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I was forwarded this Email from my friend Donna
Steve
THIS IS MY FRIEND CHERIE FROM ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA. SHE WAS IN THIS CRASH AND TELLS THE STORY OF HOW IT HAPPENED.
REGARDS,
DONNA
Many people have asked questions about our accident, so I thought I'd let
you know a little info.
We are so blessed. We lost power on final into MCAS Cherry Point, NC on Thursday. Five of us were on board Bill (Pilot), Bud (Co-Pilot), Buck (Crew Chief), Bert Statzer and me. The pilot radioed that we had lost power and in a matter of seconds we hit power lines very close to a sub station. The plane jerked, then seemed to straighten up. (I assumed we had blown a tire when touching down onto the runway.) Then, a second later, huge bolts of electricity shot all over the cabin. That must have been when we hit the trees because I placed my hands over my face and said a prayer. Then, it was over. In no more than about 3 seconds, all that happened. Bert and I were sitting in the back; I was in the seat directly behind the pilot facing backwards and Bert was in front of me. The windows were broken out and Bert's face was cut. He was a little dazed and kept asking what happened. (Bill, the Pilot, later told me he had hollered "Everyone out of the plane", but I don't recall if I heard him or not.) I tried the overhead emergency escape hatch of the 1955 Navy plane and couldn't budge it. Bert said he couldn't get out, but I reached across and opened his seat belt. (I think he was a bit disoriented for a moment.) Anyway, Bert got up, tried the crew door, and luckily it popped open. We were in the middle of the forest with tall brush everywhere. When we exited the plane, we had to literally fight the brush (taller than any of us) to work our way away from the plane. For whatever reason, I picked up my handbag and took it with me. Once outside the aircraft, we made our way as far away as possible which was very difficult. Bert turned back to the plane and I continued out and around the front of the plane yelling "Are you out?" to the others, thinking that they were perhaps on the other side of the aircraft. I could hear Bill and then saw Bert again coming my way. (I almost tripped over a big battery box at 2:00 o'clock from us. At that moment, I wondered why someone would leave a battery in the middle of the woods, not realizing that it belonged to the plane. Seems the force of the impact had torn the cables off the battery and thrown it clear of the wreckage.)
Bill, the pilot, came out next. He had lacerations on his head, so his face was covered with blood; he had a gash in his knee and another in his elbow. He laid down for a moment and I called 911 (with my Blackberry) giving them the coordinates he had given me. I told the operator three times that we were in a downed aircraft, that there were five aboard (two still on the aircraft), and that we were 1 to 1 1/2 miles off Runway 5 North into Cherry Point. The idiot told me to hold on, then came back and asked again our location. I reported the fire I could make out in the distance and "barked" that we need emergency assistance now. Bud (the co-pilot and a retired USMC Colonel) climbed out through a rip in the front of the fuselage by his seat, leaving Buck still inside as he couldn't move. (Bert was able to go back into the aircraft and pull Buck onto the pilot's seat.) Anyway, the USMC helicopter came in and I told the operator I was hanging up. I know it was a only a short time, but it seemed as though precious minutes were being wasted. During that time, I removed my blouse to use to help to stop the bleeding on Bill's head. (Big deal...I flashed my undergarments for a moment, then pulled my sweater back on...something we all laughed about a couple of days later. After all, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do...)
The two corpsmen told us they would lift two at a time into the helicopter and then would go in to help Buck in the plane. By then, there was fire starting all around. Seems during our wrestling match with the cable, it had snapped like a slingshot, flying both directions and starting fires on the EXTREMELY thick brush and trees on both sides of us. With the fire fast approaching, and with insufficient time for the helicopter to pull us all to safety, a decision was made for the four of us to walk out. One of the two corpsman took us about 40 feet and pointed us in which direction to walk, then returned to rescue (and airavac) Buck out. Our trek through the brush was horrible. You had to literally fight your way through the brush, with much of it stopping us in our tracks because of all the intertwining branches. Someone stepped on my heel, so I lost a shoe. I was so tired and winded, I needed to stop at a tree to get my breath, but the men wouldn't allow me to stop and kept pushing me forward. At one point the smoke was so intense that we couldn't see through it and we could feel the intense heat of the fire around us. We finally got to a burned out clearing that was still smoldering. It was hot in places and I blistered my foot without the shoe. A fireman "greeted" us and kindly threw me over his shoulder (not comfortably, I can assure you) and carried me to a cool spot where I could walk again.
The men I was with were true heroes in every sense of the word. It was the amazing skill of Bill and Bud who continued to fly the aircraft after we had lost power, with Bud holding the rudder hard to keep the aircraft from flipping over and subsequently saving our lives. No doubt Bert's action in returning to the plane to check on Buck, untangling him and moving him to a seat, helped to hasten his rescue by the USMC. Then, it was their attitudes of leaving no one behind that certainly motivated me to continue on, as Bill, with all his injuries, told me that if I couldn't make it that he'd have to carry me, and Bud (the true Marine Colonel at its finest) never mentioned that his ankle was bothering him. (It wasn't until later that we heard that his ankle had been broken in two places. He remains the hospital after an operation on that ankle.)
We were taken to three different hospitals. Bert and I had both strained our backs, were checked over, and released from the hospitals we had been taken. Bill, our pilot, received six staples to the lacerations in his head, as well as stitches to his knee and elbow and remained over night for observation. And dear Buck, everyone's favorite squadron member, was sent to the trauma unit with two broken legs (one in three places), a broken shoulder, three vertebrae in his neck and back, a broken arm, and a broken figure, as well as cuts to his head. He has had one operation and is readying for the next. Hopefully, he'll be out in a couple of weeks.
Three of us went out to the crash site yesterday. Funny how you get a different perspective on things, especially after the brush is gone. When we left the plane on Thursday, the fuselage was intact and the wings were attached with the exception on about 1 1/2 feet or so of the end of the right wing that had been sheared off by a tree.
Upon returning to the crash site, we were surprized to see that the plane was sitting directly 180 degrees out from where we were headed. Seems that when we hit the power lines, one of the lines wrapped itself around the left propeller. During our tug of war with it, it had snapped us around the other direction. (None of us realized that.) The tail of the aircraft stood tall at 10 o'clock from the front of the airplane, little paint was gone, and you could still read "Commemorative Air Force" proudly in bright blue letters. (I was unaware that we had lost the tail on impact.) The rest of the plane was commently consumed by the fire, so our thoughts of recovering any of our belongings were dashed. The fuselage was complete
ash with a bit of the control panel broken off on the side. You could still make out the structure of our seats (I could only imagine where I had left my leather jacket) and you could make out the tool box in what had been the very back of the plane. Oddly enough, one of the FAA people told me they had something for me. They had arrived on the scene on Thursday evening, but the plane was still burning. When they returned on Friday morning, they found my perfume bottle on top of the ashes at the back where our luggage had been. Of course it had evaporated and the top had melted off, but the glass was still intact and you could still make out "Burberry" printed on the front. I have the bottle in a bag, but I suspect I will throw it away. Can't see that that is much of a souvenir.
There is no doubt in my mind that the Good Lord was watching over us. We could have lost our lives via four different scenarios (1) we could have been killed on impact; (2) the plane could have burst into flames killing us; (3) we could have died when the high voltage electricity (235,000 volts we were told) passed through the plane cabin; or (4) we could have been consumed by the forest fire.
Funny how I can get nervous over a deadline at work that needs to be met or how I can let the actions of a careless driver upset me. In this instance, I never got upset. I think it will take some time before I realize how fortunate we were. Thank God for the fine skills and sheer determination of my dear aviation friends. After this weekend, I feel we are a true Band of Brothers. I shall always have the utmost respect for them and their actions.
PS: Barry St John, one of our squadron members, had brought his Stearman to Cherry Point for the show. He was so kind. His wife went to one hospital, and he to the other, for us. After I was discharged, he kindly took me to good old Walmart that night to purchase clothing so we'd have something to wear!
Cherie McClung
_________________
"Any excuse is good enough if you're willing to use it!"
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