July 1, 2014
Well, it’s the first day of July, which means it’s the anniversary — number 28, which is almost unfathomable — of the day I was nearly killed in a small-plane collision over Nantucket Sound.
With me in the airplane was the spindly and beautiful Dorothy Meyer, who shares with me forever this profound split-second of fate. I have no idea what her own recollections of that day might be, but mine remain crystal clear.
In interviews I’m often asked about my most memorable or frightening close call. Apparently a lot of people dig hearing pilots talking about being scared or screwing up. The fact that my one and only answer takes us all the way back to 1986, when I was but a 20 year-old private pilot at the controls of a Piper four-seater, should underscore the incredible safety of flying in general, and especially of commercial flying.
But more than that, it’s just a good story.