National Affairs: Death in the Evening

New York's LaGuardia Field lay dreary and grey under a pelt of snow. In mid-afternoon 95 chattering, winter-clad passengers deposited themselves impatiently aboard Northeast Airlines' 2:45 p.m. flight to Miami, strapped themselves in their seats and settled back to contemplate the prospects of frolicking in the 80° warmth of Miami Beach—just four airline hours away, they thought.

The minutes on the ground stretched into hours, for LaGuardia was hemmed in by fog and snow to within three-quarters of a mile's visibility, and the unrelenting snow had piled up on the big wings of Northeast's DC-6A. Flight 823's Captain Alva Marsh, 48, a 19-year transport veteran, stood by waiting for clearance. Finally Pilot Marsh checked the weather again, decided to go. It was 6:01 p.m. when the plane lumbered down the runway into the darkness, lifted heavily off the ground and, slowly gaining altitude, went into an inexplicable left turn over the East River. Only twelve seconds after the takeoff, it steepened its turn and began to settle. Seconds later it hit the ground, burst into flames. Plight 823 was down on tiny Rikers Island in the middle of the river.

Screaming passengers—many of them with clothes blazing—jumped from the wreckage and staggered away. First to the rescue were 50 fast-moving trusties from the island's city-run penitentiary, who rushed outside, fought their way to the planeside and helped survivors to safety. The count: of the six crew members and 95 passengers aboard, 20 killed, 50-odd hospitalized. Said Pilot Marsh dazedly: "Her power just drained out. She just wouldn't go up."