Dave Franks
By Donald R. Maxion. 1998
It's still difficult for me to believe our aircraft, a B-36D, during the process of preparing to land at Lindbergh Field in San Diego California, could have experienced so many catastrophic problems just minutes before touchdown following a very successful test flight of many hours.
Our crew of eight was a team and most of us always flew together. Occasionally, another team crewmember would fill in for the absence of one of our crew. Sometimes a Convair maintenance supervisor would be included in a test flight to observe circumstances encountered in previous flights that could not be duplicated on the ground. The aircraft was considered to be in good operating condition and only our team of eight was aboard for its final test flight prior to transfer of the aircraft to the U.S. Air Force.
The aircraft, B-36D-25-CF 49-2661A, the 121st B-36 built at the Consolidated plant in Fort Worth, was originally a "B" model but had been returned to San Diego for conversion to a "D" model. The conversion included the addition of 2 jet engines on each wing.
Our eight crewmember team included Dave Franks, 40, Pilot; Roy Adkins, 36, Co-pilot; Walt Hoffman, 36, first flight engineer; Don Maxion, 26, second engineer; Bill Wilson, 31, radar technician; Kenneth Rogers, 34, engineer; Bill (Tex) Ashmore, 39, engineer; and Roy Sommers, 26, radioman.
It was not unusual for our team to complete a test flight and then get together later at one of the member's homes. Often we would surprise a team member who didn't know he would be hosting hot dogs and horseplay. We always had a good time together. It was more than a job. We all enjoyed what we did very much and appreciated being paid for having such a really wonderful opportunity.
I am Don Maxion, now 72 years old. I was the youngest on the crew, being just a few months younger than Roy Sommers, my good friend for over 40 years. I often reminded Roy that he was older than I.
The day of the accident was clear and warm. Following ground checks that included ground inspections and engine runs, we departed Lindbergh Field and completed all required flight tests without incident. These tests included some exciting maneuvers. A simulated bomb drop over Plaster City at 40,000 feet was accompanied by automatic pilot maneuvers to get away from a simulated bomb blast. We also did, as I recall, a high-speed run while flying 500 feet over the ocean as well as emergency landing gear drops at 5000 feet to assure the emergency gear release system worked well. The gear drop required a crewmember to climb out into the wing without a parachute and ratchet out a pin holding the gear in the up-and-retracted position. First time for me was scary. Second time was even scarier because I knew what to expect.
The entire flight was without problems, the weather was clear and our approach to the runway was uneventful. Positions of the flight crew were as follows: Roy Adkins, pilots position; Dave Franks, Co-pilots position; Don Maxion, jump seat to observe the flight engineers panel; Jack (Kenneth) Rogers, flight engineers panel; Roy Sommers, radio operators station; Bill Wilson, radar station; Tex Ashmore, LH rear compartment scanner's position and Hoofer (Walt) Hoffman, RH rear compartment scanner's position.
We were in the flight pattern still at about 5000 feet. Our decent from altitude was uneventful. For educational purposes, our crew frequently sat in different positions for cross-station experience. I, for example, took a turn at the flight engineer's panel to conduct some of the procedures learned previously. In this way, qualified crewmembers could always step in for an unforeseen emergency. On this flight Roy Adkins had moved into the pilot's position for landing and Dave Franks had taken the copilot's position. Nevertheless, Dave Franks remained in charge of the flight. Roy would go on to test-fly many other Convair built aircraft as first pilot. Roy would eventually die in a NASA program accident.
The let down and approach was uneventful. The flaps had been lowered and the landing gear had been locked in the down position. Everything went smoothly until we felt the aircraft shake and then Hoffer, from the RH scanner's position, yelled over the intercom, "Dave we have a problem, the number 5 engine has fallen off the wing and we have a fire."
Dave Franks
Dave Franks, the pilot of the crippled B-36, gave his life to save his crew and to avoid crashing into a populated area. Immediately after the fire broke out as the bomber was approaching a landing at Lindbergh Field, he made a 90-degree turn and headed out to sea safely away from land. Dave had thousands of flying hours. His career included test flying B-24 Liberators, Consolidated PBY Catalina flying boats, Navy transports, Privateers, and Convair 240s. He had also been the pilot of Convair's executive plane.
Dave stood up and looked back over the RH wing and yelled into the intercom, "bail out". At the same time he pressed the bail out button. He continued to direct everyone to bail out. He was serious but calm and collected. He had given us an order. While all this was going on, Hoffer called into the intercom "The RH wing is on fire and the number 4 engine is falling off the wing". That was the last message that I received. The last time I saw Dave Franks he was standing near the co-pilot's seat looking at the RH wing and continuing to tell everyone to bail out. He was quite calm under the circumstances but serious about getting the crew out. As I recall, he wasn't wearing his parachute or may west at that time.
Walt Hoffman.
Walt Hoffman was one of the two crewmembers who died in the B-36 crash. He was only 36 years old when the crash occurred but he had crowded a lifetime of aviation adventure into those years. He was a Marine pilot before World War II, and after discharge he joined the RAF Ferry Command on the Canada to London run. Then, under contract to Douglas Aircraft Company as an engineer, he assisted in setting up airfields in Africa. His service was provided to the British and he was sent to India where he became a consultant on Consolidated Vultee planes. He then went on the Convair payroll in June of 1943. He was classed as a Foreign Service Representative, which meant he was a troubleshooter for company airplanes abroad. Following that he had a second tour of duty with the Marines. In 1946 he returned to Convair and became assistant foreman in Field Operations. In 1950 he was back in Flight Operations and became a First Flight Engineer.
We each had particular emergency jobs for the position we were at during any flight. My job that day was to remove the LH forward emergency hatch, which I did. Roy Sommers was the first to jump from the LH emergency bail out door, I was the second and Roy Adkins was the third out. I always told Roy Sommers that I saved his life because if I hadn't opened it, he would have killed himself going through the closed hatch. We were not supposed to bail out from the forward LH emergency door if the gear was down or if the inboard engine was running. The gear was of course down and locked and the number three engine was operating. Our bailout position was the nose gear emergency hatch. We would not have had time to reach and remove the nose gear hatch and I never considered trying to remove it because we were all on the upper deck and simply didn't have time.
Typically, we didn't wear our may wests or parachutes during the extended overland flights because they tended to make you sweat and smell. Our parachutes were adjusted and sewn into our adjusted position, set in the back of our seats so slipping into them was fast and simple. We always wore the same parachute. I kept my may west under my seat but didn't take the time to put it on prior to jumping. I recall that you should count to ten before pulling the ripcord. It only took about the count of two to find it. Roy Adkins told me later that I missed the landing gear by a couple feet with a better margin for the inboard propeller, which was still developing power. The air was full of debris, including some large panels that circled by me a few times at what I thought was great speed. I tried slide-slipping my chute by pulling on one side of the parachute risers, which resulted momentarily in a collapsed chute, which then recovered. One newspaper report mentioned the "failed chute" but that wasn't so. I didn't try that again. I could see others in the air in their parachutes. I could only spot them when their chutes opened. Looks like everybody got out.
The bail out sequence was as follows: Roy Sommers was the first to bail out of the B-36. His responsibilities included radioing the mayday message and then tying down the key for continual transmission of the message. He departed from the LH forward escape hatch. Being in a hurry, Roy did not put on his may west. He was picked up from the water by a fishing boat, which then transferred him to a Navy ship. He was kept on board the Navy vessel until the search for the two missing airmen was given up after nightfall.
Roy Adkins, copilot, was the third crewmember to bail out from the LH forward emergency hatch. He had been in the pilot's position. He was not wearing his may west when he bailed out. He and I were lifted from the water by a Coast Guard helicopter, which then took us to a Navy hospital where we landed at a baseball field on the hospital grounds. Several days after the accident, Roy and I visited the Coast Guard Station to give thanks to the crew along with several bottles of their favorite beverage.
Willard Wilson was the fourth crewmember to bail out of the LH forward emergency hatch. Willie was the Convair radar technician on the flight. He was not wearing a may west and became exhausted in the water. Raymond A. Gruen, a Coast Guard aviation ordnance man aboard an Albatross seaplane, jumped from the hatch and helped Willie to safety. While aboard the seaplane Willies lungs were pumped clear of water. Later, Willie presented Ray an engraved watch along with his thanks.
Jack Rogers was the last Flight Engineer to leave from the forward LH emergency hatch. His station was at the flight engineer's panel. Prior to bailing out he turned and yelled at Dave Franks to follow him out, then he jumped. He also didn't put on his may west before bailing out but, after being in the water for a short while, one of the overhead aircraft dropped a may west to him. He swam about 50 feet, got it and put it on. He was eventually picked up by a seaplane, dropped off at the Coast Guard station and was taken to the Navy hospital by ambulance.
William (Tex) Ashmore may have been the last crewmember to leave the aircraft. There were conflicting reports about how many chutes were spotted and another report about one person sinking into the water just before a boat reached his position. Tex departed from the rear cabin escape hatch. He hurt himself as he went out the hatch. He was wearing his may west. He reported that his time from the aircraft to the water was little more than a minute and only swung in his chute twice before hitting the water. He was picked up by a Navy LSSL 18, which was conducting training operations in the area. Tex was in the water only 28 minutes. He had a bath on the ship while his flight suit dried out. That evening he was landed at the Navy Fleet Sonar School where his wife Lynn was waiting for him.
Survivors
L to R: Roy Adkins, Willie Wilson, Tex Ashmore,
Ada Nickerson parachute rigger, Jack Rogers,
Don Maxion and Roy Sommers.
I watched the RH wing begin to fold and the aircraft spiral off toward its side. I expect that Dave Franks was back at the controls almost immediately after I bailed out or even while I was in the process of removing the emergency hatch because the aircraft had been turned from our landing pattern and was headed out to sea. My decent in the chute was extremely quiet except for the whistling of metal panels going by and the explosions from the aircraft.
Newspaper photograph of our aircraft falling from the sky.
On the way down it dawned on me that I didn't have a floatation device and was about to land in the water several miles off the coast of Mission Beach. I still had my parachute deployment ring and got rid of it. Next went my oxygen bottle and high boots. The last hundred feet or so to the water was extremely rapid. I expect that I went several hundred feet under water before returning to the surface in the middle of the parachute risers. I was able to keep my chute inflated partially above water and hoped it would drag me closer to the shore. I could not see land at that time. Soon my chute was completely under water and of no further use. People in the air however could see the chute in the water.
I got rid of the chute, took off my jump suit, tied the legs and arms each in a knot and used it for a floatation device. I could see dozens of aircraft circling around, saw no boats and didn't see any of the other guys. The water was cool but not cold. While floating around I felt like I was lower than all the water around me. I could not tell the direction of land but was confident that I would be picked up. I was also confident that everyone had gotten out.
Eventually, out of nowhere, a Coast Guard helicopter was overhead. They had spotted my parachute in the water. They lowered a basket/sling on what seemed to be a very long steel cable that was very difficult to get into. It seemed that the basket sling was always just a few feet away from me and I was getting tired but I managed to catch the basket/sling and climb into it. Then they took off with me trailing water and very cold and swinging on the end of the cable. They had spotted Roy Adkins' parachute in the water and were going to pick him up. The Coast Guard immediately flew us to the Navy hospital. We were both in good shape and released shortly. We both had some strap burns on our shoulders from the chutes. In the meantime, my wife June had received a telephone call from Phil Prophett of the flight department to tell her that I had been rescued and was at the Navy Hospital in Balboa Park. Roy Adkins, Bill Wilson and I ended up in the Navy hospital and expected that all crewmembers had survived and we would meet soon. Unfortunately, that expectation turned out to be not true. Dave Franks, Walt Hoffman and Roy Sommers were still missing but we expected to hear from them soon. A private boat that had been fishing in the area rescued Roy. They had dropped him off at a pier and he hitchhiked home with his wet parachute.
I went home. My wife and I decided to go out of the house with our two children because the telephone never stopped ringing. Later woke up about two AM in the morning and that was my first realization that I had had a really close call. Upon my return to Convair a few days later I met with Phil Prophett, Chief of Flight Test. He said that if I preferred not to continue flying it was OK and I could do other work at Convair. At that time we had about twenty more B-36s to test. I really loved flying with the crew and elected to continue. However, on my very next flight I could hardly climb up into the airplane now carrying shark repellent, flares, a flashlight and so forth. All the emergency gear I could find.
I am pleased to have been on the last test flight of the B-36 program on 21 November 1952. The crew had changed of course but Roy Sommers, Jack Rogers, Roy Adkins, Tex Ashmore and I were still together and remained in contact for many years.
Our pilot Dave Franks was a pleasure to fly with. He was an expert in his field, knew the aircraft inside and out and never took unnecessary risks to complete a test program. We all had absolute confidence in him. We were comfortable with him.
After the accident we would wonder together why Dave Franks and Walt Hoffman were unable to get out of the exploding, falling-apart B-36. Discussions with Tex Ashmore at the time suggested that Walt Hoffman, while ready to follow Tex out of the rear emergency hatch, may have gone back into the aircraft to retrieve his May west. We discussed also that Dave Franks wanted to give his crew every possible moment to jump from the aircraft as well and ensure that the aircraft didn't strike any populated areas and just waited too long. Tex Ashmore told us that his chute only swung twice before he hit the water, indicating he was very, very low when he tumbled out of the rear emergency hatch.
There were of course many meetings with Convair management as well as with a military inquiry panel. The result, as I recall it is that there were three possibilities as to why there were explosions in the RH wing.
Possibility 1. - Three inch in diameter gasoline fuel lines ran along the rear spar of the wings. There was expansion and contraction of the fuel line metal connectors as the result of temperature change from high to low altitude. One of the lines could have leaked. One of the crew's jobs prior to landing was to examine all the available fuel lines for clamp leaks. Some lines could not be reached during flight. Or, the engine exhaust system failed and burned a hole in one of the fuel lines.
Possibility 2- The engine exhaust system failed and burned a hole in the D chamber of the carburetor. The D chamber contained high-pressure fuel before pressure regulation.
Possibility 3- The alternator housings were manufactured from magnesium. Each engine had an alternator and failure of the alternator could have started an uncontrollable magnesium fire.
An extensive search was conducted for Dave Franks and Walt Hoffman but they were never found. A service including placing flowers wreaths in the water was conducted.
Several of the engines were recovered but were badly corroded and presented no clues to my knowledge.
I admired and liked Dave Franks as well as everyone else in the crew. We were a good team. I still miss them all very much.
Dave Franks and his son.
Don Maxion
17 October 1998
AN UPDATE TO THIS STORY:
| Following the 50th anniversary of our crash,
the San Diego Union-Tribune printed this story: Survivor recalls crash of B-36 bomber By Mark Sauer |
As a result of the Union-Tribune article, many letters were received concerning the crash. Parts of the following letter from Donna Walters were printed in the "Letters to the Editor" section of the Union-Tribune.
| August 26, 2002 Mr. Mark Sauer Dear Mr. Sauer: Thank you so very much for the wonderful article you wrote on August 25 entitled "Bail Out" and for sharing Mr. Maxion’s remembrance of that tragic day the B-36 crashed into the sea off Mission Beach. It was a moment frozen in time for those of us who saw it happen from our homes. August 5, 1952 seemed like a long time ago until yesterday....then I read your article, and yesterday became today once more, and I cried again....remembering. I can assure you that the Walters’ family has not forgotten that day, and I am proud to report that we have always flown our flag on August 5th in honor of the men who were lost on that peaceful, quiet day in August so many years ago. For you see, we were one of the families living in the small Navy housing project in Ocean Beach at that time, residing at 816 Cordova Street, just two blocks off of Sunset Cliffs between Carmello and Hill Street. We were in one of the "beach communities" referred to in your article. In 1952, my Dad (Ray) was employed as a Lithographer at NEL (Naval Electronics Laboratory) on Point Loma; my Mom (Ruth) was a homemaker, my brother Brian was 12 years old and I was just 6 at the time. Living in and around a military city and environment, we were always fascinated by the airplanes flying overhead, especially the huge B-36, and we lovingly referred to them as "Nosey", because of the seemingly long front section of the front of the aircraft...which looked like a long nose to us. The sound and vibrations of them coming were unmistakable. You could always hear them coming, and could feel the vibrations as they passed over our house. We were always so excited to see them and would say.. ."here comes Nosey" and always run out to see them if we were in the house. For us August 5, 1952 was no different than any other day, or so we first thought...we heard "Nosey" coming, and my Mom, my Brother and I went out on to our back porch to watch as she flew over. My Mom was holding my red corduroy jacket that she had just washed and was going to hang it on the clothesline. When we looked up to see the plane...the three of us just froze...for "Nosey" was in trouble, her wing was on fire and we saw her engine fall off. We watched as she made her big turn toward the ocean, we saw the parachutes and watched in horror and disbelief as she crashed into the sea. My Mom said that it was obvious that someone was definitely guiding that plane away from land, and that person stayed with the plane. The three of us continued to stand on our back porch not believing what we had just seen. We had a little Box Brownie camera with film in it on the shelf in the house, but never thought to take a picture... .we Just couldn’t move. When my Dad came home from work he asked if we had taken a picture. My Mom told him that was the furthest thing from our minds, for the image of that plane was forever etched in our memories, and I am now 56 years old, and I can remember that day as if it happened yesterday. My Dad and Mom have both since passed away, however my brother’s family and I still put our flags out on August 5th each year in memory of the men who lost their lives that day. The fact remains that my family and I may not have even been here had it not been for the sacrifice of the pilot and crew of the B-36, for he guided that huge, shimmering silver plane out towards the sea. The images of the black mushroom-like smoke cloud after she crashed and just knowing that someone was still in the plane, haunts me still. We believe that we as well as hundreds of people, are alive today because of the pilot and crew of the B-36. We are forever grateful for their sacrifice. I must share with you that in 1972. I had the opportunity to know and work with Nancy. Mr. Walt Hoffman’s daughter. We worked together at Travelodge International in El Caj on. with Nancy working in our Franchise Division, and I in our Operations Division. Nancy had just started working for Travelodge, and a group of us were having lunch, and we were just sitting and talking about our families and our Dads in particular, sharing some memorable experiences and stories from childhood, etc. Nancy said that she hardly knew her Dad because he had been killed in a plane crash when she was very, very young and that her Mother had remarried. I asked Nancy what kind of plane her Father was in when it crashed, and she said a B-36! I had that same sinking and empty feeling that I had on that day so long ago in August when I saw the B-36 go down. I didn’t know what to say to her, and asked Nancy if I could share with her something that I had experienced when I was only 6, when I saw a B-36 crash. We both looked at each other and both of us started crying, realizing it was her Father’s B-36 that I had seen crash. She wanted to know what I had seen and I told her. Nancy immediately called her Mother and told her what I had witnessed, and told her that I had lived in the Navy housing project, and I also called my Mom and told her about Nancy. Needless to say it was a very emotional day for everyone. Never in a million years did I ever expect to meet anyone associated with the crash, let alone the daughter of one of the Flight Engineers. I told Nancy and her Mother that my family and I would always be grateful and never forget the sacrifices made that day so long ago. It has now been 30 years since I have seen Nancy, but I will never forget her or her family. Our family moved from Ocean Beach to El Cajon on September 15, 1952, and have remained in El Cajon to this day. Yes, we were to see our beloved "Noseys" once again a number of years later, when they made their final journey over the El Caj on Valley enroute to their final destination in Texas, I believe, for storage and to be disassembled. The last time we saw them, they were heading east and we tearfully watched them until they flew out of sight. All I know is there was nothing quite like those huge planes, and there will be nothing quite like them again. Mr. Sauer, again thank you for the wonderful article you wrote and a special thank you to Mr. Maxion for sharing his very painful and vivid memories of that tragic day with all of us. I just wanted you and Mr. Maxion to know that there was and is a family who remembers that day, and still honors those whose lives were lost. Perhaps you would be so kind as to forward and share my letter with Mr. Maxion, and extend our sympathies to him for the loss of his friends on the B-36, and express our heartfelt appreciation again to all the men who on that day became heroes with their sacrifices. We are forever grateful. Sincerely, Donna Walters |