"The
winds blow cold in Lubbock in March. They blow dust from the west in
the late afternoon, and the dust turns the skies dark brown. The
Continental Airlines plane came in from the east, bucking and heaving
against the wind. The aircraft made slow progress toward the
crisscrossing asphalt runways of the Lubbock airport, set amidst cotton
fields. The pilot brought the plane down close to the cotton, the wind
and the dust bucked the aged propeller blades, the wings flapped up and
down, and the engines whined and groaned. It was as if even the wind
was saying no to the task that lay ahead."
