-Research

Days later, I still had no idea what to do as I sat in front of my computer monitor for the umpteenth hour, lost in the thoughts that raged disjointedly through my head.  I had never researched the crash or even thought about how I would.  By then I had regressed back to my old mindset that was sure that there wasn’t much information out there, after thirty years.  Nobody probably cared anyway.

I had a definite image of that day in my head, but without much more information trying to create a draft or even an outline was impossible and wrought with frustration.  I realized that this quest would require that I do some real research. 

Damn.

Now, I am pretty good at research – in fact it is a large part of my day job.  But it is a royal pain in the butt to get started when you don’t even know what you’re looking for.  Generally, the research I do day to day has some basis in knowledge that I already possess, so I know where to start. 

But here, with this?  How do you find such an insignificant event in such a huge world?  Where would I go to begin?  Who could I talk to?  It was the proverbial needle in an impossibly huge haystack.  It was so long ago, that there couldn't be much if anything.  And even if I did find it out, I didn't know the first thing about writing a book.  I mean me, a writer?  Who the hell was I kidding?

I was clueless, and it was utterly defeating in its weight.  After awhile I pushed back my seat and stomped away from the computer to sit outside on my back patio.  I stared out across the lawn, watching the phoebes dive and twist in aerial acrobatics as they snatched insects from mid air over the grass.  The cool spring breeze wafted over me.

I closed my eyes and retreated to memories of college - It occurred to me that it was really kind of the same as doing research papers on something like Cell Biology, or recumbent DNA, or Drosophila Melanogaster.   As an idiot student, like I was, I always began by staring into the massive whirling, sucking void of blackness known as the Academic Body of Knowledge, which represents the universe of information that you don’t know. 

If you let it overwhelm you at this point, which it is easy to do, you end up cowering alone in the darkened corner of some smoky bar a little later, trying to escape it with cheap college beer and cigarettes bummed from kind strangers.  And, of course, you really piss off the professor when you hand in something akin to a smiley face drawn in crayon on construction paper entitled:  'My Sell Biologoogly Stuff.'

But…if you are brave and motivated, and work it right, and look in the right places, and keep at it, eventually the answers seem to magically resolve before you.  Put them together and you've done…Research! 

My eyes snapped open -  I remembered!  I did learn something in college, after all!

Still, I had to force off the growing desire to find something else to do instead of wasting my time with this.  I considered giving into the cynicism for a moment, but then I remembered how I used to get through those mountains of paper in the stacks of the library at Western Illinois. 

I learned in college at one point, as I walked through those stacks, that everything that has ever been learned in the academic world is, in fact, already done.  And for the most part written down.  All I had to do was pull that information together and give it to my professor in a neat and organized format, properly referenced, of course. 

That was all research was about.  I got a lot of A's this way, and remembering it now emboldened me.  I determined that I would seek out what I could.  No harm in trying, I figured.  If I could do 20 pages of dribble on the human lymphatic system, I could do this, for crying out loud. 

I went back and sat at my desk and stared at the Google home page displayed on the computer screen before me for a long time.  The cursor defiantly blinked at me, daring me to figure out what exactly the hell I was trying to do.  Where do I start?  I wondered…I couldn't say if there were too many places to go or too few, but nothing came to mind.  I racked my brain. 

I remembered that many, many years ago I had seen a report of the crash.  I didn't remember then what it said exactly, but I figured it must have been from an official agency.  Who would do that…the FAA? The NTSB? The NHSA?  Who?

After a moment of trying to figure it out for sure, I figured what the hell?  I typed in FAA to see what would happen.  I clicked on the first link that Google provided and was brought to the Federal Aviation Administration’s webpage.  At the top I saw a link that said Accident and Incident Data.’  Encouraged, I clicked it. When the next page popped up I immediately spotted another link that said Aviation Accident Reports and Statistics – National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB).   With building enthusiasm I clicked on it.  In a flash, the National Transportation Safety Board's website link popped up.  Although I was doubtful, I thought that maybe there would be some sort of database of crashes there. 

Then the very first thing my eyes rested on was a link that said: Accident Database & Synopses - Descriptions of more than 140,000 aviation accidents - search capability available.'

I blinked and a moment later delayed disbelief splashed over me, as if thrown from a bucket.  There was no way it could be that easy!  Skeptical, I clicked the link.  The page that popped up said:

'The NTSB aviation accident database contains information from 1962 and later about civil aviation accidents and selected incidents within the United States, its territories and possessions, and in international waters. Generally, a preliminary report is available online within a few days of an accident. Factual information is added when available, and when the investigation is completed, the preliminary report is replaced with a final description of the accident and its probable cause. Full narrative descriptions may not be available for dates before 1993, cases under revision, or where NTSB did not have primary investigative responsibility.'

Holy bejeezus! I thought.  The mother lode!  Just like that!

I scanned over the data input boxes and with excited and trembling fingers, typed in the information for my query.

Date range:  February 17, 1976.

City:  Hebron

State:  Nebraska

Aircraft Category:  Airplane

Make/Model:  Beech Baron

Investigation type:  accident

Injuries…I considered this.  The only choices were fatal and Non-Fatal.  I clicked fatal.  That felt weird.

That was all I knew.  I clicked 'Submit.'  The computer thought for a few seconds and then a mostly blank page popped up. 

'Not found.' It reported, matter-of-factly. 

Erghf!  I hated computers!  I tapped my finger on the pad beside the mouse, but then I saw near the top of the page there was a small link advertising 'Index of Months.'  I clicked it. 

Just like magic, the screen filled with a list of headings of years from 1968 to the present.  Each year was followed beneath it by links to each individual month of that year.

 Ah-ha!  This looked promising.  I was excited again.  I scrolled down until I located the row for 1976 and clicked ‘February.’  Columns of information popped up.  It was a list of incidents that occurred by each day of that month!  It listed the location, the type of aircraft, the registration number, the severity (fatal/non-fatal), and the status of the report with a link to it labeled 'probable cause.' 

Still not totally believing what I was seeing, I scrolled down to the heading of Tuesday, February 17, 1976 and began to read the list of locations:

Michigan City Indiana, Two Buttes Colorado, Artesia Wells Texas, Austin Texas, Bowie Texas, all nonfatal…Flagstaff Arizona, Fatal(1)…Yuma Arizona, Brawley California, Chipley Florida, Atlanta Georgia, all nonfatal…Cuba Missouri, Fatal(2)…Hebron…

Hebron.  I knew the name well.  It was held in my subconscious as a blurry and foreboding presence, only defined by the menacing feeling with which the name hit me. 

Hebron.  That was the place.  I read on.  It said: 

Beech B55, Number N3600H, Fatal (1). 

My god, I thought.  I recognized the tail number…it was us!  My heart thumped.  I stared at it for a second.  I was overcome that I was able to find any information at all, but there it was.  Still, I hesitated to click on the link that would show me the report.  I was aware of my heart throbbing in my head.  Suddenly, I was afraid.  My brothers warning about what I would find crept into my head.

I think that there are basically two types of fear.  One is a fear that motivates a person to take action, be it fight or flight, but the other is a fear that causes paralysis and keeps them from doing anything.  The kind that makes just stare at the oncoming light streaking through the tunnel growing bigger and bigger while we stay on the tracks, unable to move. 

For any scary situation, I think either type of fear can occur, depending on a person’s state of mind.  At that moment I realized that I had been paralyzed by my fear of finding the truth for my entire life.  It wasn’t the fear itself that held me back; there was nothing wrong with being afraid.  It was simply my perspective of that fear.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to position the mouse arrow over the link.  Then with a single click, I smashed through the paralysis and into action, and in doing so set into motion a momentum that would lead to one of the most important journeys I had ever taken.

On the screen it flashed:

NTSB Identification: MKC76AK043
14 CFR Part 91 General Aviation
Event occurred Tuesday, February 17, 1976 in HEBRON, NE
Aircraft: BEECH B55, registration: N3600H

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 FILE    DATE      LOCATION    AIRCRAFT DATA       INJURIES     FLIGHT   PILOT DATA  

                                                    F  S M/N      PURPOSE
3-0365  76/2/17    HEBRON,NE   BEECH B55       CR-  0  1  0      NONCOMMERCIAL    PRIVATE, AGE 41      

TIME -  1830                  N3600H           PX-  1  4  0      PLEASURE/PERSONAL TRANSP,  

           DAMAGE-DESTROYED                    OT-  0  0  0                                                                       
 DEPARTURE FARMINGTON,NM  INTENDED DESTINATION LINCOLN,NE

 TYPE OF ACCIDENT                                         PHASE OF OPERATION
 COLLIDED WITH: TREES                                     IN FLIGHT: OTHER

 PROBABLE CAUSE(S)

           PILOT IN COMMAND - IMPROPER IN-FLIGHT DECISIONS OR PLANNING
           PILOT IN COMMAND - CONTINUED VFR FLIGHT INTO ADVERSE WEATHER CONDITIONS
           PILOT-VISUAL FLT AT ALT INSUF TO CLR OBST TRRN
           MISCELLANEOUS ACTS,CONDITIONS - SEAT BELT NOT FASTENED

        FACTOR(S)

           WEATHER - LOW CEILING

           WEATHER - FOG

        WEATHER BRIEFING - BRIEFED BY FLIGHT SERVICE PERSONNEL, BY RADIO

        WEATHER FORECAST - FORECAST SUBSTANTIALLY CORRECT

        SKY CONDITION                                            CEILING AT ACCIDENT SITE
          PARTIAL OBSCURATION                                      600

        VISIBILITY AT ACCIDENT SITE                              PRECIPITATION AT ACCIDENT SITE
          MILE OR LESS                                             NONE

        OBSTRUCTIONS TO VISION AT ACCIDENT SITE                  WIND DIRECTION-DEGREES
        FOG                                                        360

        WIND VELOCITY-KNOTS                                      TYPE OF WEATHER CONDITIONS
        18                                                         IFR

        TYPE OF FLIGHT PLAN 

        VFR

        REMARKS- ATMTD FLT BLO FOG BANK,DARK NIGHT.R PAX BELT.

I was utterly and completely stunned and transfixed, like someone had just pulled the rug out from under me.  Before me were these incredible details about our crash.  I was numb with disbelief. 

It all looked so…cold.  So statistical.  I don't know what I expected, but this defied any expectation I did have.  I took a moment to peruse the document, having to figure out the abbreviations. 

CR meant crew, PX meant passengers.  I guess OT stood for others.  F was for fatal, S for serious, and M/N for minor or none.  My mom had been reduced to PX F 1.  I was one of the PX S 4.  Dad was now CR S 1. 

I already knew most of this information, from being told the story from my brother and dad, but it was strange and interesting to see it in the formal format, further making me believe the whole thing was real.  I looked over the document for a very long time, taking in the totality of what it meant. 

I considered again the numbers used to classify my family and my mom for statistical purposes.  I felt strangely offended by them, in a way.  It was like they robbed my mom of what she was as a person.  I was aware that it felt a little childish, my taking offence.  After all it wasn't the numbers fault, or even the person who put them there in the first place. We are all statistics at some point, I guess.  I would come to recognize a lot of this kind of angst as I continued my research.

But for now I shook it off, the angst of the numbers, and thought about the report from a more clinical point of view.  It was a good start, and provided a good deal of information.  Moreover, it gave me hope to find more.  I clicked the browser's back button once, and then paused.  I suddenly got a strange feeling that drew me to go back to the accident list. 

I looked over the other reports of fatalities that occurred on that day and began to study them, too.  I felt suddenly like I owed those people that.  I wondered if anyone else would ever look for them here.

The first one happened in Flagstaff.  The pilot, who was the only one on board, flew his Cessna 105G into thunderstorm-related turbulence and ended up crashing.  It was a commercial flight, but he was alone.  I pictured his chiseled face and set jaw as he struggled with the controls, trying to retain control of the aircraft even as it was wrenched from his grasp by the turbulent and undulating air.  He was screaming a mayday into his headset as the earth rose to meet him.  The report said the aircraft was destroyed.  It made me shiver. 

The other fatal accident that day happened in Missouri and appeared to be a flight instructor and student in their Grumman AA-1B, doing touch and go landings at the airport when they lost control and went nose down in front of the runway.  The report noted that the instructor was drunk.  Not hard to picture that one.  I shook my head.  I thought about that flight again a year or so later while landing a Cessna 172 with my instructor. 

We were in the process of a simulated power failure and were making a turn back to the runway at Fullerton.  Just before we got there, I moves the flaps to full.  The nose of the plane raised but my mind was elsewhere for the critical moment and I didn’t notice the airspeed drop from the indicator like a rock.  Suddenly I could hear the stall warning horn begin, and my instructor pointedly telling me to get my nose down-NOW!  I pushed the controls forward and brought the runway back into view, increasing my speed again, and a few seconds later thumped into a bumpy, but passable landing.

If my instructor had been drunk like that guy, we would have stalled, and during the uncoordinated turn we were in, most certainly would have spiraled into the ground a couple hundred feet below, just like they did.  The end of two great stories, as my instructor put it – his and mine.  I take their example with me into the air every time I fly now.     

With a curious and morbid fascination, I began to click on the vast list of other reports from the NTSB database, each with its own story that played out in my mind toward their violent and fiery conclusions.  I became immersed in this task, only pausing when I realized I had spent two hours doing it.  It was fascinating, but wasn't very productive to my immediate cause.

Overall, I concluded that it wasn't an atypical day as far as airplane accidents go - only directly significant to me and the few others who were flung variously to the earth that day and lived.  I did note though, that in all of the reports I glanced through, ours was the only one where survivors and totally destroyed aircraft were synonymous.  The thought gave me pause.  What do I know of luck? 
I was tired from my day of discovery, and worn out from what I had found.  I had to sort out the questions that intruded into my mind from all over.  This was going to take some time.  It was time to call it a day.  I pushed back from the computer and shuffled into the living room to spend the rest of the evening with Terri and James.