Crash of Tony’s Plane Stirs FAA Inquiry : An Assignment With a Near-Fatal Twist

The instant I realized that I was still alive, I knew I had to move fast or I wouldn’t be much longer.

Bright sheets of yellow flame erupted from the wing nearest my seat in the single-engine plane, which had crashed during takeoff for Nome, ferrying boy aviator Tony Aliengena, myself and six others.

Feeling the heat from the flames, I dived to get out. But I remained momentarily trapped by a seat belt that I had forgotten to unfasten.

Fighting off panic long enough to unstrap the belt, I jumped head first into a tundra swamp, sinking hands and knees into the muck. As the other passengers scrambled to safety, I vaguely heard a bystander shouting: “Get out! Get out! It’s gonna blow!”

This was the scene Tuesday night for myself and the other passengers aboard the Cessna 210 Centurion that Tony, 11, had piloted round the world on an international friendship mission. Dubbed Friendship One, the red-white-and-blue Cessna had been a cheerful symbol of peace to millions who watched on TV as it landed in seven countries.

None of us had felt comfortable about flying Tuesday out of this tiny Alaskan Indian village, where the Aliengena family and entourage had gone for a three-day fishing vacation. The weather had been stormy and cold, with fierce winds gusting off the nearby Bering Sea.

Break in Rain Seen as Opportunity

But we needed to get to Nome as soon as possible to resume Tony’s flight, and a break in the rain late Tuesday provided Tony’s father, Gary Aliengena, with an opportunity to ferry us out. Tony, who was not piloting the 90-mile leg, sat next in the co-pilot’s seat.

While boarding the high-wing plane, which shuddered in the icy wind, an accident happened that was something of a portent. Tony noticed that a radio headset was hanging outside the door, so he opened the door to pull it back in. But a gust of wind blew the door out of Tony’s hand and off its hinges.

Tony’s father, exhausted from the tortuous, six-week trip, cursed bitterly, then set about reattaching the door without the hinges. He managed that by locking the door and taping it shut.

“Everybody, listen up,” Aliengena called out afterward, as his seven passengers, including his wife, Susan, and 10-year-old daughter, Alaina, strapped themselves in for the 30-minute flight. “I want you to know the door is secure and that we could still fly even if it fell off. It would just be cold in here.”

With that, we settled back for takeoff. Although somewhat concerned about the weather, I was rather looking forward to the flight because Aliengena had promised to fly low enough that we could spot the reindeer, moose and bear that are abundant in the wilderness.

Sitting directly behind Tony, I could not see clearly ahead as Aliengena throttled Friendship One forward down Golovin’s 2,800-foot gravel airstrip, which is atop a 50-foot embankment. Within seconds, however, I knew something was drastically wrong.

I could see our plane veering sharply to the side of the embankment, driven over by 20-knot crosswinds. Then we were over the side and, for a moment, sailing through the air.

The crash lasted just a few seconds, but they seemed like an eternity.

I can remember thinking numbly that perhaps Aliengena could gain enough power to bring the plane back into the air. Then, in shock, I saw the green earth rushing at us as the Cessna struck the tundra at an angle, wheels-first. The impact tore off one of the wheels and blew Tony’s taped door out.

My seat rocked violently back and forth as the plane skidded through tundra. Then I saw a flash of bright yellow light as the right wing burst into flames.

During all of this, none of us uttered a word. But my thoughts were rushing furiously in a jumble.

I remember thinking that this was it, and that my wife of one month, Adriana, would be a widow.

After scrambling free of the plane, I turned back and saw that Tony and several others were still inside, struggling to clamber out. I yanked Tony from his seat and screamed, “Get out! Everybody get out!”

Susan Aliengena, Tony’s mother, was last to get out, crawling over seats from the rear of the six-seat cabin.

Even outside the plane, we were not safe. With the wing’s fuel tank ablaze, there was an imminent danger that the entire plane would explode like a gasoline bomb. Several local people shouted for us to run.

The other passengers climbed the nearest embankment and took cover. Dazed and confused, I struggled to run through the knee-deep swamp in front of the plane for several yards before realizing I too had better get atop the embankment.

The embankment climb was the hardest of my life. Soaking wet and having lost a shoe in the run from the plane, I struggled and struggled on the steep climb. My legs were so tired they wanted to give out. Glancing back at the blazing plane, I squeezed the last ounce of strength out of my body and reached the top of the embankment, where I rolled over and over until I was well past the range of any shrapnel.

On the gravel, panting, I heaved a huge sigh, then began checking myself for injury. My only injury would turn out to be a bruised rib.

Although by some miracle the plane did not explode and none of us were seriously injured, we all walked around in shock, mouths agape. Seeing Susan Eisner, a 28-year-old film crew member who had accompanied Tony’s flight, I exchanged looks of disbelief, then embraced her tightly.

Someone then hollered at us to get down because we were standing in the path of any explosion.

Alaina, sitting on the ground next to her mother, was sobbing uncontrollably. When she saw me, she wailed, “Poor Jim’s never going to see his wife again.” (Just last weekend, Alaina had admired some wedding pictures I had brought along on the trip.)

Tony comforted his father, who gazed at the burning wreckage, cursing himself.

“No one’s blaming you, Gary,” Eisner said with a hug. “You saved our lives.”

Seemingly detached from it all was Joseph Lee, a 29-year-old film maker from Los Angeles who suffered a deep gash to his bearded chin from a camera that he had cradled in his lap on takeoff. He and Eisner both hurried back to the plane as soon as the flames had been put out to recover their equipment, which was damaged a bit.

Eventually, we were taken to a local clinic. There I telephoned my parents, my wife, then The Times Orange County Edition.

Later that night, in an apartment in Nome, I found myself alone for the first time since the accident. Looking heavenward, I gave silent thanks.

Then I wept like a child.

HOW THE CRASH HAPPENED The plane, piloted by Gary Aliengena, was about a quarter of the way down the 2,800-foot runway when a very strong gust of wind forced the plane off the side of the 50-foot-high embankment. The plane was airborne for about 50 feet before it crashed into the marsh below. The plane bounced along the ground for about 100 feet and tipped on it’s right side, causing fuel in a wing tank to catch fire.

SEATING ARRANGEMENT Below is a diagram showing where the eight people on the plane were seated. The Cessna 210 Centurion is designed to hold only six people. Tony Aliengena, 11 Jim Carlton, 33--Los Angeles Times Reporter Alaina Aliengena, 10--Tony’s sister Susan Aliengena, 39--Tony’s mother Gary Aliengena, 11--Tony’s father Roman Tcheremenylch, 11--Tony’s Soviet pen pal Joseph Lee, 29--Film maker Susan Eisner, 28--Film maker

Source: Los Angeles Times