Disasters near the Greater Cincinnati Airport

1948 to 1967

By Rollie Puterbaugh

All Rights Reserved

2012

“Look at that plane...it’s going to crash!”

Ralph Sprague 1965

Disasters near the Greater Cincinnati

Airport 1948 to 1967

~Introduction~

We could feel the gentle current on the Ohio River trying to

push the Anderson Ferry downstream as we crossed the river from

the state of Ohio to the shoreline of the Commonwealth of

Kentucky. My mother and I were en route to her childhood home in

Dayton, Kentucky on a sunny morning in late March 2005. As I

watched the hills of Kentucky draw closer, I was reminded of an

event that had occurred in November of 1965 when an American

Airlines Boeing 727, on approach to the Greater Cincinnati

Airport, careened into a nearby hillside. The question for me;

what hillside? I decided that I would find and visit the crash

site, finally fulfilling a lifetime endeavor to pay my respects

to those who were lost so many years before. As the ferry docked

in Constance, I had no way of knowing the magnitude of the

project I was about to undertake in the years that would follow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Greater Cincinnati Airport is situated on a vast plateau

near the Ohio River Valley and close to the northern most point

of the Commonwealth of Kentucky. It received its first scheduled

commercial airliner on the morning of January 10, 1947 when an

American Airlines DC-3, arriving from Cleveland, rolled up to

the gate of the new red brick terminal building to unload the

first arriving passengers.

The new commercial airport began operations with three runways:

18-36, 4-22, and 9-27. These runways accommodated the new four

engine luxury airliners that would connect Cincinnati, not only

to the vast expanses of America, but also to the world.

Previously, the airfield had been a training base for B-17

bomber pilots. It also served as a playground for the local boys

of Boone County. Both Harvey Pelley and Ray Mattox, among

others, received their introduction to the exciting world of

aviation when they were invited onboard the bombers for free

rides.

Unfortunately between the years of 1947 and 1967, the hills of

Hebron would not be kind to fliers. Four aircraft, in three

separate events, would be lost in departure accidents. The first

one occurred on May 8, 1948 and the second on January 12, 1955.

The third occurred on November 6, 1967 when TWA Flight 159 broke

up after attempting to abort its take off. Additionally, in the

1960s, three aircraft would fail to reach the safety of Runway

18 while on approach to the airport. By 1968, 146 people had

been lost and 18 injured within three miles of the Airport’s

perimeter.

During this 20 year period, Boone County Kentucky was very

rural. While Boone was the home of the Greater Cincinnati

Airport and Latonia Raceway, the county was mostly scattered

with many farms and small communities. In most cases, these

farms consisted of many acres. A close-knit cluster of

communities, residents either were related to each other or knew

one another. These were the days before the county was radically

altered by airport expansion and the construction of an

interstate highway around Cincinnati which now cuts through the

region.

In addition, technology was very primitive to today's standards.

Most family households had telephones with party lines in which

two or more homes shared the same telephone connection and could

monitor each other’s calls. The Boone County telephone system

was not compatible with the Kenton County telephone system

making calls to the "next" county difficult. Covington (Kenton

County) was the primary Kentucky city in the area and the

location of the major hospitals in Northern Kentucky.

Interestingly, in those days, Kenton County police had little

regard for the Boone County line and crossed it often. Fire

departments used volunteers and their vehicles had no

communication capabilities. Need to make a call on an emergency

run, simply stop at a farm or house and ask to use their

telephone. Ambulance crews performed little or no triage and

served primarily as transportation services to the local

hospitals. Helicopter evacuations were decades away in America.

Counseling for victims of air disasters was nonexistent. Despite

the disadvantage of technology and with disaster already looming

in early May 1948, the folks of Boone, Kenton, and surrounding

counties were about to respond to the cries for help, improvise,

offer comfort, and heal the injured.

In the pages that follow, the stories of these accidents will

unfold. In several instances, I have taken the liberty of using

the technique introduced by Robert Serling in his 1960 book “The

Probable Cause” to “theoretically reconstruct” events that today

we can not substantiate as fact but are accepted as normal

flight routine. I have used this font to designate these items.

Rollie Puterbaugh

2011

Chapter 1

Departure Disasters

The Beech AT-11“Kansan”

Beech AT-11

Copyright Rollie Puterbaugh 2012

It was late afternoon on Saturday May 8, 1948 when Ray Mattox,

an employee of Boone County Aviation, inserted a fuel nozzle

into Sinclair Refining Company’s Beech AT-11 sitting on the ramp

at the Greater Cincinnati Airport. It was already 5 pm and his

mind suddenly remembered the date he had planned for that

evening. He quickly cast the thought aside and squeezed the

nozzle to begin the fueling of the 250 gallons of 87 octane

aviation fuel needed to top off the AT-11 for the next 636 mile

leg of its trip from White Plains, New York to Tulsa, Oklahoma

{Source: Ray Mattox}.

“Hey buddy”, a voice came from behind Ray. “Can you tell me

where I can buy some flowers around here”? It was the aircraft’s

co-pilot, Daniel Crowley. The next day was Mother’s Day and he

knew he would arrive home too late to buy flowers for her.

“No”, replied Ray, but you might catch a taxi driver in front of

the terminal who can help you out.” With that, Ray returned his

efforts toward preparing the plane for departure.

Ray quickly resumed the refueling of the AT-11. He was intrigued

by the converted World War II bombing trainer in which 90% of

the USAAF bombardiers had been trained during the course of the

war. A variant of the Beech 18, the aircraft was powered by two

Pratt and Whitney R-985 engines producing 465 HP each which

supported a cruising speed of 150 mph. A transparent nose made

this model aircraft unique in its category. From this position,

student bombardiers practiced dropping 100 lb. sand filled bombs

on their targets. After the war, these trainers were purchased

for use by private companies.

Ray topped off the tanks and headed for home, ready for an

evening of fun with his date. He would be astonished by the news

that awaited him when he returned to the airport the following

morning.

Later that evening, the Beech AT-11 was cleared for departure on

Runway 18 with instructions to make a right turn after becoming

airborne. Pilot Rush lifted the plane into the sky but quickly

lost sight of the horizon. The aircraft dropped into a wooded

area just south of the runway, exploded and burned. There were

no survivors.

A crew from the Burlington Volunteer Fire Department responded

to the emergency call. When they got to the scene, they were

confronted with debris scattered across an area near Gun Powder

Creek. The crew was burned beyond recognition.

Upon arriving at work the following morning, Ray was told about

the previous night’s crash just south of Runway 18. Ray and John

Hendrick, his boss, a CAA {Civil Aeronautics Authority}

Designate, jumped into Ray’s Chevy and drove out to Limaburg

Creek Road to examine the debris field. John wanted to do a

survey to report information back to the CAA in Cincinnati. They

returned to the airfield after a quick 10 minute visit.

Area along Limaburg Creek Road where the AT-11 crashed after leaving Runway 18

Photo by Rollie Puterbaugh Spring 2011

About 3 pm on the same day, three well dressed executives from

Sinclair Refining Company arrived at the airport. Once again,

Ray started his Chevy and drove the new arrivals out to the

crash site for them to assess the debris field. The authorities

took their time and walked the entire debris field. Ray recalled

decades later how he realized on this second trip just how

devastating this accident had been the night before. The trees

in the surrounding area were heavily damaged by the impact and

subsequent fire. The aircraft was a total loss with very few

recognizable parts, including the tail. Finally, Ray and the

executives returned to the car and drove back down Limaburg

Creek Road. Ray would remember the experience in vivid detail

well into the 21st Century.

Courtesy: “The MartinLiners” by Gary L. Killion

TWA Flight 694

Martin 202A

N93221

TWA Flight 694 sat on the north end of Runway 22 awaiting take

off clearance from the Greater Cincinnati Airport Control Tower

{also, at that time, referred to as the Kenton Tower}. Captain

James Quinn, a 13 year veteran of TWA, took note of the local

weather as he waited for his departure instructions to begin the

353 mile journey to Cleveland, Ohio via an intermediate stop at

the James M. Cox-Dayton Municipal Airport located north of

Dayton, Ohio.

A slight 12 mph southwest wind blew across the runway as light

freezing drizzle glanced off the airframe of the 202A {N93211}.

Captain Quinn was aware of a light ground fog which was clearly

visible from the flight deck. He was also aware that the 3000 to

4000 foot cloud layer over the air field would be encountered by

Flight 694 at approximately an altitude of 800 feet. He glanced over

at his First Officer Robert Childress who was reviewing a preflight checklist. The flight

deck was ready for departure.

In the cabin, 21 year old hostess Patricia Stermer, had completed her safety check of

the cabin and was secured in her jump seat. She had been hired by TWA on

October 18, 1954 and had just finished her training before

Christmas 1954.

Jack {John} Zint

World War II Navy Veteran

Sitting nearby, Jack {John} Zint peered out of the window of the airliner. His trip

had been scheduled for the day before but his flight had been

canceled. A design engineer with Karl Kiefer Machine Company,

Jack was on a one day business trip to Flint, Michigan. He

planned to be back with his wife, Ruth, and his two children,

Susan {5} and Jerry {8}, by day’s end. As he waited, his

children were attending Sam Woodfill School in Ft. Thomas,

Kentucky. Susan was in kindergarten and Jerry was in Third

grade. Unbeknownst to them, their day was not going to be

routine and would change their lives forever.

At 9:02 am Flight 694 was cleared to depart Runway 22, turn

right, and climb to 4000 feet. The Captain advanced the

throttles, the two Pratt and Whitney R-2800-CB16 engines, now at

full power, allowed the aircraft to begin its take off roll down

the runway. As the airliner approached the intersection of the

airport’s three runways, the wings of the Martin 202 accepted

the aircraft’s 35,572 lbs and lifted it gently into the morning

sky. From his window, Jack Zint could see the wings bouncing

lightly in flight and a light snow cover over Boone County.

Meanwhile, Captain Arthur {Slim} Werkhaven was maneuvering a DC-

3 through the skies to the west of Cincinnati. He was heading

southbound to Lexington, Kentucky via the Cincinnati VOR. He was

en route from Kellogg Regional Airport in Battle Creek, Michigan

with his co- pilot, 37 year old Edward Agner, to pick up Mr. and

Mrs. Frederick Van Lenepp at the Blue Grass Airport in Lexington

and transport them to their winter home in Delray, Florida. They

were the owners of Castleton Farm, a horse racing and breeding

business near Lexington. Now, two very reliable and successful

aircraft were on a collision course for a fateful rendezvous

over the winter skies of Northern Kentucky.

The Martin 202A {N93211} that was carrying Jack to Cleveland was

named, “Skyliner Lancaster” by TWA in reference to the south

central Pennsylvania town of Lancaster. It was a non-pressurized

airliner with a seating configuration of 36 passengers. It was

delivered on lease to TWA on September 28, 1950 and entered

service on September 30, 1950. On February 19, 1951, the landing

gear on N93211 collapsed while on the ground in Dayton, Ohio.

While there were no injuries, the airliner did require repairs

by the Martin Company and was not returned to service until

April 24, 1951. On April 10, 1952, TWA purchased the airliner

outright.

The legendary series of DC-3s were designed and manufactured in

the mid 1930s. The first DC-3 made its maiden flight from Clover

Field in Santa Monica, California on December 17, 1935, the 32nd

anniversary of the Wright Brothers first successful controlled

flight at Kitty Hawk. Initially powered by two 1,200-horsepower

Wright Cyclone radial engines, the aircraft would regularly

cruise at 10,000 feet at a speed of 150 MPH. It would be the

first commercially feasible airliner to be built and put into

airline service.

The DC-3 {N999B} Captain Quinn commanded was owned by the Van

Lenepp’s company, Castleton Inc., a division of the National

Carbon Coated Paper Company of Sturgis, Michigan. It was

manufactured by the Douglas Aircraft Company in early 1942 and

delivered to the Army Air Corps on April 9, 1942. Following the

war, National Carbon Coated Paper Company purchased the aircraft

for business usage. In 1950, the company sold it to its

subsidiary, Castleton Inc. The plane was based at Battle Creek,

Michigan.

The DC-3 crossed the Ohio River and followed a course consistent

with today’s Kentucky Route 237 at an altitude of 1500 feet.

Captain Werkhaven continued under the flight rules that were in

use when he departed Battle Creek at 7:30 am; VFR {visual flight

rules} with no flight plan filed. In addition, no attempt was

made approaching the Greater Cincinnati airspace to notify the

tower of his position.

In the tower, chief air traffic controller, Woodrow McKay,

watched as Flight 694 executed a straight line departure

coincident with retracting the landing gear. Crossing the 500

foot level, the crew raised the flaps and reduced engine power

10% to the normal climb setting as required by TWA flight

operations. Controllers then witnessed the aircraft banking to a

heading of approximately 340 degrees while disappearing into the

stratocumulus clouds. At 9:04 am Eastern Standard Time

controllers received the final transmission from 694:

“Kenton Tower, TWA six nine four…”

At this point, the 2 aircraft were within seconds of a horrific

collision over Hebron. Kentucky. What follows is the official

collision details as described by the Civil Aeronautics Board

Investigation in their Report released on July 8, 1955:

.....”the aircraft approached each other at an angle of

about 30 degrees from head on, with the longitudinal

axis of the two aircraft crossing to the left of the

Martin and to the right of the DC-3.The aircraft were

banked relative to one another so that the left wing of

the Martin was higher than the right wing of the DC-3,

while the right outer wing of the Martin and the left

outer wing of the DC-3 were in position to collide. In

addition, the collision damage indicates that the

Martin was climbing relative to the DC-3.

The first major components to come in contact were the

left wing of the DC-3 and the right propeller of the

Martin. The right wing of the Martin and the left wing

of the other aircraft then struck, resulting in

disintegration of the DC-3 wing in the contact area,

and causing such structural damage to the Martin right

wing that it separated from the aircraft before ground

impact {approximately 24 ½’of the right outboard wing fell away

from the airliner-Source: Ray Mattox}. While the wings were

tearing through one another, the left propeller of the

Martin started its cuts across the top of the DC-3

fuselage and through the vertical fin and rudder while

the Martin moved across and to the rear of the other

aircraft. Near the end of the contact period, the

inboard side of the Martin left nacelle inflicted

severe crushing damage on the DC-3 vertical tail. This

caused portions of the DC-3 fin and rudder to separate

in flight.” With the DC-3 now virtually destroyed, it went

into a steep dive and plunged onto the farm of Ernest Pieper, an

area now near the corner of Kentucky Route 237 and Conrad Lane.

Now on the ground, the vertical stabilizer of the DC-3 sat at an

angle in stark contrast to the unidentifiable debris surrounding

it.

Being under IFR {instrument flight rules}, Captain Quinn’s eyes

were riveted on his attitude indicator after the impact as he

struggled to stabilize and save his severely damaged airliner.

With some success he was able to drop below the cloud layer on a

heading of 360 degrees. Off to their left, the flight crew saw a

flat field and initiated a difficult left turn in an attempt to

make an emergency landing. At this point, TWA Flight 694 went

into a steep dive plummeting into a deep wooded ravine just

short of the Woodford Crigler’s farm field. Debris was scattered

across a 685 foot path through the hollow. Due to the cloud

layer, it is unlikely that the crew was ever aware that they had

collided with another aircraft.

Midway between the debris fields of the DC-3 and The Martin 202,

intermingled pieces of both aircraft were found on John Boh’s

farm. A propeller from the Martin would not be found until 1956.

From his position at a Texaco service station on the Constance

Road {Route 20, now Petersburg Road} in Hebron, Harold “Hook”

Vines saw Flight 694 struggling to stay in the air. He suddenly

heard a thud and an explosion as did Fire Chief Earl Aylor who

lived directly across the street from the station where Harold

was working. The farming community of Hebron was now in the

midst of a disaster created by the collision of TWA Flight 694

and the Castleton DC-3. For “Hook” Vines, who would later become

a Hebron Volunteer Fireman, this would be his first experience

with an aviation disaster. This would be one of eight major

aviation events that would plaque him and the area surrounding

the Greater Cincinnati Airport over the next three decades. But

for now, the community was faced with two debris fields.

A column of smoke was observed by the Control Tower to the west

of the airport {later identified as the Martin 202 impact area}.

Immediately, a call was placed to the U.S. Weather Bureau at the

airport requesting a weather observation and to John Hendrick at

Boone County Aviation, the CAA {Civil Aeronautics Authority}

Designate for Northern Kentucky.

“John!”, exclaimed the voice over the phone, we need you to get one of your planes in

the air now! We are observing smoke to the west of the airport and believe it is an

aircraft!”

Within minutes, John Hendrick and John Lemming Sr. had a Cessna

170 on the runway with clearance for an immediate departure.

With a freezing drizzle still falling across the airport, Mr.

Lemming piloted the single engine Cessna 170 to an altitude of

500 feet without encountering any turbulence. He took notice

that the visibility seemed lower to the west and northwest of

the airport than on the east side of the field. Light ice clung

to the window as they searched the ground below them. According

to his deposition, “…we were able to spot smoke from a

burning aircraft shortly after becoming airborne. We

circled the area several times and reported to the

control tower that we thought the wreckage was that of

a Douglas DC-3”. With a tower acknowledgment, they returned to

the airport and landed.

Mr. Leming shut down the Continental O-300-A engine only to find

out that a second aircraft was down to the west of the airport.

Both he and Mr. Hendrick decided to switch to another aircraft

with windshield defrosters, a Piper Tri-Tracer. Within minutes,

they were once again at 500 feet. The precipitation and icing

conditions had abated and they were able to spot the debris

field of the Martin 202. They made an attempt to determine the

airliner registration but the damage on the ground was severe

and the wreckage was down in a ravine. They were unable to spot

any survivors.

Woodford Crigler would be the first to arrive at the scene of

the Martin 202.”I ran out of the house and the first thing I saw

was a big ball of fire in the wooded area in the gully. I ran

toward it and got there in less than five minutes. It was an

awful sight. I had a chance to look around the wreckage before

anyone else arrived. There was no sign of life in any part of

the wreckage that I could see. Gasoline was burning in the

hollow....” {Source: Kentucky Post}.

Back on Route 20, Hook ran down the road to the fire station, a

two bay, 30’ x 40’ concrete block building. Although he was not

yet a volunteer, he nevertheless jumped on board the crew’s

single pumper as it departed the station. The fire truck headed

west on Route 20 and then turned left onto Limaburg Road.

Quickly they arrived at the Criegler Farm and pulled into the

drive way. The crash site was too far into Mr. Criegler’s

property for water hoses to reach the scene so Hook and the fire

fighters grabbed hand held CO2 extinguishers and dashed towards

the Martin 202 now laying in pieces in the ravine. They, also,

would find no survivors.

The firemen quickly realized that they were in the midst of a

gruesome disaster. TWA Flight 694 lay shredded on two hillsides

within a hollow near the property line between Mr. Boh’s farm

and Mr. Criegler’s farm. Debris lay shattered in the creek at

the bottom of the ravine. Two trees were on fire while a man’s

hat swayed in the breeze in another nearby tree. Small fires

continued to burn in the debris field. Additional hats, rings,

wallets, and other personal effects could be seen scattered

about the twisted and mangled wreckage. A deck of playing cards

had been tossed about the muddy hillside. A lone engine set

separated from the main wreckage.

Jack Zint’s Wallet and Rings TWA Insignia from Captain Quinn’s Hat

Courtesy of the Zint Family Courtesy of Ray Mattox

Within minutes, additional support arrived from the communities

of Covington, Bromley, Burlington, Erlanger, Ludlow, among

others. State and county police also responded to the calls for

assistance and were immediately challenged by the hundreds of

spectators arriving at the site.

Harvey Pelley, a future Hebron Volunteer Fireman, heard the

emergency vehicles along Route 20 from his classroom at Hebron

Elementary School and learned about the collision from his

teacher. At lunch, he and his close friend and future brother in

law, Dave Maxwell, slipped out of school and headed towards the

Criegler farm but were turned back by police. As a result, they

turned around and headed to the site where the DC-3 came to

rest, about a mile away. Here, the security was non-existent and

they quickly gained access to the demolished corporate aircraft.

They snatched up a small fragment from the pile of wreckage and

returned to school. This day, Harvey had been curious, but in

the years to come, he would become a veteran Boone County’s

aviation disasters.

In Ft. Thomas, Kentucky, Ruth Zint arrived at the Sam Woodfill

School and parked near the door where her daughter Susan would

race through as soon as her morning kindergarten class was

dismissed for the day. Right on schedule at 11:30, Susan could

be seen running to her mother’s car. “We are going to visit

Cousin Virginia to see the new baby,” explained Ruth, as Susan

jumped into the car.

Arriving at their destination, Susan went to the living room to

watch the Uncle Al Show on WCPO Channel 9, a children’s show.

Uncle Al, his accordion, and TV farm was a popular show and had

risen quickly in television ratings since it debuted in the

summer of 1950. By 1955, the show had expanded from a 15 minute

program to an hour long show airing three episodes daily. Kids

could tune in at 9 am, 11 am, or 1 pm.

By the time Susan began watching, the 11 am show was in its

final half hour. Suddenly, names began to scroll on the TV

screen. Susan ran out of the room to find her mother. “Mommy, I

heard and saw Daddy’s name on TV!”

“What for?” she exclaimed, as she ran to the television. As they

entered the living room, the bulletin was repeated and stated

that there were no survivors at the scene of the crash site of

TWA Flight 694.

Ruth and Susan immediately jumped back into their car and rushed

back to the Sam Woodfill School to pick up Jerry. Upon hearing

the news, the principal pulled Jerry from the lunch line and

informed him that his mother was at the school. "Jerry, he

explained, “your Mom's here. There's been an accident, she

needs you at home. You must be brave as you are now he man of

the house.” In the months that followed, Jerry {8} would take

these words to heart and suggest to his mother that perhaps he

could get a job in a couple of years.

The Zint family would not receive official word of their loss

until 9 pm that night when a TWA representative arrived at their

home on Sherman Avenue in Ft. Thomas with the news. This

sequence of events would haunt the family for decades, but,

would eventually lead to authorities notifying family members

prior to the public release of names of those involved in

accidents.

By afternoon, the Reverend John Schutzman, chaplain of the

Covington Fire Department, had administered last rites at the

TWA crash site. Mr. Criegler and Mr. Boh had supplied tractors

and carts to haul victims, now wrapped in blankets, out to the

Limaburg Road where ambulances could transfer them to an

Erlanger funeral home.

“The Board determines that the probable cause of this accident

was operation of the DC-3 in the control zone as unknown

traffic, without clearance, very close to the base of, or in,

the overcast.” Civil Aeronautics Board ~ July 8, 1955.

American Airlines Flight 383

Boeing 727-100

N1996

AA Flight 383 N1996 Tuesday November 9, 1965

Photo Courtesy of Toni Ketchell

Wisps of clouds slipped across the wings of the American

Airlines Boeing 727-100 as it descended under a massive cloud

layer, revealing the vast metropolis of New York City. Although

the hour of darkness was still 45 minutes away, the gloominess

of the day already displayed the sparkling lights of the city

below. Flight 340 was on approach to LaGuardia Airport in the

Borough of Queens in the late afternoon of Monday, November 8,

1965.

Twenty five year old stewardess, Toni Ketchell of Monroe,

Louisiana, completed her in-flight duties and took her position

in the forward jump seat of the 727 in preparation for landing.

She had spent the past two days serving first class passengers

across the mid and south central United States. On Sunday,

November 7, 1965, she had flown a “turn around” trip out of

LaGuardia Airport from her home base in New York City to

Chicago’s O’Hare Airport. Upon returning to New York City later

that day, she changed planes and completed her working day on an

evening flight to Love Field in Dallas, Texas.

Now, the tires of Flight 340 gently touched the runway creating

puffs of smoke as they made contact with the ground. The thrust

reversers on the three engines, in conjunction with the wing

spoilers, were activated allowing the airliner to decelerate and

turn onto the taxiway. Toni delivered her standard

announcement,”welcome to New York City and LaGuardia Airport.

The local time is 4:10 pm and, on behalf of our crew, we want

thank you for flying American Airlines”. The 727 proceeded to

its assigned gate at LaGuardia’s Central Terminal Building,

completing its scheduled route from Dallas to New York via

Little Rock and Memphis. Toni had one more duty flight before

day’s end.

In LaGuardia’s American Airlines Operations Office, Captain

David Teelin studied the weather information display board, then

picked up a phone and called the American Airlines Briefing

Forecaster at the New York Flight Dispatch Office at Kennedy

International Airport to request additional weather information

for flights heading to Cincinnati. The forecast indicated

thunderstorm activity along the flight path with anticipated

weather in Cincinnati being,“…3,500 feet overcast, visibility 4

miles, light rain, fog, variable to 1,000 feet overcast,

visibility 2 miles, thunderstorm, moderate rain showers.”

{Source: Civil Aeronautics Board}. Captain Teelin filed his

flight plan for American Airlines Flight 383, a nonstop trip

from New York City to the Greater Cincinnati Airport in Northern

Kentucky.

As filed, the flight would be conducted under Instrument Flight

Rules {IFR} with a standard instrument departure from LaGuardia

to the Philipsburg, New Jersey VORTAC. Crossing this point and

climbing to 35,000 feet, the flight would pick up Jet Airway 49

to Allegheny {Pittsburgh} and then intercept Jet Airway 80 to

Dayton {Ohio}. From Dayton, the flight would proceed south along

Jet Way 43 with a straight in approach to Runway 18 at the

Greater Cincinnati Airport. Estimated en route flying time was

listed as one hour and 23 minutes with Louisville’s Standiford

Airport chosen as the alternate airport.

Captain Teelin was a veteran American Airlines pilot, having

been employed by the company on January 6, 1946 and upgraded to

Captain on May 1, 1956. He was rated to fly an array of

airliners which included the DC-6, DC-7, Convairs 240/340/440,

Lockheed Electra, and the BAC-111. He was a company designated

check airman for the Boeing 727 and would serve as such on

Flight 383 for Captain William O’Neil who was in the process of

undergoing a 25 hour check program as captain in command of the

Boeing 727 {as the check airman, Captain Teelin would be in

command of the upcoming flight but would act as co-pilot}.

Toni hurried across the airport to the American Airlines

Operations Office for a briefing with the flight crew of

American Airlines Flight 383, her next assignment. Here she met

Captain Teelin, Captain O’ Neil, and Flight Engineer John

LaVoie. Again on this flight, she was scheduled to work the

first class section of the cabin. Mary Campbell, age 22, and

Joyce Chimel, also age 22, would serve passengers in the coach

section. The stewardesses were quickly briefed on weather and

passenger loads for the flight and then left operations. The

flight was due to leave the gate, bound for Cincinnati, at 5 pm.

The mid 1960s found a nation on the move. Jet transportation had

increased the speed and efficiency of domestic travel and

businessman had found a way to conduct transactions nationwide.

It would be several years before large volumes of middle class

travelers would begin to embrace air travel as a mode of

transportation to weekend and vacation destinations. As a

consequence, the passengers on board Flight 383 were typical of

air travelers of that era, educated, talented, and very special

individuals.

By 4:55 pm, passengers bound for Cincinnati had been gathering

at the gate for nearly 45 minutes. Boarding passes were finally

being processed by ramp agents, while passengers mingled about

the area. Just beyond the gate sat N1996, a Boeing 727-123. It

had just rolled up and a jet-bridge was connected to the forward

cabin door. The flight crew went quickly onboard knowing that

the flight was not going to depart on time. This aircraft,

N1996, had just been released as a backup plane for another

flight, causing the delay.

N1995, sister ship to N1996, departs gate at LaGuardia December 1965

Copyright: John Heggblum 1965

William McDivett, a Vice President of Sales for Beech Nut-

Lifesavers, Inc., waited patiently to board. His plans were to

return from Cincinnati on Wednesday in order to celebrate his

53rd birthday with his wife of 21 years, Demetrie, and his

children William, Susan, John, and Julia. As he left his home in

suburban Philadelphia earlier that day, he told the family to

have his birthday cake ready for him upon his return.

Nearby, three executives from Decca Records quietly talked among

themselves as they waited to board. Charles Lauda, Bruce Hart,

and Israel Horowitz were scheduled to record the Cincinnati

Symphony Orchestra on Tuesday at Cincinnati Music Hall. They had

moved up their travel plans in order to get an early start the

next day.

Once the flight crew was ready, ramp service agents began

loading the passengers and at 5:20 pm the Boeing 727 {N1996},

operating as American Airlines Flight 383, backed away from the

gate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With the long range Boeing 707 jet just months away from its

debut with Pan American World Airways, Boeing executives decided

in May 1958 to begin designing a short to intermediate range jet

airliner for use at airports where runways were relatively

short. LaGuardia, with its short runways, was a perfect

exemplification of an airport for the airliner they were

envisioning.

Engineer Jack Steiner and his team went to work and for the next

four years they would be in a struggle designing and justifying

the cost of what would become one of Boeing’s most costly but

best selling commercial jets. The prototype was rolled out on

November 27, 1962 with the first test flight flown out of Renton

Field on February 9, 1963 at 11:33 pm PST.

Image shows Fowler Triple Slotted Flaps

Extended on the Boeing 727

The 727 was a unique and beautiful aircraft with its swept

wings, a T-shaped tail, and three rear mounted Pratt & Whitney

JT8D 14,000 pound-thrust jet engines. More importantly, it also

incorporated exclusive trailing edge triple slotted flaps and

wing leading edge slats which helped to control the boundary

layer across the wings, thus maintaining lift at slower speeds.

These capabilities of the 727 provided quick climb outs, fast

descents, and safe landings on runways as short as 5,000 feet.

For passenger convenience, the aircraft cabin was quiet, had a

wide body “look”, and a ventral staircase located in the rear of

the airliner for quick unloading at small or remote airfields.

American Airlines took its first delivery of the 727 in 1964 to

use on its domestic routes. It would prove to be as advertised,

perfect equipment for flights into and out of LaGuardia Airport

and small fields around the country.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Captain O’Neil taxied to the runway where he was instructed to

hold for traffic before being cleared for departure. At 5:38 pm

EST, the wheels of N1996 left the ground. Within minutes, the

plane was above the cloud layer, climbing towards 35,000 feet,

and headed for the Philipsburg VORTAC.

With the aircraft still climbing, the stewardesses began their

flight routines which on this flight would include the serving

of 58 meals. Toni moved about the cabin, glad that she was on

the last flight of the day. She was looking forward to her

return flight as a “non rev” to New York on N1996 later that

evening. Tired from being on her feet all day, she remembered

her training “stay alert ladies!” Toni carried on with a smile.

Captain Carl Weekley, onboard the flight as a “non rev”

passenger, was a pilot for American Airlines who had been

"bumped" from command of flight 383 at LaGuardia Airport in

order to assume command of another flight later in the evening.

Earlier in the day, he had flown co-pilot from Chicago to

LaGuardia Airport. Carl Weekley was a calm and professional

pilot. He sat quietly on 383 in the right front seat of the

first class cabin, shuffling through paperwork.

Washington County, Pennsylvania native, Clarence Link, age 40,

relaxed in his seat. A graduate of Carnegie Institute of

Technology, he was traveling on behalf of his employer, AT&T

Long Lines. His wife of 17 years, Catherine, and his children,

Catherine {15}, Edward {13}, and Lynn {10} remained at home in

Valhalla, New York. Clarence also was a talented artist in oil

painting and building custom handmade frames for his artwork.

Crossing the Philipsburg VORTAC, Captains Teelin and O’Neil

requested, and were granted, a clearance to deviate from the

original flight plan. Their new route would put them on a more

direct path to Cincinnati via Jet Airway 78 to Charleston, West

Virginia. Over Charleston, the flight would pick up Jet Airway

24 to Cincinnati. Flight 383 set a course towards West Virginia.

Bruce Hart

Decca Records Engineer

Sitting three abreast with his Decca Records colleagues, Israel

Horowitz and Clarence Lauder, Bruce Hart, sound engineer, was an

avid reader. To relax, he pulled his book from his briefcase,

reclined his seat, and read. At age 35, Bruce and his wife had

already appeared on live radio playing a piano concerto for two

pianos with the Boston Pops under Arthur Fielder’s baton. With

four children at home, Tony, Christopher, Jennifer, and Dorian,

Mr. Hart had a bright future.

Charles Lauda, also a sound engineer, had worked for Decca since

1943. He and his wife, Louise, had three children, Francis, Joy,

and Lois.

The Director of Classical Artist and Repertoire, Israel Horowitz

had been with Billboard Magazine prior to accepting his current

position with Decca Records in 1956. He and his wife, Millie,

had two children, Michael and Robert.

Meals were being served as the 727 sped towards Charleston. On

the flight deck, the pilots again requested a mid course

correction for a more direct route to Cincinnati. About 100

miles out of Charleston, Air Traffic Control cleared the pilots

to pick up the York, West Virginia VOR, which was 63 miles

northwest of the Charleston VORTAC, “thence direct to

Cincinnati” {Source: Civil Aeronautics Board}.

Rudolph Neubauer

Rudolph Neubauer placed his beverage on the tray. The airliner

was encountering very little turbulence thus providing him with

a pleasant flight from New York. Mr. Neubauer was a graduate of

Pratt Institute and was employed with the Sutton Publishing

Company. He and his wife, Marion, lived in Thornwood, New York.

They had three children, Wray, Carl, and John.

One Hour and seven minutes into the flight, the crew contacted

the American Airlines company radio at the Cincinnati Airport

and reported their estimated time of arrival as 7:05 pm.

Toni Ketchell walked up the first class aisle checking seatbelts

and ensuring seats and trays were in an upright position for

landing. She stopped for a moment to talk briefly with a

passenger and then proceeded to take her assigned position in

the forward jump seat. The seat was located on the bulkhead to

the left of the door leading to the flight deck. If not for the

door, she was within an arms-length of the Flight Engineer.

Flight Path of AA 383

Courtesy of the Civil Aeronautics Board {NTSB}

The flight was now 27 miles out, approaching the Cincinnati area

from the southeast on a heading of 305 degrees, and leveling off

at 1,100 feet {referenced altitude refers to feet above the

published airport altitude}. Shortly thereafter a right turn was

initiated placing the aircraft on a northerly route to the east

of the airport. The 727 was now picked up by Cincinnati Approach

Control and cleared to continue its descent. [Flaps two degrees-

Speed 240 MPH]

FLIGHT 383: "out of five for four and how about a control VFR,

we have the airport."

{Heavy weather, over Indiana and Ohio, was moving towards the

airport from the northwest. From the left side of the airliner,

crew and passengers would have been able to see the airport off

to their left, about 4.5 miles away (CAB Report)}.

APPROACH CONTROLLER: "continue to the airport and cleared for a

visual approach to runway one eight, precip lying just to the

west boundary of the airport and it's... southbound".

{6:58:41: 383 was six miles southeast of the airport and was

handed over to the Cincinnati Tower radio}.

AA 383: "Cincinnati tower its American Airlines 383, we're six

southeast and ah control VFR".

{6:59:10: the aircraft was just to the west of Crestview Hills

Kentucky maintaining an altitude of 1,100 feet. [Spoilers

extended-Engines at idle speed]}.

CINCINNATI TOWER: "American three eight three Cincinnati tower

runway one eight, wind two three zero degrees five, altimeter

three even".

6:59:21 PM AA 383: "Roger runway one eight"

6:59:23 PM CINCINNATI TOWER: "In sight cleared to land runway

one eight American three eighty three"

6:59:28 PM AA 383: "We're cleared to land, roger"

6:59:29 PM AA 383: "How far west is that precip line now?"

6:59:30 PM CINCINNATI TOWER: "Looks like it's just about over

the field at this time sir, we're not getting any on the field,

however"

6:59:35 PM: AA 383: "Okay"

{American Airlines 383 continues to maintain an altitude of

1,100 feet}

6:59:40 PM: CINCINNATI TOWER: "If we have a wind shift I'll keep

you advised as you turn onto final".

6:59:44 PM: AA 383: "Thank you very much we'd appreciate it".

{American Airlines flight 383 flies over an oil storage

facility, crosses the Ohio River, turning onto the base

leg[Flaps set at five degrees – 195 MPH] of its approach to

runway 18 and is now located over the State of Ohio, westbound

and resuming a descent at 800 feet per minute. Israel Horowitz

glances over and sees Bruce Hart continuing to read his book.

[Flaps set at 15 degrees-184 MPH].

7:00:11 PM: CINCINNATI TOWER: "American three eighty three we

are beginning to pick up a little rain now".

7:00:11 PM: AA 383: "Okay"

{7:00:53 PM: American 383 begins a left turn over the State of

Ohio where the tower visually sees the plane for the last time.

[Flaps set at 25 degrees-166 MPH]}.

{7:01:09 PM: American Airlines 383 has one last chance to pull

up and out of the valley.}

{7:07: Altitude is recorded at 210 feet at which time the

descent rate of the 727 is increased from 800 feet per minute to

2,100 feet per minute for 10 seconds}

7:01:11 PM CINCINNATI TOWER: "three eighty three you still got

the runway?"

7:01:14 PM AA 383: "Ah just barely we'll pick up the ILS here."

{American Airlines 383 crosses the Ohio River descending below

the published altitude of the airport as it tries to lineup for

final approach to runway 18 over the State of Kentucky, heading

235 degrees. About this time, Captain Weekley, the non-rev

passenger, notices small beads of water on the window}.

{7:01:17: Descent rate reduced to 625 feet per minute}

7:01:19 PM: CINCINNATI TOWER: "American three eighty three

approach lights, flashers and runway lights are all high

intensity."

7:01:22 PM AA 383: "Okay".

{Impact occurred five seconds later at a speed of 169 MPH}

Ralph and Margie Sprague had just arrived home from the local

grocery store when a thunderstorm moving out of the northwest

inundated their home at 1301 River Road {Route 8}. They decided to remain in their car while the storm passed. As they sat

there, they observed Flight 383 approaching at a low altitude

with its landing lights illuminating the trees along the

hillside. Ralph cried out, “look at that plane, it’s going to

crash!” With that the airliner plowed into the hillside and

exploded.

The following data was transcribed from the Civil Aeronautics

Board Report:

Examination of the aircraft wreckage at the crash site indicated

the first impact was made by the right wing with a tree at an

altitude of 665 feet m.s.l. which is approximately 225 feet

below the published field elevation. Evidence based on tree

damage in the swath path substantiates that the aircraft was in

level attitude on a heading of 235 degrees at the point of

initial impact. The aircraft attitude at nose impact was

determined to be five degrees noseup; the measured terrain

upslope angle at this point was 9.6 degrees. The aircraft slid a

distance of 340 feet relatively intact through scrub trees and

ground foliage before impacting and coming to rest amidst a

group of larger trees.

From the Ohio side of the river valley, students from Mount

Saint Joseph saw 383 fly over the campus and watched in horror

as the plane burst into flames on the Kentucky hillside. Many of

the girls, away from home for the first time, were planning to

fly home for the Thanksgiving weekend intensifying the scene

before them.

As the aircraft slid up the hillside, the flight deck folded

under the bulkhead where Toni was sitting and was tucked under

the cabin section of the airliner killing the two pilots and

flight engineer. Toni was torn loose from the bulkhead and

thrown violently from the fuselage. She was tossed forward and

to the right of the airliner where she lay among the trees along

the hillside, her body severely mangled.

Momentarily stunned, Captain Weekley realized he had been tossed

onto the floor and was under a pile of debris. He saw fire

coming towards him from the back of the cabin and quickly

extracted himself from the debris {Source: Civil Aeronautics

Board}. He stepped out of the fuselage where a hole had been

created by the destroyed flight deck. He stumbled upon the

critically injured stewardess and managed to get her clear of

the immediate area before the plane exploded. A heavy rain

pounded down, drenching the site.

Richard Felton, Israel Horowitz, Norman Spector {an employee of

Procter and Gamble}, were also tossed from the airliner into the

hillside brush.

The Boeing 727 now was burning three quarters of the way up a

Kentucky hillside along the Ohio River valley, two miles north

and a quarter mile east of Runway 18. The number one and number

three engines had separated from the fuselage and were setting

downhill from the airliner. The number two engine remained on

the aircraft. All three engines were heavily damaged due to

“ingestion of tree wood, mud, and twigs during the impact

sequence” {Source: Civil Aeronautics Board}. The right wing was

swept back and now positioned almost in line with the cabin.

There was also heavy damage to the left wing. Jet fuel saturated

the woodland along the swath path and surrounding area.

Ralph Sprague headed on foot down Route 8 towards the Dolwick

Farm where the airliner had crashed. There he met his brother in

law, Gilbert Dolwick, whose father owned the farm. Accompanied

by Rodney McGlasson, a local fruit farmer, and Milton Holt, the

four headed up the hill. The hill was such that it became

increasingly steeper as they progressed towards the crash site.

They found two injured passengers about 150 feet from the debris

field, Israel Horowitz and Norman Spector. They tried to get

them to lie down but both insisted on getting off of the hill.

The 2 passengers were assisted down the hillside.

The eerie wailing of the siren emanating along Route 20 from the

Hebron Volunteer Fire Department carried its signal through the

rainy evening that had descended over the little town of Hebron,

Kentucky. The department had just received a frantic call that

an aircraft had crashed on a hillside along Kentucky State Route

8.

The fire house was located on top of the hill and to the west of

the accident site at the corner of Petersburg Road {Route 20}

and Hart Drive in Hebron, Kentucky. In recent years, it had been

expanded to accommodate the department’s new 1962 pumper, adding

an additional 20’x 30’ area to the back of the fire house.

The department had one ambulance and two pumpers, the new 1962

pumper and an older pumper modified from a 1942 Dodge truck cab

and chassis, a creation of Fire Chief Aylor, the local Dodge-

Plymouth dealer. The ’62 pumper carried 750 gallons of water

while the ’42 pumper was equipped with a 300 gallon per minute

front mount pump, a 275 gallon water tank, a hose reel filled

with 250’ of 1” hose, and a quantity of 2½” and 1½” hose that

1942 Dodge Pumper

was procured through the government’s Civil Defense program

{Source: Hebron Fire Protection District}.

The equipment was already heading east on State Route 20 when

Harvey Pelley got the news at his home at 7:10 PM. He dashed to

the fire department and found that the squad was already en

route. Harvey raced down the highway to catch up with them.

The trucks raced out of Hebron towards the “mile hill", a

narrow, steep, and winding road that hugged the bluff down to

Route 8 {River Road}. Heading west on Route 8, they were soon at

the site but were immediately confronted with a difficult

challenge; they weren't equipped with long enough hoses to reach

the airliner from Route 8!

Meanwhile, Harvey got to the top of the "mile hill" where he was

stopped by Kenton County Police. They had quickly crossed the

Boone County line and had set up a roadblock to stop vehicles

from entering the river valley, thus enabling rescue units to

use Route 8 from the crash site to Covington, Kentucky. Harvey

explained that he was a fireman with the Hebron squad and had to

get down to route 8, but the Kenton County Police would have

nothing to do with his story and turned him away.

Bill Smith, a rural post carrier, at home near the fire

department, heard the alarm and told his wife, Pat, "I'm going

down to the station to see what's going on." Like Harvey, Bill

had missed the departing fire truck but did find his brother,

"Budd", at the station. Together, they headed in the opposite

direction from the firemen, heading westbound on route 20 and

then using Route 237 to access Route 8 from Tanners Road.

Frustrated but determined, Harvey spun his car around and headed

back, westbound on 20. He was more than aware of the Tanners

Road approach to Route 8 and he wasted no time in outflanking

the police blockade. He would spend the next 20 hours at the

crash site, not leaving until 3 pm the following day.

By this time, Bill Smith and his brother had arrived at the

farmhouse where the airplane had crashed. Looking up the hill,

the brothers were not yet aware of the full magnitude of what

appeared from the road to be a fairly small fire. They dashed up

the hill. About half way up, they began to hear cries from

higher up the hill "Help!" "Help!" They quickly replied, "we're

coming...we're coming". The smell of jet fuel hung heavy in the

air.

Following the cries for help, they found Captain Weekley near a

tree watching over Toni Ketchell, the injured stewardess. They

were located several hundred feet in front and to the right of

the airplane. The young girl's legs and feet were grotesquely

twisted to the extent that the brothers thought her "legs were

being held on only by her hosiery". "We're flight 383" exclaimed

Captain Weekley. Bill, having worked as a postal transfer clerk

at the Greater Cincinnati Airport, immediately recognized 383 as

a commercial flight out of New York. "There's got to be more

people!" he said. "There's no people", replied the Captain,

"there's no people." Bill glanced back at the airliner. The

impact and fire had already destroyed the upper section of the

cabin down to the top of the windows. By now, a rescue team had

arrived to help get the injured off of the rugged hillside. They

placed Toni on a stretcher, which had been rapidly constructed

with logs and branches from the hillside, and "borrowed" Bill's

coat to tie the critically injured stewardess to the stretcher.

They started moving down the hill with Captain Weekley insisting

on walking. Bill and several other men cleared the tree branches

ahead of the stretcher to ensure the stewardess suffered no

further injury.

At the bottom of the hill, Toni was loaded into an ambulance

driven by Paul Dickman of the Hebron Fire Department. He

immediately pointed the ambulance eastward along Route 8, a

rural macadam roadway snaking its way along the Ohio River

towards Covington, Kentucky. It was relatively quiet inside as

the ambulance raced past the Anderson Ferry towards the Boone

County-Kenton County line. Crossing the county line, patrons at

the nightclubs and bars lining the road to Ludlow, Kentucky

could not help but notice the commotion playing out along the

highway as emergency vehicles passed to and from the crash site.

Once in Covington, Dick made a right turn onto Scott Blvd. using

it as the most direct route to the hospital. At Sterrett Street

he turned left and quickly arrived at St. Elizabeth Hospital,

passing through the iron gates into the emergency room

courtyard. The first ambulance had already arrived moments

before carrying Richard Felton, who succumbed to his injuries

moments later. Toni was quickly unloaded and went immediately

into surgery.

Harvey Pelley went straight up the hill when he arrived at the

farm house to evaluate the crash scene with the rest of the

firemen. Unable to get fire hoses up the hill, someone suggested

that they find a back way into the crash area from the top of

the hill. Charlie Eggleston was given the task of getting the

old pumper into position on top of the hill. The pumper had been

chosen for the mission because of its weight. The truck carried

275 gallons of water and was much lighter then the '62 truck

which carried 750 gallons of water. Eggleston rounded up his

crew, including Harvey, and headed towards the truck. Upon

arrival, they realized that the headlights, emergency lights,

and siren had been left on by Harold "Hook" Vines who had driven

the vehicle from the firehouse. The battery was drained and

would not allow the truck to start. The crew immediately pushed

the fire truck until it started, hopped on, and headed back down

Route 8 to the "mile hill'.

Charlie "Red" Eggleston was an interesting character. In the

early 1950s, while employed by the Bushman Conveyor Company, he

lost his left arm up to his elbow in an industrial accident. He

refused to acknowledge his disability and expected to be treated

like everyone else and wasn't afraid to remind his peers of this

if they tried to assist him. Harvey Pelley would in later years

say, "Charles Eggleston was probably one of the best

drivers/engineers that I ever had the privilege to work with at

a fire or accident scene, there were none better than "Red".

Eggleston headed west on route 20 and turned right onto Walton

Road, a gavel lane leading to the Walton house. At the Walton

house the road made a 90 degree turn where it became a dirt

road. Two airport fire department 4-wheel drive jeeps and the

pumper proceeded down the lane until they passed Cull Bell's

house where the road entered a "hollow" and passed through a

small creek bed. Just beyond this point, Charlie turned left

onto a sod farm field road and headed towards the bluff where

the airliner continued to burn. Deciding to take a "shortcut"

the vehicles cut through a harvested corn and pumpkin field

where the ground was very soft. The old pumper got mired in the

field and had to be pulled back onto the sod by the jeeps.

"Red", still behind the wheel of the fire truck, soon arrived at

the hill. A reporter would later comment that he couldn't

imagine the one armed fireman successfully handling the truck

through the rugged field. Two hundred feet of 2-1/2" water hose

was pulled down the hill and soon the front mounted pump on the

truck began sending water down hill to the inferno.

By now, activity along highway 8 and on the hillside was

intense. Emergency vehicles from surrounding communities lined

the road. Ministers and priests walked about the wreckage

administering prayers and last rites. A 17 year old, Larry

Campbell, kept an emergency generator running, lighting the dark

and smoky hillside. The search for additional survivors had

already become a mission of futility. Within hours, 58 souls

would be confirmed among those lost on the hillside.

At the corner of 9th and Elm Streets in downtown Cincinnati, Bill

Myers began his normal Monday night broadcast of American

Airlines Music ‘til Dawn program on WLW 700 Radio. This night

would prove to be his most difficult assignment of his radio and

television career. With an American Airlines Boeing 727 burning

on a nearby hillside, he quickly reviewed the company’s policy

concerning American Airlines commercials for the evening’s show.

He was particularly interested in sections 2 and 3A: {2} “In the

event of an American Airlines crash, whether the aircraft is on

a scheduled, training, or test flight, all commercials are to be

dropped until further notice, {3A}: If the crash is in the

immediate area and an important news item, delete commercials

around news.” Bill stayed in touch with Jack Gwyn who was out

at the accident site along Route 8, broadcasting updates about

every 16 minutes. Commercials for the airline would not resume

on WLW for a week.

At 7:14 am on Tuesday November 9, 1965, the sun rose above a

cloud layer over northern Kentucky. For those who had maintained

a vigil at the crash site overnight, the scene at first light

was one of complete devastation. The Boeing 727 was

unrecognizable except for the vertical stabilizer resting

upright and at a slight angle on the hillside, a sight that

would be forever etched in time. Pieces of broken dinnerware and

personal effects were tossed and scattered among thousands of

small pieces of twisted wreckage, pieces that would remain in

place for decades.