Chapter Nine

 

The location of the crash site precluded any media coverage other than long-range camera shots from an observation vestibule located in the A terminal of the airport. In keeping with the “If it bleeds, it leads” mentality of TV news reporting, the entire local, national, and cable news companies had taken up filming positions in the glass-enclosed rotunda. With the twisted, smoldering wreckage less than a mile away as a backdrop, regularly scheduled programming across the country had been interrupted periodically to issue “Special Reports” live from the scene. Since no official statement had been issued by the company or regulatory officials, the 6:00 p.m. press conference arranged by the executives of Consolidated Airlines would be well attended by the ever-increasing number of reporters.

The four executives who would deliver their prepared remarks had arrived in town earlier that day. Wilbur Rutledge, the Chairman of the Board, had flown in from Washington, D.C. A rather short, balding, and rotund individual with soft-spoken demeanor, he hardly looked the part of an airline executive.

As he sat alone in a suite on the 12th floor of the Marquis Gardens Hotel awaiting the arrival of the other members of the Consolidated Airlines team that would address the press that evening, Wilbur considered the plan for disseminating the information to the press. He was not pleased with it, but had no choice but to follow the instructions from the “investors.” His mind drifted back forty years earlier to the night he had been visited by their representatives at an old hangar he owned in Springtown, Iowa. Under their guidance, or perhaps more accurately their coercion, he had managed a significant portion of the CIA’s secret airline in Southeast Asia during the Vietnam War.

After the war he and the investors took advantage of the deregulation of the air freight industry to start Midwest States Cargo Services in the United States. This deregulation allowed his company and others such as the newly created Federal Express to operate jet aircraft that heretofore had only been permitted by a handful of freight airlines such as Flying Tigers. It was actually the deregulation of the air freight industry that spawned the removal of restrictions on the formation of new passenger airlines as well. Just as this proliferation of competition had led to the demise of Flying Tigers, so too would the creation of numerous “new entrant” passenger airlines lead to the demise of such stalwarts as Braniff, Pan Am, Eastern, and TWA.

Midwest States’ post-war air freight operations during the 1970’s had been sustained in part by the constant flow of government contracts to fly freight between military bases, as well as the occasional clandestine charter to fly classified cargoes around the world. Whenever there was a need to deliver military supplies to support the overthrow of a government in some obscure African nation, or perhaps evacuate the rulers of a country that was collapsing in civil war, the investors ensured that Midwest States got its fair share of these no-bid government contracts.

When the investors decided to enter the scheduled passenger market in the early 1980’s, the company’s name was changed to Consolidated Airlines. The marketing department determined that this new name would have a more broad based appeal to the traveling public. Like so many decisions made by his partners during the war, Wilbur had little choice but acquiesce to their demands. His recollections of this frustrating state of affairs were interrupted by a knock at the hotel room door. He peered through the peephole, recognized the two men standing in the hall, and opened the door. William Wilcox, the Manager of Flight Operations, entered first.

“Good evening, Mr. Rutledge,” he formally greeted Wilbur as he walked past him and entered the spacious living room area of the hotel suite. He was followed into the room by G. Forest Clarke, the President of Consolidated. Wilbur disliked Wilcox and despised Clarke.

Mr. Clarke, or “G” as he was known in the management circles of the company, was a tall slender man with chiseled facial features and a full head of thick silver gray hair. The investors had mandated his employment as part of a marketing campaign for image enhancement when they began the scheduled passenger service. G was really nothing more than a figurehead, hired to meet the public’s perception of a charismatic and savvy aviation entrepreneur. The daily activities of marketing, yield management, human resource allocation, and the myriad other intricate details involved in running an airline were administered by a team of ivy league educated MBA’s assembled by the investors.

Over time the investors had also diminished Wilbur’s control over company operations to the point that he couldn’t even get rid of Wilcox as the flight ops manager.

“Evening, Wilbur,” G addressed the chairman as he began scanning the room for the location of the mini-bar.

“I’d like to go over our strategy for addressing the press at six this evening,” Wilbur replied, attempting to take control of the meeting.

G had his back to Wilbur and was pouring a glass of scotch from the hotel suite bar. Shaking the ice in the glass and then taking a sip, he turned to Wilbur and interrupted his comments. “I’ve already spoken to the boys in D.C. They told me they had already contacted you,” he said, casually gesturing toward Wilbur with his drink- filled hand.

Wilbur looked anxiously at G and then to Willie, not believing that G would make mention of the investors in front of Willie.

“Don’t worry about Willie,” G responded. “He can be trusted to play any role I give him. So here’s the plan the boys in D.C. want us to follow,” G continued after taking another sip from his drink. “Wilbur, you will open with a few remarks about how saddened and concerned we are. I will then take over and do the ‘we’re in total compliance and cooperating fully with the FAA’ routine. After a few more remarks, I’ll then open the floor to questions. Willie and Jordan will answer any detailed or technical stuff, and I’ll just interject with big picture issues from time to time. Remember, Willie, we don’t come down hard on the captain at this time. We’ll save that for later when we introduce the digital flight data recorder information. We will weather this little setback if we all stay on the same page with our public statements.”

“Little setback!” Wilbur stared in disbelief. He couldn’t believe the callous manner in which G was reacting to this disaster.

“All we have to do is paint a picture of the captain as a reckless cowboy type of pilot,” G continued. “In spite of our best efforts to control his behavior, he simply would not comply with company policies and procedures. Are we all clear on these issues?”

“By the way, what was the captain’s name?” G inquired.

“Jakyll…Don Jakyll,” Willie replied. “I’ve got a record of him coming to my office for disciplinary reasons that we can detail later if need be.”

Wilbur remained silent. The corporate conspiracy was launched, and he was helpless to prevent it.

G took another sip from his glass and turned his gaze toward Wilbur. He hated the plan to trash the dead pilot’s reputation, but he accepted the fact that G was merely repeating the dictates of the investors. He sighed and changed the subject. “Have either of you heard from Jordan Scott?”

“I saw him in the lobby,” Willie replied. “He should be here shortly.”

There was a knock at the door. Wilbur turned his back on G and Willie and walked across the room.

“Good evening, Jordan. Glad you could make it. How are Shelby and J.J.?”

“Nice to see you too, Mr. Rutledge. My wife and son are fine. Thanks for asking.” After shaking Wilbur’s hand, Jordan walked across the room and greeted G and Willie.

Wilbur had known Jordan since his early days as a freight loader for Midwest States, and had always admired his integrity, reliability, and work ethic. He had been personally responsible for most of the promotions in Jordan’s career, and it deeply disturbed him to think that Jordan would soon become an unwitting accomplice to the trashing of captain Jakyll’s reputation.

G sipped the last drops of scotch from his glass, placed it on the bar, and turned to address Jordan. “We were just going over the details for the press conference this evening. Basically your role will be to sit to the side of the podium and answer any questions that the press or I might specifically direct to you. Whatever you do, don’t volunteer any more information than necessary. Just keep up the theme that we are in complete compliance with all Federal Aviation Regulations and cooperating fully with the investigation. You can throw in a few compassionate thoughts, but keep it brief. Any questions?”

Jordan half-heartedly shook his head from side to side.

“Good! It’s four thirty. Let’s get something to eat before the show starts at six,” G suggested in a tone that seemed to indicate he was enjoying this turn of events.

Jordan, stunned by G’s flippancy, looked in the direction of his mentor, Wilbur Rutledge, as he shook his head in frustration while staring at the floor. Willie and G were about to leave the room when they paused and Willie asked, “You guys coming or not?”

“I’m not hungry,” Wilbur replied. Jordan shook his head, declining the offer as well. After the door closed, Wilbur walked across the room and put his hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “Come on; let’s go get a cup of coffee somewhere away from those two.” He put his arm across Jordan’s back and coaxed him toward the door.