by D. W. Carter
Published by The History Press
Charleston, SC 29403
www.historypress.net
Copyright © 2013 by D. W. Carter
All rights reserved
Front cover: Courtesy of Wichita-Sedgwick County Historical Museum (crowd) and 22nd Air Refueling Wing History Office (plane).
First published 2013
e-book edition 2013
Manufactured in the United States
ISBN 978.1.62584.508.5
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Carter, D. W.
Mayday over Wichita : the worst military aviation disaster in Kansas history / D.W. Carter.
pages cm
print edition ISBN 978-1-62619-052-8 (pbk.)
1. Aircraft accidents--Kansas--Wichita. 2. Airplanes, Military--Accidents--Kansas--Wichita. 3. Aircraft accident victims--Kansas--Wichita--History--20th century. 4. African Americans--Kansas--Wichita--History--20th century. 5. KC-135 (Tanker aircraft)--Accidents--History. 6. United States. Air Force--History--20th century. 7. Wichita (Kan.)--History--20th century. I. Title.
TL553.525.K36C37 2013
363.12’40978186--dc23
2013030401
Notice: The information in this book is true and complete to the best of our knowledge. It is offered without guarantee on the part of the author or The History Press. The author and The History Press disclaim all liability in connection with the use of this book.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever without prior written permission from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
IN MEMORY OF
CREW MEMBERS:
Captain Czeslaw Szmuc, 35, North Royalton, Ohio
Captain Gary J. Widseth, 26, Minneapolis, Minnesota
Second Lieutenant Arthur W. Sullivan, 22, Miami, Florida
Staff Sergeant Reginald Went, 34, Baltimore, Maryland
Staff Sergeant Joseph W. Jenkins, 29, Middlesboro, Kentucky
Airman First Class Daniel E. Kenenski, 20, Harrisville, Rhode Island
Airman Second Class John L. Davidson, 21, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
WICHITA RESIDENTS:
Gary L. Martin, 17, 2031 North Piatt
Joe T. Martin Jr., 25, 2031 North Piatt
Clyde Holloway, 44, 2037 North Piatt
Tracy Randolph, 5, 2037 North Piatt
Dewey Stevens, 66, 2037 North Piatt
Claude L. Daniels Sr., 32, 2037 North Piatt
Mary Daniels, 56, 2037 North Piatt
Julia A. Maloy, 8, 2041 North Piatt
Julius R. Maloy, 6, 2041 North Piatt
Emmit Warmsley Sr., 37, 2041 North Piatt
Emmit Warmsley Jr., 12, 2041 North Piatt
Laverne Warmsley, 25 and her unborn child, 2041 North Piatt
Ernest E. Pierce Jr., 46, 2047 North Piatt
Delwood Coles, 34, 2047 North Piatt
Albert L. Bolden, 22, 2053 North Piatt
Wilma J. Bolden, 24, 2053 North Piatt
Leslie I. Bolden, 9 months, 2053 North Piatt
Denise M. Jackson, 6, 2053 North Piatt
Brenda J. Dunn, 5, 2053 North Piatt
Cheryl A. Dale, 2, 2059 North Piatt
Alice Dale, 47, 2059 North Piatt
James L. Glover, 22, 2101 North Piatt
Remembering and telling the truth about terrible events are prerequisites both for the restoration of the social order and for the healing of individual victims.
—Judith Herman, Trauma and Recovery1
CONTENTS
Acknowledgements
1. Seven Men
2. A Routine Sortie
3. Impact
4. Fire All Around
5. Going into Hell
6. The KC-135
7. Inside the Cockpit
8. Recovering Victims
9. Picking Up the Pieces
10. Racial Barriers in Recovery
11. A Divided City and Country
12. Why It Crashed: The Rumors
13. Why It Crashed: The Report
14. A Subtle Killer
15. The Settlement Process
16. Final Settlements
17. The Long-Awaited Memorial
Epilogue
Notes
Bibliography
About the Author
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
It would take a much larger volume to capture every story and document every heart touched by the Piatt Street tragedy. This short work is merely a glimpse, only a highlight, as far more could be said. Notwithstanding, primary source material is the lifeblood of historians, and the work of history is a never-ending search—lest we historians would soon be without employment. Therefore, I am grateful to many for their contributions in creating this chronicle.
First, I thankfully acknowledge the Piatt Street crash survivors and the victims’ family members who shared their stories, historic documents and photographs with me: Mark Carlyle, Victor Daniels, Sonya House, Irene J. Huber, Clyde Stevens and Jeanine Widseth.
I express my gratitude to: Mary Nelson at the Special Collections and University Archives at Wichita State University Libraries, who made available numerous primary source documents on the disaster and Wichita history; Daniel P. Williams, the 22nd Air Refueling Wing Historian at McConnell Air Force Base, for his extensive help in locating source materials and photographs; and Pat Young, the Resource Collection Coordinator at the Disaster Research Center in Delaware for her assistance in finding taped interviews and valuable documents (once thought to be lost).
Additionally, I am appreciative for all those who aided me through the sharing of their firsthand accounts: Walt Campbell, one of the first firemen to arrive on scene that terrible day; Merv Criser, also a fireman, who provided me with an abundance of resources from the Kansas Firefighters’ Museum that he has so meticulously preserved; and Earl Tanner, a Wichita fireman who, like Campbell and Criser, battled the blaze on Piatt Street. Of great help, too, was Larry Hatteberg, who in addition to his story donated important and stunning photographs to this project, and Larry McDonough and John Polson, who provided vivid accounts of the events on the day of the disaster.
Others to whom I am indebted for their contributions are: Technical Sergeant Brandon Blodgett and Airman First Class Thomas Carter, for their extensive help with researching the KC-135; Gene Countryman for his support on the Gene Countryman Radio Show; Caitlin R. Donnelly, Head of Public Services at the Kenneth Spencer Research Library; Dr. Gretchen Cassel Eick, who was gracious in sharing her knowledge of the Civil Rights Movement in Wichita; Kansas Senator Oletha Faust-Goudeau, for her assistance in locating survivors and photographs; Jamie M. Haig, Division Manager for the U.S. Courthouse in Wichita, Kansas; Richard Harris, Chairman, Kansas Aviation Centennial; Ralph Hipp and his support from WIBW; Captain Benjamin Jamison and his help with understanding the complex aspects of aviation; the Kansas State Historical Society; Cindy Klose and her support at KWCH 12; KAKE-TV for providing still images; and Richard Kluger, one of the greatest social historians of our time, who graciously encouraged my efforts.
I must thank, too: Amy Renee Leiker, a reporter for the Wichita Eagle, who first broke the story of my book in print; Becky LeJeune, my Commissioning Editor at The History Press, for her passion and support of local history; my manuscript proofreaders, David D. Ross and Tess Wilson; Pat Moyer from KPTS, for a wonderful interview on Impact; Thom Rosenblum, a friend and historian for the National Park Service; the Topeka and Shawnee County Public Library; Jami Frazier Tracy, Curator of Collections at the Wichita-Sedgwick County Historical Museum; Van Williams, City of Wichita Spokesman; and J. Schafer, the voice of Kansas
Public Radio, who gave me my first shot at publicizing the book on the radio.
And for their inspiration, I wish to thank: Apostle Cornelius Sanders II, PhD, whose faith, prayers and overwhelming support is beyond words; Paul and Laurie Browning, my family, whose love and enthusiasm for my work are without measure; and to my wife, Lyndzie, my chief supporter and advisor, who first read and edited the manuscript and endured my incessant talk about the project and who, above others, understands the solitude of a military historian.
With much gratitude and affection,
D. W. CARTER
1
SEVEN MEN
They were seven capable and confident men. Some were officers, some enlisted. Some wore bars, others stripes. Each was dressed in a sage green K-2B flight suit—affixed with an abundance of zippers, pockets and patches—distinguishing their ranks and titles. They carried maps, checklists and orders outlining their mission. Their time in service was wide-ranging, some longer than others. Most, though not all, had never set foot in Kansas. They came from all over: Ohio, Minnesota, Florida, Maryland, Kentucky, Rhode Island and Pennsylvania. Their occupations varied—pilot, copilot, navigator, boom operator and crew chief—but each had a specific commitment to the service that intertwined their destinies.
They were common men, young with high aspirations. Only two were above the age of thirty. All were determined; not one was passive. They lacked nothing in spirit, diligence or temerity. Each had a burning conviction of his devotion to country. None claimed to be a hero, though they were heroic. Each possessed his own talents, idiosyncrasies and flaws. But when assembled, they were a solid crew. These airmen represented another wave of patriotic, steadfast Americans heading into what had become, by 1965, an escalating and ultimately protracted war: Vietnam. Leaving their homes, serving their country, sacrificing time with loved ones, using all their strength, they were taking part in something bigger than themselves.
They were seven men in the prime of their lives, completely unaware of the grim fate awaiting them. And on the frigid morning of January 16, 1965, they entered through the gates of McConnell Air Force Base (AFB) and onto the flight line for the very last time.
Duty-bound, their boots shining in the Kansas morning sun, they climbed aboard Boeing Aircraft Company’s revolutionary design for aerial refueling—a mammoth KC-135A-BN Stratotanker with the tail number 57-1442, or “Raggy 42,” as it was so nicknamed—to engage in a vital undertaking.
THE MISSION
Their mission was ironically named “Operation Lucky Number,” but it was not their original assignment. Their orders were switched at the last minute from a refueling mission in the Pacific called “Flying Fish”—which developed as a result of the Gulf of Tonkin incident on August 2, 1964, when the USS Maddox opened fire on three North Vietnamese Navy torpedo boats of the 135th Torpedo Squadron.2 The Gulf of Tonkin incident marked the beginning of America’s deeper involvement in Vietnam. And with the passage of the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution only five days later, President Lyndon B. Johnson gained the authority from Congress “to take all necessary steps,” the resolution said, “including the use of armed force, to assist any member or protocol state of the Southeast Asia Collective Defense Treaty requesting assistance in defense of its freedom.”3 Despite not having a formal declaration of war from Congress, the resolution provided a legal justification for Johnson to begin deploying U.S. conventional forces into Southeast Asia. It was also a signpost of America’s further entanglement with and warfare against North Vietnam and communist aggression.
As a consequence of Johnson’s actions, the resolution greatly affected members of the U.S. Air Force (USAF) stationed at air refueling bases. Bombers do not fly without fuel, and there was work to be done. Tactical Air Command (TAC) aircraft, frequently heading into Southeast Asia during this period, were refueled by KC-135s.4 Strategic Air Command (SAC) bombers, making rotations to Andersen AFB in Guam, were refueled by KC-135s. And just about any U.S. military aircraft, needing close air support, especially in Vietnam, were often refueled by KC-135s. The United States dropped “three times as many bombs in Southeast Asia,” one historian noted, “as it did in all of World War II.”5 The tremendous bombing and refueling by the U.S. military between 1965 and 1974 even gave rise to a new acronym amongst aerial refuelers: NKAWTG or “Nobody Kicks Ass Without Tanker Gas.” Enough said.
The 22nd Air Refueling Wing (ARW), located at McConnell AFB in Wichita, Kansas, received the first of many KC-135 jet tankers to replace the slower, propeller-driven and less capacious KC-97 fleet on October 4, 1963.6 Soon thereafter, the KC-135s at McConnell were actively engaged in air refueling missions to support bombers. One such operation, known as Operation Lucky Number, involved the flight-testing of modified B-52s for low-level flying in Vietnam. The 70th Bombardment Wing, then located at Clinton-Sherman AFB in Oklahoma (which included the 6th Bombardment Squadron and 902nd Air Refueling Squadron), began strategic bombardment training and air refueling on February 1, 1963, with B-52s and KC-135s.7 Between 1964 and 1965, the 70th provided “refueling support for experimental flight tests conducted by Boeing Company under contract to the USAF.”8 Thus, Operation Lucky Number emerged as an arrangement between Boeing and SAC.
THE AIRMEN
The KC-135 they climbed aboard that morning was from Clinton-Sherman AFB, not McConnell. Likewise, the seven men flying Operation Lucky Number were from the 902nd Air Refueling Squadron (ARS) and the 70th Organizational Maintenance Squadron (OMS) at Clinton-Sherman, not the 22nd ARW. Aircraft commander, Captain (Capt.) Czeslaw “Chester” Szmuc; copilot, Capt. Gary J. Widseth; navigator, Second Lieutenant (2nd Lt.) Arthur W. Sullivan; and boom operator, Staff Sergeant (SSgt.) Reginald Went, were all from the 902nd ARS, while crew chief, SSgt Joseph W. Jenkins; assistant crew chief, Airman First Class (A1C) Daniel E. Kenenski; and assistant crew chief, Airman Second Class (A2C) John L. Davidson, were from the 70th OMS.9
Capt. Czeslaw “Chester” Szmuc—square-jawed with a muscular build, who had flown for nearly a decade and possessed an impressive flying record—was considered by his peers to be an extremely skillful pilot. Chester was a disciplined martinet: laconic, detailed and easily distinguishable as a military commander. His crew felt “he could manage anything that came in front of him,” as his copilot once said.10 They respected him not because of his rank but because of his ability to lead. The oldest of the crew members at thirty-five, he was from North Royalton, Ohio, and unmarried—that is, except to the air force.
Captain Czeslaw “Chester” Szmuc. AP Photo.
He was also anxious to get on with the mission. Chester had called back to Clinton-Sherman AFB three times earlier in the week expressing his agitation about the assignment being scratched due to the cold and cloudy weather in Wichita. When Friday arrived, their mission canceled yet again on account of weather, they were now four days behind schedule. Chester—trying to avoid further delays and salvage the mission—called again at noon and obtained approval to run the mission on Saturday, January 16, at 8:00 a.m.11 If the weather cooperated, his crew would finally complete their assignment and then recover at Clinton-Sherman. Chester was due home that Saturday.
Jeanine Widseth once told her mother she was going to marry someone who loved and respected her. When she eventually met Gary on a blind date on January 1, 1958, she knew she had found him. Tall and slender with clear brown eyes, Gary J. Widseth, the copilot, was twenty-six years old. He was born in Iowa and later moved to Minnesota, where he met Jeanine. As a child, Gary dreamed of flying and entered an aviation cadet program in 1958 before receiving his wings in September 1959. Gary was dynamic, jocose and very much a gentleman. He and Jeanine were married on September 2, 1959, and a good marriage it was. They adored each other. Always chivalrous, he once told Jeanine, “If I don’t open the door for you, it’s grounds for divorce.”12 He kept his promise.
Gary was also skilled in his craft: aviation. He flew the propeller-driven KC-97, the predecessor to the upgraded KC-135
jet tanker, which he had now flown for two years and preferred over the much slower 97.13 Jeanine made a hair appointment for that Saturday when she learned Gary was coming home after a long week of delays in Wichita. She couldn’t wait for him to get back to her and their three children. Besides, she hoped he would arrive in time for them to attend a banquet that evening—an event well worth her trip to the salon. Gary was her “dream man,” she would later say, remembering how handsome he looked in his flight suit, even though it was troublesome to iron.14 Once, on the morning of November 22, 1963, when Gary was assigned to pick up some “important people” and fly them to Dallas, she labored tirelessly trying to iron wrinkles out of that awkward flight suit with all of its zippers and pockets—only to find out later her efforts were in vain when the mission to Dallas was canceled on account of President Kennedy’s assassination. “The 1960s were difficult times for our country,” Jeanine expressed, but she never worried about Gary when he was out on his missions because he was in capable hands.15 “They were a good crew,” said Jeanine, reflecting on her husband and his team.16 Gary was due home that Saturday.
Captain Gary J. Widseth (fourth from left). Jeanine Widseth.
Captain Gary J. Widseth (back row, third from right). Jeanine Widseth.
Just returning from a temporary duty assignment (TDY) in Spain, not yet twenty-one years old, A1C Daniel “Danny” E. Kenenski was having the time of his life working as an assistant crew chief. He grew up in Harrisville, Rhode Island, and enlisted in the air force at eighteen after graduating from Burrillville High School in June 1963. Like many young men, Danny planned to put himself through college with the GI Bill and eventually become a pilot. As one friend described him, Danny “was very much on the ball…knew what he wanted and how to go about getting it.”17
Athletically built, with light green eyes and a fair complexion, Danny exuded confidence, drawing the attention of any room he entered. He was a voracious reader, but his passion—as the many letters he penned told—was writing. Danny wrote home at length, at different times and in various places, speaking of the new world he had found outside of Rhode Island and his experiences in the air force. In a letter dated May 16, 1964, he wrote about a disturbing KC-135-B plane crash at Clark AFB in the Philippines. Examining the wreckage the next morning, Danny described the crash to his family back at home: “It was a sight I don’t ever want to see again in my life…if one didn’t know what a ‘135’ looks like in detail he would surely not be able to distinguish this.”18