Gene Odom - Lynyrd Skynyrd: Remembering the Free Birds of Southern Rock

CONTENTS

T O MY DAUGHTERS, MELISSA JEAN AND CHRISTINA DIANE. MY GRANDCHILDREN, JACOB, COURTNEY, TYLER, AND CODY.TO MY FORMER WIVES, BRENDA AND LORI. AND TO RONNIE VAN ZANT, ALLEN COLLINS, STEVE AND CASSIE GAINES, ANDLEON WILKESON, WHO ARE NO LONGER WITH US.

G.O.

T O MY WIFE, JEANNE, AND OUR SON, FRANCIS PAUL.

F.D.

AUTHORS
NOTE

N ineteen years have passed since I wrote a small book intended as a tribute to Lynyrd Skynyrd, titled Lynyrd Skynyrd: Ill Never Forget You, and I had hoped that someone would follow up with a full-length book that would cover the bands story in greater detail. But since that hasnt been done, I decided to have another go at it. In Lynyrd Skynyrd: Remembering the Free Birds of Southern Rock, although I havent recounted band members family lives, I have otherwise tried to provide accurate information that, in some instances, has not been told, and in others, corrects oft-repeated accounts that sprang from imperfect memories. I have relied upon my own memories of events in which I was involved, and on those of persons who were present for major events in the life of the band, with corroborative evidence that confirms their stories. To the extent that my account of the plane crash differs from those of other survivors, all I can say is that I have written it as I remember it, and if my memory serves me ill, I apologize. I only wish that Ronnie Van Zant could tell the story himself. If he were alive today, I bet he would tell it in verse.

PROLOGUE

I f youve ever rolled over in a car you know why time is measured in moments. Everything happens so fast. An airplane crash is different. A lot of time can pass before you actually crash, and all the while youre falling, powerless to stop and certain that death is near. And when the end finally comes, only the dead find peace.

A plane crash changed my life. Up until then, things had been going pretty well. I was flying around the world with my closest friends, with a backstage pass for every thrilling performance of one of the foremost rock and roll groups in the world, the Lynyrd Skynyrd band. Then a plane crash took it all away. It took my best friend and my left eye, it robbed me of my livelihood, and for years it nearly drove me insane because I couldnt stop feeling that I could have kept it from happening. I was Ronnies security guard, and I had clearly failed.

Through years of torment I lived with the knowledge that if I hadnt awakened him before we crashed, Ronnie Van Zant might still be alive or at least he might have died in his sleep. Instead, he drew his final breaths in a blur of confusion and fear, not fully knowing what was happening. Those last few minutes in the air were the longest bits of time I will ever remember. Nor can I ever forget the anxiety most of us felt as we left the ground on that warm October day in 1977. Lakeland, Florida, had been the third stop on the ill-named Tour of the Survivors, and we were flying up the coast to Greenville, South Carolina. I still have nightmares about it.

Just as we left the runway the starboard engine backfired, the bang so loud I thought it had blown apart. Staring out the window I could see it was still intact, but long orange flames were pouring from the engine as the plane continued to climb. We were all terrified. Of the twenty-four passengers on board, nine were members of the band. There were Ronnie Van Zant, the leader, guitarists Allen Collins, Gary Rossington, and Steve Gaines, bass player Leon Wilkeson, drummer Artimus Pyle, pianist Billy Powell, and two vocalists, Cassie Gaines, and Leslie Hawkins. We were a bunch of Southern country twenty-somethings, out on the lark of our lives and flying on top of the world.

Theres fire shooting out from the right engine, I yelled to the two pilots. You have to turn around and go back. Scared nearly out of my mind, I ran to tell them as soon as I saw it, but neither man seemed fazed as they focused on the gauges in front of them.

Theres nothing wrong, one of the pilots said.

Im telling you theres something wrong, I answered. I saw flames coming out of the engine.

Theres nothing wrong. Go back to your seat and stay put til were in the air.

And so I returned to my seat. What else was I to do? What can anyone do in a situation like that? The pilots are in charge of the aircraft, they know what theyre doing, and if theyre not afraid, the passengers shouldnt be concerned.

When we landed in Greenville, South Carolina, I wanted to kiss the ground. During the unsettling flight from Florida the starboard engine had backfired several more times, each backfire sparking a spasm of fear that we managed to overcome with nervous laughter and the faith we had placed in our pilots. On one of these occasions, twelve thousand feet in the air, the engine spewed out a ten-foot torch of fire that lasted for several minutes, offering each of us an unforgettable look at our very serious problem.

That first fiery blast, alone, should have been reason enough for us not to re-board the plane when we left Greenville the next day, especially for Ronnie, who disliked flying more than any of us. Everyone had misgivings, but Ronnie chose to stay with the plane that had brought us, and rather than follow our instincts, the rest of us followed the course that had always been right before; we followed the leader. No one had sense enough to do what we all knew made sense.

Cmon, lets go. If its your time to go, its your time to go, I remember Ronnie saying as he stepped aboard the plane for our final flight together. Most veteran air travelers will never experience the frightening sight of a flaming engine outside their window, but anyone who has ever flown can imagine how all of us felt that day. Because everyone has felt the prick of panic when something doesnt feel right in an airplane.

Ronnie and I had talked about it. At one time or another, whether in takeoff, mid-flight or landing, a subtle sensation takes hold of you and, rightly or wrongly, you feel certain that something is wrong. You glance at the other passengers to see if anyone else has noticed, but all appear to be reading or resting or talking as if theyre still in the airport lounge. You study the flight attendants faces for any sign that somethings amiss, but theyre absorbed in their work, seemingly unaware that all aboard are in peril. Surely the pilots know, you think, but you dont allow your fear to overcome your reason, because beneath your suspicion theres the comfort of knowing that the pilots are in full control of the situation.

Years later, while headed for takeoff in a big passenger jet, I had the distinct impression that the plane didnt have enough speed to get off the ground. We were moving very fast at that point, but a wrenching feeling in my gut told me we werent going to make it. I looked around at everyone else, but no one seemed to notice. Suddenly, at great relief to me, the plane began to slow down, and the pilots voice came over the intercom to announce, matter-of-factly, Weve had a little technical problem, so were going to go back and try it again. It was all I could do to keep from leaving the plane right then, but I knew that the pilots knew what they were doing. And on that flight they were right. But all of us heard the engine backfire that day as we left Lakeland, and all of us saw the flames, and none of us could ignore the fact that something was wrong with our airplane.

W hen we leased it, the Convair 240 had been a trusted name in aviation since 1947. Originally designed to carry forty passengers, it was the first pressurized, twin-engine airliner ever built, and it later became the plane of choice among VIPs, including John F. Kennedy, whose Caroline was the first private aircraft ever used by a presidential candidate. With a touch of historical irony, a CV-240 later played a role in the space program, which President Kennedy had christened with a speech in 1962. After the space shuttle Challenger exploded in 1986, a CV-240 was modified so that NASA could test an emergency escape hatch for future shuttle missions.