by
Darryl Phillips
"Lonny was killed in a plane crash."
We retain certain moments with total clarity. What we were doing when we heard Kennedy was assassinated. Or where we were when told of a death in the family. I remember the bowl of corn flakes, half eaten when this call came.
Lonny wasn't a family member, he was my son Don's FBO partner. Soon after Don had graduated from Spartan with his A&P license Lonny had taken Don under his wing. "Going to finish raising him" was what Lonny had said. First as an employee, and as a flight student, and eventually as an equal partner in the business. Don fixed the planes, Lonny flew them.
"Is Don OK?"
"Yes, he's here. It happened in Carolina or somewhere." The voice on the phone was Kim, Don's wife.
"Is it VFR there?"
"What does that mean?" Kim had never developed an interest in flying.
"Is the weather OK there?"
"Yes, it's fine."
"I'll be there in less than an hour." I hung up the phone.
The date was December 1, 1988. Five years ago, a lifetime ago, yesterday. Calendar time doesn't fit emotional time.
The NTSB final report says: 1. Weather condition - clouds. 2. Flight into known adverse weather continued - Pilot in command. 3. Judgement - poor - Pilot in command.
But it was two years later when we read those words. Don and I spent much of that day preparing to fly to the accident site, Lonny's wife was dealing with her loss by staying at the airport, on the phone. The FAA, Civil Air Patrol, state park officials. County coroners, sheriff's departments, wives of the two passengers, family. Adding to the turmoil and confusion was the fact that the mountain ridge where they perished isn't just a state park and a national forest, it's the border between North Carolina and Tennessee, leaving a question of jurisdiction.
What happened? How does a good, experienced, capable, well-rested sober pilot get himself killed like that? That's the sort of accident that should happen to me, not Lonny. I scud run, he doesn't. He's not that kind of flier, and certainly not with paying passengers on board. No reason for this to happen.
But as my son and I fly east from Oklahoma that evening we don't know anything except that all three on board N9584Y are dead. Don has lost a close friend and mentor. Could the crash be due to a mechanical problem? Could it be Don's fault that three families are grieving, three men are dead? He isn't thinking about FAA actions or liability, he's thinking about the people. And he is worried about the business. As we cruise through the darkness, I find myself wondering if the heavy burden on his shoulders affects aircraft weight and balance.
We fly over Crossville Tenn, home of Trade-A-Plane. Never saw it at night before. The lights are white, somehow we expected yellow. A humorous moment helps us deal with the pain.
We rest a few hours in Knoxville and are circling Roan Mountain at first light. A sheriff's car and CAP vehicle are parked at the end of a road, NTSB hasn't arrived yet. We can't spot the crash site, everything is covered with frost or light snow. Don and I land at Tri-Cities and drive a rental car up the winding highway, talk our way past a sheriff's roadblock, and ascend the last few miles of road in Cherokee National Forest.
November 9584 Yankee, a P35 Bonanza, was owned by a construction contractor. It was well equipped, including a fancy new autopilot-coupled Loran. The owner was a student pilot. On many previous occasions Lonny had been hired to fly this plane on business trips. This was the third trip in a month to Greensboro, NC, where a hotel was under construction. The previous flights had been IFR, but this day was good weather and the decision was made to enjoy the tailwinds and fly a straight line. Lonny was flying, the owner was in the right seat, and a subcontractor was in back.
After the usual weather briefings and preflight, 84 Yankee left Sallisaw at about 9 AM on Wednesday, November 30. They had communications with nearby Fort Smith Approach while climbing VFR to 9500 ft. No record of further communications was found.
ELT signals were picked up late in the afternoon, and CAP located the wreckage Thursday morning.
The flight path was later reconstructed from radar tapes. The Bonanza remained at 9500 ft, on a straight line from Sallisaw to Greensboro.
Roan Mountain is on that line, Don and I discuss it as we wait on that frigid peak for the NTSB investigators to finish their task. We are allowed to remain about a mile from the site, at the closest point vehicles can get. This is Friday, almost two full days after the accident. The bodies are gone already of course, but the CAP still has the job of keeping the site secure. We learn that a news photographer had been arrested the previous day for sneaking in too close.
The thing I remember most about those many hours of waiting is the cold.
Then it is time for us to go in. NTSB has a few quick questions for Don, he signs a release accepting custody of the aircraft, and the two of us follow the footprints along the ridge and over the side. The peak is at 6200 ft, the plane is about 800 ft below. The terrain is heavily wooded, with granite boulders and rocks of all sizes. NTSB measured the slope at 52 degrees. We need to hold onto rocks and branches as we work our way down the side of the mountain.
NTSB investigators had cautioned that it wasn't pretty, and I thought I was prepared. I knew the plane had burned, I knew everyone was killed and there would be reminders of that. But I was not prepared at all.
As 84 Yankee had come through the trees, it was climbing at an angle of 26 degrees. I had thought the plane would be coming down. It was CLIMBING! Unfortunately, the world was climbing faster. The broken trees are a grotesque record of Lonny's effort to avoid the crash. The bank angle can be seen in the shredded branches as he had attempted to turn away from the mountainside.
Then the right wing caught a large tree just a few feet outboard from the fuselage. The fuel cell ruptured inwards, spraying gasoline on everything inside. Then the plane hit the rocks. It didn't bounce, it didn't budge the boulders, it just hit. The vaporized fuel exploded, splitting the fuselage along the top from the windshield almost to the tail. Every item in the aircraft was thrown up the hillside aflame. Apparently it was raining at the time, as a hundred small fires never advanced beyond the burning objects. Shoe, Jepp binder, billfold, everything you can imagine landed somewhere up the slope and each burned in it's own individual pyre. The empty rear seat and one garment bag burned high in separate trees.
NTSB investigators had searched for some time to find the engine. It was uphill and down in a little ravine. One prop blade was also found, both indicated full power at time of impact. Oil inspection checked out OK, apparently there was no fault in the powerplant. Control system integrity checked out OK too. And the V tail, with it's recent AD modification, was undamaged and intact. But the melted instrument panel was only a crust, it held no clues.
Much later, the NTSB report would include the following: "A post mortem examination was performed on the pilot by the North Carolina State Medical Examiners Office. There were no reported diseases or conditions found that would have affected the pilot's ability to perform. Toxicological specimen were screened for basic drugs, alcohol and carbon monoxide with negative results." But that was later.
Standing in the midst of the wreckage, I have the strongest feeling that four perished, not three. That proud Bonanza was doing it's best, it was just was no match for a mountain.
I try to reconstruct what happened, but can't come up with anything plausible. I try to play the scene backwards. The plane is here. A quarter second ago it was there, coming thru the trees. A second before that it was coming toward the mountain and Lonny saw it and began to turn. A second before that....... No, there is no reasonable way to explain why a current IFR pilot and an IFR-equipped plane were flying VFR between these mountains in the clouds and rain.
Don and I gather up personal effects, deciding what can be tied to our backs for the climb to the ridge, what is too burned to save. We make sure there are items for each family. And I take a lot of pictures.
Darkness is approaching, it's getting colder, and it is time to go. Don asks to stay behind for a moment, and I climb a short distance and look back down through the trees. Don kneels beside the boulder where Lonny's body had come to rest, and he weeps. At that moment I see my little boy change into a man.
Five years have passed. I've spent many sleepless nights flying and reflying 84 Yankee, trying to puzzle out the answer.
Judgement - poor - Pilot in command. No, that's too easy. It takes more than poor judgement for a good pilot to leave VFR at 9500 and go exploring the cumulogranite below.
One possibility is that they flew VFR into clear air icing that built so rapidly there wasn't any time to communicate. Martin Caidin has written of icing a Bonanza in that area of the country. His ice accumulated so rapidly after takeoff that he almost didn't make a tight pattern back to the runway. Perhaps this happened to Lonny, he rode it down into warmer rain, melted enough ice to begin climbing, and unfortunately met the mountain.
But that doesn't make enough sense. Why didn't he request weather as the flight progressed? They had just flown over Knoxville, could have asked for weather, could have filed IFR, could have even stopped for awhile. Or, if weather was a factor but he had some reason to remain VFR, why is there no deviation at all from a straight line course?
I have a theory. I believe the clues are the straight line, the lack of communications, and the solid radar record of 9500 ft.
84 Yankee had not been hangared for three days prior to the flight, it was tied down on the ramp in the weather. The same weather system that had moved east and was waiting there. I believe that some rain had entered the static system. As the Bonanza flew eastward at 9500 ft, temperature dropped and the water froze a solid plug in the static line. They were flying VFR on top, with no ground features visible to give an altitude clue.
The altimeter remained at 9500 ft, and so did the encoder, both on the same plugged static system. But as fuel burned off and the plane lightened, it climbed. Eventually it climbed into oxygen country, and everyone aboard slowly lost consciousness. Not asleep exactly, just nothing to keep the mind from wandering, drifting, drowsing. With the autopilot holding the Loran track, altimeter steady at 9500, no scenery to watch, and oxygen level dropping, it would be easy for the mind to stray. The encoder would continue to report the same static pressure and ATC would see 9500 even if the plane was twice that high.
At some point the engine quits or something equally severe occurs. They descend, successfully restart, and begin climbing out. But a mountain gets in the way.
That is my theory. I will never know if it happened that way. I just cannot accept that a conscientious pilot killed himself, two passengers, and a beautiful airplane due to "Judgement - poor - Pilot in command".
One more factor needs to be mentioned. Lawsuits. There never were any. I thought you would like to know that.
The accident happened five years ago. This column is a tribute to the memory of Lonny Diamond, Mickey Malone, Bill Rowe, and Bonanza 9584 Yankee.
Lonny, you finished raising my son. You did a fine job, and I want to thank you. Don didn't keep the FBO, it wasn't fun anymore and there were too many ghosts. He worked at various other jobs in aviation, added the IA rating, but never wanted to be an employee. Today he's his own boss again, he has a business at Riverside in Tulsa. Got his instrument ticket awhile back. He has a number of regular customers he manages to fit in, but his passion is buying and rebuilding old Bonanzas. He's good at it. I'm very proud of him. You would be too.