[Rancho Boyeros Airport, Havana, Cuba, April, 3, 1960]
- “So, what the madman wants now?”
Captain Otávio Brünnheim was that angry. He expected to spend at least another night with Dolores, drinking ice-cold Polars and exceptional Bacardi rum at the comfortable hotel at the Malecón, but here he was, smelling kerosene fumes at the airport and glimpsing checklists and flight plans. Now he was doing the ‘olympic lap’, the visual revision of the white-and-blue Lockheed Constellation with his copilot.
“He wants to go today. Something about journalists or so”. Pedro Paulo Brandt sighed. This was his first trip to Havana. Varig was trying to avoid the stop, due to the “recent confusion”, or, translated, the growing hostility of the arch-conservative German airline owners with the Castro government and the unions running the airport.
“Oh, please. The guy wants to be president and runs away from a scandal when he sees it”, grunted Brünnheim.
“That’s WHY he’s gonna be president”, said Brandt with a smile. “And maybe he’s crazy, and likes women a bit too much, but who doesn’t?. The important stuff, the real deal, is this: he’s not a crook and he’s not a commie. That’s why I am going to vote for him”.
“Of course you are, like I am going to too”, said Brünnheim. In 1960, no Brazilian aviator would recognize otherwise to other aviator. “But still, I’m not that confident. The Brigadier, THAT is a man…”
“Yea, of course, but let’s call a spade a spade here, do you think these pox-ridden paupers will vote for a man of the stature of the Brigadier?”, complained Brandt. “I don’t think so. Look what happened in 1950”.
“Or in fifty-five”, confirmed Brünnheim.
You know, Brünnheim, someday we will not need all this shitty politicians”, Brandt followed on, raising his voice. “We’ll take care of all the stuff, get rid of the commies…”
“We tried, Paulo”, and the voice of the older man carried the experience of a man with friends still in prison since the last coup attempt. He shaked his head, like a man trying to get rid of bad remembrances, and looked at the flight plan again. “And let’s do this now. I know a place in Caracas with excellent rum…”
Neither of the two men saw that the little crack in one of the rudder cables, consequence of a couple of careless New York - Rio operations and that just today decided to show up. And neither of them will see it break two hours later, when the Super Constellation PP-VDB plunged in the calm waters of the Caribbean, killing all the passengers and crew on board.
Varig Lockheed L-1049G Super Constellation PP-VDB, at Idlewild Airport, New York City, 1959.
I know is not the easiest theme or POD, but all feedback will be extremely welcome.
- “So, what the madman wants now?”
Captain Otávio Brünnheim was that angry. He expected to spend at least another night with Dolores, drinking ice-cold Polars and exceptional Bacardi rum at the comfortable hotel at the Malecón, but here he was, smelling kerosene fumes at the airport and glimpsing checklists and flight plans. Now he was doing the ‘olympic lap’, the visual revision of the white-and-blue Lockheed Constellation with his copilot.
“He wants to go today. Something about journalists or so”. Pedro Paulo Brandt sighed. This was his first trip to Havana. Varig was trying to avoid the stop, due to the “recent confusion”, or, translated, the growing hostility of the arch-conservative German airline owners with the Castro government and the unions running the airport.
“Oh, please. The guy wants to be president and runs away from a scandal when he sees it”, grunted Brünnheim.
“That’s WHY he’s gonna be president”, said Brandt with a smile. “And maybe he’s crazy, and likes women a bit too much, but who doesn’t?. The important stuff, the real deal, is this: he’s not a crook and he’s not a commie. That’s why I am going to vote for him”.
“Of course you are, like I am going to too”, said Brünnheim. In 1960, no Brazilian aviator would recognize otherwise to other aviator. “But still, I’m not that confident. The Brigadier, THAT is a man…”
“Yea, of course, but let’s call a spade a spade here, do you think these pox-ridden paupers will vote for a man of the stature of the Brigadier?”, complained Brandt. “I don’t think so. Look what happened in 1950”.
“Or in fifty-five”, confirmed Brünnheim.
You know, Brünnheim, someday we will not need all this shitty politicians”, Brandt followed on, raising his voice. “We’ll take care of all the stuff, get rid of the commies…”
“We tried, Paulo”, and the voice of the older man carried the experience of a man with friends still in prison since the last coup attempt. He shaked his head, like a man trying to get rid of bad remembrances, and looked at the flight plan again. “And let’s do this now. I know a place in Caracas with excellent rum…”
Neither of the two men saw that the little crack in one of the rudder cables, consequence of a couple of careless New York - Rio operations and that just today decided to show up. And neither of them will see it break two hours later, when the Super Constellation PP-VDB plunged in the calm waters of the Caribbean, killing all the passengers and crew on board.
Varig Lockheed L-1049G Super Constellation PP-VDB, at Idlewild Airport, New York City, 1959.
I know is not the easiest theme or POD, but all feedback will be extremely welcome.
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