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ONE HOUR TO LIVE

I might have just sixty minutes left alive.

Shortly after take-off our pilot announced that he believed we'd had a tire blowout in the nose wheel, where a flat can make landing a difficult experience.

As they had great emergency services in O'Hare, our destination, the pilot said he had elected to continue on to there rather than return home. I realized right off that we would have plenty of time to contemplate the landing; a whole hour, in fact. I've always felt bandages should be ripped off quickly.

"Nothing to worry about," continued the Captain in his calm, deep resonant Captain's voice, "others have managed to land planes in this condition in the past. And don't worry about our flight engineer. He'll be rooting around under the floorboards in the main cabin to see whether it might have been one of the main landing gear tires instead. Just sit back and relax."

Right.

He continued, "Please pay attention to the flight attendants. They will brief you on the emergency exit procedures and brace positions." I was surprised to see the flight attendants handing out free drinks. This had to be really serious to qualify for free drinks. The economy had been hurting then, as well.

I decided to pass on the free drinks, believe it or not. I decided that I wanted all my wits about me. That adrenaline edge would help in an emergency.

What to do? I was alert to any hint that might portend the future. Except for the briefings and beer, all was routine. Two dead-heading pilots, who were manning the exit aisle in front of me, were having a discussion about their next vacations. Snacks were being handed out. Trash was being collected. Cans and paper were put into separate bags. This was all good. I couldn't imagine that recycling cans would be a major issue if all that scrap aluminum was going to be available after the plane crashes.

On the other hand, this would be how the professionals are trained to behave. You don't want the passengers screaming and running up the aisles. So, none of these promising clues were reliable indicators of what was really going to happen. And to think, this just might be the last sixty minutes of our lives.

There was an Airfone at my seat. Do I call home to my family? Do I tell my wife what's going on? No, that would be cruel if nothing happened, and would cost me $25 or so for the phone call. Yet if the worst happens, not having called would turn out to be inexcusable. It was a Bob Newhart moment.

In the cabin one guy, just out of the

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