David Soucie - Why Planes Crash: An Accident Investigator Fights for Safe Skies

WHY
PLANES

CRASH

WHY
PLANES

CRASH

An Accident Investigators
Fight for Safe Skies

David Soucie

WITH

Ozzie Cheek

SKYHORSE PUBLISHING

Copyright 2011 by David Soucie
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Skyhorse Publishing, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.
ISBN: 978-1-61608-426-4

Printed in the United States of America

NOTE: The names and other identifying details of some people and companies in this book have been fictionalized. All fictionalized names are marked with an asterisk at the first reference. Some people have asked that I not reveal their names. Sometimes the character is minor, and Ive forgotten the real name. Some names have been changed to protect the safety and well-being of my family. This book is a memoir of my life, but some sequences and events have been condensed or changed to fit the constraints of the editing process.

My son Tylers childhood drawing

I dedicate this book to my lovely bride, who truly knows my heart; and to my loving son, who truly knows my spirit.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE
Bird on a Wire

WHY
PLANES

CRASH

CHAPTER ONE

Bird on a Wire

F rom across the room, I could see Jills smile through the Christmas tree tinsel. She was reading A Christmas Carol to our son, Tyler. Her eyes met mine, and her smile disappeared. After five years of marriage, she knew when something was wrong. David, she said, are you okay?

I dropped the telephone receiver on the floor and fell to my knees. Tears filled my eyes.

Jill tossed the book aside and rose from her chair near the fireplace. Youre scaring me, sweetie, she said. What is it? I looked at her, but I couldnt speak. She hurried over and knelt beside me. Breathe! she yelled. Youre not breathing, David!

I gasped for air. They went down. Mike and them. Mike Myers hit a wire and now... oh god!

Who else? Jill asked desperately, while hugging me. Who was with him? Jill knew Mike and his family, as well as the flight nurses and the crew in Grand Junction, Colorado.

I dont know. Some patients, I think. A nurse. They may all be dead. Thats when the truth smacked me full force. Mike had crashed after hitting a power line or telephone wires because the helicopter was not equipped with a wire-strike kit, a safety addition that I had refused to add. I think its my fault, I said, feeling numb. Its my fault they went down.

Dont be silly, she said. I heard a faint voice coming from the phone on the floor, but I couldnt bring myself to touch it. Are you going to pick it up? Jill asked. I shook my head no, so she picked up the receiver and listened to whatever else Roy Morgan was saying. Okay, Roy, I heard her say. Were leaving now.

My brain processed only the simplest parts. Leaving? Check! Meeting Roy? Check! Roy Morgan owned Air Methods Inc., the emergency medical helicopter company where I worked. I was twenty-six years old and already the senior director of maintenance. Mike Myers was one of our pilots. He flew helicopters that I was responsible for maintaining.

While I bounced between despair and disbelief, Jill bustled around. We had a child to care for. We had to get to Arapahoe County airport to meet Roy Morgan so we could fly to Grand Junction right away. I had to go see Mike Myers. I had to fix things. Fix things? Check!

Jill grabbed coats and car keys. Dave, she said from the door, you ready? I realized at that moment that whatever I would do in life that was worthwhile would be because of Jills steady presence. I nodded, looked one last time at the glowing tree, and followed her out.

It was Christmas Eve 1985.

The December weather was bone-chilling cold in the West. An ice storm had turned the highways into asphalt skating rinks, and while weather conditions made night flying more dangerous than usual, flying was faster and safer than using the highways. Besides, pilot Mike Myers was highly experienced on the Bell 206 helicopter. Thats why he was transporting two young flight nurses, Debbie Carrington* and Deana Smith*, to a remote region near Monticello, Utah, to assist a pregnant woman with a premature birth.

Nobody wanted to work the holidays, but in the business of emergency medical care, holidays were often a busy time. The best Mike could do was promise his family that he would be back home by Christmas morning. When he left his house, he had little reason to believe that he would not keep his promise.

Despite the weather, the night trip from St. Marys Hospital in Grand Junction to Monticello was flawless. The nurses arrived in time to assist with a difficult delivery, and before long, the new mother and her baby were doing well enough that Debbie and Deana could leave. Ill prep the helicopter while you two get packed up, Mike told them.

Dr. Johns*, the attending physician at the Utah clinic, walked with Mike out the back door to the helipad, where Mike checked the sky. The winter air in the West is dry and crisp, the sky often cloudless.

On this night, the sky was bright with a full moon, and reflections off the ice and snow made it all the brighter.

While Mike stood there, wind swooped down off a hill behind him. The clinic is located in a box canyon, so taking off in the helicopter meant contending with high terrain and power lines. The helipad was elevated, but given the weight he would carry, the location of the helipad, and the weather conditions, Mike wanted to be certain he could clear the power lines on takeoff. He headed down to the street below for a closer look.

The staircase was icy, so Mike carefully held on to the railing. He stopped at the bottom and kicked the snow from his boots. The wires overhead swayed and hummed. Icicles that dangled from the wires like shiny Christmas-tree ornaments broke loose and plunged to the street below, shattering.

The two flight nurses had already settled into their seats by the time Mike gingerly made his way back up the steps. Looks like everythings a go, he told Dr. Johns. They exchanged Christmas greetings, and then Mike climbed into the pilots seat, strapped on his seat belt, and started the engine. The time was 11:30 PM on Christmas Eve.

Dr. Johns had used the helicopter service before, so he was familiar with the helicopters sound. The metal blades against the dense, cold air sounded like a bullwhip cracking. Usually, the sound lessened as the helicopter rose into the air. On this night, the blades continued to crack and pop loudly as the helicopter failed to climb.