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November 27th, 2001
Leading to the story:
When we were at our Bible study one Wednesday evening, one of the guys I
was conversing with mentioned something about having always wanted to get
into flying or working at airports. Eleanor then said I ought to tell him
what took place in my life while working for a feeder airline in Utah in
1948/1949. I told Bob I'd put that story together and give him a copy. So
here's my humble attempt at telling that story, with the hope I won't bore
you to death...
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Where is Price, Utah, the place all this took place? Price is located
latitudinally close to the center of the state. Longitudinally it's about
1/3rd of the width of the state from the Colorado border, 95 miles -as the
crow flies- southeast of Salt Lake City. It is a mountainous area,
spattered with canyons and valleys.
Weather? In the winter of 1948-1949 over 300 inches of snow fell in the
Price area, stranding cattle, sheep and other farm animals. Many froze
where they stood, while others died of starvation. The U.S. Air Force
Reserves tried to alleviate that calamity by dropping bails of hay and
other types of feed wherever they spotted farm animals. This action did
save some animals, but for the most part it was too little, too late.
And talk about winds some say they have experienced. One day while on duty
the winds began to howl, rattling the metal Quonset hut, making a musical
instrument of it. As I peered through our window facing the tie down area
and the runway, I noticed some of the planes began to lift off the ground.
On some planes where one of the tie-downs had broken loose, the plane was
literally standing in a vertical position. Others broke loose from both
tie downs and caused great damage to planes. The reading was said to be 90
mph...
...Winter brought deep snows into the mountainous Price area, presenting
runway sighting difficulties. Since small airports didn't have snow
removal equipment, we made the best of simplicity in making invisible
runways visible. There were, of course, times when snows were too deep for
aircraft to land or for us to drive through.
The opening shift person drove his vehicle back and forth over the runway
to make tire tracks. Many times it was an impossible task, even with
chains. The idea was to create distinguishable markings of the runway for
the captain of the first flight into the airport. Monarch's entire fleet
of aircraft was composed of DC-3 s. Though not a huge craft needing long
runways, pilots preferred to be able to see markings for the full 6,000
foot length. So we would drive from one end to the other several times.
John Harrigal was a fellow student at Central Radio and Television School
in Kansas City (airlines division). After completing a six months' course
there, John and I accepted positions as station agents in Utah. Monarch's
main office was in Denver, so John and I stopped there for our
assignments. Both of us received appointments at Price, Utah.
John and I earned our private pilot's licenses by training in off duty
hours from our job with Monarch Airlines at Price, Utah. Monarch was what
is called a "Feeder Airline." The flying service that owned and occupied
a Quonset hut leased a portion to Monarch. Being in the same building and
seeing each other regularly probably influenced our decisions to fly...
After undergoing ground school courses and completing required flight
training, I applied for and took my test. The certified FAA examiner who
sat beside me for the test instructed me to fly to Provo, Utah. Provo is
located approximately 75 miles slightly northwest of Price, and over a
range of mountains. On the way there, the examiner checked my flight
capabilities by having me go through the general gamut of maneuvers. At
Provo he asked that I land and he got out of the plane. He instructed me
to fly to a certain altitude above Utah Lake at Provo -the airport was
alongside the lake- to perform spins. He said he'd observe from
the ground. I don't know if performing spins was a procedure where pilots
being tested flew alone or with an examiner, but this guy may have been
playing it safe.
Oh, one had to wear a parachute when doing the spins, so this changed what
was a straight-away view to one of sitting on a chute that raised the
pilot several inches, a handicap for sure. In order to avoid confusion,
I'll explain that the plane I flew most often was not an Aercoupe. It was
a 3 place Aeronca Chief, and this is the plane in which I took this final
test.
Having to do the spins over Utah Lake presented a challenge I'd never
before experienced. Why? Well, first, allow me to explain what spins
entail.
The pilot pulls the plane's nose upward until it stalls, shoving the stick
forward, and a steep dive begins. At this point in the procedure, he kicks
right or left rudder, depending on which way he wishes to spin. At this
point he begins his check off as the plane twists while rapidly
descending: "...one, one and a half, two, two and a half turns...." Now
it's time to stabilize the spin by kicking the opposite rudder and
neutralizing the spin, going for level flight once again.
I climbed to the prescribed altitude above the lake and began the spin
procedure as outlined above: pull the nose up high, stall the plane, then
kick left or right rudder hard as the fall downward begins. Then count
half turns until reaching two and one half. At that point, neutralize and
come out at the end of the third spin - right at the point you began.
Guess what? Water and blue sky look alike up there. It's nearly impossible
to determine where turns begin and end - no markers to zero in on. Over
land it's like having check points to determine where you are.
I must have guessed my way through the sky-water dilemma fairly well, as
the only remark the examiner made about the entire test was that I could
use more practice in wheel landings.
Shooting landings is similar to wheel landings, except in the latter
maneuver you land the plane on the two front wheels only. Then apply power
and take off again. I weighed around 200 pounds at that time, and the
examiner was all of 225 pounds. Our combined weight was too much for the
light craft I was piloting to perform that particular procedure well. I
successfully practiced wheel landings many times before the test, but this
was the first time I'd tried doing them with an additional 225 pounds of
weight on board.
John Harrigal and I got our certificates about the same time. Both of us
made many and separate flights after that. Later on I flew on one
cross-country flight to Detroit, though Dick Peterson accompanied me. Dick
was one of the flying service owners. He slept a good part of the trip,
not knowing that at times I dropped down to read names of towns and cities
painted on the water reservoirs. I did this when visual ground checks
didn't match charts I was following. It was my substitute for stopping at
gas stations for directions. But here is where the real story begins.
Everything I've written to this point is background data leading to where,
when and why my life-threatening story took place.
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THE STORY:
My Pilot Was & Is the Living & Caring Lord
(Written by John Sedory)
I earned my private pilot's license by training in off duty hours from my
job with Monarch Airlines at Price, Utah. Monarch was what is called a
"Feeder Airline." The flying service that owned and occupied the Quonset
hut shared their unit with Monarch. Being in the same building and seeing
each other regularly probably influenced my decision to fly.
Monarch's station manager at Price, Jim Cole, was also a private pilot.
Jim was to board a major carrier's flight out of Grand Junction, Colorado,
so he asked if I'd go along with him to fly the plane back to Price. I
agreed. And this is where my story has its origin.
After I'd dropped Jim off, I got ready for takeoff to Price. I taxied to
the end of the assigned runway and began going over my check list. During
the magneto check, I found that one of them didn't respond, so I headed
back in to Monarch's office there at the airport. I knew I could use the
teletype to get my message through to the flying service in Price via
Monarch's machine there. This was the flying service that owned the
plane.
I don't recall if it was Ivan Broadhead or Dick Peterson (partners in the
rental service) who advised me to go to a certain flying service to have
them check the magneto. I did that and sure enough, it was faulty. These
companies had an agreement to bill each other for services provided when
needed.
It took a long time for that service company to locate a replacement part,
so by the time they installed it, late afternoon to early evening was
setting in.
Cleared for takeoff I anxiously hit the throttle and took off, climbing to
about 13,000 feet to avoid rather high mountain peaks in the area. The
setting sun in all its brightness blinded my visibility, but the
instruments were partially useful in trying to determine if I was
maintaining level flight. While engaging this minor problem, a second and
more serious mishap occurred, introduced by a loud "bang." Soon oil began
streaking across the front of the cockpit canopy. I knew I was in serious
trouble.
Uncertain of what had happened to cause oil to clothe the canopy, I tried
to ascertain what action to take. I had been under way from Grand Junction
for a while now, so the sun was beginning to sink quickly. To return to
Grand Junction might be riskier than continuing on toward Price. Yet I
also was aware that continuing on toward Price might lead to engine
failure. What to do?
About that time another obstacle emerged. I encountered a strong head
wind. Though I had good flight speed, I wasn't making much headway over
the ground. I reached the town of Green River, a community located on
Utah's east side, just west of the Colorado border. This was my first
checkpoint after Grand Junction. It was to be my last visual contact.
So while beginning to think I had things at least partially figured out, I
realized I still had about one hundred miles or so to cover before I'd
reach Price. And that would only happen if the engine didn't quit and if I
was flying in the right direction.
Weighing alternatives while considering chances for error, I couldn't
escape from reality: it could end up that I'd crash to the earth
eventually and it would be the end of my life. But I had to do the best I
could with God's help to stay alive. Whether such thoughts made me more
diligent in making choices, I don't know. If there was something I lacked
at that moment, it surely wasn't alertness. My mind was traveling a mile a
minute.
At that very moment, God must have turned my negative thoughts to those of
hope, for while continuing the struggle for what I hoped was level flight,
I began to pray for a lighted airport runway. I did this when I realized
I didn't want to give up so easily.
To add to this concern, the sun began to sink below the mountains. It was
no time at all before the skies turned from extreme brightness to sinking
over the mountains with some light, and finally to no light at all. It
turned pitch black.
Since I had never flown or been in an aircraft at nighttime, I didn't know
how to turn on the interior lights. I feverishly fumbled around the
instrument panel, eventually finding some toggle switches. I began
flipping them backward and forward one at a time. No lights appeared but a
lot of frustration and concern filled my mind.
Realizing I was getting nowhere fast -as the trite expression goes- the
prevailing circumstances of the blinding sun, the oil leak, the strong
head wind and complete darkness forced me to make choices that offered
limited alternatives. I focused on trying to point the craft in the
direction I thought Price might be located. The die was cast; the plan was
set. Now all I had to do was successfully complete the plan.
With total blackness everywhere I could only estimate if I was maintaining
altitude. I called on every bit of knowledge I'd accumulated in my
training. I listened for sounds of wind on the wings and the pitch of the
engine to try determining the attitude of the plane. A roaring sound meant
I was in downward flight, while a labored sound meant I was climbing. A
woofing or drum-like intonation indicated I was probably banking to one
side or the other. It's amazing how perceptive I became, relying on skills
I didn't really know I had. Maybe the will to survive kicks into gear at a
time like that.
While I was weighing the results of my modus operandi, I occasionally
thought of how this could be my last day on earth. How was I going to find
the airport at Price, other than to hope and pray God would lead me in the
right direction?
Flying along with those thoughts pervading, suddenly, as if God
immediately intervened on my behalf, 1 saw a bright glowing reddish light
way off to the right, and I headed for it with new hope. As I got closer
and closer, I felt certain this had to be the airport at Price where many
cars had gathered on the runway with their lights on.
Soon the brightness was so intense I could actually see the ground, rocks
and vegetation. Yes, I could see them clearly -side vision through the
canopy was fair but not directly ahead- but unfortunately for me this
wasn't the lighted field at the Price Airport I'd hoped for. This was a
coke oven burning at the base of the mountain, one into which I was about
to crash!
My newfound hope for maintaining life now faded into despair with the
certainty death was imminent. Wondering what this would feel like on
impact was all I could think of.
I frantically banked and made an abrupt turn to the left to avoid the
mountainside, giving up all hope for survival while making that turn and
bank. This is exactly how this story could have ended, IF GOD hadn't had
other plans.
At the end of my frenzied turn to the left, a light glanced off the side
of the canopy where I had partial vision. As I headed toward the source, I
noticed two lights. Drawing closer as I flew in that direction, I
realized there were two cars positioned at either end of the runway at
what had to be Price Airport! The light that crossed my canopy came from
the spotlight of one of the cars. The guys down there had probably
observed my plane or heard the engine as I passed nearby while heading for
the coke oven. If there was such a thing as returning from death to life,
this is what I thought it would be like.
As I approached my chosen end of the runway at which to attempt a landing,
thoughts of safety and security became premature, as I still had to make a
difficult landing.
What made landings at the Price Airport a challenge (at least in darkness)
was the way it was situated. It juts out of a canyon, forming a plateau
reaching upward to about 500 feet. The canyon wraps around three sides of
the airport, two of those sides being the ends of the 6,000 foot runway.
To fly in too low meant crashing into a stone wall. Being too conservative
and flying in too high meant going over the edge on the other end. And I
couldn't see anything directly in front of the plane because of the
oil-covered canopy.
To overcome the lack of forward sight, I pulled the canopy back and lifted
myself off the seat, elevating my head above the canopy. The force of the
wind pushed my head back and caused my eyes to tear. Then I more or less
aimed at the runway and breathed a final prayer for deliverance. If I
wasn't to survive, the first thing I wanted to see after impact was the
face of the Lord. It may be that I couldn't see any better through
tear-filled eyes than I could have through the oil-smeared hunk of plastic
in front of me, but I made the decision and stuck to it.
The aircraft I was flying was an Aercoupe, a cross-controlled craft
(supposedly stall proof), and by reputation it was a hot plane. You had to
take off and land at considerably higher speeds than with other light
aircraft. So that meant the slightest error in meeting the runway could be
devastating.
The next sound I heard was that of the Aercoupe's wheels meeting the
asphalt runway, a sound of fine pebbles turning over and over and bouncing
off the under carriage of the plane. It was to me the greatest concert of
gentle, sweet and welcomed music I would ever hear. I must have thought it
had to be taking place in heaven before the Lord on His throne. This was
the best landing I had ever made! Correction: it was the best landing I
ever experienced as God said, ''Move Over!" and landed the plane.
After completing the landing and taxiing to the tie-down, I thanked the
guys who provided the lights and briefly related the major details of that
flight to Ivan and Dick and headed for home.
When I got there my wife, Eleanor, told me the local radio station had
been carrying a play by play description of my disappearance after leaving
Grand Junction. Dick Peterson or Ivan Broadhead had phoned to tell her
what was going on and why I wasn't home yet. I don't recall what else we
talked about that night but whatever conversation we had would be dimmed
in comparison to my experience.
I have never forgotten what He did for me in that perilous flight.
Countless times since then I have often asked for His forgiveness for not
being what He saved me to be. I have fallen far short of His expectations
for me, I'm sure. Yet, I know He will keep me on earth until He is
satisfied that the reason for extending my life has been fulfilled. I
don't know how correct the theology I've expressed is, but I do know He
took control in that landing.
In closing, I want to tell you what took place when I went to work the
next day.
Because of my experience of the night before, I determined in my mind I'd
never fly again. And when I arrived for work at Monarch Airlines, gossip
centered on my near-fatal flight the night before. So I felt it was
appropriate to give Ivan my decision that I would never fly again. I
wasn't sure how he would take this, but he went into a dissertation about
how quitters never get anywhere in life, skillfully cutting into my pride.
He convinced me I didn't want to be one who didn't finish what I'd begun.
So guess who was up flying later that afternoon?
Why couldn't I get the toggle switches to turn the cabin lights on in that
flight? Because they work in parallels, two of them must be set in the
same direction at the same time. Turning one on and then off and going to
the next doesn't do the job. I don't know if having had interior lights
would have made that much difference the night before, but this is the way
it all played out.
As to the origin of the oil on the canopy, the company's mechanic
discovered that the propeller shaft seal had become worn and loose. The
oil pressure forced oil through those openings. I don't know how much oil
could have been lost before the engine would have failed.
Many others in their lifetime probably have had more and closer meetings
with death than I. Yet when this story took place I had no idea the future
would bring so many more to my life. However, I learned that with God on
my side, I can face anything. Surely, no one can afford to leave this life
without His Son Jesus as their Savior.
In later years, several other life-threatening incidents did come into my
life, so this story is but one of those.
John Sedory
Banning, California
leoj@pe.net |
