To honor the memory of my father, John Sedory, who stepped into the presence of his Lord and Savior 1 year ago tomorrow, on his 90th birthday, I want to share a story he wrote, about his near death experience while flying. Im pretty sure I posted this sometime last year as well. My Pilot Was & Is the Living & Caring Lord Where is Price, Utah, the place all this took place? Its about 39.4 degrees North latitudinally and 110.8 degrees West longitudinally. As the crow flies its 95 miles from the Colorado state line, just northwest of Grand Junction. Salt Lake City is 100 miles north/northwest of Price. This mountainous area is spattered with valleys and canyons. As I recall the elevation at Price is 5,000 feet above sea level. At the time this story took place the population was 5,000. Weather? In the winter of 1948-1949 over 300 inches of snow fell in the Price area, stranding cattle, sheep and other farm animals. Many froze where they stood, while others died of starvation. The U.S. Air Force Reserves tried to alleviate that calamity by dropping bails of hay and other types of feed wherever they spotted farm animals. This action did save some animals, but for the most part it was too little, too late. And talk about winds some say they have experienced! One day while on duty the winds began to howl, rattling our metal Quonset hut, making a musical instrument of it. As I peered through our window facing the tie-down area and the runway, I noticed some of the planes began to lift off the ground. Some were attached to tie-downs were one rope had broken loose. This caused those planes to literally stand in a vertical position. Others broke loose from both tie-downs, causing great damage. The velocity was said to have reached 90 mph. The metal structure of our Quonset hut tended to create eerie sounds in stronger winds. In that one storm it seemed it was ready for takeoff from its foundation. In most winds the rattling metal, booming sounds and shaking windows chilled my bones, especially on pitch black nights. This sent my imagination into overtime, conceiving mentally that someone out there was peering into a window, waiting to break in at an opportune time. After all, it was well lighted where I was, but anyone who might be outside would be blanketed in darkness. The pistol I carried offered some comfort. It was legal to carry an exposed gun in Utah at that time. Since it wasnt normal for me to be so fearful, Ill explain where those fears had their origin. Shortly after beginning work at Price, I heard stories of robberies and burglaries in that area. The apprehension I felt while at the airport in the darkness probably had its root in those reports. Supposedly there were those around who would do most anything for monetary gain. Since we had a cash box on hand at all times in our office, the possibility of robbery was not so remote. Whether real or imagined, one night I was certain my feelings were well founded when a vehicle followed my car as I drove toward home. I dont recall exactly where this chase began. Had it been daylight hours Id have thought nothing of it. In making several turns and seeing the vehicle still behind me, I assumed it wasnt a coincidence. So I began a series of maneuvers away from the street I lived on. After making some quick turns and driving at higher speeds, I turned my lights off and pulled into a driveway. There I slouched down and waited, almost breathlessly. Hearing no engine sounds and seeing no lights, I got up and looked around. The tailgater had either lost sight of my car or just went on his way to wherever he was headed in the first place. It could have been someone who thought I carried the cash box home after closing at the office, but Ill never know. Anyway, thats enough detail covering my anxieties, as there are other things to cover. Winter brought deep snows into the mountainous Price area, presenting runway-sighting difficulties, from above the airport and even on the surface. Since small airports didnt have snow removal equipment, we made the best of simplicity in making invisible runways visible. There were, of course, times when snows were too deep for aircraft to land or for us to drive through to mark them. The opening shift person drove his vehicle back and forth over the runway to create tire tracks. Many times it was an impossible task, even with chains. The idea was to create distinguishable markings of the runway for the captain of the first flight into the airport. Monarchs entire fleet of aircraft was limited to DC-3s. Though not a huge craft needing long runways, pilots preferred to be able to see markings for the full 6,000 foot length. So we would drive from one end to the other several times. John Harrigal was a fellow student at Central Radio and Television School in Kansas City, MO (airlines division). After completing a six months course there, John and I accepted positions as station agents in Utah. Monarchs main office was in Denver, so John and I stopped there for our assignments. John and I earned our private pilots licenses by training in off duty hours from our job with Monarch Airlines--a Feeder Airline. The flying service that owned and shared the Quonset hut leased a portion of it to Monarch. Being in the same building and seeing each other daily probably influenced our decisions to fly, not that Ivan Broadhead and Dick Petersons discovery that John and I qualified for training under the G.I. Bill wasnt useful to them. After undergoing ground school courses and completing required flight training, I applied for and took my Private Pilots test. The certified FAA examiner who sat beside me for the test instructed me to fly to Provo, Utah. Provo is located approximately 75 miles slightly northwest of Price, and just south of Salt Lake city. A rather high range of mountains separate Provo and Price. On the way there, the examiner checked my flight capabilities by having me go through the general gamut of maneuvers. At Provo he asked that I land, and he got out of the plane. He instructed me to fly to a certain altitude above Utah Lake at Provo to perform spins--the airport was alongside the lake. He said hed observe my spins from the ground. I dont know if performing spins was a procedure where pilots being tested flew alone or with an examiner, but this guy may have been playing it safe. Oh, one had to wear a parachute when performing the spins--at least for the test. So this changed what was normally a straight-away view to one of sitting on a chute that raised the pilot several inches, a handicap for sure, for it meant looking downward rather than the customary straight ahead view. In order to avoid confusion, Ill explain that the plane I flew most often was not an Aercoupe. It was the Aercoupe I was flying on that memorable night of my scary and life-threatening flight. But this was the 3 place Aeronca Chief, the one in which I took this final exam. Having to do the spins over Utah Lake presented a challenge Id never before experienced. Why? Well, first, allow me to explain what spins entail. The pilot pulls the planes nose upward until it stalls, shoving the stick forward. Then a steep dive begins, the kind that pushes ones stomach up against his backbone. At this point in the procedure, he kicks right or left rudder, depending on which way he wishes to spin. At this point he begins his check-off as the plane twists or spirals, while rapidly descending: ...one, one-and-a-half, two, two-and-a-half turns.... Now its time to stabilize the spin by kicking the opposite rudder and neutralizing it. The stick would now be pulled back in order to regain level flight once again. I climbed to the prescribed altitude above the lake and began the spin procedure as outlined above: pull the nose up high, stall the plane, then kick left or right rudder hard as the fall downward begins. Then count half turns until reaching two-and-one-half. At that point, neutralize and come out at the end of the third spin---right at the point you began. Guess what? Water and blue sky look alike up there. Its nearly impossible to determine where turns begin and end--no markers to zero in on that would be visible over land. I must have guessed my way through the sky-water dilemma fairly well, as the only remark the examiner made about my entire test was that I could use more practice in wheel landings. Shooting landings is similar to wheel landings, except in the latter maneuver you land the plane on the two front wheels only. Then apply power and take off again. I weighed around 200 pounds at that time, and the examiner was all of 225 pounds. Our combined weight was too much for the light craft I was piloting to perform that particular procedure well. I successfully practiced wheel landings many times before the test, but this was the first time Id tried doing them with an additional 225 pounds of weight on board. John Harrigal and I got our certificates about the same time. Both of us made many and separate flights after that. Later on I flew on one cross-country flight to Detroit, though Dick Peterson accompanied me. Dick was one of the flying service owners. He slept a good part of the trip, not knowing that at times I dropped down to read names of towns and cities painted on water reservoirs. I did this when visual ground checks didnt seem to match charts I was following. It was my substitute for stopping at gas stations for directions. But here is where the real story begins. Everything Ive written to this point is background data leading to where, when and why my life-threatening story took place. ======================================== Part 2: My Pilot Was & Is the Living & Caring Lord Written by John Sedory............................................................................... The following paragraph will seem familiar, as I covered this data in part in the Introduction. I earned my private pilots license by training in off duty hours from my job with Monarch Airlines at Price, Utah. Monarch was what is called a Feeder Airline. The flying service that owned and occupied the Quonset hut shared their unit with Monarch. Being in the same building and seeing each other regularly probably influenced my decision to fly. Monarchs station manager at Price, Jim Cole, was also a private pilot. Jim was to board a major carriers flight out of Grand Junction, Colorado, so he asked if Id go along with him to fly the plane back to Price. I agreed. And this is where my story begins to unfold. After Id dropped Jim off, I got ready for takeoff to Price. I taxied to the end of the assigned runway and began going over my check list. During the magneto check, I found that one of them didnt respond, so I headed back in to Monarchs office there at the airport. I knew I could use the teletype to get my message through to the flying service in Price via Monarchs machine there. This was the flying service that owned the plane in Price. I dont recall if it was Ivan Broadhead or Dick Peterson (partners in the flying service) who advised me to go to a certain flying service to have them check the magneto. I did that and sure enough, it was faulty. These companies had an agreement to bill each other for services provided when needed. It took a long time for that service company to locate a replacement part, so by the time they installed it, late afternoon to early evening was setting in. Cleared for takeoff I anxiously hit the throttle and took off, climbing to about 13,000 feet to avoid rather high mountain peaks in the area. The setting sun in all its brightness blinded my visibility, but the instruments were partially useful in trying to determine if I was maintaining level flight. While engaging this minor problem, a second and more serious mishap occurred, introduced by a loud bang. Soon oil began streaking across the front of the cockpit canopy. I knew I was in serious trouble. Uncertain of what had happened to cause oil to clothe the canopy, I tried to ascertain what action to take. I had been under way from Grand Junction for a while now, so the sun was beginning to sink quickly. To return to Grand Junction might be riskier than continuing on toward Price. Yet I also was aware that continuing on toward Price might lead to engine failure. What to do? About that time another obstacle emerged. I encountered a strong head wind. Though I had good flight speed, I wasnt making much headway over the ground. I reached the town of Green River, a community located on Utahs southeast side, just west of the Colorado border. This was my first checkpoint out of Grand Junction. It was to be my last visual contact. So while beginning to think I had things at least partially figured out, I realized I still had about one hundred miles or so to cover before Id reach Price. And that would only happen if the engine didnt quit and if I was flying in the right direction. Weighing alternatives while considering chances for error, I couldnt escape reality: It could end up that Id crash to the earth eventually and it would be the end of my life. But I had to do the best I could with Gods help to stay alive. Whether such thoughts made me more diligent in making choices, I dont know. If there was something I lacked at that moment, it surely wasnt alertness. My mind was traveling a mile a minute. At that very moment, God must have turned my negative thoughts to those of hope, for while continuing the struggle for what I hoped was level flight, I began to pray for a lighted airport runway. I did this when I realized I didnt want to give up so easily. To add to other concerns, the sun began to sink below the mountains. It was no time at all before the skies turned from extreme brightness to descending over the mountains with some light, and finally to no light at all. It turned pitch black. Since I had never flown or been in an aircraft at nighttime, I didnt know how to activate the panel lights. I feverishly fumbled around under the instrument panel, eventually finding some toggle switches. I began flipping them backward and forward one at a time. No lights appeared but a lot of frustration and concern filled my mind. Realizing I was getting nowhere fast--as the trite expression goes--the prevailing circumstances of the blinding sun, the oil leak, the strong headwind and complete darkness forced me to make choices that offered limited alternatives. I focused on trying to point the craft in the direction I thought Price might be located. The die was cast; the plan was set. Now all I had to do was successfully complete the plan. With total blackness everywhere I could only estimate if I was maintaining altitude. I called on every bit of knowledge Id accumulated in my training. I listened for sounds of wind on the wings and the pitch of the engine to try determining the attitude of the plane. A roaring sound meant I was in downward flight, while a labored sound meant I was climbing. A woofing or drum-like intonation indicated I was probably banking to one side or the other. Its amazing how perceptive I became, relying on skills I didnt really know I had. Maybe the will to survive kicks into gear at a time like that. While I was weighing the results of my modus operandi, I occasionally thought of how this could be my last day on earth. How was I going to find the airport at Price, other than to hope and pray God would lead me in the right direction? Flying along with those thoughts pervading, suddenly, as if God immediately intervened on my behalf, I saw a bright glowing, reddish light way off to the right, and I headed for it with new hope. As I got closer and loser, I felt certain this had to be the airport at Price where many cars had gathered on the runway with their lights on. This was not a lighted runway! Soon the brightness was so intense I could actually see the ground, rocks and vegetation. Yes, I could see them clearly--side vision through the canopy was fair, but not directly ahead. Unfortunately for me this wasnt the lighted field at the Price Airport Id hoped for. This was a coke oven burning at the base of the mountain, one into which I was about to crash! My newfound hope for maintaining life now faded into despair with the certainty death was imminent. Wondering what this would feel like on impact was all I could think of. I frantically banked and made an abrupt turn to the left to avoid the mountainside, giving up all hope for survival while making that turn and bank. This is exactly how this story could have ended, IF GOD hadnt had other plans. At the end of my frenzied turn to the left, a light skidded over the side of the canopy where I had partial vision. As I headed toward the source, I noticed two lights. Drawing closer as I flew in that direction, I realized there were two cars positioned at either end of the runway at what had to be Price Airport! The light that crossed my canopy came from the spotlight of one of the cars. The guys down there had probably observed my plane or heard the engine as I passed nearby while heading for the coke oven. If there was such a thing as returning from death to life, this is what I thought it would be like. As I approached my chosen end of the runway at which to attempt a landing, thoughts of safety and security became premature, as I still had to make a difficult landing. What made landings at the Price Airport a challenge (at least in darkness) was the way it was situated. It juts out of a canyon, forming a plateau reaching upward to about 500 feet. The canyon wraps around three sides of the airport, two of those sides being the ends of the 6,000 foot runway. To fly in too low meant crashing into a stone wall. Being too conservative and flying in too high meant I might possibly go over the edge at the other end. And I couldnt see anything directly in front of the plane because of the oil-covered canopy. To overcome the lack of forward sight, I pulled the canopy back and lifted myself off the seat, elevating my head above the canopy. The force of the wind pushed my head back and caused my eyes to tear. Then I more or less aimed at the runway and breathed a final prayer for deliverance. If I wasnt to survive, the first thing I wanted to see after impact was the face of the Lord. It may be that I couldnt see any better through tear-filled eyes than I could have through the oil-smeared hunk of plastic in front of me. But I made the decision to follow through and stuck to it. The aircraft I was flying was an Aercoupe, a cross-controlled craft (supposedly stall proof), and by reputation it was a hot plane. You had to take off and land at considerably higher speeds than with other light aircraft. So that meant the slightest error in meeting the runway could be devastating. The next sound I heard was that of the Aercoupes wheels meeting the asphalt runway, a sound of fine pebbles turning over and over and bouncing off the under carriage of the plane. It was to me the greatest concert of gentle, sweet and welcomed music I would ever hear. I must have thought it had to be taking place in heaven before the Lord on His throne. This was the best landing I had ever made! Correction: it was the best landing I ever experienced as God said, Move Over! and landed the plane. After completing the landing and taxiing to the tie-down, I thanked the guys who provided the lights and briefly related the major details of that flight to Ivan and Dick and headed for home. I had to get up early to open the Monarch station the next day. When I got there my wife, Eleanor, told me the local radio station had been carrying a play-by-play description of my disappearance after leaving Grand Junction. Dick Peterson or Ivan Broadhead had phoned to tell her what was going on and why I wasnt home yet. I dont recall what else we talked about that night but whatever conversation we had would be dimmed in comparison to my experience. I have never forgotten what He did for me in that perilous flight. Countless times since then I have asked for His forgiveness for not being what He saved me to be. I have fallen far short of His expectations, Im sure. Yet, I know He will keep me on earth until He is satisfied that the reason for extending my life has been fulfilled. I dont know how correct the theology Ive expressed is, but I do know He took control in that landing, and the entire flight for that matter. In closing, I want to tell you what took place when I went to work the next day. Because of my experience of the night before, I determined in my mind Id never fly again. And during the day while at work at Monarch Airlines, gossip centered on my near-fatal flight the night before. So I felt it was appropriate to give Ivan my decision that I would never fly again. I wasnt sure how he would take this, but he went into a dissertation about how quitters never get anywhere in life, skillfully cutting into my pride. He convinced me I didnt want to be one who didnt finish what Id begun. So guess who was up flying later that afternoon? Why couldnt I get the toggle switches to turn the cabin lights on in that flight? Because they work in parallels, two of them must be set in the same direction at the same time. Turning one on and then off and going to the next didnt do the job. I dont know if having had interior lights would have made that much difference the night before, but this is the way it all played out. As to the origin of the oil on the canopy, the companys mechanic discovered that the propeller shaft seal had become worn and loose. The oil pressure forced oil through those openings. I dont know how much oil could have been lost before the engine would have failed. Many others in their lifetime probably have had more and closer meetings with death than I. Yet when this story took place I had no idea the future would bring so many more to my life. However, I learned that with God at my side, I can face anything. Surely, no one can afford to leave this life without Gods Son Jesus as his Savior.
Posted on: Sat, 29 Mar 2014 01:55:10 +0000
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