As the 55-year-old-director of an IT company, I’ve taken hundreds of flights for business and pleasure — and experienced my fair share of hard landings.
So when the plane I took to a meeting in Toronto on Monday, February 17 — Delta Endeavor Flight 4819 from Minneapolis — hit the runway with a loud bang and jolted about, I wasn’t particularly alarmed.
Within seconds, however, that changed.
Suddenly, it was frighteningly obvious that something was seriously wrong.
There was more snow on the ground than expected and the plane was unsteady. Then it skidded sideways to the right and I thought we were going to slide right off the runway.
But then came another deafening sound, which I now know was the wing on the right side of the plane ripping clean off and exploding. I was sitting in a window seat on row nine near the left wing and saw a horrifying fireball engulf the opposite window across the aisle.
Next thing I knew, we began to roll. It felt like we rolled multiple times but, watching the video footage afterwards, it was clear we just flipped straight over.
I don’t really remember the next few minutes. I got tossed about so much and hit my head that I think I blacked out for a while. When I came to, I realized the plane was inverted. People were crying and screaming.
Company director Nate Richie, 55, remembers coming to after the Delta plane crash to find himself hanging in mid-air, suspended by his seatbelt. People were crying and screaming
When the plane hit the runway with a loud bang, Nate wasn’t initially worried. Then came another deafening sound: the wing on the right side of the plane had ripped clean off
Most of us were hanging in mid-air, suspended by our seatbelts.
My instinct was to unbuckle as quickly as I could. As soon as I did, I dropped to the floor of the plane — or rather the ceiling, because we were upside down — landing by the man who had been sitting next to me.
He was middle-aged like me. And just a few minutes earlier, we had been chit-chatting during the descent. He’d stopped watching a movie on his phone and I’d put my book away — ironically the autobiography of one of the Navy Seals who killed Osama Bin Laden, titled No Easy Day.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked my neighbor. He nodded and we looked around, surveying the bizarre scene.
Three other men near us were still hanging above us in their seats, blood rushing to their heads. They were having a hard time unbuckling, so we rushed to help them.
By now, the smell of the gas was overpowering.
Jet fuel, leaking from the broken wing, was pounding the windows. I sounded like a torrential rainstorm.
I was suddenly terrified that we were about ignite. If the fuselage went up in flames, there would be no way of getting out alive.
My thoughts turned to my wife, Rachael, 43, my four children — one boy and three girls, the youngest of whom was just 13 — my three grandchildren and my mom. How would they manage without me?
I wanted to call or text Rachael to tell her I loved her in case I didn’t survive, but my phone had flown out of my hand during the crash landing.
I spied it a few feet away and managed to grab it. But as I was rushing to switch it off airplane mode, I noticed a few passengers were starting to move towards an open exit door.
Despite the terror, Nate describes how passengers were respectful and let people take turns to leave the plane, exiting row by row, just like you would on a regular flight.
The two flight attendants — God bless them — were hollering instructions, telling us to leave our belongings behind and get out the plane as fast as possible.
They were very professional, directing us to move quickly and move toward the door. Hats off to them. Really, we owe them our lives for their calm, fast response.
Despite the terror we all felt, everyone was respectful, letting their fellow passengers exit row by row, just like you would on a regular flight.
When I reached the door, I saw it was about a three-foot drop to the tarmac. Two men, who were among the first to get off, were standing on the runway, helping people with the jump despite the fact we didn’t know whether the plane could soon go up in flames.
Emergency responders on the ground told us to move towards a fire truck, about 50 yards away from the plane. On the way, I finally managed to call my wife.
‘We just crashed,’ I said.
She asked if I was OK. And, at the time, I thought I told her that I was, but she later told me that I’d replied: ‘I don’t know.’
I turned back towards the plane and took a photograph. ‘This isn’t normal,’ I thought. ‘It’s not normal to walk away from a plane crash.’
We huddled behind the fire truck, shivering in the cold. Temperatures were far below freezing at just 17 degrees Fahrenheit and there was a 40mph wind.
I wasn’t wearing my coat because it had been stashed in the overhead bins. I would have given it to someone else if I’d had it, there were children on the plane — which had carried 80 passengers and crew in all — and they were understandably very scared and crying.
A minute or two later, we saw and heard another explosion — smaller this time — close to the rear of the plane. People gasped in horror.
Ambulances drove onto the runway; fire trucks dealt with the blaze.
First responders asked for anyone who was physically or visibly injured to come forward. One man’s face was covered in blood, possibly from a head injury. At least he was upright and walking, I thought.
It felt like a long time — maybe 20 more minutes — before buses arrived to pick up the rest of us. It was blessedly warm on the bus. They took us to the terminal where the police gathered information including our names and addresses, phone numbers and dates of birth.
I asked for medical treatment — my head was pounding, my neck and back were stiff. They put me in a neck brace and took me to a hospital in a suburb of Toronto, where I underwent a series of tests and physical examinations.
After the crash, Nate’s head was pounding, his neck and back were stiff. They put him in a neck brace and took him to hospital, where he had a series of tests and examinations
During that time in hospital, I received over 100 text messages from relatives, friends and colleagues who’d heard what had happened. We’re a Christian family and a lot of people wrote that they’d been praying for me. In fact, I’ve been overwhelmed by people’s kindness since the disaster.
A Canadian colleague, who lives close to the airport, called to ask if there was anything he could do.
After I was discharged from hospital, he drove me to a motel in Toronto where I tried to get some sleep. I was still in shock and sore, and barely managed an hour or two.
Every time I woke up, the crash replayed in my head. Nearly two weeks on, the thoughts of what might have played out still keeps me awake at night.
The next day, Delta offered to fly us back home, in my case to Cape Coral, Florida. But I wasn’t going to step on another plane!
In an extraordinary show of support, a group of friends and colleagues put their heads together and organized my 1,500-mile journey home. They formed a relay team, driving me from Toronto to Florida in separate stages.
My injuries meant I couldn’t sit in the passenger seat for long, so, delayed by some bad weather in Kentucky, it took three full days to get back.
It was only when I embraced my wife Rachael on the doorstep of our house, that I finally felt I could release all my emotions.
We were kissing and crying. My 13-year-old daughter, the only one of my children who still lives at home, threw herself into my arms, tears pouring down her cheeks.
‘Daddy,’ she said. ‘I’m so happy you are safe.’
I still don’t know the full toll the disaster will have on me — physically and mentally. I’ve been referred to specialists for my back and neck injuries and still get violent headaches. But I’ve been shocked by the devastating psychological effects.
I’ve always considered myself to be a strong man. I had to be during my seven years in the US Marines when I served as a staff sergeant during the first Gulf War in the early 1990s.
But now I feel emotionally weak. I’m trying to process the feelings that hit me. The last thing I want is to bottle them up and push them aside.
I saw a therapist last week. I told him I was feeling an intense sadness, almost like the grief you feel when you’ve lost a loved one. I’ve cried a lot throughout this process — something I don’t fully understand.
Delta called me the day I got home from Toronto. They offered me and the other passengers a sum of $30,000 for what happened. They said there were no strings attached and accepting the money wouldn’t affect my rights, but I’m still worried about the expensive medical bills and the potential loss of income ahead.
I usually fly twice a month for work but I may never be able to fly again. How am I going to keep my job when I can’t take a plane anywhere?
I’ve hired an attorney, Ardalan Montazer, who is filing a lawsuit against Delta on my behalf. In the meantime, I’m turning to my faith to help me through the coming months and years.
I feel that God spared my life — and the other 79 survivors — for a reason.
As told to Jane Ridley, Real-life Correspondent for the Daily Mail. If you have a story you’d like to share, please email jane.ridley@mailonline.com
