Michigan's third-worst plane crash killed all 47 aboard 50 years ago today in Freeland

While he doesn't revisit the memory often, Ronald F. Krause recalls the state's third-worst plane crash as "vivid."

It was 50 years ago today that 47 bodies lay in wreckage of Capital Airlines Flight 67 in a corn field in the southwest corner of MBS International Airport.

"It was a gruesome sight," Krause said of the bodies that workers took past him at the edge of the field his family owned. "I knew they were dead."

Today, the Federal Aviation Administration coordinates investigations with the aid of a "black box" that records pertinent information and can survive a crash intact. In 1958, investigators relied on human reconstruction and information such as air temperature and evidence recovery. The government now requires improved safety features, both on the plane and on the ground.

"Today most planes are equipped with de-icing and anti-icing gear, both in the air and on the ground," said Jeff Nagel, airport manager at MBS since 2004.

Federal Aviation Administration officials require all airports to annually review emergency airport plans and every three years to conduct a full-scale airport emergency plan exercise -- which involves developing a disaster scene and using outside coordination.

"It's a full-scale re-enactment of a life-like plane crash," Nagel said. The last one was in May.

The deadliest crash in the past five years was regional carrier ComAir's Flight 5191 in August 2006 in Lexington, Ky., when 47 passengers died. Pilots didn't realize they were heading down the wrong runway when they tried to take off, reports indicate.

Saginaw News fileCapital Airlines, Flight 67, fatal airplane crash at Tri-City Airport, Apr. 6, 1958

Over the years, safety has improved. Records from the Federal Aviation Administration show in 1946 there were about 1,300 fatalities for every 100 million people who flew aboard a commercial plane. In 1994 to 1996, that fell to 50 per 100 million. From 1997 to 2006, it dropped to 8.9 deaths per 100 million people.

At MBS, the airport's runway, now at 8,000 feet, is longer than it was 50 years ago, although Nagel couldn't pinpoint how long the runway was in 1958.

Investigators said then that night-time visibility check points were a problem evident at most airports. Within five years of the crash, airport officials installed more modern equipment, including automatic runway lights.

Nagel said air travel has "evolved a lot over the past 50 years -- both in safety and navigation."

What they saw

Krause was a 28-year-old visiting relatives in Freeland the evening of the crash. He had returned to his farm at 9100 Garfield just before the incident.

He still lives on the family farm -- although he and airport officials are at odds because airport officials want some of his land to expand the airport.

"I didn't see the plane come down, I didn't hear the crash -- but from the house I saw all the emergency lights out in the field," he said.

Saginawian Tilda A. Norberg, then 16, was standing with her sister, Evelyn, 13, at the airport waiting to greet their parents, Lawrence M. Norberg, 49, and Louise Norberg, 48, scheduled to arrive on Flight 67 just before midnight.

Flying through the restricted visibility of snow and rain and in the dark, the plane struck the ground nose-first, flipped over and broke apart before bursting into flames.

Norberg, now 66 and living in Staten Island, N.Y., remembers that Easter Sunday vividly.
It was 11:19 p.m. when the Vickers Viscount 745D plane stalled and crashed, 300 feet short of the runway.

As the plane struck the ground a large fireball erupted, followed by several smaller explosions of pockets of fuel.

"There was pandemonium at the airport," Norberg said. "There was shrieking, alarms, the airport staff panicked... they were almost wringing their hands in helplessness. The crash was so close to the airport that everybody ran out onto the tarmac."

Norberg said she knew her parents died in the explosion, although it wasn't confirmed for hours. Flight 67 was the last plane in that night and everyone at the airport was focused on it arriving.

"I was looking at that burning plane and the swirling pandemonium," said Norberg, a minister.

"All of a sudden my field of vision was like a blank screen -- like those old-fashioned projectors where the screen is that sparkly white. This was a vivid white.

"And then I saw Jesus. He looked very Sunday-schoolish. I don't know if He was with me for 20 minutes or two minutes -- time gets really distorted.

"He repeated these seven words to me, as if he was telling me that he was going to keep repeating them until I understood: 'Don't be afraid, I'm always with you.'

"I saw Him with my eyes. Not my mind's eye, but my physical eyes. It was of a different order than anything I've ever seen before or since."

She said the vision faded and "everything in the airport came slamming back to me -- the people screaming ...."

The recovery

Rescue and recovery workers began arriving. Rain and mud thwarted their efforts.

The crash had severed the upper section -- front entrance, door stairs, baggage racks, cockpit area, pilot seats and more -- from the aircraft. The wings melted in the blaze. Seats from the main cabin area were strewn throughout the wreckage. Workers found seat belts still fastened.

Three of the four engines were buried five feet in the ground. The other engine struck a gravel area.

Saginaw County Sheriff's Deputy Robert Loubert, one of the first rescuers on the scene, helped pull bodies from the wreckage. Witnesses recalled Loubert crossing himself each time he pulled a body free.

Recovery workers set up an emergency morgue at the Dow Chemical Co. hangar at the airport.

Capital employees varied in their reactions to the disaster: One man fell to his knees upon seeing the wreck, some trudged disconsolately through the mud to help. Others tried to keep photographers from taking pictures.

About 3,000 spectators clogged the scene. Souvenir hunters waded through mud and water to get to the crash.

A Tittabawassee Township Fire Department rescue truck became mired in the mud about 100 yards from the wreckage.

A half-dozen fire trucks showed up to assist in freeing fire trucks that ventured into the mud. Tow trucks sunk to their hubs and became useless.

Official account

The initial report from the Civil Aeronautics Board blamed pilot error -- placing the blame on Capt. William J. Hull, 43, a veteran pilot who had worked with Capital Airlines for 17 years. He had about 1,700 flying hours on Viscount aircraft and more than 16,000 on all aircraft.

Rapid and undetected formation of ice on the plane's horizontal stabilizer caused a loss of pitch control, noted the second, updated, Aircraft Accident Report.

Investigators interviewed a number of witnesses, and, while not all were in agreement, they generally agreed that on the final approach, the plane did a pitchover and nose-down steep descent to the ground. Some witnesses said that just before impact, the plane nosed up slightly and had a sudden surge of power.

Low-flying aircraft

The farmer, Krause, now 78, said he hasn't dusted off those 50-year-old memories in a long time.

"The bodies weren't covered as they were brought past us on the wagon," he said. "It was quite a mess.

"I knew some of the guys who were back in there (recovering the victims), and a lot of them couldn't stand it for a while, they had to leave and take a break. Some of the bodies were badly burned. Others were just mangled.

"I didn't look too close. I didn't stay. I went home."

The next day, Krause noticed rescue crews still were searching the wreckage, now with the help of daylight. Krause said he occasionally glances skywards when a plane comes in a little lower than normal.

"There's been a few times that it made you think twice."