March 27 marked the 30th anniversary of the most deadly aviation disaster in history.
Most people haven't heard of Tenerife, a pan-shaped speck in the Atlantic. It's one of the Canary Islands, a volcanic chain governed by the Spanish, clustered a few hundred miles off the coast of Morocco. The big town on Tenerife is Santa Cruz, and its airport, beneath a set of cascading hillsides, is called Los Rodeos. There, on March 27, 1977, two Boeing 747s — one belonging to KLM, the other to Pan Am — collided on a foggy runway. Five hundred and eighty-three people were killed. The KLM jet had commenced takeoff without permission, slamming broadside into the taxiing Pan Am jumbo as it swerved to avoid impact.
The magnitude of the catastrophe speaks for itself, but what makes it particularly unforgettable is the startling set of ironies and coincidences that preceded it. Indeed, most airplane crashes result not from a single error or failure, but from a chain of improbable errors and failures, together with a stroke or two of really bad luck. Never was this illustrated more calamitously, and almost to the point of absurdity, than on that Sunday afternoon three decades ago.
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