Snowed In?

I believe that’s a Chevrolet under all that snow, but this story concerns a Chrysler, and the same snow storm.

The photo is from 1947, when more than 26 inches of snow fell on New York City December 26 and 27. Not too different from what happened this week, on December 26 and 27.

But in 1947 my father was a pilot for Pan American World Airways, flying a European route out of Laguardia Field (that’s what the airport was called in those days) that kept him away for weeks at a time. He returned the day after the storm, to find the city buried in snow. Similarly, his 1936 Chrysler Imperial Airflow was buried as well, in the airport’s parking lot.

The radically-styled Chrysler Airflow came in a number of models of differing size, and the Imperial was the biggest – and heaviest – of them all. The car’s immense size was my father’s only clue to finding the car among the many snow-covered automobiles in the parking lot. He chose a large object near where he remembered parking, and began to brush snow away from the area of the driver’s door. It proved to be his car.

So he got in, and started it up. Remarkably, the 6-volt electrical system delivered a good start, and more remarkably, my father simply backed the huge car out of the snow. He did not dig it out or otherwise clear a path. He just rumbled out onto the plowed aisleway.

He then brushed the snow from the windows and drove home to Glen Rock, New Jersey, to enjoy a belated Christmas with his family (which did not yet include me).

Today we are all convinced that we need four-wheel-drive if there is a flurry. But in the record-breaking storm of 1947, all that was necessary was a big old Chrysler.

From the Skies

It was 50 years ago today, on December 16, 1960, that two commercial airplanes collided and rained debris and death onto Brooklyn and Staten Island. I remember it well. I was only a small child living in New Jersey, but it was Big News and I realized that it was Big News.

That my father had been a pilot for Pan Am, flying the same model aircraft as one of those involved in the crash, gave the news special significance in our household.

The collision involved a Lockheed Constellation, a four-engine propeller-driven craft like those my father had flown. He enjoyed flying the "Connie," a design well-regarded by pilots.

The Constellation was struck in midair by a DC-8 jet, the first commercial jet to be involved in an air disaster. The jet fell into Brooklyn, the Constellation onto Staten Island. Everyone on board the two planes died.

Except – for one day – there was a survivor. A plucky 11-year-old boy from Chicago, who had been on board the jet. Badly burned, he was rescued, and for a day he was a media darling and a symbol of hope. But then he succumbed to his injuries. The tragedy and heartbreak were complete.

The photo shows a portion of the wing from the DC-8. It was found only recently, when excavations were being made at the Brooklyn crash site for new residential development. It is in private hands, close to the crash site, because the investigations into the crash were long ago closed and the National Transportation Safety Board does not keep or preserve such wreckage.

Of course the NTSB did not exist in 1960. It was the Civil Aeronautic Board that handled the investigations 50 years ago, but the C.A.B. is long gone.

In the photo you can see a small black rectangular label next to the red circle. The red circle is a fuel port. The label reads in part, "No. 5 Main Tank Auxiliary Fuel."

At the time this crash was the worst commercial air disaster in history. The passage of 50 years has done little to erase the memory.