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The Gander terminal's duty-free shop was open during the one-hour stop, and Clerk Cynthia Goodyear found the place invaded by exuberant Americans who sang along to the recorded Christmas carols as they picked out gifts. One blond soldier bought a money clip inscribed "Super Dad" for his father and crystal glasses for his mother. "They were clicking their fingers and just so happy to be going home," Goodyear recalled. One favorite souvenir: a T shirt reading I SURVIVED GANDER, NEWFOUNDLAND.
As the DC-8 prepared to lift off once again, a light snow was falling under overcast skies, but visibility was a good twelve miles. Pilot Griffin was first told by the tower to take off to the west, which would have put the plane quickly over the town of Gander and its 12,000 residents. Fortunately for the town, the wind shifted and the captain was directed to use a runway toward the south.
After clearing the Arrow DC-8 for takeoff at 6:45 a.m., the Gander tower operators heard nothing more from the crew. The four-engine jet began its roll, speeding past Deadman's Pond on its left, and its wheels left the runway at 6:49. It was airborne for less than one minute before veering to its right and dropping.
"I saw the plane kind of make a slow descent and disappear, and a mushroom of flame shot right into the air," said Boyce Jardine, who was driving nearby. "Actually, there was no noise at all. It was like watching a silent movie." But others heard a sound. "I saw a flash in the sky, like a sunset," said Judy Parsons, another motorist. "Then, in a couple of seconds, I heard an explosion. Then black smoke starting coming up." The witnesses seemed to agree on one vital point: the plane exploded after it plowed into the small trees near Gander Lake, not before.
Rescue crews reached the site in eight minutes and quenched the fires in 90 minutes, but none of the plane's occupants could be helped. Soon the area was eerily dark except for the colored lights and searching flashlights of the workers, whose main duty was to retrieve bodies. The victims were placed on plastic sheets in neat rows in a nearby hangar. Their bodies were to be flown this week to Dover Air Force Base in Delaware, where forensic experts would undertake the difficult chore of establishing firm identifications.
At Fort Campbell, some 200 relatives and friends had gathered for the expected early-morning homecoming of husbands, fathers, brothers, sisters, sons and daughters. A military band was in place in the base gymnasium for a merry Christmas welcome. But reports of the crash soon spread through the crowd, and at 9 a.m. Brigade Commander John P. Herrling somberly confirmed the rumors.
Flags at the base dropped to half-staff, and preparations were begun for a memorial service this week to be attended by President Reagan. Later, two-man military teams began carrying out a duty as difficult as any combat the legendary division has experienced. At houses and apartments across the U.S., the grim messengers knocked on doors to deliver the feared official notification: the Eagles had fallen.