On a mild autumn day with only moderate smog in tt
geles Basin， the Coast Aircraft twin-engine Executive flyi]
thousand feet was in clear view of the tower. It was from
operator， a man named Peterson， that the eyewitness aecou
\"It could have been a backfire. I don t know. But all o
his port engine was on fire， and I mean fire， you know? 1~
just smoke. He came over the hills and he flipped up c
board wing and started to turn， coming around to head f
The fire must have gotten to the main tank， I guess; a
blew. Just like that--whooom! Whoever he was， he did
chance.\"
The man in the plane had been Joseph McCurdy， Jr.， a~
the oldest son and therefore， in effect， head of the
McCurdys， a powerful banking and manufacturing famil，.
terson was right: he did not have a chance.
Burning wreckage from the Executive started half a d
brush fires in the hills above Hollywood， but the fires wq
brought under control. What was left of Joe McCurdy， e~
rubber bag， was carried down the hillside.
From the almost obliterated registration number， owner，
aircraft was established. A Los Angeles County deputy sh
the McCurdy Aircraft plant， and finally reached Walter J~
eral manager， who listened in his expressionless way， and
\"Oh， no[\"
\"We ll need positive identification，\" the deputy said.
kin?\"
\"His son， Marry--Joseph Martin McCurdy III. I ll local
tell him.\" Walter Jordan paused. \"Where should he corn.
identification?\"
%~ ，-1~1，~，-，， ~1~1 1-，.~ ~~T~11 ~^^ ~^ \"~ \" IlY~IJ-^. T^.，-I~--
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