In a red clapboard cottage nine miles southeast of Ottawa, Mrs. Lester Kipp was cooking breakfast one morning last week when something about the throb of a nearby aircraft made her look up at the sky through the kitchen window. She was just in time to see a plane explode in the air over a neighbor's barn, then crash in a great ball of orange flame in a nearby field. "Lester," cried Mrs. Kipp to her husband, "go help the people."
The people on the crashing plane were beyond help. One crewman had...
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