The anniversary of the crash of TWA Flight 3 is coming up again this Friday, January 16. Last January 16, the day of the launch of the Fireball hardcover, I stood at the base of Mt. Potosi and stared up at the crash site thinking about all that went on 72 years earlier. The crash, the fireball, and the emergency response from Las Vegas. I possess a decent imagination and stood there in the quiet desert morning reliving all the events, retracing the steps of Deputy Jack Moore, Major Herbert Anderson, Lyle Van Gordon, and dozens of others as they tried to save the people on the mountain. I thought about Clark Gable’s stay in Las Vegas and his endless glances toward this angry giant of a mountain that had swatted Ma out of the sky.
After paying homage at Potosi, we drove down from Vegas to Santa Monica for the launch event at the Museum of Flying, a fraction of a mile from the factory where Douglas DC-3 number NC 1946 was manufactured in February 1941, less than a year before it would crash on Potosi. At 7:07 P.M. last January 16, I stood in the quiet and the dark outside the museum under a DC-3 that’s mounted on stanchions there—a display item to commemorate the Douglas Corporation and its remarkable aircraft. The DC-3 is a sleek, beautiful aircraft that revolutionized commercial air transportation. It’s military version, the C-47, helped to win World War II.
I continued to stand under the plane until 7:22, the moment of impact. What an eerie feeling, looking up at the belly of a DC-3 and thinking about the physics of such a beast, fully loaded with passengers and cargo, striking rock cliffs at about 185 miles per hour. Shivers ran up my spine as I stood in the January cold and darkness as 22 lives were extinguished. Boom. Gone.
When you read accounts of the crash in 1942 newspapers, the DC-3 Sky Club is referred to as a “giant airliner,” which today is funny because the DC-3 is dwarfed by passenger jets we’ve all flown in. Still, standing underneath the vintage twin-engine plane is an eye opener. It is a giant all on its own, with a broad fuselage, lots of storage capacity, and engines powerful enough to provide dramatic lift even with the plane crammed to the hilt, as it was that fatal January night.
This year, January 16 falls on a Friday just as it did in 1942, making it easier to relate not only to the events of Carole Lombard’s last day, but to pick up the story on Wednesday morning January 14 as she arrives in Chicago along with her mother Elizabeth, dubbed “Petey” by Carole, and press man Otto Winkler. This coming Thursday January 15 we can recall the speech and flag raising at the Indiana Capitol building in Indianapolis, which took place at 3:00 P.M. Eastern time, the bond sale at 3:30, and the Cadle Tabernacle appearance at 9:00. Night owls among us can think about Carole, Petey, and Otto sitting exhausted in taxis as they and their considerable luggage are driven to the Indianapolis Municipal Airport after 1:00 A.M. We can think of them climbing the aluminum TWA staircase and stepping onto Flight 3 in the darkness at somewhere around 4:30 A.M. Eastern.
Anniversaries are always a time to stop and reflect, and this one will be especially meaningful to all who have been drawn to the last flight of TWA’s DC-3 with wing number NC 1946 and its precious human cargo.
And today, Monday, Jan. 12, marks the 73rd anniversary of when Lombard left her adopted (and beloved) hometown for what would be the last time — ironically, on a train called the City of Los Angeles (which additionally was the name of the oceanliner on which she and William Powell returned from their honeymoon in 1931).. I regularly visit Union Station and admire its Californa majesty as the last of the great American rail stations…and when I walk down that long concourse leading to the gates that now carry Amtrak and Metrolink trains (as well as Metro’s Gold Line light rail), I invariably think of Carole and her companions as they left, not realizing none of them would return, and wonder which of those gates they walked up to meet the train.
Since we know so much about what the travelers did that week, it lends itself to all sorts of moments like the one you experienced at Union Station, Vincent. I also think about Wayne Williams, Morgan Gillette, and Alice Getz of the flight crew, going about their schedules this second full week of January, and the Air Corps guys delivering bombers and heading back west toward Long Beach.
As you may know, Lombard is part of a transportation timeline mural in the lobby on the east end of the Union Station Metrorail terminus (Red and Purple lines). The artist who designed it passed on in 2003, so I don’t know whether he was aware of Carole’s fateful ties to the station when he designed it or merely thought her an appropriate symbol of classic Hollywood glamour. (However, since Union Station is a non-smoking facility, the cigarette she held between her fingers in the portrait this was adapted from has understandably been eliminated!) http://i26.photobucket.com/albums/c149/VP19/other%20Lombard%20pics/carolelombardunionstationmural03a.jpg