ONE NIGHT IN DODGE CITY

 

I suppose you could call it fate.  Yes, there were social forces guiding events that hot summer night, and cold blooded economic factors as well. But there was also poetry, and the wild card of alcohol. But whatever you label these events, in 1878 when a “rather intelligent looking young man” named George Hoyt, a young vaudevillian named Eddie Foy, and a young assistant sheriff named Wyatt Earp collided in Dodge City, Kansas, they made history.

Dodge City owes its fame to a tiny tick, the Boophilus microplus (above), which carries anthrax. The tick and the disease were endemic amongst the herds of Texas Longhorns, which had developed a resistance to the fever. 

But in 1868 anthrax on imported Texas Longhorns killed 15,000 cattle across Indiana and Illinois. So as the sod busters plowed across Kansas they insisted the state restrict the rail heads for Texas cattle drives further and further from their farms.

In 1876 the demarcation line was moved to the 100th meridian... 

...which made the little town 6 miles to the west, on the north bank of the shallow, meandering Are-Kansas River, the new “Queen of the cattle towns”, the ‘Wickedest Little City in America’, "The Beautiful, Bibulous Babylon of the Frontier": Dodge City, Kansas (above).

Like the other ten to fifteen cowboys in his crew, George Hoyt had just ended two months of hard, dusty, dangerous and monotonous work. He now had $80 cash money burning a hole in his pocket. 

It was the business of the merchants of Dodge City to separate George and his fellow cowboys from as much of that cash as possible before he left town. In essence Dodge City was a tourist trap, dependent for its yearly livelihood on the May through August ‘Texas trade’.  

The little town of less than 1,000 year-round citizens could boast, during the season - June to September - 16 saloons. 

And south of the “deadline” (Front Street, which bordered the tracks of the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe railroad) it was worse. On the wrong side of the tracks there were assorted brothels and dance halls where “anything goes”.  

All the bars served the latest mixed drinks and ice cold beer, and enticed customers with a piano player or, in the case of the Long Branch saloon (above), a five-piece orchestra. The cavernous Ben Springer’s Theatre “The Lady Gray Comique” (com-ee-cue), at the corner of Front and Bridge Street (modern day 2nd Avenue), was divided between a bar and gambling parlor in front and a variety small stage in the back. 

In July of 1878 the Comique featured an entire vaudeville show headlined by “…that unequalled and splendidly matched team of Eddie Foy and Jimmie Thompson.”  Eddie Foy (above) had been dancing and clowning in Chicago bars to feed his family since he was six. 

He was now 22, and this was his second swing through the western circuit, telling such local jokes as “What's the difference between a cow boy and a tumble bug (a dung beetle)? One rounds up to cut, and the other cuts to round up”. Hilarious. 

Eddie had an appealing V-shaped grin, and a comic lisp, which he offered in his closing each night in a solo rendition of the plaintive homesick poem, “Kalamazoo in Michigan” 

At about 3 A.M. on Friday, 26 July, as Eddie was just beginning his reading, George Hoyt and several of friends were leaving the Comique. They saddled their horses at a nearby stable. Then, since no one was allowed to wear guns while in town - which had prevented any killings since 1873 - the cowboys buckled on their gun belts and mounted up.  

As they rode up Bridge Street on their way back to camp, they passed the Comique. George suddenly wheeled his horse and returned to the side of the theatre.

George then pulled his six shooter and banged out three quick shots into the side of the building.

According to Eddie Foy (above), who was on stage inside the hall “Everyone dropped to the floor at once, according to custom.”  

Amongst the crowd of 150 gamblers and poetry aficionados in attendance was lawman Bat Masterson and gambler Doc Holiday (above, as he appeared in 1877), both of whom, according to Eddie, beat him to the floor. “I thought I was pretty agile myself, but these fellows had me beaten by seconds at that trick.” 

The Dodge City Globe agreed. “A general scamper was made by the crowd, some getting under the stage others running out the front door and behind the bar; in the language of the bard, “such a gittin' up the stairs was never seed”. Observed Bat Masterson (above), “Foy evidently thought the cowboy was after him, for he did not tarry long in the line of fire”. 

But in George Hoyt’s impulsive decision to blast away at the Comique, he had failed to notice two men lounging in the shadows on the sidewalk beside the building. One was Jim Masterson (above), younger brother to Bat and a fellow city deputy. The other shadow was later to be the legendary lawman, Wyatt Earp. 

Wyatt Earp (above) on this night was 30 years old. He stood about six feet tall, weighed about 160 pounds. He had pale light blue eyes. But what friends and opponents remember most about Wyatt was his manner. The editor of the Tombstone Epitaph would later note his calm demeanor, saying he was “…unperturbed whether...meeting with a friend or a foe.” 

Bat Masterson (above, left) described Wyatt (above, right) as possessing a “… daring and apparent recklessness in time of danger.” But those were later descriptions. But on this night Wyatt did not seem legendary at all.  

After serving in an Illinois regiment during the Civil War Wyatt became a teamster between the port of Wilmington, outside of Los Angeles, California, and the desert mining town of Prescott, Arizona.  He had then managed houses of prostitution in Peoria, Illinois for several years, before...

...becoming a lawman in Wichita, Kansas. Wyatt lost that job in 1874 for embezzling county funds, which he probably used to finance his education in gambling. 

Moving on to Dodge City along with the railroads, Wyatt (above, front row, second from left) was again hired as a police officer, along with Bat (above, back row, second from right) and Jim (front row, second from right) Masterson.  

But he took time during the off season to travel Texas and Dakota Territory to continue his schooling in poker and games of chance.  As a “cop” in Dodge City Wyatt's fame did not extend beyond stopping spit ballers disrupting an evening’s performance at the Comique, and his recent slapping of a prostitute named Frankie Bell.  

For her behavior Frankie spent the night in jail and was fined $20, while Officer Earp was fined $1 for the slap. But the incident made clear that the nominally bucolic Wyatt Earp would not sit idly while his honor or his life was insulted, not even by a woman.  

So when George Hoyt began blasting away in the dark, Wyatt made the immediate assumption that the cowboy meant to kill him. As George galloped his horse back up Bridge Street, Wyatt drew his own weapon and fired after the fleeing cowboy; once, and then a second shot.  

As Hoyt was approaching a clean getaway across the bridge over the Arkansas River, Wyatt's second bullet hit him in the arm. 

Years later Bartholemew William Barclay "Bat" Bat Masterson (above), working as a sports writer in New York,  would claim that George Hoyt fell from his horse, dead on the spot, but as you now know, Bat was on the floor of the gambling parlor. 

Bat's brother, James Patrick "Jim" Masterson, was outside standing next to Wyatt, but he never spoke of the shooting. But all accounts agree that the two lawmen ran up the street together after the fallen Hoyt. 

Given the lack of street lighting in the frontier cattle towns of 1878, as he rode up the street Hoyt would have soon disappeared in the dark. And that makes it seem likely that Bart got that much right; Wyatt fired only twice.  George Hoyt just wasn’t fast enough in escaping. The drunk cowboy fell from his horse, and either from being shot or from the fall, he broke his arm. After Wyatt and Jim Masterson had disarmed George, they sought out Dr. T. L. McCarty to treat the wounded cowboy.  

The Globe commented that George Hoyt “…was in bad company and has learned a lesson “he won’t soon forget”. He didn’t. Gangrene set in and the cowboy died a slow and foul death, passing at last on Wednesday, 21 August, 1878; 26 days after Wyatt shot him. The Legendary lawman Wyatt Earp had killed his first man.  

Eddie Foy (above) would later claim that his suit, hanging back stage, was punctured twice by the gunfire, but that too seems an embellishment. The Dodge City Times said the bullets went through the theatre’s ceiling.  

Eddie Foy went on to a successful career on the vaudeville stage, appearing for several years with his children in an act billed as “Eddie and the Seven Little Foys”. He was the last of the great vaudeville entertainers before the advent of sound film, and so is almost forgotten today. Eddie Foy died of a heart attack in 1927 at the age of 71.  

In September of 1878 a cattle broker and gunman named Clay Allison came to Dodge looking for a showdown with Wyatt Earp. One story told is that Allison was a friend of George Hoyt’s, and was looking for revenge. But again there was no classic shoot out on the streets of Dodge City. It seems that Wyatt sensibly stayed out of sight until Allison left town, despite Wyatt's later stories to the contrary.  

In 1879 Wyatt and his brothers moved on to Tombstone, Arizona. There, in October of 1881, he took part in the infamous Gunfight at the O.K Corral, which in fact was a gangland brawl which occurred in a an alley down the street from the rear entrance to the O.K. Corral. But none of that reality stopped the fight from becoming the most famous thirty seconds in the American West.  

Wyatt Earp (above) remained a professional gambler all his life and died in Los Angeles of a chronic bladder infection at the age of 80 years, in January of 1929. He is mostly portrayed today as a hero, mostly it seems to me because he had no aversion to spinning tall tales and because he was that true rarity, a gambler who usually won.

After the railroads penetrated south Texas in the mid 1880’s the need to drive cattle a thousand miles to Kansas came to an end. And with it the “Queen of the Cattle Towns” became just another small American town of some 25,000 people. It’s only real connection to its past is the Dodge City Cargill packing plant (above), whose 2,500 employees (mostly immigrants) can slaughter up to 6,000 cattle a day, turning them into four and a half million pounds of meat shipped all over the world.  

That was always the unpleasant underside of Dodge City. The town depended for its fame and fortune upon the death of so many. 

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PROGRESS

 

I was 18 years old in 1969.  It was the year of Woodstock. The Beatles released their album Abbey Road.  Oh, and in July humans had first set foot upon the moon. So I could be forgiven for

thinking the world was on a steady if stumbling progression to a more perfect union. And then, just after noon on Tuesday, 9 September, Allegheny Airlines flight #853 (above) lifted her wheels off the runway at Boston’s Logan Airport and clawed her way into the sky.

At about the same time, some 818 miles to the west southwest, 34 year old Robert William Carey (above) was just leaving his job at William Steck Plumbing, in Indianapolis, Indiana.  He'd been working since eight that morning, but now he was headed home, to share lunch with his wife Lorraine and their four children who were still at home,  They had two other children, Thomas and Michael, who were now in school. 

Driving home Bob was disappointed to see the light northwestern breeze had drawn in a pretty solid  cumulus ceiling (above) down to 1,400 feet.  This meant he would likely not be able to get in another solo cross country fight before his Private Pilot Check Out ride, scheduled for next week.  It was the only remaining hurdle before getting his pilot's license.  His instructor described Bob as a big man with a ruddy complexion, with "a very happy personality". 

Bob had intended to fly northwest 60 miles to Lafayette and and overfly Purdue University airfield (above). Then he would fly to Kokomo, before returning to his home field at McCordsville. The heavy overcast look forbidding, but  the humidity was continuing to drop, and Bob held out hope. Born in upstate New York, Bob Carey had served as an aircraft mechanic during the Korean War. After his discharge he had moved to New Hampshire, where he met and married Lorraine.  One of the  reasons he had moved to Indiana in 1968, was because of the opportunities the Midwest offered for pursuing his discovered love for flying.

Fifty-four years earlier, in 1914,  Donald Willis Douglas had been the first person to receive a Masters degree in Aeronautical Engineering from M.I.T.  His legendary career included building 16,000 of the ground breaking Douglas Commercial Three  (or DC-3) twin engine propeller driven transport and passenger planes. The final aircraft Donald Douglas built was the first jet powered passenger plane to enter service in the U.S., the DC-8 (above).  This put him in direct competition with the rival Boeing Aircraft's glitzy 707.

In 1957 Donald Willis Douglas Junior (above) became chairman of Douglas Aircraft. Looking for a new market, he decided to bring the jet engine's advantages of cheap fuel, higher speed and altitude producing smoother flights to mid and short range passenger routes.  

And he decided to build the new plane by enlarging Douglas's facilities at Long Beach, California (above).  Shortly thereafter the company merged with McDonnell aircraft.

The design chosen was called the DC-9 (above),  and first entered service in 1965 with Delta Airways. 

It was designed as a short to mid-range passenger jet, unglamorous, uncomplicated and so reliable that some 2,400 were eventually produced at the Long Beach plant. The DC-9-type 30 had a swept wingspan of 93 feet, and was 133 feet long from nose to the swept fins of her high “T” tail. Her two rear mounted Pratt & Whitney turbofan engines could propel her through the air at over 500 MPH above 30,000 feet for over 2,000 miles, while allowing her to use the shorter runways at smaller airports. 

Airframe number N (designating the United States) 988FJ rolled off the Long Beach production lines in August of 1968,  and as of Tuesday, 9 September, 1969, had only 3,170 hours flight time on it.

Allegheny flight  #853 was commanded by 47 year old pilot Captain James Elrod.(above). He had 900 hours at the controls of DC-9’s, and 23,800 total hours as a pilot. He lived in Plainfield, Indiana, almost within sight of the Indianapolis airport, with his wife Marge and their three children.

His first officer and co-pilot was 26 year old bachelor William Heckendorn (above), who had 650 hours at the controls of the twin engine jet, and 2,980 flight hours in total.  Although he had just bought a new 1968 Corvette convertible, William had also just conservatively invested in a service station with his brother in their home town of Newville, Pennsylvania, and he was currently dating Allegheny Stewardess Margi Barletta.

Allegheny had started in 1939 as regional airline based in Pittsburg,  and by the1968 serviced Atlantic City, Baltimore,  New York City, Philadelphia, Washington, D.C., Cincinnati , Chicago, St. Louis,  Indianapolis and many small towns in between.   The airline was always profitable because it received  subsidies for providing service to all those smaller cities.  This was the airline business in a regulated airline industry. 

 Allegheny flight #853 smoothly climbed out of Logan Airport and gained altitude over Boston Harbor (above), before turning south, for the 370 mile flight to Baltimore, Maryland's Friendship Airport.  Once airborne the two stewardess began serving coffee and sodas to the few passengers.

Senior "Stew", 29 year old Patricia Ann Perry (not above) had been born in Moorseville, Indiana and was described as "a very bright and pretty brunette".  She now made her home in Massachusetts, with her fiance', who was an Allegheny pilot. In fact he was supposed to have been deadheading on this very flight before being rescheduled.  The pair were  to be married in a week.

Working the narrow cabin with Patricia was 31 year old Barbara Louis Petrucick, who was based in Boston. And deadheading was 20 year old off duty Stewardess Linda Marlene Smalley, who had just attended her brother's wedding in Maine.

About an hour and forty minutes later. Flight #853 landed at Friendship Airport (above), and taxied up to the terminal. There were few "jet bridges" in use in 1968 and passengers boarded and de-boarded their aircraft via stairs directly to the tarmac. (below)

At Baltimore 16 additional passengers boarded the DC-9. The flight then quickly took off again, for the 424 mile, 90 minute flight to Cincinnati Airport (airport designation CVG).

Back in Indianapolis, by 1:00pm on Tuesday, September 9, 1969, Bob Carey was pleased to see the ceiling had climbed to 2,900 feet and was broken enough (about 8/10ths) to make his training flight to Purdue airport practical. He kissed Lorraine goodbye, climbed into the family station wagon and headed for McCordsville (later renamed Brookside) airpark. He got there a little after 2:00pm.

McCordsville Airpark (above) was about 25 miles north/northwest of Indianapolis.  Since 1964 it had been owned by the Forth family, where they sold, rented and serviced aircraft as well as providing ground instruction to student pilots. The field boasted a 3,100 foot paved runway (#18/36) and a 3,152 foot turf runway (#6/24), as well as a parking ramp and 2 hangers on the east side of the field. On all airports, the runways designations referred to the compass headings, rounding to the nearest 10 degrees, which always produces a number between 1 and 36.  Which of the two numbers apply depends upon which direction you are approaching from.

Sitting on the tarmac was a year old Piper Aircraft Corporation two seat single engine PA-28 Cherokee (above), tail #28-24730, leased by Forth Corporation since 13 August, 1968, at $208.78 a month.  This was the aircraft Bob Carey had been learning to fly in for the past year, and the one he wanted to use for today's flight.  Bob's instructor, Robert Kiesel, was not at the field this afternoon, Instead it was chief flight instructor for Forth, Robert Rice, who signed Bob off for his final flight. And it was Rice encouraged Bob Carey to change his flight plan.   

The clouds were clearing from the south, and storms were possible around Lafayette that afternoon. So, following Robert Rice's advice, Bob Carey decided to instead fly 40 miles south to Bakalar Air Force Base, 4 miles northeast of Columbus, Indiana, and then return to McChordsville. 

Allegheny Flight #853 landed at the Cincinnati/Northern Kentucky airport (above) about 2:40 pm EST, 

It was then supposed to leave at about 2:57pm. But an Allegheny ticket agent decided the hold the DC-9 on the ground so an additional 38 passengers could board. These folks were supposed to have connected with  TWA flight 69, flying from New York City and arriving in Cincinnati at 2:45pm.  However when that TWA flight was delayed, an Allegheny ticket agent decided to hold hold  #853 on the tarmac so the TWA passengers could make the connection.  That agent struggled with his decision for the rest of his life.

The Allegheny DC-9, now crowded with 82 passengers and a crew of four, lifted off at about 3:15pm. Air Traffic Control vectored Allegheny #485 to airway V-97, at 10,000 feet. Half an hour later, TWA flight #69 landed in Cincinnati, to collect the remaining 26 passengers. They then flew safely to Indianapolis, St. Louis and then on to Los Angeles. 

At about the same time Bob Carey was filing his new flight plan by fax with the FAA at Weir Cook Airport, Indianapolis. Bob lifted off from McCordville airport at 3:11pm. Following Visual Flight Rules he would be flying at 2,500 feet, heading south at 150 miles per hour.  At 3:21pm he contacted Indianapolis Flight Service, notifying  them he had departed McChordsville.  The cloud cover at Bakalar airfield was 2,900 feet and broken. Not having a transponder in his Cherokee,  Bob Carey's aircraft would be too small and too far away to appear on the radar screens of Indianapolis Approach.  

 Captain Jim Ellrod was at the controls of Allegheny Flight 485, as it left Cincinnati, on a heading of 306 degrees, flying toward Shelbyville, Indiana (above), a distance of 64 nautical miles at 400 miles per hour.  It was anticipated that Flight 853 would roll up to the terminal at Indianapolis at  3:50 pm.

First Officer William Heckendorn was monitoring the gauges and handling communications. At 3:22pm Indianapolis Air Route Traffic Control Center (ARTCC) advised the DC-9, "Allegheny eight fifty three is in radar contact, cross Shelbyville at and maintain six thousand  and your position is now thirty-two miles...southeast of Shelbyvlle." 

It's target was not the community of Shelbyville, but the un-maned Very High Frequency Omni-Directional Range Antenna just outside of town (above). This structure provided airliners with precise azimuth (or direction) information in approaching Indianapolis' Weir Cook Airport.     

Three minutes later, at 3:25pm, as they over flew the Shelbyville VOS, First Officer Heckendorn informed Approach Control that his flight was leaving 10,000 feet for 6,000, as instructed. The controller responded two minutes later, "Allegheny eight five three, squawk indent heading two eight zero radar vector visual approach three one left".  Jim Ellrod now lowered the DC-9's speed to about 200 miles per hour.

William Heckendorn now entered the number 208 in the transponder (above), and that identification (or ident) number now appeared on the Approach Control next to the "blip" representing the DC-9, thus providing the radar operators with a positive I.D, for which blip was Allegheny Flight #853.

Control of Allegheny Flight #853 now passed to approach controller Merrill T. McCammack (above). He instructed blip 208 to continue it's descent to 2,500 feet and "enter  45° right base for 31L", meaning turn right to prepare to land on Indianapolis runway 31 Left.  Heckendorn  responded, "853 cleared down to two thousand five hundred and report reaching. Entering 45° right base for 31L". Everyone involved, the pilots and the controllers,  had done this hundreds of times before. The only thing different this time was that as Flight #853 dropped out from the clouds in the clear air, the DC-9 was 40 minutes late.  

Merrill McCammack was doing the work of two controllers on this day, but that was within FAA guidelines. As a veteran controller he was not facing any especially difficult problems. His radar equipment could display targets out to fifty miles, but McCammack had set the display for a thirty mile range. The  antenna rotated at fifteen revolutions per minute, thus providing the controller with a completely updated radar picture every four seconds.

At 3:29pm and 13 seconds Co-pilot William Heckendorn radioed, "Out of thirty-five for twenty-five" As he heard that response, Controller McCammack briefly turned his attention to Allegheny Flight #820, which was also inbound to Indianapolis but approaching from the west. Some 10 seconds later, when he returned his attention to Flight #853,  the blip had disappeared from his radar screen.

Just about 3:30pm, that Tuesday afternoon, a knot of parents and grandparents, were sharing small talk on the entrance road to the Shady Oaks Trailer Park, on the outskirts of Fairland, Indiana (above)  - 10 miles northwest of Shelbyville. They were slightly anxious because the school bus carrying their children home from the day at school was just about to pull to a stop on North London Road.

When the jet, coming from the southeast, slipped below the broken cloud cover, the sudden whine of it's engines - made louder by the overcast - drew the immediate attention of all 8 people. Looking up they all saw a smaller plane approaching from the north moving straight toward the larger jet. Neither plane made any attempt to avoid the collision.  One young woman shouted to her husband, "I think they're going to hit!" 

The Piper Cherokee and the DC-9 were closing on each other at 350 miles per hour, covering two city blocks every second. That is far too fast for human reactions, or even recognition. And still, they almost missed each other.  In less time than a blink of an eye (7/10ths of a second)  Bob Carey went from 50 feet from the cockpit of the DC-9, to 30 feet above the right wing of the Allegheny jet and then, in another blink,  10 feet above the left engine, and then...impact.

At 3:29pm, and 15 and 2 tenths of a second the top right front of the vertical stabilizer, just below the twin horizontal twin stabilizers (above) sliced through the root of the Piper's left wing, inches from Bob Carey's seat, scraping across Bob's head as it decapitated the Cherokee  at a 45° angle.  As the author of a web site devoted to the crash wrote,  Bob Carey "...died instantly, without even being able to have the comfort of a last thought for the wife and children he loved so much." 

The left wing of the Cherokee, ripped from it's connections,  spun away toward the ground. The  propeller continued to turn for a few tenths of a second, making cuts on the underside of the DC-9's right horizontal stabilizer. Then momentum carried the right wing, most of the fuselage and most of the cockpit forward, scrapping along the bottom of the jet's right horizontal stabilizer. 

The forward motion of the Allegheny Jet cancelled the energy of the Cherokee and what was left of the Piper fluttered to the ground almost directly under the impact point. Jim Carey's was still strapped into his seat and was the only body which was found intact. His death was instantaneous. But that appearance disguised his internal injuries, as his body had sustained tens of thousands of "Gs", over a few seconds.

The victims on the DC-9 are not as lucky. Not one of 88 souls on board Flight #853 was even injured in the collision. However the entire vertical tail assembly (above) had been ripped from the rest of the airframe, breaking just aft of the pressure tube containing the passenger cabin and cockpit.  One second after the impact, at 3:29pm and 16 seconds, according to the Cockpit Voice Recording, a warning horn sounded, to alert the pilots they were below stall speed and should lower their landing gear.  One second later the Stall Vibration warning began sounding.  

A second after that, at 3:29pm and 17 seconds, the landing gear warning horn stopped. Some one in the cockpit, possibly pilot Jim Elrod said  "..(the) tail must be"....  First Officer Heckendorn blurted out, "What did you hit up there?" 

With the tail gone, the abrupt shift in the center of gravity caused the airframe to nose downward, yaw to the right and roll to the left, all at the same instant. The passenger jet was now inverted and the engines were driving the airframe in quick shallow dive 2,500 feet toward the earth,  The last words heard on the CVR were typical of fatal crashes - "Oh, shit!" It was exactly 3:29 pm and 27 seconds, on Tuesday,  9 September, 1969.

Passengers and crew of Allegheny Flight #853 were all alive 11  seconds after impact, when at about 400 miles per hour, what was left of the DC-9 pancaked into a soy bean field, 100 yards from the  Shady Oaks Trailer Park.

The wings fractured and scattered. The kerosene fuel in the wing tanks was dispersed as an aerosol, However no fire resulted.  Everything contained within the pressure hull, including the tube itself, shattered. Parts of seats, flooring, overhead bins, luggage and passengers were thrown out from the point of impact, generally in the direction of motion, to the northwest.  

The pilots and some of the passengers were technically alive after the crash, but despite myths, no one survived for more than a few moments. Eighty-eight human beings and about four million dollars worth of equipment ($23.5 million in 2007) had been destroyed in 13 seconds. It was the 19th mid-air collision in the year 1969. 

Back in the Approach Control at Weir Cook Airport,  Controller Merrill T. McCammack's was not particularly concerned when the northbound DC-9 dropped off this radar screen. because, "...it's not unusual to miss a target for two or three sweeps." of the radar's dish.  It was not until 3:30pm and 52 seconds before he asked, "Allegheny eight five three, what is your altitude?" He admitted later,  "I didn't necessarily care...what his altitude was...I wanted to hear his voice." But there was no response.

The school bus sat across the access road to the Shady Oaks trailer park (above) while lighter machine and body parts dropped around it. The bus driver ordered the children to stay in their seats, while he moved several body parts from their path so the children could walk home. Shaken himself, he then returned to finish his route and deliver the rest of the children safely to their homes.  

At 3:40pm, when  Controller Merrill McCammack called to notify the Indiana State Police of the possible loss of a passenger jet, they were able to inform him that not only that it had crashed, but where it had crashed.

On 15 July, 1970 the National Transportation Safety Board, charged with investigating aviation accidents, urged the Federal Aviation Administration change it's regulations to prevent future similar disasters. “The board determines the probable cause of this accident to be the deficiencies in the collision avoidance capability of the Air Traffic Control system...in a terminal area wherein there was mixed instrument fight rules (IFR) and visual flight rules (VFR)…include(ing) the inadequacy of the see-and-avoid concept under circumstances of this case; the technical limitations of radar in detecting all aircraft; and the absence of ….adequate separation of …mixed traffic in terminal areas.”

And yet, on 31 August, 1986, 18 years after Allegheny Flight #853, in clear skies this time, another DC-9, Aero Mexico Flight #448, collided in midair with another Piper Cherokee PA-28, this time over Cerritos, California, killing another 85 people, including 15 on the ground. This time part of the blame was laid on the Piper pilot who was unfamiliar with the area and had entered restricted airspace without clearance. But the secondary fault was again laid on “…limitations of the see and avoid concept to ensure traffic separation…”. 

The Shady Oaks Trailer Park is still on North London Road, although it is now called Creekside Park -after Sugar Creek which winds just to the north of that road. The soy bean field where so many lives came to an end now supports corn,  as well as a memorial to the lives lost on Allegheny Flight #485. It does not mention the trauma still suffered by the families left behind and the witnesses forced to clean up the disaster. Air travel is far safer today than it was in 1969, but the path to that safer world is never as direct or simple as the memorial suggests.

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