Mayday Over Wichita

by D. W. Carter

  ALL DAY AND ALL NIGHT

  Recovery efforts were organized quickly and effectively by the federal, state and local authorities swarming on Piatt Street. But amidst the recovery efforts, the scene was far from calm. People of all ranks and titles were searching through backyards, and fire trucks were moving hastily along the streets. Bulky, pot-bellied water trucks made continual passes, spewing out water in an attempt to dilute the jet fuel as much as possible, while ambulances hurried in and out of a crowded field near the impact point, their doors swinging open in anticipation of human remains for transport.

  As the ninety-year-old Winston Churchill lay dying in London, England, after suffering a stroke, reporters from the London Times were calling police headquarters in Wichita, Kansas, to find out information about the crash. Inquiries came in from nearly every U.S. state. It was as if, at least for the moment, the world had paused outside of Kansas, and all eyes were on the mayday over Wichita.175 Indeed, Churchill’s famous words, “I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat,” would have resonated with rescue workers as they wearily carried on in the fourteen-degree weather throughout Saturday night—raking through the last pieces of rubble.

  Beneath the full moon and amidst the grisly remains, members of the Red Cross and Salvation Army provided coffee and refreshments to the exhausted workers as they pushed forward to recover the last of the bodies. A total of 500 cups of hot chocolate, 1,410 bowls of soup, 1,695 sandwiches and 3,700 bowls of chili were distributed by the Red Cross and Salvation Army that day alone.176 Later, writing about his experiences after the crash, Capt. Wert recounted that from January 16 to January 22, when the Salvation Army left the scene, nine tons of food had been donated to feed the fatigued searchers and, now homeless, survivors. These tons included: “canned goods, bread, donuts, chili, hot chocolate, coffee, cakes, pies, milk, orange juice, soups, cups, napkins,” and other miscellaneous items. An astounding 46,486 cups of coffee were handed out in seven days.177 Wert also praised Mrs. Wilder of 3845 North Clarence, who baked over forty pies and ten chickens and sent plenty of “home-made chicken noodle soup, that was ‘out of this world.’”178 The efforts of the Red Cross, Salvation Army and Wichitans to supply the recovery workers were extraordinary.

  FINAL TOLL

  When Kansas Governor William H. Avery arrived at the scene of the crash, he called it the “[s]econd worst disaster in Kansas in his experience.”179 Avery stated that “it [was] second only to the Udall Tornado” of May 1955, which killed eighty people.180 Despite the death toll of the Udall tornado, the Piatt Street plane crash was the worst non-natural disaster Kansas had ever seen, claiming many lives and causing the destruction of an entire neighborhood. The final toll taken by the WFD recorded fourteen houses instantly obliterated, sixty-eight others damaged, thirty vehicles demolished and thirty people killed—including the airmen.181 Twentieth and Piatt Street now marked the most overwhelming catastrophe in Kansas history. Nothing before it, or in the decades that followed, would compare.

  The KC-135 inflicted severe property damage. Kansas Firefighters’ Museum.

  No one was blaming the air force, Boeing or the pilots—yet. In the time immediately after the crash, the issue at hand was the question of where to go from there and how to cope with such horrendous losses. A man leaving a nearby grocery store an hour after the crash occurred put it best. He said, “I don’t know what to do now, but I need a drink.”182

  9

  PICKING UP THE PIECES

  We ministers changed our subject for the Sunday sermon…My sermon was, “You’d better get ready—it comes like a thief in the night.”

  —Reverend Joseph E. Mason, 1965183

  Even the following day, a sea of onlookers and souvenir-hunters lined the streets outside the crash site—each one gawking incessantly. Trucks, cars, bicyclists, pedestrians and cameramen were everywhere. The whole world, it seemed, wanted to see and photograph the worst disaster in Wichita’s history. Such a catastrophe—killing so many, so quickly, in Wichita, of all places—was unthinkable. The alarming news rang out from church pulpits that Sunday; corner diners and coffee shops hummed with gossip; and local radio and television stations, newspapers and telephone lines all carried the grim details to frightened, concerned and stunned residents. Ominous headlines in the Wichita Eagle and newspapers across the country told the dreadful story: “DEATH TOLL CLIMBS TO 30,” “JET DEATH COUNT IS 30,” “WICHITA TANKER CRASH TOLL RISES TO 30,” “14 RESIDENCES WIPED OUT: SCORES HOMELESS.”184 The congestion was so thick that one reporter remembered, after asking an officer directing traffic how many cars he thought were surrounding the crash site, the officer snarled, “How in the hell do I know? Every damned car in town is trying to get in here.”185

  There was very little space within a six-block radius that was not filled with either a vehicle or a spectator. From 21st Street to 13th Street, and everywhere in between, cars were jammed bumper to bumper. Local law enforcement was hard-pressed to keep the thousands who had congregated out of the roped-off area. Unfortunately, this often included the very residents who lived there and were just trying to return home.

  The impact crater left by the KC-135. Kansas Firefighters’ Museum.

  Near the impact crater. Kansas Firefighters’ Museum.

  One of the KC-135’s engines. Kansas Firefighters’ Museum.

  Few could blame the rubberneckers who strained to catch a glimpse. It was an unnerving site. When investigators began combing the murky scene at dawn on Sunday morning, one of them said quietly, “My God, it looks as though a bomb had hit.”186

  Property damage estimates started at $150,000. A few days later, they increased to $500,000. And by the end of the week, a loss of $3.5 million had been calculated—the largest portion of which was for the KC-135, valued at $3 million.187 The area surrounding the deep crater where the tanker plunged into the ground was completely destroyed. The gross stench of jet fuel combined with burnt flesh still lingered. Blackened outlines marked where houses once stood. Copious piles of smashed vehicles and metal scrap mirrored those found in a junkyard. Trees were uprooted with their branches torn off. Grass was completely scorched. The only sign of life was the fifty-man team of air force investigators scouring and recovering the pieces to determine why the plane crashed.

  A scene of devastation on Piatt. Larry Hatteberg, KAKE TV.

  Destruction row on Piatt Street. Larry Hatteberg, KAKE TV.

  Meanwhile, cranes and semi trucks with flatbed trailers from McConnell sifted through the area, scooping up anything resembling a piece of the KC-135. Reporters on the sidelines noted, “No part of the wreckage, no matter how small, escaped the scrutiny of investigators.”188 It was all to be taken to a nearby Boeing hangar and studied. The investigators were disappointed, however, as they soon realized little remained of the once giant Raggy 42.189 A Boeing engineer later stated, “There was so little left of the plane that I was unable to identify the plane even though I was familiar with Boeing procedures, part numbers, etc.”190 When an inquiry was made about obtaining a photo of the reconstructed plane (a normal procedure in aircraft investigations), the air force replied, “The degree of the destruction to the aircraft structure and the components prevented investigators from reconstructing the airframe. Therefore, such photos do not exist.”191 Despite scarcity of evidence, they pressed on.

  PREPAREDNESS

  While investigators meticulously searched the crash site, members of the Wichita Disaster Committee assessed their own response and recovery efforts. The crash could not have occurred in a more prepared city. The extensive annual disaster planning in Wichita greatly affected the outcome. A city without a disaster committee, or perhaps, a less-prepared group of emergency responders, would not have fared as well. A study of the performance of Wichita’s disaster plan in comparison to those of other cities, conducted by the Disaster Research Center in 1969, found that “[h]igh-ranking organizational officials immediately set up command posts at the disast
er sites, and thus insured [sic] overall control and command of disaster operations.”192 The study concluded that the preplanning and organization for how to respond to such disasters in Wichita was up-to-date, and therefore, the catastrophe went about as well as it could have, given its magnitude. “Typical of any disaster, this crisis drove home to all of us the value of preplanning,” said Bill Friesen, Director of the Civil Defense Program, years later. “Thank God we were organized then, but we are even better prepared now to cope with such a situation.”193

  In an interview conducted two days after the crash, Pat Kelley, with the Sedgwick County chapter of the American Red Cross, expressed relief that the disaster committee, which included “the police chief, fire chief, ambulance and hospital people, the air force and others,” had just met the week before on Monday to discuss in detail “a master plan of operations in the event of an air crash in the city.”194 According to Kelley, “We talked about having a test of the plan in March. It came sooner than we expected, but our planning served as an assist to the work carried out today.”195 These were the “most massive, swiftest, and most cooperative efforts” law enforcement had ever seen in Kansas. And for all the crash’s fury, the operation went smoothly. Some claimed they had “never seen a smoother-working operation.”196 The plan worked, and it worked well. Capt. Gene Starr of the Highway Patrol observed that “it was an excellent effort,” while Fire Chief Tom McGaughey rightly concluded, “They all did beautiful jobs…from the newest recruit to and including the deputy chief. They really put out; especially the off-shift men.”197 It was an incredible endeavor and display of readiness. Other communities almost immediately began implementing identical plans.

  Military police and firemen walk among the wreckage. Larry Hatteberg, KAKE TV.

  Air force investigators standing amidst wreckage. Kansas Firefighters’ Museum.

  THE INJURED

  Oddly enough, Wesley Hospital reported five women going into labor at the exact same time that victims from the plane wreck were being brought in. When asked about this phenomenon, hospital officials replied, “Some probably went into labor because of all of the shock.”198 Ultimately, shock and severe burns became the most common ailments for which dozens of residents received treatment. Hospitals were taken off of disaster alert by noon on January 16 but continued treating survivors for myriad injuries: twelve-year-old Robert Jackson of 1831 North Piatt had first-degree burns on his back; twenty-seven-year-old George Meyers and his wife escaped 2027 North Piatt with excruciating burns on their feet; forty-four-year-old Cora Belle Williams was treated for multiple abrasions after fleeing 2048 North Piatt; forty-seven-year-old Joe Martin, who watched his young sons, Gary and Joe Jr., burn to death at 2031 North Piatt, was treated for shock and burns to his face and hands; fifty-five-year-old Clarence Walker and his wife, Irene, barely escaped their home at 2101 North Piatt before being scarred with multiple burns and lacerations; and sixty-year-old Alvin T. Allen, who lived at 2060 North Piatt, suffered first-degree burns to his face.199 Many other victims were treated and released from local hospitals—most of them, if not all, thankful they walked away from Piatt with their lives.

  Homes burned down to their foundation. Larry Hatteberg, KAKE TV.

  COMMUNITY SUPPORT

  A comforting gesture following the crash was the amount of community support the victims received. The racial barriers between blacks and whites were seemingly nonexistent on January 16 and 17. It was not yet an African American tragedy or an air force tragedy; it was a Wichita tragedy. One builder, who promised to provide finished homes to those displaced by the event, captured the general feeling: “We know these people need the help. They’re Wichitans and we’re going to take care of our own. Now we can prove that Wichita has a heart.”200

  As the flatbed trucks began to haul away remnants of the KC-135, and the sunlight peered down on the charred trees, homes and twisted pieces of metal on Sunday morning, the Wichita community was at work making arrangements to aid those who had suffered from the crash. Operation Holiday took up a disaster relief collection, and Wichita residents almost immediately began donating. The offices were quickly inundated with “everything from Turkish towels to pajamas to children’s shoes.”201 Wichitans gave in abundance.

  By midafternoon, many of the victims had gone to temporarily live with friends and family. But for those who still needed shelter, additional space was provided. Dozens of Wichitans came forward, opening their homes to the victims. The Federal Housing Administration offered unoccupied homes to residents. One generous housing developer, Jim Garner, made one hundred apartments he owned available to the residents, reiterating that they could stay there for free “as long as necessary.”202 Over 150 volunteers, including Girl Scouts, members of the McConnell Officers’ Wives Club, church groups, high school kids and all sorts of other individuals were laboring by noon on January 16, collecting and sorting the donations. Local department stores rushed out electric heaters for residents without power in the freezing temperatures, bake sales were crafted to raise funds and financial aid came from all directions. The Salvation Army and Red Cross were overrun with ample supplies of food and clothing rushed into their offices. By Sunday night, January 17, Capt. Ramon Wert with the Salvation Army was so astonished by the mountain of goods flowing in that he stated, “As it looks now, we will need no further donations until Wednesday.”203

  In addition to the recovery and cleanup efforts, the air force set up a command post in a vacant storefront building at 1919 East 21st Street. It began offering subsistence payments to victims whose homes were damaged or destroyed by the crash. Major G. H. Letarte, a legal officer under the SAC, told reporters he was “authorized to give or lend up to $1,000 per request.”204 But hours after opening on Saturday, he received only one damage claim for $250. Capt. William A. Martin, an air force lawyer from McConnell, remarked, “People don’t seem to need the money right now. Apparently, they are being taken care of for the present.”205 However, there were also other reasons for why the seemingly generous $1,000 grant was rarely claimed—reasons that would soon be known.

  10

  RACIAL BARRIERS IN RECOVERY

  In the years that followed the disaster, Wichitans began to speculate on what would have happened if the plane had crashed in a more affluent area of Wichita instead of in a socioeconomically disadvantaged section. A study conducted by the Wichita Beacon provided evidence that the African Americans in Wichita at the time were “socially, educationally and economically deprived in a heavily concentrated area.”206 This area, commonly referred to as the “ghetto,” was located in the northeast section of Wichita, where “90 percent of the city’s Negro population” lived.207 Whereas, just down the road, the opulent College Hill neighborhood was one of the more prominent white suburbs in Wichita and had no such deprivations or derogatory monikers. Given the dissimilarities between the two neighborhoods, this juxtaposition was unavoidable.

  Live-in servants were still commonplace in College Hill during the 1960s. With cobblestone streets and luscious, mature trees casting shade on them, homes in this area were a far cry from the $10,000 homes at 20th and Piatt. At only one square mile, the College Hill residential area contained some of the wealthiest properties in 1965. The neighborhood represented “an eastward city movement of upward mobility,” in which resided “prominent families connected with the major industries of the city: livestock, grain, milling, railroads, lumber, petroleum, aviation, and financial institutions.”208 Piatt Street contained nothing of the sort.

  CLASS DIVIDE

  The well-to-do in Wichita were once found in the downtown area near Central and Broadway Streets. By the turn of the nineteenth century, more and more wealthy families had started migrating to the suburbs from their downtown location, expanding College Hill. According to College Hill historian Jeff Roth, “The allure of getting out of the densely developed part of downtown with all the chimneys, burning coal, small factories, horse stables and blacksmiths and all
that noise, dust and smoke” caused the wealthy to move into areas like College Hill. Roth went on to add, “Real estate agents could brag that in College Hill, you were up out of the teeming valley and on a hill where the view was so expansive that you could see as far away as Clearwater and Goddard.”209

  Hypothetically speaking, if the plane had crashed in the College Hill neighborhood, the residents who survived the crash might have instantly filed insurance claims to recoup their losses while checking into one of the nicer hotels in town. They probably would have called their family attorneys—who would have advised them of their rights and eased their concerns—purchased new comforts and awaited reimbursements from claims sent into the air force offices and insurance agents. The paucity of money and material possessions that plagued the victims on Piatt Street afforded them no such opportunities. Additionally, the housing restrictions, which corralled blacks in the northeast, certainly added barriers to the recovery process in the end.

  THE VEIL REMOVED

  Despite the amazing efforts of the community, local agencies and the air force, the issue of race could not be avoided for long. Relief workers were mostly white; the victims, mostly black. The Red Cross had no black board members (one, Jim Garmon, was recruited after the crash), and few blacks, if any, worked for relief agencies in Wichita. All Wichita banks set up disaster accounts in order to take in donations to help repair homes and relocate residents, but these efforts were never intended to override the housing restrictions that kept blacks out of white neighborhoods (though some hoped they would).210