It was December 1972 and I was studying law at the University of Miami. My mother bought me a ticket to fly to New York for a winter vacation, as the university dorms had closed. I flew up on Eastern Airlines Flight 401 on a Lockheed 1011. My seat was in the rear of the plane. As the plane descended into JFK Airport over Jamaica Bay, I felt the whole plane shiver and vibrate and heard grinding noises, and I had the premonition that we would not make it. We landed okay, but I was still shaken up as I met my mother at the terminal; so much so, that I complained to her that the jet was not safe. She said, "Well, if you really think the plane is unsafe, you should report it." But we couldn't find any Eastern employees in the area and the arrivals section was separate from the departures desk (where they at least had ticket agents). So, in a move that still haunts me, I said to forget about it.

The next day Mom picked up the evening newspaper and her face went white as a sheet. For the same plane, on its return to Miami, had crashed in the Everglades during descent, killing 101. I didn't ride any planes for a long, long time after that.