The Lick Observatory A-17A
“Low, and Off Course”
AAF # 36-345, May21, 1939
Copyright 2002
By Don R. Jordan

    At 7:13 in the evening on May 21, 1939, Lt. Richard F. Lorenz and his mechanic were killed instantly when their Army A-17A attack aircraft slammed into the Lick Observatory high atop California’s Mt. Hamilton. Lt. Lorenz, age 25, and mechanic Private W. E. Scott, age 40, were enroute back to March Field after completing a night navigation training flight to Hamilton Field. They had flown to Hamilton Field near San Francisco the evening before and had orders to return to March Field after sundown that day.

    However, this was not the first accident for Lt. Lorenz. While doing the research for this story I stumbled upon another accident file involving Lt. Lorenz. That incident occurred on October 8, 1938 while he was flying another A-17A, #36-260.  With him on that flight was another mechanic, Private J.C. Duke. They were flying in a formation with several other A-17s through a small tree lined valley sixty miles south of Eugene, Oregon. Suddenly, out of nowhere, appeared a power transmission line (referred to as a “light line”).  It was stretched across the small canyon directly in front of him. Lt. Lorenz took immediate evasive action to avoid hitting the line, but his attempt was unsuccessful.     His statement to the investigation board reads as follows:

“I was flying directly on the N-E leg of the Medford beam. The ceiling was unlimited with high broken clouds. Due to low smoke and clouds, visibility was very limited to about 3,000 feet above the ground. The light line was strung across a valley and was running perpendicular to my line of flight. The line was covered with black insulation, and I did not see it until 3 or 4 seconds before I hit it. I tried to turn to the left and the ship was in a steep bank when I hit the line with the right wing. I was on an even level with the line when I saw it and attempted to go under it as there was about 50 feet clearance between the line and the ground. I could not pull up because there was another ship directly behind me.”

            (Note: From that statement it appears that the entire fight was flying at no more than 50 feet above the valley floor.)

    Lt. Lorenz was finally able to regain control of his aircraft and continued the flight to March Field. The only damage done to his aircraft was a broken antenna, a broken landing light, and a dent in the leading edge of the right wing. Of course the Army had to pay for the broken power line as well. It was a very close call, and should have taught him a lesson about flying so low in mountainous terrain.  Luck was certainly with him on that day. But as he approached the fog-shrouded slopes of Mt. Hamilton in another A-17A a few months later, his luck would finally run out.

The A-17A was a fairly new aircraft in the Army Air Corp inventory. It was designed in 1935 by the Northrop/Douglas Aircraft Company, and was classified as a Light Attack Bomber. It was also known as the Douglas 8A. The single-engine all-metal aircraft was powered by a 750 horsepower R-1535-13 radial engine and could attain a cruising speed of 170 mph. It was normally armed with five .30 caliber machine guns and could carry a 1,200-pound bomb load. The A-17A was a nice looking airplane and came in both a fixed and retractable landing gear configuration.    The aircraft had departed Hamilton Field on a Contact (visual) Flight Plan at 6:45 that evening. Lt. Lorenz had received an approved Flight Plan for the flight from Hamilton Field to March Field, which contained certain restrictions. The assigned altitude for the first leg of the route was 6,000 feet. He was also to remain on the approved civil airways for the entire flight. Once he was in the vicinity of the Tehachapi Mountains south of Bakersfield, California he could descend at his discretion to 5,500 feet for the remainder of the flight to March Field.

    If Lt. Lorenz had followed the flight plan as filed, he never would have come anywhere near Mt. Hamilton. The airway that he should have been on ran right down the middle of the present day Silicon Valley, and directly over the city of San Jose, California. Mt. Hamilton is more than fifteen miles farther to the east, and considerably lower than his assigned altitude.  The reason for being at such a low altitude has never been determined.  There were witnesses to the accident, but their statements differ considerably. One witness was on horseback about a half-mile below the observatory on the old San Jose road. In his statement to the investigation board Mr. J. Corona said that he first  became aware of the aircraft by hearing the sound of its engine. It was heading in  a southerly direction and was about one half mile to the west of his position. That  would have put it at least one mile to the west of the mountaintop. The direction of travel was consistent with the approved flight plan (i.e., in a southerly direction). Just as the sound of the engine started to fade, it began to get louder again.  In about a minute’s time the aircraft passed directly overhead. But this time it was  heading in a northerly direction. It was so low at that time that the noisy engine
frightened his horse, and he had to work hard to keep the animal under control and to stay mounted. He reported that he could not actually see the aircraft because of the thick, hazy fog, but felt that it was no more than fifty feet above him when it passed overhead. At that time the engine sounded as if it were  “running just fine, and developing plenty of power.”

    He further stated that because of the sound the engine was making, he thought the aircraft was in a dive as it passed overhead. He followed the engine sound through the thick clouds, and soon the aircraft sounded as if it were turning to the east. After the easterly turn was complete, the engine sounded as if the pilot had applied a small amount of power and the aircraft began a gentle climb. Within two seconds of hearing the engine power up, the witness heard the unmistakable explosive sound of a crash. He immediately looked at his watch, which read 7:13 pm. At first he was not aware that the aircraft had actually hit the observatory building.  Thinking that the aircraft had crashed into the small brushy canyon between his position and the observatory, he proceeded to that area and began to search for the downed aircraft. However, he didn’t find any signs of the crash there, so he continued on up the mountain to the observatory. His plan was to use the telephone there to alert the authorities of a plane crash in the vicinity. Once he arrived at the parking lot of the  main building he discovered that the crash had actually occurred there. He was astonished see the remains of the aircraft protruding from the front of the building.  

    The important points in this statement are:

        1. The fact that the aircraft was considerably lower than the observatory at the time.                                                              

        2. That it was maneuvering (turning) in the same general area.

        3. That the engine sounded as if it were running fine seconds before impact.

        4.   And finally, the aircraft that hit the observatory was the same one  heard by this witness, because the engine sounds terminated with the sound of a crash.

Another witness, Dr. C. E. Kron, was in the dormitory not more than one hundred feet from the point of impact. He could hear the sound of an aircraft engine coming very close to where he was standing. This was followed by a dull thud.

    “From the sound I’m sure there was no engine trouble,” said Dr Kron   "Most impressive, was the sudden stoppage of the engine noise. It ceased in a    split second.”

    A conflicting report came from two men driving up the east slope of Mt. Hamilton. Ed Wolford and J .J. Gilleran were driving slowly on the narrow winding road when they heard the sound of an approaching airplane engine. Alarmed by the apparent low altitude of a fast approaching aircraft they stopped their car and got out just in time to see an all-metal Army airplane pass directly overhead. They noted that it was heading in a northerly direction.

“I am sure the motor was missing and sputtering when it passed over us,” said Gilleran. “But I am unable to swear that the plane that had passed overhead, and the one that crash, were one in the same.”

Wolford added, “I heard a plane with its motor sputtering and going north under the clouds. At times his motor cut out completely.”

So it appears that Dr. Kron and Mr. Corona thought the engine was running just fine. And, that just before the crash the airplane was on the west side of Mt. Hamilton. But, Wolford and Gilleran, on the east side, said that the engine was sputtering and cutting out. It must be noted however that an airplane could fly completely around the peak of Mt. Hamilton is less than one minute.  But by far the most stunning and dramatic statement came from Mr. Edward H. Parkhurst of Oakland, California. Mr. Parkhurst and his wife were just arriving at the  parking lot in front of the main observatory building at precisely 7: 13 pm.  

    Mr. Parkhurst's poignant statement reads in part:

". . . At that point I heard the roar of an airplane engine, which appeared to be approaching in the fog from the northwest direction. The roar increased rapidly and seemed to be coming directly at me. I then saw the streak of an airplane as it came into view and quickly struck the side of the building almost simultaneously. It was about 50 feet in front of me, and about ten feet above me. The airplane looked to me like it was in level flight (i.e., wings level), in a slight climb and traveling at a high rate of speed. The airplane went completely through the brick wall of the building, excepting one wing, which was sheared off and remained outside.”

    Parkhurst and his wife were visibly traumatized by what they had just witnessed.
So much so that Mrs. Parkhurst became physically ill from the commotion. After regaining his composure and attending to his wife, Mr. Parkhurst then ran into the building to see if he could provide any assistance to the crew. Once inside he found that the wreckage of the mangled airplane had been practically covered over with falling debris from the demolished building. He and several other people frantically dug through the jumble of rubble and broken airplane parts trying to find the pilot. They found not one, but two bodies and determined that both occupants had been killed instantly by the explosive impact.

    In the excitement of the moment Parkhurst had failed to notice that the room  and wreckage reeked with the smell of aviation gasoline. Within a few minutes he began to feel ill from the acrid fumes. So since there was nothing more he could do anyway, he and his wife left the scene and went back down the mountain and to their home in Oakland.

It was a long quiet ride back down the mountain for the couple. For most of the trip they each just sat in silence thinking about what they had just witnessed, and how close they came to being hit by the ill-fated aircraft. And they thought too about the two young men, who had died before their very eyes.  There are two key points in the Parkhurst statement are -That he said the airplane was more or less in level flight as it skimmed across the parking lot in front of him, and
that the engine was running normally at the instant of impact. The local newspaper headlines contributed greatly to the confusion about what had actually happened. The San Jose Mercury Herald ran a banner headline on May 23, 1939 saying; ‘‘Engine Failure is Possible Cause of Lick Airplane Crash” And the San Francisco Examiner exclaimed; “Observatory Plane Crash Laid to Motor.”

    The Examiner also stated that the witness accompanying Ed Wolford up the  mountain that evening was named Jack Gilman . . . not J. J. Gilleran. Of course at
this late date there is no way to check either spelling, nor would it make any difference.  Another noted discrepancy is that one of the newspapers reported that Lt.
Lorenze (note spelling) made it all the way down to Bakersfield before reversing course and crashing into the observatory. It was later determined that the plane was in the air for not more than twenty-eight minutes before the crash. That is certainly not enough time for them to have flown to Bakersfield and return! The distance is well over two hundred miles.

That same newspaper reported that Lt. Lorenz (e) was probably expecting the crash. It appears that the ignition switch inside the crumbled cockpit was determined to be in the “off position when found. Here again Mr. Parkhurst stated that the engine was running just fine at the instant the aircraft hit the building. Therefore the ignition switch was most likely knocked into the “off “ position by the exploding debris at the moment of impact.

    And then there’s one other odd little report that came from the military itself. One of the more absurd possible causes for this accident was laid to Private Scott who was in the rear seat. It seems that when the investigation board examined the wreckage, they found that the rear cockpit control stick was attached in its socket (it was removable). And on the control stick, they found the ghastly outline of fingers in blood. They theorized that perhaps Scott was actually flying the plane at the time, and that he froze onto the control stick making it impossible for Lorenz to avoid hitting the building. Never mind the fact that Scott wasn’t bleeding until after the crash!  In all likelihood the bloody fingerprints were left by one of the would-be rescuers. Perhaps Mr. Parkhurst, who had helped to remove the bodies from the wreckage before the military had arrived to take charge.

There were also complaints from the military stating that because the bodies, instruments, and controls had been moved before they arrived, they could not examine them as found for clues. Regardless of the reason the fact remains that the A-1 7 was over fifteen miles off course to the east, and almost 2,000 feet lower than its assigned altitude when it slammed into the observatory in relatively level flight and with apparent cruise power on the engine.  After penetrating the eighteen-inch thick brick outside wall of the main building, it then entered the offices of Dr. J. H. Moore and his colleague Dr. D. F. Paddock. Fortunate for the two men they were not working in their offices at the time. The area of impact is now the book store and Gift Shop at the observatory and receives many unknowing visitors daily. But there is nothing in the room today that would give the slightest clue to the horrific event that had occurred there in 1939.  After completely destroying the two offices the aircraft continued on like a projectile fired from a cannon.  It then penetrated the inside wall which was also eighteen inches thick. The large, heavy radial engine and propeller finally came to rest in the hallway just outside of the two offices.

The Regents of the University of California estimated the cost of repair the building to be around six to eight thousand dollars. Fortunately none of the expensive equipment, or the telescopes themselves was damaged. However, there was some loss of historical data that was being stored in the two destroyed rooms. Dr. W. H. Wright wrote a paper for the “Scientific Monthly” shortly after the crash in which he described the effects of the crash on the scientific instruments within the complex.

     Lick Observatory was name for James Lick (1796-1 876), and was built on the mountaintop in 1888. Mount Hamilton was named for The Reverend Laurentine Hamilton (1826-1882), who in 1861 was reportedly the first person to climb to its summit. The mountain was named for him later that same year.  Four years before this accident Dr. R G. Aitken, former head of the observatory, had made a formal protest to Army authorities against planes flying low over the mountaintop just to get a look at the observatory. In his written protest he stated that Army planes had narrowly missed hitting the telescope domes on several occasions. It is not recorded what action was taken.

The last paragraph in this story is dedicated to Private Scott, the mechanic onboard the A-17A.  When his battered lifeless body was recovered from the wreckage a poem was found in his tattered blood stained pocket. It was entitled “The Airman’s Lament,” and was grimly prophetic of his own fate. It read:

“When the last long flight is ended,
and the happy landings past,
I’ll point her nose to the ceiling
and I’ll give my crate the gun
I’ll open her up and let her zoom
For the airport of the sun.

“There I’ll meet my fellow pilots
Now no longer flying low,
As I stow my crate in the hanger,
On the field where flyers go.

“There we will fly forever,
With the Almighty flying boss,
And ride all Heaven’s airways
From Orion to the Cross.”

(Unknown author)

(Special note)

All black and white photos are digitally reproduced from copies on file at the Lick Observatory.  They are printed here by special permission.
Courtesy of University of California Observatories, Lick Observatory.

Special thanks to Tony Misch and Lotus Baker
Final edit 9/6/2003 DJ


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