The man who spent the last hour of his life—and we can be 100 percent sure that you, as yourself, ends when the biological process that makes your life happen end—in a stolen plane, came from an Alaska suburb made famous by none other than Sarah Palin and her clan, Wasilla. Anchorage Daily News examined his past in this suburb, and discovered that he was a very popular guy in high school and was outstanding in running, wrestling, and throwing. “Russell placed fifth in the discus at the 2008 ASAA/Alaska State Track and Field Championships, was fourth at 215 pounds at the state wrestling tournament and ran for six touchdowns as a fullback on the school’s football team,” reports Anchorage Daily News. In short, he was all American. He was also all Northwest. Russell met his wife in Coos Bay, an Oregon town that is, in many ways, the capital of the splendid Oregon Coast.
How Russell got to Coos Bay is not explained, but the image of him running a bakery with his wife is just too perfect. The sleepy sea town, the smell of freshly baked goods; the smile on his wife’s face as she hands an elderly spinster a scone wrapped in wax paper, the laughter of the husband as he rings up the order—those kinds of Northwest moments. Indeed, I once had breakfast in a small Coos Bay restaurant run by a married couple. This happened 10 years ago at around 10 am. I had just arrived from Eugene by way of a minibus that operated for Greyhound. A middle-aged woman was my driver, and I was her only passenger. My destination was Port Orford. At some point, she told me the story of the death of her and her husband’s only son. He was just 14 and killed in an accident that involved a fast car and an old tree. She thought about him all of the time. Every day. Dead 10 years ago. Never coming back. She cried a little. We passed a forest not far from Mapleton. Upon reaching Coos Bay, she recommended the husband-and-wife-run restaurant for a hearty breakfast.
The husband, a man with a mountain beard, cooked; and the wife, a woman with long and brown sea-washed hair, cooked. They were young, just like the baking couple. I do not recall the breakfast being exceptional or hearty, but I did imagine the Coos Bay couple to be at the peak of Northwest happiness. You work with your man/woman all day; you sleep with them all night, as the wide and wind-blown sounds of the immemorial ocean enter the wood-floored room through an open window. Russell crashed on an island and started a huge fire in a world that seems to be always on fire.
Tom Kurtz says the impact of the Horizon Air prop plane crashing shook his home. You can still see/smell smoke from crash site on Ketron Island. Photos courtesy: Marissa Anthony. pic.twitter.com/MdtYmo6zvO
— Drew Mikkelsen (@drewmikkelsenk5) August 11, 2018
Thank god it wasn’t terrorism. It was just a regular, even lovable white guy who happened to lose his marbles, stole a plane made by Canadians, and crashed it after what looked like a joy ride in the sky. (It’s usually a car; but this time, it was an aeroplane.) We can sleep in peace. “He was that kid you high-five in the hallway even if you don’t know him.” Yes, that kind of guy. Not some morose Muslim. Some god-mad brown kid from Somalia who hates America with all of his guts. Russell might have put a lot of lives in danger, but we are all certain that he did not hate America.
Even Anchorage News Daily really wants you love this guy who fell out of the sky and exploded on an island that’s visible from an Amtrak Cascades train, not long after it departs Tacoma, heading to Portland:
Howell said he remembered Russell as a natural leader who wrote people’s names and weight-lifting accomplishments on weight belts in the school’s weight room as motivation…. “Still to this day, you go into the Wasilla High gym, there’s a weight belt that says Beebo,” Howell said…. “Everybody wanted to be around Beebo,” he said. As for why Russell chose to steal a plane and end his own life, Howell was at a loss for words. “There’s just no explanation.”
In this respect, his death comes close to the form of Icarus—a Northwest Icarus:
In Breughel’s Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water, and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.
It might have occurred to Russell, before his lights went out forever, that the island looks a little like a slug.
