Can’t We All Just Get Along?

Take a Look Inside the Third Book in the From Outlaw Biker to Airline Pilot and Beyond Series

Perched on the edge of my chair, I watched in stunned silence as all hell broke loose on ABC Channel 7’s live news out of Los Angeles.

It was April 29, 1992, four police officers had just been acquitted of the brutal beating of a black man after a police chase on the freeways of the City of Angels. The four officers were white; the black man’s name was Rodney King.

It wasn’t dark yet, but fires were starting, and the looting had already begun. A mob at an intersection was attacking motorists. Several innocent truck drivers had just been dragged out of their cabs, robbed and beaten. One was hit in the head with a brick and another with a fire extinguisher. They nearly died.

I was on reserve as a DC-10 first officer based out of LAX; Los Angeles International Airport. I thought to myself, ‘I hope nobody calls in sick. I’d rather not have to drive there anytime soon.’

Just then, the phone rang. It was Crew Scheduling. “I have a trip for you leaving tomorrow at 1328, Los Angeles to Miami.”

I had no option of declining, passing, or deferring. With a big sigh, I just said, “I’ll be there.”

When packing my usual bag for a trip, I added something extra. A Ruger single action .44 Magnum. Not your ideal gun for self-defense, but it was the only handgun I owned at the time. This was California, a state that frowned upon citizens carrying guns.

As I watched the news, more businesses were set on fire. Police cars were being attacked and instead of calling for backup, they did a one-eighty and got out of there. The LAPD abandoned the citizens of South-Central Los Angeles to the rioters.

The riots got bigger and more violent as the evening progressed. Police and firefighters were being shot at. Mayor Bradley established a ‘dawn to dusk ‘curfew and called for a state of emergency. The violence spilled out of the south-central area as far north and west as Hollywood and Westlake, and as far south as Long Beach and San Pedro.

I thought, “Well, this is going to be fun.”

~

The next morning found me driving alone on an empty freeway while listening to non-stop news on the radio. There were reports of snipers shooting at cars from the overpasses, so I kept a sharp eye out. With no cops in sight, I saw no reason to obey the speed limit as I flew along westbound on the recently completed 105 freeway. I wanted to be as fast a moving target as possible and stayed in the center lane so I could swerve in either direction if necessary.

No traffic jams today… I started to think, “Maybe there are some advantages to this rioting thing.”

Passing the 710, I could see columns of smoke rising into the air on both sides of my route. Ground zero was Florence and Normandy, and I was well south of that, but surprised to see that much smoke. It was a strange sight and looked like all of Los Angeles was on fire. The feeling was surreal, like I was in some disaster movie. I kept glancing up, looking for airplanes on final to LAX, but there were none. No police helicopters either.

With the loaded .44 resting under my seat, I was, of course breaking California law and taking a big risk of going to jail and ruining my flying career. But at that point in time, going to jail was the least of my worries. My first priority was staying alive and although that ridiculously overpowered revolver would be little help in a confrontation with a mob, it provided at least a small amount of psychological comfort.

It was an eerie feeling. Here I was, trying to turn my life around. Walking the straight and narrow. Unlike my old life, I was trying to be responsible, but here I was carrying a gun while heading into what seemed a war zone. According to the radio, there were no police if you needed them. It was like the wild west; you were on your own. Back then, there were no cell phones, and you had to stop and find a phone booth. I secretly wished I had brought some motorcycle club brothers with me to have my back. Maybe I should’ve called them. They would have come with glee, ready to jump headlong into the fire. The hell with the reason. It would have been another adventure, and they’d have loved it. But I didn’t think to involve anybody else. I had to do this alone, and I had to get to work. At that moment, it felt like me against South Central Los Angeles.

Los Angeles