The point of impact. One of the plane’s wings struck the ground here at 165-170 miles per hour before tumbling nearly 600 feet. It came to rest against a barbed wire fence and post. Globe Gazette
“The truth has never been told about what happened on that flight.”
Barb Dwyer’s words still echo in my head. What is the truth? She wasn’t on the plane and neither was her husband Jerry. Do they know more than the investigators? Do they have information about the flight they have never revealed? If so, why would they wait more than fifty years and still refuse to reveal it? My gut and my brain tell me the Dwyers are two good people in the twilight of their lives who still feel the need to defend themselves for Jerry’s decision to let that flight leave the ground. As a former charter operator, I understand how he must feel. The weight of that decision must be a heavy burden to carry, and he carries it each and every day.
The deaths of Buddy, Ritchie, and The Big Bopper continue to intrigue people, as they have intrigued me. I didn’t believe for a moment that a gunshot or some struggle aboard the plane caused the crash, but as a pilot I was curious about exactly what did happen early that morning in February 1959. I decided to do something about it.
I contacted the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB), and someone I spoke with was kind enough to put me in touch with Dick Rodriguez, an experienced and seasoned accident investigator now retired and residing in Florida. He had an interest in the crash, and agreed to read the entire report. Dick and I discussed the report and various issues relating to the crash via telephone on two different occasions. Both conversations were long and substantive.
The point of impact. One of the plane’s wings struck the ground here at 165-170 miles per hour before tumbling nearly 600 feet. It came to rest against a barbed wire fence and post. Globe Gazette
“A couple of things jump out at me,” Dick said during one of our conversations. “The report states that the needles on the instruments were frozen. Usually a high impact crash like this will find the needles broken off. The fact that these are intact, gives us a look inside the cockpit at the moment of impact,” Dick explained from his Pensacola home. “The rate of climb indicator indicates the plane struck the ground while descending at 3,000 feet per minute. That is a very high rate of descent. I don’t think it was strictly a matter of misreading the instruments, but more likely that the aircraft became upset by its natural tendency to roll into a bank, which can develop rapidly into a graveyard spiral from which Peterson was too inexperienced to recover using only his instruments.”
“Upset by its natural tendency to roll into a bank?” I repeated his statement back to him as a question.
“Yes. I’ve called several friends who have logged hours in a Bonanza,” continued Dick. “They say the plane is not unusually unstable or unforgiving, but once upset with little or no visibility and established in a spiral, you have to be an extremely skilled pilot to recover using instruments only. That is true of any airplane.”
“And this was a pitch dark night without a visible horizon,” I added.
“In the brightness of day and with clear weather it may have been a different story,” admitted Dick, “but when the aircraft is upset and you have no visual reference point outside the plane, you must recover by interpreting your instruments and reacting accordingly. This young man didn’t even have an instrument rating, and when he had previously taken his instrument flight test, he failed.” Dick paused before adding, “I wouldn’t like his odds of recovering.”
Roger Peterson, the pilot Jerry Dwyer hired to fly three of the biggest musical names in America, had failed his instrument flight test.
“So take me through the scenario that most likely took place,” I asked the aviation accident expert. “How do you think this plane came to be in this fatal circumstance?”
“Okay,” Dick begins. “According to the report, the pilot said he would file his flight plan en route. There are reasons pilots do this, usually in high traffic areas, but I’m not sure any of these reasons existed in Mason City, Iowa, after midnight. Regardless, Dwyer let him take off knowing the flight plan had not been filed. So the plane rolls down the runway, becomes airborne, and is off to Fargo. The pilot was then expected to contact Mason City to file his plan, which he was probably reviewing.
“There was turbulence in the area,” continued Dick, “and I believe he was most likely feeling it. While focused on his preparation to file, the plane likely rolls to the right, whether a function of turbulence or natural roll, the nose naturally lowers, which easily can happen without warning. By the time Peterson recognizes the upset condition of the aircraft, the attitude had reached the point beyond his skill level to recover.”
“What do you think he did then?” I asked, even though as a former pilot I had a good idea of the answer.
“With no visual reference to assist recovery, the natural reaction of most pilots is to pull back on the yoke to remain airborne,” explained Dick, “but in this case, it only increases the rate of turn and becomes unrecoverable. Had there been a visual horizon, he could have possibly leveled his wings and recovered.”
While Dick was painting a vivid picture of what likely took place inside the cockpit, I began to imagine the panic that must have coursed through the cabin. I was in a Cessna 152 during my flight training and purposefully stalled the plane on several occasions. Recovery is easy—if you recognize what is happening.
On one of my early flight lessons the instructor purposely stalled the plane. My immediate reaction was the result of years of driving a car: I stepped hard on my left rudder as if it were a car brake. This action rolled the plane over into the beginning of a spiral. I can honestly admit this began the most frightening few seconds of my entire life. My flight instructor knew what to do, of course, and quickly reacted to recover control and resume stable flight. But in the dark of night without reference points it is difficult to recognize up from down and left from right. Vertigo sets in and the ground comes quickly. In order to recover, you have to know what direction you are spinning and the difference between up and down. At night, with no visible horizon or point of reference, an inexperienced pilot will have trouble properly interpreting the situation and reacting appropriately.
“Dick, is there anything else that could have happened?” I asked.
“Sure,” he replied. “Unless you were there, you never know, but I have seen similar cases over and over through the years.”
“I guess the 3,000 feet per minute rate of descent is a big clue.”
“Yes it is,” Dick replied, “and so is the way that plane struck the ground—wing first, in a 90-degree bank (wings perpendicular to the ground) and nose down attitude at that high rate of speed really paints the vivid picture of a spiral,” Dick concluded.
Those words, spoken by an aviation crash expert, chilled me. There was no sudden accident, as we had been led to believe for so long. Those young men aboard that doomed plane knew they were in trouble long before they hit the ground.