Killing time in Reno

You always get your money’s worth at the Reno Air Races. You have to pay admission and buy your own hot dogs and beer but the carnage is free. Yesterday a vintage plane went out of control and crashed into the VIP stands killing the pilot, of course, and eight others as well as maiming and injuring dozens of spectators. I tagged along to one of the events years ago, mostly to talk baseball to a pal of mine. In the middle of these daredevil events a plane crashed on the far side of the airfield. The pilot died and they carted him off to the morgue and the races continued. No fuss, no muss. I found it odd that we had witnessed a death before our very eyes and it didn’t seem to mean a thing. The only other time someone died before me was when a sax man collapsed and died on stage during his solo at the old Blue Note in Las Vegas. There was stunned silence for a few seconds then everyone began to shout for 911. We were all asked to leave immediately (without refunds mind you). There was another death at an air show the same day as well as the loss of a whole professional hockey team in a Russian crash this week. Those who are apprehensive about flying are told, “If your number comes up, it comes up”, to which the rejoinder is, “but what if the pilot’s number comes up?” Like in Reno this weekend.