Don’t Mess With These Attendants

The kung fu master took a good look at his eager new students, all of them flight attendants, and made what seemed like a safe assessment.

“I don’t think anyone here is 21. So I don’t think we’re going to be doing any flying jump kicks tonight.”

True enough. No one’s feet left the floor at the Gus Gates Kardio Kick Center in Westlake Village. But for nearly three hours one night this week, 13 women and one man tangled with a slew of would-be terrorists who came at them with knives and evil intentions.

Lori Andrews, an American Airlines flight attendant for 17 years, knocked Gus Gates back on his heels with a good pop to his sternum, then strutted away with the look of a warrior.

“Next time I get on a plane, it’s going to be a whole new ballgame,” she said.

“I want a bigger guy to try it on,” said Linda Schoenfeld, who has flown for American for 30 years.

She picked me.

I stand at least a foot taller than Schoenfeld, but before I could square myself in front of her, she charged in and shoved me back like a schoolyard bully.

“I’ve got a lot of anger,” she explained while my lungs reinflated.

You might want to think twice about trying to score a second bag of peanuts once these kung fu flight attendants take to the air.

“People have been coming a little too close to me on the plane, and I’m ready. I’m tired of sitting at home and watching the news, feeling powerless. I told my daughter, ‘I want you to know that whatever happens to me, I’m going to make you proud. I’m going to kick some [rear].’ ”

Jo Ann Mondrus, who flew from Los Angeles to Boston on Sept. 10 with the pilot who perished the next day when American Flight 11 crashed into the World Trade Center, has been on stress leave ever since.

Being away from a job she loves is eating at her, and so are stories from jittery colleagues who keep pots of boiling coffee handy to throw in the face of the next terrorist.

“The cops and the firefighters were all heroes, and now the mail carriers. That’s fine, but we’re on the front lines too,” said Mondrus.

“I can’t run. I’m stuck in a tube at 35,000 feet, and I need a tool that’s going to allow me to stay calm and collected and not let anyone take my airplane down.”

Mondrus saw an ad in the paper and called Gates, who told her to bring as many buddies as she wanted to an introductory class.

No one who showed up was naive enough to think a few quick lessons would give them the upper hand with younger, stronger attackers. And several said they were far more concerned about a bomb in the cargo hold than a hijacker in the cabin.

It’s also fair to assume that if anyone stands up on a plane today and starts trouble, he’ll be immediately rushed by passengers and beaten senseless.

But while Congress dickered over unforgivably half-hearted proposals on airport security, and while the airlines did next to nothing to protect either passengers or employees despite a huge cash bailout, Mondrus and her pals decided to act on their own to get whatever edge they could.

“I feel so sad that it’s come to this, but I’m learning a few things that I think could help,” said a Delta attendant named Sue, who has flown for 32 years.

Sue had just delivered a swift kick to the groin of an instructor, and she did it as if she meant business. Another attendant, after driving a foot into the same zone, quickly apologized.

Just like a flight attendant, Mondrus said. Drop someone to the floor, then apologize and ask, “Can I get you a drink?”

There were no jokes when Gus Gates brought out a rubber knife, grabbed the flight attendants from behind, and held the blade to their throats.

Gates had set up orange cones 17 inches apart to stand as aisle markers, and taught the attendants a move that, in theory, could put an attacker’s nose to the carpet.

One after another, the flight attendants broke their attacker’s grip, rocked them off balance and put them down.

“And don’t forget that you can always drive someone’s head into the armrest if you have to,” Gates said.

I don’t know how many of the attendants would be able to pull off any of these moves if the situation were real, but that made their determination all the more inspirational.

“I went through all the phases of recovery after Sept. 11,” said Lori Andrews. “Shock, horror, grief, and now I’m just angry. There’s no way I’m going to let it happen on my plane.”

She and her colleagues gouged eyes, pulled hair and took pointers on how to break someone’s jaw. Gone are the days when the job was about Cokes and peanuts.

“Granted, it could be four to six guys who come at you, but the thing is not to fear them,” Mondrus told her buddies in a pep talk after class.

“I’m absolutely not going to let the bastards keep me from my job. . . . And I’ll be damned if our fellow workers died in vain.”

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Steve Lopez writes Monday, Wednesday and Friday. He can be reached at steve.lopez@latimes.com