Twenty-Five Years Ago, Alaska Airlines Flight 261 Crashed. I Could Have Been On That Plane.

I was an Alaska flight attendant working another flight that day. But two of my friends died.

For the audio version of this article, read by the author, go here.

---

Twenty-five years ago this week, on January 31, 2000, Alaska Airlines Flight 261 crashed off the coast of Southern California. All 88 people onboard died instantly.

I used to be a flight attendant for Alaska Airlines, and I was working a flight that flew over the crash site shortly after it happened. Our captain even looked out the cockpit window, saw the oil slick in the water, and radioed in that he thought a plane had just crashed.

He was right, but he didn’t know it was one of our airline’s.

My 1989 graduating class of flight attendants. That’s me in the back row, fifth from left.

I knew two of the flight attendants who died on Flight 261: Allison Shanks and Craig Pulanco.

When writing about people who have died, it’s tempting to ignore any personal flaws and pretend they were nothing but terrific people.

But I don’t have to pretend with Allison and Craig.

I knew Allison best. She was 33 when she died, a flight attendant with almost two years of seniority to me. But unlike some of my coworkers — who I might have to pretend were terrific people — she never acted like her seniority made her superior.

It was crystal clear why Alaska hired her: She was kind, vivacious, and caring. Although she was straight, she didn’t hesitate to join the LGBTQ group I helped found to extend gay protections and benefits to Alaska Airlines employees.

Craig was even younger — just 30 when he died. In some ways, his death haunts me even more than Allison’s. That’s because he was gay, nerdy, and in a long-term relationship.

It’s easy to see myself in him.

Except he loved being a flight attendant. He also had a great smile and an infectious laugh, none of which you could say about me at the time.

Craig brought his partner Paul on the plane to enjoy the long Puerto Vallarta layover. That destination was especially desirable, and flight attendants quickly snapped up any available trips to there.

Craig and Paul died together on Flight 261.

I wonder what the two of them did with their time in Puerto Vallarta. Lounge around the pool? Have dinner in Zona Romántica? Hold hands as they strolled along the Malecón boardwalk watching the sunset?

Whatever it was, I hope it was a perfect day, full of Craig’s infectious laughter.

Photo by Madalena Veloso on Unsplash.

It could have been me on that flight. Alaska Airlines was much smaller back then, with only 1500 flight attendants — and no more than a couple hundred in the air when Flight 261 went down.

As soon as we landed, I ran into the terminal to call Brent and tell him I hadn't been onboard the plane that crashed.

It’s not crazy that I might’ve picked up such a desirable trip and brought Brent with me to enjoy the long layover together. We did that from time to time.

It was just good luck on my part — and horrible luck on Craig’s — that he got it instead of me.

Twenty-five years later, I can’t help but ponder the life I’ve since lived — and the ones that Craig, Paul, and Allison did not.

In 2008, Brent and I moved into the house of two good friends, Lori and Sarah. Before long, we were all obsessively playing online tennis on their new Wii gaming system and cooking meals together. In the evenings, we’d curl up under blankets and watch movies with popcorn — always freshly popped, definitely not microwaved.

I hadn’t even met Lori and Sarah when Flight 261 went down, but by this point in 2008, the four of us had already created a kind of family.

Allison was divorced and had a daughter. If Allison lived, who else might her family have come to include? What things might they have done together?

Brent and I with Lori and Sarah.

In 2015, the U.S. Supreme Court legalized same-sex marriage. A few days later, Brent and I went to City Hall to get our marriage license. Twenty years after our “unofficial” marriage ceremony, we were officially married — the culmination of a lifelong fight for equality.

Afterward, we celebrated with friends at a restaurant in Seattle’s Chinatown, and I felt connected to Brent in a way I never had before.

Would Craig have married Paul and celebrated with their close friends? How would the marriage have made them feel?

Photo by Debbie Tea on Unsplash

In 2018, Brent and I left the U.S. to travel the world as nomads. A few months later, we found ourselves in Matera, Italy, staring out at the Sassi, the city’s remarkable old town — a place we’d never even heard of before visiting.

I hadn’t quite realized before then that places didn’t have to be famous to be fantastic. And this was only the first of many such destinations on our incredible nomad journey that, even now, still feels like it’s just getting started.

How much more of the world would Allison, Craig, and Paul have seen? Would they have felt the same sense of discovery that I do?

Exploring Matera’s remarkable Old Town.

Now, coincidentally, I’m here in Puerto Vallarta — where Craig, Paul, and Allison were twenty-five years earlier, right before they died.

Puerto Vallarta is famous for its sunsets, and tonight’s is especially beautiful. But today, I’m haunted by the past, so this one is hard to enjoy.

The truth is — and I’m reluctant to admit this — I feel profound gratitude that I wasn’t on that plane, that I did get to live the life I’ve lived.

But alongside that, I feel a deep sadness for those who were robbed of the chance to live more of their lives.

I’m also conflicted by a world so beautiful and so ugly, and by luck so good and so awful.

Twenty-five years ago, my friends Allison and Craig, and Craig’s partner Paul, had one last Puerto Vallarta sunset. I hope it was as beautiful as this.

---

Michael Jensen is a novelist and editor. For more about Michael, visit him at MichaelJensen.com.