It happened today, 25 years ago. I fell from the sky.
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One Crazy Day at work!
My work day started around 11:30 am. It was a Thursday, brisk and sunny. We gathered for the daily crew meeting. After it, we promptly went to the hangar and prepared the Goodyear Blimp, “Spirit of Akron,” for the day’s flights.
After launching blimp from the hangar, we flew passenger flights every half hour between noon and 5 pm. Once those flights were complete, a helicopter from channel WEWS 5 ABC arrived to film the blimp for a commercial about Monday Night Football.
In-between the passenger flights, I created the day sign messages for running during the TV commercial filming. Since I was going to be aboard the ship for the filming flight, I went to lunch during the last passenger flight.
When I returned, the crew was refueling the blimp. Me and the pilot boarded the ship, and I quickly installed the night sign computer. The crew launched us, and we were off. Once aloft, I booted up the Blimp’s sign computer and started the day messages for the TV commercial. I got back in the co-pilot seat and listened on the radio to whether or not the messaging looked good from the ground.
Everything looked good, and we began flying several approaches for the helicopter and a videographer on the ground. The network filming the commercial, pleased with the footage they got, released us from the shoot.
Earlier during the crew meeting, it was decided that once the television network was finished filming, the blimp would continue flying until our shift was over for the day.
We broke off from our base at Wingfoot Lake and headed east. The pilot gave me the flight controls for a few minutes while he filled out his logs. It was not unusual for me to fly because, for the amount of time my job had me aboard the ship, I should at least be able to handle the blimp. At the time, I was working towards my pilot’s license and desiring to become a blimp pilot.
I gave the pilot back the flight controls. We continued flying eastward while climbing to our normal cruising height. During the flight, we noticed that the airship was not behaving as expected. The ship began to drift left slightly, and the nose began to dip. The pilot tried to steer left to position the blimp back into the wind, but the blimp continued to drift left and the nose began to dip even more. The pilot checked the warning panel but saw no indication of a malfunction. At this point, he asked me to go back to the AFT mechanics compartment to see if both sets of fins were moving.
There were four fins placed in an X-pattern at the tail of the GZ-22, called ruddervators. These ruddervators, a combination of a rudder and an elevator, were used to control the blimp’s pitch and yaw, allowing the pilot to steer and control the airship’s direction.
I got to the AFT. The rear of the compartment contained the electronic control boxes for the fly-by-wire electronics and a pair of triple redundant servo actuators. The actuators ran the cables that controlled the ruddervators. There was a small rectangular window in the AFT compartment exit door that allowed for viewing the bottom fins and cabling. Looking out it, I was pleased to see the control cables weren’t broken. But I heard an extremely loud grinding sound—a metal-to-metal grinding!
I returned to the front of the gondola and told the pilot I heard a loud grinding noise that seemed to correspond to his control inputs. I told him I was going back AFT with headphones so we could talk and troubleshoot.
I went back AFT, and as soon as I plugged the headphones into the jack at the fuel mixing panel, I heard the pilot swearing and such. This raised my concerns. For the first time, I think it hit me that we were in real trouble. I started thinking that just above me were fuel tanks filled with Jet A. I quickly decided it was time to leave the AFT compartment. I had one more look out the AFT window and remember seeing the beautiful blue sky.
As I opened the door back into the gondola, the first thing I saw was the front of the envelope tear apart as we hit the treetops of a large-looking forest. Many things started going through my mind. I really wasn’t scared; I just thought, where could I be safe? I chose not to sit in any seat. The seats in the GZ-22 had tall backs to them, so I just stood behind one in the middle of the gondola on the starboard side.
Ironically, I started saying things to myself as we plunged deeper into the trees. When I saw the envelope, that comforting helium-inflated bag that allows us to float just rip apart, I thought, Hmm, that’s expensive. When the gondola’s windscreen (canopy) shattered into pieces after hitting a large tree trunk. I thought to myself that we didn’t have another one of those. I believe that my mind was actually making me think about the situation differently and not panic.
After what strangely felt like forever, yet at the same time felt like a split second, we came rest in a pile of large trees. I instinctively go for the passenger door on the port side and open it. The gondola was lying somewhat on its right side, making it almost impossible to exit. I heard the pilot call me out from the ground. He had exited out the front of the gondola since the windscreen was blown out. I jumped out there also and saw the port engine still running. It was wrapping up the night sign harness around the engine propeller, eating it up with each revolution. I reached in and adjusted the left engine throttle to shut down the turbine engine.
I remember asking the pilot, where are we at? And before he could answer, people started coming from different directions. Although these folks probably had good intentions, I was worried to have them come close to the accident scene. I immediately shouted out; it’s going to blow. They kept coming, so I added some profanity, and they got the hint.
The pilot was in a bit of shock, and understandably so, I let him have his moment. I noticed that he had cut himself exiting the gondola on the jagged plexiglass left from the windscreen. I took my bandana that I had and made him a quick tourniquet.
I started to figure out that we weren’t far from Wingfoot Lake Base as our crew quickly arrived by the crew bus and semi-truck. I remember vividly that my blood was pumping like I’d run a marathon! It was decided that the pilot and myself would be transported to Akron City Hospital by ambulance. I kept telling them I was fine and just needed to walk it off. I said, “Just let me walk back to the hangar.” An EMT laughed and said OKAY if you let me check your blood pressure. It was off the charts, and they explained that I was in a bit of shock too. So, off we went to the hospital. As we left, I will forever remember the scene; it was so surreal. The blimp’s tail sticking out of trees, the multitude of emergency vehicle lights, media, and the traffic that seemed for go on for miles.
We arrived at the hospital, and I saw a couple of Goodyear Public Relations folks there already polishing the story. We were for the most part fine. The pilot needed a couple of stitches, and I was just amped up from the whole ordeal.
My sister, a nurse, was at the hospital when we arrived. She brought me back out to Wingfoot Lake after I was released by the hospital to get my truck. I remember the manager of Airship Operations repeatedly stating, “Don’t worry, we’re going to rebuild.” We went out to the hangar, and they already had an envelope laid out! I did notice though it was a GZ-20A bag. I didn’t say anything out loud, but I knew that was truly the end of the GZ-22.
The rebuild of the blimp and the inquisition into the accident would go on for quite a while. The National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) conducted an investigation into an accident involving a GZ-22 airship in Mogadore, Ohio, on October 28, 1999. The accident occurred during a forced landing, and both the pilot and the technician on board escaped injury. The NTSB determined the probable cause of the accident to be the failure of the flight control system manufacturer to meet design specifications that resulted in stripped splines. The gear teeth of the splined shafts on the output side of the port actuator were worn to 25 percent of their original thickness and did not provide full flight control input. Hardness testing revealed the output shafts of both the port and starboard actuators did not meet the manufacturer’s specified hardness requirement. The Goodyear Tire & Rubber Co. concluded that the airship would not be rebuilt as a result of the accident.
