"MY PILOT WAS AND IS THE LOVING AND CARING LORD"

I earned my private pilot's 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.

Monarch's station manager at Price, Jim Cole, was also a private pilot. Jim was to board a major carrier's flight out of Grand Junction, Colorado, so he asked if I'd go along with him to fly the plane back to Price. I agreed. And this is where my story has its origin, back in the late 1940's.

After I'd 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 didn't respond, so I headed back in to Monarch's office there at the airport. I knew I could use the teletype to get my message through to the flying service in Price via Monarch's machine there. This was the flying service that owned the plane. I don't recall if it was Ivan Broadhead or Dick Peterson (partners in the rental 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. 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 wasn't making much headway over the ground. I reached the town of Green River, a community located on Utah's east side, just west of the Colorado border. This was my first checkpoint after 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 I'd reach Price. And that would only happen if the engine didn't quit and if I was flying in the right direction.

Weighing alternatives while considering chances for error, I couldn't escape from reality: it could end up that I'd crash to the earth eventually and it would be the end of my life. But I had to do the best I could with God's help to stay alive. Whether such thoughts made me more diligent in making choices, I don't know. If there was something I lacked at that moment, it surely wasn't alertness. My mind was traveling a mile a minute.

Then, suddenly, God must have turned my negative thoughts to those of hope, for while continuing the struggle for what I had hoped was level flight, I began to pray for a lighted airport runway. I did this when I realized I didn't want to give up so easily. To add to this concern, the sun began to sink below the mountains. It was no time at all before the skies turned from extreme brightness to sinking 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 didn't know how to turn on the interior lights. I feverishly fumbled around 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 head wind 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 I'd 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. It's amazing how perceptive I became, relying on skills I didn't 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 closer, I felt certain this had to be the airport at Price where many cars had gathered on the runway with their lights on.

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--but unfortunately for me this wasn't the lighted field at the Price Airport I'd 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 hadn't had other plans.

At the end of my frenzied turn to the left, a light glanced off 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 going over the edge on the other end. And I couldn't 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 wasn't to survive, the first thing I wanted to see after impact was the face of the Lord. It may be that I couldn't 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 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 Aercoupe's 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 tiedown, 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.

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 wasn't home yet. I don't 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 often asked for His forgiveness for not being what He saved me to be. I have fallen far short of His expectations for me, I'm 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 don't know how correct the theology I've expressed is, but I do know He took control in that landing.

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 I'd never fly again. And when I arrived for 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 wasn't 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 didn't want to be one who didn't finish what I'd begun.So guess who was up flying later that afternoon?

Why couldn't 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 doesn't do the job. I don't 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 company's mechanic discovered that the propeller shaft seal had become worn and loose. The oil pressure forced oil through those openings. I don't 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 on my side, I can face anything. Surely, no one can afford to leave this life without His Son Jesus as their Savior.

John Sedory
Banning, CA