Boy Bob, you sure don't remember the story the way I told it to ya.

I was gettin' a hair cut from a guy named Jim Woodard, he was the 545th maint. electrician. He was a barber in civilian life. He and I were in the electric shop, behind the engine repair shop. The post barber shop was way down the road toward the main entrance to camp. Due to the fact that I have been told in the past that I'm too long winded when I tell stories, I'll try to keep this short.

Woody and I heard the ship losing power at least twice then the crash. He and I ran out the back door and down to the perimeter. The ship ended up on her left side with nose pointing back toward the hanger. One of the rocket pods was on the ground with 24 rockets pointing the same direction and trip flares had started a nice grass fire under everything. I was about 30 yards away standing there like some pyro watchin' the fire, and the pretty tracers tumbling through the air, when the fuel exploded. I ran about 30 feet and dove in behind a revetment with my arms over my head until the rivet and aluminum rain quit. I got up and checked to see where the rockets were pointing, the blast had rotated the tubes which were now pointing in a safer direction down the perimeter road. I started to walk back closer to the fire, when two rockets took off and exploded up the road. I decided that was enough and that it was time to haul ass. I ran back to the apron in front of the hanger to get some buildings between me and the rockets. While I was standing there Dolbejeff stomped out of the engine shop door with his .38 in his hand. I asked him where he was going? He stopped long enough to inform me that he was looking for his pilot and that he intended to kill him for not aborting the takeoff and wrecking his F–––ing ship. Then he continued his search. I don't know where his pilot was but I think he was lucky Basile didn't find him right then.

And T.A.N.B!!

PS. I hope I kept this short enough. Great Web site, The shot of Billie Jo and Fowler brought a tear or two.