BBall, Buddy Holly and the Bonanza - By William "BBall" Ball - Page 1 of 2
The year was 1978, and most things were right with the world. Menachim Begin and Anwar Sadat would share the Nobel Peace prize for their work at Camp David, South African Prime Minister P.W. Botha began his work to dismantle the culture of apartheid, the disease smallpox was completely eradicated from the planet, two of my all time favorite movies were filling the theatres ("Close Encounters of the Third Kind" and "National Lampoon's Animal House"), and the Dallas Cowboys had won the Super Bowl. As I remember it, there were only two things that really, REALLY sucked about that year...disco music was in full swing ("Stayin Alive" by the Bee Gees was the number 1 song), and I almost died flying a Beechcraft Bonanza.
The first sucky part I won't talk about, for if you were alive back during those horrid, dark days of disco, then you know just how cruel that was. Imagine being a 20-something male, hormones raging, and "attempting" to dance to disco just to garner the attention of the opposite sex....it was a cruelty that I dare not describe. The second part was quite an adventure, except of course for the almost perishing in a crumpled heap of aluminum and body parts thing. I'll explain in a minute.
I was in my senior year at college, and the prospect of graduating and finding a "real" flying job was starting to look more like a reality and not some far off event. I had been flying for five years, and held most every rating and license short of the pinnacle of all professional aviators: The Airline Transport Pilot’s License. I had earned my Commercial Pilot's License, an Instrument Rating, my Certified Flight Instructor-Airplane/Instrument License, a Multi-engine rating, my Multi-engine Flight Instructor License, and had amassed a grand total of just over 600 hours of flight time. The last year or so had seen me working as a Flight Instructor for the college I was attending, flying the occasional charter flight, and riding along with my ex-roommate Rick on his night freight runs to build my multi-engine time. There never seemed to be a dull moment in those worn cockpits, steering those long since used-up airplanes full of cancelled checks, to some insignificant destination in the middle of the night. To be sure, it was a young man's game and we had more than our share of excitement, but I'll save those yarns for another time.
The Beechcraft V35 Bonanza has always been a huge favorite among general aviation pilots; in fact Rick (now a B767 Captain for American Airlines) is the proud owner of a V35. Beechcraft first conceived this V-tail marvel back in 1945, with the first delivery aircraft being born in February 1947; it was later to be morphed into the straight-tail C33 Debonair in 1959, but it was a success from the moment it hit the ramp. It's known for it's ruggedness, it's speed, it's Breechcraft pedigree of superior quality and craftsmanship, it’s very distinctive V-tail, and one rather ignominious nick-name...."the fork-ed tail doctor killer".
That's what the old heads called the Bonanza, and it seemed to have earned that moniker. In fact most people aren't aware of it, but famous rock and rollers Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and J.P. Richardson (alias The Big Bopper) perished in a V35 Bonanza in an Iowa snowstorm one cold night in February 1959. It was an accident that would shake the music world. I distinctly remember a college field trip that my ground school class took to the FAA Aeromedical Academy in Oklahoma City. One of the "highlights" was a trip through the "gallery of death", which was a rather large room with hundreds of pictures of small airplane crashes (a lovely thing to show to a group of aspiring airline pilots).
They were all very graphic in detail, and an inordinate amount of them seemed to be Bonanzas...they also treated us to a macabre recording of an audiotape between an ATC controller and a Bonanza pilot. He had gotten trapped trying to navigate through some thunderstorms and had experienced severe turbulence, thus causing the engine to break from its mounts in the nacelle and shift forward. The center of gravity of this plane was now far outside the forward limits, and it was headed for earth with the aerodynamic properties of a dump truck. The ATC guy was talking to this doomed pilot, and the static eeriness of his terrified voice becoming more and more shrill, sent horrible chills down our spines. I could never figure out if they wanted us all to become the safest pilots we could be, or just have the shit scared out of us and quit flying altogether
With all that said, here's my Bonanza tale.
I had taken several days off from college classes to fly a few nights with Rick on his freight run, but more importantly, to help him with a charter flight he couldn't take. It seems that two of his friends (of the female persuasion) needed to get from Dallas, Texas to Columbia, Missouri to attend a wedding that weekend. Rick agreed to fly them, but later found out he had other commitments, so he called the next best pilot he knew. Actually, that guy didn't answer his phone so Rick called me, and I accepted the challenge. Of my astounding 6oo+ hours of flight time, very little had been logged in a V35 Bonanza. Yes, I had done my Flight Instructor training in a C33 Debonair (basically a straight tailed Bonanza), and had flown some night freight runs with Rick in his company's V35, but I had basically no Pilot in Command time in one of these whiz-banged "fork-ed tailed messerschmidts". Could I handle it? Hell yes, I was an instrument rated, Commercially licensed 22 year old "steely eyed" aviator, and I was the man for the job. That, plus I really fancied the idea of flying two VERY lovely young ladies around and not having to pay for it (the ladies OR the airplane).
Rick and I flew a freight run the night before, landed early that morning and spent the day trying to grab some sleep. Later that evening, we headed out to Love Field for some training in the Bonanza. This was a sweet little machine, and the attorney that owned it had really treated it with kid gloves. Crushed velour seats, nice cockpit, great radios, hell, it even had an auto-pilot (not quite the ilk of the B757, but it was cool nonetheless). We preflighted, and spent just under an hour or so doing touch and go's in the traffic pattern so I could get acquainted with this little wonder. About the time we taxied up to the FBO, my "passengers" were arriving, and the sun was starting to set. Rick met the girls, and advised me to head into the office to file my IFR flight plan while he loaded my suitcase, and got the young ladies settled. One small note about this particular FBO at Love Field, most of the linecrew-MEN weren't...men that is. They were VERY good looking girls adorned in the shortest shorts and halters tops that any guy (without aspirations for interior design) could dream up. This was most probably the reason that Rick used this facility, and on that matter I deferred to his expertise.
I refueled, preflighted and we launched with the westward horizon fading from pink to black. Within a few minutes, we settled into what portended to be a very boring few hours on our way Missouri-bound. I was alone in the front seat, while the girls sat in the back chatting, and doing what girls do on their way to a wedding; pontificate about how big a mistake the bride is about to make. Flying at night in a single engine airplane isn't something you would catch me doing nowadays, but back then, it seemed like a no-brainer...the weather was benign, the machine was functioning well, the "scenery" was great...what could possibly go wrong?
I began to harken back to the days when I was first learning to fly. I'll never forget that first night flight in the Cessna 150. As we were droning along headed back to Meacham Field to do some take-offs and landings, my flight instructor John suddenly reached over and pulled the throttle back..."we've just had an engine failure". Holy crap, this we had practiced over and over during our daylight flights, but at night? I set up the proper glide speed, and began to search for a suitable "off airport" place to put this thing down...but it was dark out there. He then hit me with some of the more prophetic words I've heard during the last 29 years of flying....."pick a dark spot...a field.... glide down doing your emergency checks...when you're about to touch down, turn on the "Landing Light".... if you don't like what you see...TURN IT OFF..." I was mortified...he was laughing his ass off (he was to perish in a light twin crash within the year).
