleared to Land. We were fat, happy, and enjoying the view.
Captain Rehza Kehani and I loved flying together. An Iranian and a Jew in the same cockpit, what a combination. We respected each other’s flying skills, and made each other roll with laughter, both of us having the same perverse sense of humor.
Now, lined up on final, we are about three minutes from touchdown. We watch as a light, twin-engine airplane begins his take-off roll, rotates and climbs into the beautiful Florida sky.
Plane: “Tower, we have an emergency.”
Tower: “What’s the nature of your emergency?” Silence… nothing.
We are the spectators of this pantomime, and as we watch, the plane rolls to the right, turns over onto its back, and comes straight down, a lawn-dart, plummeting straight into the Jai Alai parking lot south of the Ft. Lauderdale field.
Smoke, dust and flames without sound, the unreality of what we’re witnessing makes no civilized sense. Neither Rehza nor I say a word to each other for the rest of the day, nor do we look at each other directly. Six more legs we flew that day, all in silence.