Airplane on Main Beach

Airplane on Main Beach
Rod Reihl

On one overcast winter day in the early 1960s, a group of us were sitting in the tiny upstairs room of the Main Beach Tower, which was the headquarters at that time. I was sitting in a chair farthest from the windows. Dean Westgaard and Eugene De Paulis were looking out over the beach. Dale Ghere was busy with some paper work.

All of a sudden De Paulis gasped, stood up and jumped toward the narrow hole in the floor leading to the ladder and the room below. Westgaard yelled and made a dive for the stairwell. I quickly stood up and looked out the window to the north. There, coming directly at the tower only about seventy-five yards away was a small single-engine plane! My leap for the hole was too late as I was rudely elbowed out of the way by the preceding bodies. I practically free fell through the opening, waiting for the crash that never came. Poor Dale Ghere was left upstairs wondering what was going on.

At the last second the plane veered slightly to the south, barely missed the tower, landed in the sand, rolled fifty yards or so, and tilted up on its nose. Luckily, it was a bleak winter day and there was no one on the beach. Later they were able to repair the plane and it actually took off under its own power.

There was no harm done except for some high adrenaline rushes!

Footnote by Dale Ghere,

I remember this day also. I was sitting with my back to the window and looking down at some paper work when everyone just sort of disappeared in a flurry. I figured that something was happening out front that needed immediate action so I turned around to see what was causing all of the commotion.

I was caught in one of those experiences where people say that time seemed to stand still. I was looking eyeball to eyeball with the guy in the plane. I doubt that he even saw me he was so focused on the tower. With eyes fixed and jaw locked he was doing everything he could do to miss the tower and land on the beach. I just sat there transfixed in space and time as he drifted by. It felt like I could have just reached out and touched the wing. If he could have taken a picture of me it would have probably shown a slack jaw, big-eyed Cyclops peering out the window. It was all over before I could even flex.

As it turned out I think that he had some kind of fuel problem. He ordered some parts and got the plane fixed. He put in some gas, got a ticket for landing on the beach and took off for who knows where. I always figured he must have been a pretty good pilot to be able to pull off that trick.