His hair is now a silvery white. The front-page story in The Record American turned yellow long ago.

And yet . . . sadly, the memory John Ferruggio has lived with for 31 years is even more relevant today. For in our clumsy attempts to make sense of the inconceivable, few of us can speak as former captives of a hijacked 747.

Somewhere between Beirut and Cairo, Ferruggio, then a flight director with Pan American, looked at the young Palestinian commando who'd taken over the upstairs lounge section and started to wire two attache cases filled with dynamite. Their brief conversation began with . . . why?

``This demolition guy, he just smiled at me,'' Ferruggio recalled. ``Then, he says to me, `What do you care about this imperialistic airplane?'

`` `Imperialistic airplane!' I says. `What about my imperialistic ass? What about my passengers?'

``I remember he laughed a little, but never really answered me,'' Ferruggio said.

It was a far different world on that distant Labor Day weekend - a place without metal detectors or baggage X-ray. The Black September assualt at Munich was still two years away.

Pan Am dubbed its new $26 million jewel the Clipper Fortune. It was among the first 747s to ferry passengers. Just before it left the gate at Amsterdam bound for New York, two men turned away from an El Al flight took their seats aboard the new plane. Their arrival was followed by a radio warning to the Pan Am pilot.

``The captain calls me up to the cockpit,'' Ferruggio recalled, ``and asks me to search these guys. The tower told him about El Al's suspicions. `Look, Captain,' I said, `I suggest we take the plane back to the gate. I'm no cop.' '' The pilot vetoed his steward's idea, had the passengers summoned to the front of the plane. After a cursory search nothing was found. Both men claimed to speak no English.

Some 15 minutes later, one of the men pulled a .25-caliber pistol from his crotch and held it to the side of the pilot's head. The second hijacker also produced a gun and a Russian concussion grenade and looked at Ferruggio.

`` `Hey now, pal, just relax,' I says. `Take it easy. The plane's all yours. Where do you want to go?' In perfect English, he says, `Beirut,' '' Ferruggio said.cw0

With that, the natty flight director, who grew up in South Boston and had traveled the world as a Marine and merchant seaman, took to the radio:

``Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please,'' he announced. ``We have a gentleman who wants to go to Beirut today. The drinks are going to be on us . . .'' Humor managed to defuse the panic.

In Beirut, with PLO mortars trained on the airport, the two hijackers were joined by third colleague who carried two cases of explosives. From there, the Clipper Fortune took off for Cairo.

On its approach into Cairo, still 1,300 feet in the air, the man with the dynamite asked a stewardess for a match and ignited a three-minute fuse.

By this time Ferruggio had already told his entire flight staff that they would conduct a complete evacuation almost as soon as the plane's wheels hit the ground. ``Don't wait for me,'' I told the crew. ``Don't wait for the captain. Don't wait for Jesus Christ. Just get off this plane!''

And so they did. Along with the pilot and the hijackers, Ferruggio was among the last to leave the plane, dragging an injured woman to safety in a nearby trench seconds before the Clipper Fortune exploded in flames. Four other aircraft, hijacked as part of the same terrorist strike, blew up on an airstrip outside Amman, Jordan.

Even in the days before cable TV, this was a big story for a little while. Trouble is, after Ferruggio's moment with Dan Rather came and went, the virus of terrorism only began to grow, despite all the security measures that came into being.

Across the span of time, as Israeli wrestlers were killed in Munich, hostages taken in Iran, Marines destroyed in a Beirut barracks, sailors killed on the USS Cole, diplomats slaughtered at our embassies in Africa . . . Ferruggio would tell anyone who'd listen that ``dangerous men with nothing left to lose'' were inching closer.

``Who wanted to listen to that, until they took down the World Trade Center,'' he said. ``It was always happening way the hell over there, someplace. Now, it's a different story.''

For all the patriotic fervor he felt as a teenage Marine out to avenge Pearl Harbor, this 76-year-old gentleman now anguishes for the sons charged with extracting justice from the thankless hills of Afghanistan.

``I wonder if people really have a clue how difficult this is going to be?'' he said. ``There's so many angry people out there with a grudge, a purpose . . . and nothing left to lose. That's what makes them so dangerous, so different from any other enemy.''