35 Miles from Shore (29 page)

Bill left the Skyvan and walked up to the tower to talk to controller Jimmy Gingrich. After filling Jimmy in on what had taken place, he went looking for the flight crew. He was told that the captain and another crewmember were upstairs in the Eastern Airlines VIP room. Bill headed upstairs and introduced himself to Balsey and Harry, identifying himself as the pilot of the Skyvan. They talked briefly. Bill could tell that the two men were still shaken by their ordeal. He told them that he was available if they needed anything and then left to call his wife. When he got downstairs, someone asked him if he would take a phone call from a CBS news reporter. Bill took the phone call and talked to the reporter for several minutes. He mentioned George Stoute by name and told how George had risked his life. The phone conversation was later broadcast on the CBS radio network.

As soon as Bill finished talking to the reporter, he phoned his wife. She was still at her girlfriend's house. He gave her a quick rundown
on the ditching, then asked how she was doing. She told him that the labor pains had intensified and her girlfriend was suggesting they go to the hospital. Bill rushed to the girlfriend's house. Before heading to the hospital, Bill decided to call their family doctor. By now news of the ditching had spread across the island. The doctor had been in touch with the hospital and had learned that there were no hospital beds. They had all been taken by the survivors. He suggested that they come to the hospital in the morning. A nervous Bill and Tuddy left for home, hoping that the baby would delay its entrance into the world for at least one more day.

While the rest of the rescuers were headed home or to luxury accommodations, the Coast Guard pilots were busy discussing the possibility of conducting a night search. The concern was that if there were any survivors still in the water, their chances for survival through the night were minimal. The biggest fear was sharks. But another concern was the difficulty of finding a lone individual in the open sea. The survivors were initially confined to an area of about thirty to forty yards wide and seventy-five yards long. By nightfall this area had expanded to well over two hundred yards in length. With each passing hour the search area grew larger. The decision was made to conduct a night search, using parachute flares dropped from an HU-16.

By this time, Bill Shields had already reported the loss of his hoist system. A new cable and basket were flown into St. Croix, but it was going to take several hours to replace the damaged cable. Shields discussed the situation with his commanding officer, Charles Mayes, who had been on the second Coast Guard helicopter. They agreed that while Bill would not be able to perform any rescues, he could still participate in the night search. If he spotted a survivor, he could direct rescue crews to the spot.

A little after 7:00
P.M
., Bill Shields and Carmond Fitzgerald left St. Croix for the accident scene. The second Coast Guard helicopter followed minutes later. Tom Blank, who had acted as the On Scene Commander for the duration of the rescue, landed in St. Croix where they met up with another HU-16 crew scheduled to fly the night search. Tom and his crew then flew back to San Juan. They had flown a total of seven and a half hours. The captain of the
USS Guadalcanal
, which had arrived on scene just after sunset, became the On Scene Commander. The
Point Whitehorn
also arrived on scene after sunset. According to the deck logs for the
Point Whitehorn
, sunset occurred at 18:46 (6:46
P.M
.). The crew of the
Point Whitehorn
was told to conduct a surface search independent of the
Guadalcanal
. The seas were too rough to conduct a coordinated search.

In order for parachute flares to be effective, they have to be dropped from an altitude of at least 1,000 feet. Fortunately, the weather had improved to the point where the HU-16 crew was able to climb to an altitude of 1,500 feet. The parachute flares are contained inside a canister about a foot in diameter and four feet long. The magnesium flares put out an extremely bright white light—bright enough that it could temporarily blind a person if he or she were to look directly at it. The same lead line used to toss out the life raft is attached to the top of the canister. The flare is forcibly tossed out and away from the aircraft by the drop master; the heat from the flare is sufficiently hot enough that it could damage the aircraft if it were to ignite too close to the plane. When the flare reaches the end of the lead line, the top of the canister is yanked off; the flare is ignited and the parachute deploys. The flare will then burn for up to three minutes, illuminating an area about the size of a football field. The illumination over water, however, is of little use unless there is something in the water to reflect back the light. Otherwise,
the water remains dark, except for a few seconds as the flare descends closer to the surface.

The helicopters would scan the water as the flare slowly dropped to the surface. They flew at an altitude of 500 feet. If something was spotted, the helicopter would descend to as low as fifty feet to investigate, using a directional spotlight attached to the bottom of the helicopter.

Both the
Guadalcanal
and the
Point Whitehorn
were also using spotlights to search for survivors.

To an observer in the water, it would have been an eerie scene as they watched the flares drop slowly from a stygian sky. The light from the flares would have been punctuated by the momentary illumination of the helicopter spotlights as they moved in to investigate a suspicious reflection or item that had floated free from the aircraft. If there were any survivors that night, they most certainly would have witnessed the search, which would have been visible for miles. But they would ultimately have realized that they had drifted too far away from the accident scene to be found. Except for a couple of empty life rafts, nothing of significance was recovered that night.

There had been a total of sixty-three people on board ALM 980—fifty-seven passengers and a crew of six. By the end of the day there were forty survivors, twenty-two missing, and one dead. The man that John Barber and his crew had rescued, passenger Julius Eisenberg, was pronounced dead upon arrival at the hospital.
*
Seven passengers were missing spouses, including Jim Razzi and Loretta
Gremelsbacker. Also among the missing were three married couples, the two little girls Jennifer and Kristin Caldwell and their father William Caldwell, and stewardess Margareth Abraham. She had last been seen shoving passengers into their seats just prior to impact.

S
OMETIME BETWEEN TWO AND THREE IN THE MORNING
on Sunday, May 3, a New York State Trooper approached a row of tents at a Girl Scout campsite with an important message to deliver. The individual the trooper was looking for was ONA Assistant Chief Pilot Ed Veronelli. Ed was at the campsite along with his daughter. Ed's mother had given someone at ONA the approximate location of where he was camping and, with that, the state trooper was able to locate Ed's car, parked a short distance from the campsite.

With only his flashlight to guide him, the trooper made his way down a narrow dirt path and stopped at the very first tent he came to. The startled occupants of that tent directed the officer a few feet away to where Ed Veronelli had pitched his tent. Ed learned of the accident after having been awakened by the trooper's flashlight. The news hit Ed especially hard. He had originally been scheduled to fly the May 2 flight.

There had actually been three pilots scheduled to fly the May 2 flight before Balsey. The first pilot was taken off the flight because his daughter had died in a tragic car accident. A second pilot had been assigned the trip but had to be taken off due to a scheduling conflict. Ed was then assigned the flight. As the weekend approached, Ed remembered the promise he had made to his daughter to go with her on the camping trip. Ed removed himself from the schedule and told scheduling to put a flight instructor on the flight, knowing that Harry Evans was going to be the first officer. Such were the workings of fate and chance.

Ed gathered his things and immediately left for home. He listened to reports of the accident over the radio as he made the hour-plus drive back to New Jersey. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Ed left for ONA headquarters. He found the offices of ONA swarming with people. News of the accident had spread quickly. Managers from every department were there; crewmembers preparing for their flights stopped by for updates. The first few hours were marked by chaos and confusion. This was ONA's first accident. Everyone had questions:
Where did the plane ditch? How many survived? How many were still missing? How many were injured?
Adding to the chaotic atmosphere were the phones that never stopped ringing.

The one person everyone turned to for answers was Steedman Hinckley. Steedman had learned of the ditching not long after it happened. Upon hearing of the accident, he immediately left for New York along with his wife Ingrid and their daughter Annalisa. Steedman would later confide to family and friends that he had sought out a church that night to pray for the passengers and crew aboard the fateful flight.

Steedman gathered the department heads together and collectively they came up with a course of action. Their first priority was to save any and all records pertaining to the flight, such as weather
documents, the flight plan, the load manifest, and maintenance records. Training records for the crews would have to be assembled. Steedman also suggested that they gather as much data as possible concerning the previous flights to St. Maarten. The task of notifying relatives of passengers on the flight was the responsibility of ALM and KLM in New York.

Steedman showed a genuine concern for the people involved in the accident, but he was also worried about how the negative publicity might affect ONA. Details of the accident were sketchy. Steedman decided he should fly to St. Croix, where he could make decisions based on first hand information. He made preparations to fly to St. Croix first thing Monday morning.

Octavio Irausquin was in Europe when he first learned of the ditching. He made immediate preparations to return to Curaçao. He also authorized the use of one of ALM's DC-9s to fly to St. Croix on Sunday. In addition to ALM and Dutch government officials, the plane also carried family members of the three crewmembers. Among the family members on the flight on Sunday were Wilfred's wife Marlene, Tobias's brother and sister, and Margareth's father and twin brother. Margareth's fiancé, Robby Schouten, was also on board.

Upon landing at St. Croix, most of those on the plane headed for the Estate Carlton Hotel where Wilfred and Tobias were staying. After a tearful reunion with family members, Wilfred and Tobias spoke briefly with several ALM officials.

Later in the day, Wilfred and Tobias met privately with Robby Schouten and Margareth's father and brother. The three were planning on renting a plane to conduct their own search for Margareth. Wilfred and Tobias gave them what little information they had and even pitched in a few dollars to help with the plane rental, but they
had to admit that they hadn't seen Margareth since just before the plane hit the water.

Balsey, Harry, and Hugh had no family members in St. Croix to support them. Nor did they have access to the type of support programs that today's crews rely on after a serious accident or incident.
¹
The three crewmembers spent much of their time in their rooms talking on the phone. Balsey spoke with his wife Edith and his mother. He also took a call from Ed Starkloff. Starkloff wanted to know if Balsey was up to answering questions. Balsey hadn't slept very well and wasn't ready for an inquisition just yet. But Balsey considered Starkloff a friend. He wasn't thinking about what he should or shouldn't do with regard to protecting his rights. He wanted answers himself.

Starkloff began by asking Balsey how much fuel he had at the beginning of the first approach. Balsey couldn't give him an answer. He hadn't had time to sort it all out yet. Starkloff asked a few more questions about fuel status but soon sensed that Balsey wasn't ready to answer specific questions about the flight. He asked Balsey if he was all right. He told him that he was coming to St. Croix, and that he would stop by to see him when he arrived, adding that if Balsey didn't want to talk about the accident that he'd still come to visit.

Later that afternoon, an ALM official took the three crewmembers shopping for clothes. They were still wearing their damp uniform clothes. It was Sunday and a storeowner had offered to open his store exclusively for the survivors of the ditching. The store carried mostly general merchandise; the clothing selections were limited. They all picked out pants, a few touristy shirts, and underwear.
The only footwear available was Converse tennis shoes. Harry Evans picked out a bright orange pair of high tops.

At the Charles Harwood Memorial Hospital in Christianstead, the passengers began to mingle in the halls of the hospital, comparing notes on their experiences and trying to make arrangements for flying back to New York. Emerson Ussery, who had had such a hard time convincing local authorities and hospital staff that he had been a passenger on the flight, handed out money to a number of distressed passengers.
²
He then called his family physician, who scheduled him for x-rays. The x-rays indicated that he had several crushed discs in his back. Later that day, he was fitted with a full body brace that he would end up wearing for nearly three months.

Bill Bohlke and his wife Tuddy arrived at the hospital early that morning. It didn't take long after Tuddy was admitted for word to get out that a pilot of one of the aircraft that had been circling the accident scene was at the hospital. Bill was soon swarmed by survivors with questions about what he had seen. They described what their husbands or wives had been wearing and asked if he had seen them. They were still holding out hope that there might be more survivors. Bill tried to explain that it was difficult to make out details from the air. In Bill's mind, everyone who had made it out of the aircraft had been picked up. He grew increasingly uncomfortable as more passengers approached him with specific questions about missing loved ones. Not wanting to be the bearer of bad news, and nervous over the prospect of becoming a father, Bill told his wife that he was going to the airport and to call if there was any news. Tamara Ann Bohlke was born a little after 4:00 in the afternoon on May 3, 1970. Bill arrived back at the hospital within minutes of the delivery.
The thirty-six marines who had been involved in the SAR on Saturday left the condominium complex early Sunday morning for the airport. Poor weather conditions forced them to delay their departure until after 9:00
A.M.
The six helicopters flew to the accident scene and searched for survivors for a short time before returning to the ship. The
Guadalcanal
had remained in the search area overnight. Marine crews continued searching for survivors all that day, flying a total of fifty-seven sorties, totaling over eighty hours of flying time.
³
No survivors or bodies were recovered.