the earliest dated August 17, 1942, the day following the crash. Several of the clippings showed faded pictures of the ill-fated craft drifting over the city. Other photos captured the gondola teetering on its single-wheel landing gear, the deflated gray envelope of the airship draped over it. Sam’s eyes passed from the pictures to the news clippings with their bold headlines: U.S. NAVY BLIMp FALLS In DALY CITY; CREW MISSINg Patrol Craft Hits House in Street Crash
A derelict navy blimp, its crew of two missing, drifted in from the ocean and crashed into the street in Daly City yesterday. Sagging in the middle like a broken cigar, with big rips visible in the bag and its motors idle, the blimp wandered crazily at treetop height over the Lake Merced area and drew a throng of
hundreds pursuing it by automobile and afoot before it came gently to earth on a suburban street …”
Several hours later, no trace had been found of the crew, although a continuing search was in progress at sea and in the area surrounding the crash scene. All of the parachutes and the rubber raft were found in the gondola. Two life belts were missing.
The news stories concerning the crash declined in intensity as the days passed, and they gradually slipped from the front page to the inside columns.
They told of a depth charge from the blimp found on the property of a local country club. The navy scrambled to come up with theories for the crash to explain the missing crew. But none of them fit the facts of a perfectly airworthy ship, its engines in working order with a full tank of fuel. Microscopic and chemical tests ruled out the possibility that the craft went down at sea before being blown back over the coast. There were no traces of salt water anywhere on the blimp.
Sam continued to pick through the file. It contained a number of pieces of correspondence—
telegrams and letters—to family members and next of kin. One letter was addressed to “Mrs.
James Spencer,” informing her that it was the conclusion of the board that her husband had been lost at sea while on patrol. Sam guessed that this was the letter that Jennifer Davies was shown by her mother as a child. There was another letter dated a week later. Sam read the half-page document: Dear Mrs. Spencer:
I write to convey my deepest sympathies on the loss of your husband. All of us who knew Jim greatly admired him. I have been asked to go through his personal belongings at the base and return them to you. Enclosed you will find an inventory of these items, which will be delivered to you by courier in a few days. If there is anything that I can do please do not hesitate to call on me. Captain Jack Caulford U.S.N.
Sam turned the page and perused the attached inventory. Halfway down the list his eyes came to an abrupt stop. He peered at 59
the words in disbelief. Four page document stamped “The Jade House, Old Chinatown Lane, San Francisco, California.”
Bogardus sat for a long time staring at the page. His eyes isolated the entry. Why would the parchments sent to Jennifer Davies’s mother thirty years before suddenly be mailed to her daughter with a note that James Spencer was alive? More importantly, where had the parchments been all these years since the war?
He returned his attention to the file and found a list of exhibits and a large brown envelope clipped to the back page of the file folder itself. Sam opened the flap on the envelope and pulled out several yellowing photos. One was a picture of the blimp with its ground crew assembled in front of the huge airship. The figures were too small to discern any facial features. There were news photographs of the crash site and pictures of the blimp as it drifted over the city and finally a head-and-shoulder photograph of a man in a blue naval uniform and white service cap. Sam turned the photo over and on the back on a typed label was the name “Chief Petty Officer Raymond Slade.” Sam turned the photo over and studied the
A derelict navy blimp, its crew of two missing, drifted in from the ocean and crashed into the street in Daly City yesterday. Sagging in the middle like a broken cigar, with big rips visible in the bag and its motors idle, the blimp wandered crazily at treetop height over the Lake Merced area and drew a throng of
hundreds pursuing it by automobile and afoot before it came gently to earth on a suburban street …”
Several hours later, no trace had been found of the crew, although a continuing search was in progress at sea and in the area surrounding the crash scene. All of the parachutes and the rubber raft were found in the gondola. Two life belts were missing.
The news stories concerning the crash declined in intensity as the days passed, and they gradually slipped from the front page to the inside columns.
They told of a depth charge from the blimp found on the property of a local country club. The navy scrambled to come up with theories for the crash to explain the missing crew. But none of them fit the facts of a perfectly airworthy ship, its engines in working order with a full tank of fuel. Microscopic and chemical tests ruled out the possibility that the craft went down at sea before being blown back over the coast. There were no traces of salt water anywhere on the blimp.
Sam continued to pick through the file. It contained a number of pieces of correspondence—
telegrams and letters—to family members and next of kin. One letter was addressed to “Mrs.
James Spencer,” informing her that it was the conclusion of the board that her husband had been lost at sea while on patrol. Sam guessed that this was the letter that Jennifer Davies was shown by her mother as a child. There was another letter dated a week later. Sam read the half-page document: Dear Mrs. Spencer:
I write to convey my deepest sympathies on the loss of your husband. All of us who knew Jim greatly admired him. I have been asked to go through his personal belongings at the base and return them to you. Enclosed you will find an inventory of these items, which will be delivered to you by courier in a few days. If there is anything that I can do please do not hesitate to call on me. Captain Jack Caulford U.S.N.
Sam turned the page and perused the attached inventory. Halfway down the list his eyes came to an abrupt stop. He peered at 59
the words in disbelief. Four page document stamped “The Jade House, Old Chinatown Lane, San Francisco, California.”
Bogardus sat for a long time staring at the page. His eyes isolated the entry. Why would the parchments sent to Jennifer Davies’s mother thirty years before suddenly be mailed to her daughter with a note that James Spencer was alive? More importantly, where had the parchments been all these years since the war?
He returned his attention to the file and found a list of exhibits and a large brown envelope clipped to the back page of the file folder itself. Sam opened the flap on the envelope and pulled out several yellowing photos. One was a picture of the blimp with its ground crew assembled in front of the huge airship. The figures were too small to discern any facial features. There were news photographs of the crash site and pictures of the blimp as it drifted over the city and finally a head-and-shoulder photograph of a man in a blue naval uniform and white service cap. Sam turned the photo over and on the back on a typed label was the name “Chief Petty Officer Raymond Slade.” Sam turned the photo over and studied the
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