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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