514. Faith, Courage, and Survival: Joseph Tippets and the “Harold Gillam Alaska Plane Crash”

A most inspiring true story!  Prayers answered, and tremendous faith and courage were shown by these people!  A most inspiring read!

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Faith, Courage, and Survival: Joseph Tippets and the “Harold Gillam Alaska Plane Crash”

By John Tippets · October 8, 2015, in Meridian Magazine

As the aircraft came to its final resting place, settling into the deep snow, Joseph’s thoughts were obscured by a veil of confusion. In that paralyzing instant, it seemed as if he had ceased to exist—things had happened so fast there was no mental or physical response possible. When the noise subsided and it became quiet, his first moment of consciousness was feeling the cold rain on his face. He realized with a shock that he was standing on the airplane seat with his head and shoulders extending out through a gap in the top of the fuselage.

It was January 5, 1943, and Joe Tippets was a 29-year-old radio engineer employed by the Civil Aeronautics Administration (CAA) and stationed in Alaska. He was one of five passengers on board a Morrison-Knudsen company plane, a Lockheed Electra, headed for a refueling stop on Annette Island before continuing on to Anchorage.

During his years in Alaska, Joe had witnessed a number of serious accident sites, so with the violent nature of this crash into the side of a mountain, he was surprised and thankful to discover that everyone on the plane had survived! Incredibly, the plane’s right wing sheared off as it hit the trees and slowed the impact sufficiently to save them from instant death.

An inventory of their conditions showed that Susan Batzer, a young CAA stenographer, had the most extreme injuries. She had broken bones and a skull fracture and one hand was almost severed. Robert Gebo, an M-K construction superintendent, suffered a broken arm and leg. Dewey Metzdorf, the owner of the Anchorage Hotel, had a broken collarbone, and all the ribs on one side were badly bruised. Percy “Sandy” Cutting, an M-K mechanic, had a back injury. The pilot, Harold Gillam, had cuts and bruises and Joe had a gash in his forehead and stressful pain in his hips and legs.

Hearkening back to his experience as a Boy Scout, Joe’s knowledge of first-aid came in handy as he helped bind up the wounds of the injured, and gave treatment as best he could under the circumstances.

“Miss Batzer suffered greatly from her injuries, but she never once complained. She was always inquiring as to the welfare of the remainder of the people and demanded that they, too, be given some attention…. I feel she knew her condition was precarious and she wanted others to be looked after as well as herself to preserve as many lives as might be possible. I sat up with her and talked to her until she died on the second day. No soldier ever died more bravely for his country than she. We placed her body in the tail end of the airplane and covered it over. It was the best we could do under the circumstances.”

Joe was returning home to Alaska after a Christmas visit with his gravely ill mother in Ogden, Utah. While in Utah, he had visited with a few General Authorities who were interested in learning about his progress of the Church in Alaska. Joe was the first president of the Anchorage LDS branch.

He also contacted family members of several LDS servicemen who were in the Anchorage Branch, including Winifred Davis, the fiancée of Chick Hailes. Winifred sent, with Joseph, a Christmas fruitcake to her intended.

Alta and Joe.

On New Year’s Eve, from the Olympic Hotel in Seattle, Joe had mailed a letter to his wife expressing his love and telling her how much he missed her and their two-year-old son, Johnny. He wrote, “Godspeed our quick reunion and I hope I beat this letter to you!”

The Morrison-Knudsen Company, based in Boise, Idaho, was responsible for many large military and other construction projects throughout the Alaska territory. The company’s chief pilot, Harold Gillam, was at the controls of the Lockheed Electra. For his many flying adventures as a bush pilot, Harold was known as “Thrill-em, Chill-em, Spill-em, but No Kill-em Gillam.”

The flight had departed Seattle’s Boeing Field about one-thirty in the afternoon of January 5th, 1943. After a few hours, clear weather gave way to heavy clouds and turbulence, and the frigid temperatures caused ice to collect along the wings of the plane. Although Gillam was considered one of the best of Alaska pilots, his legendary skills were being tested. And as they approached their destination, a mechanical failure in the left engine propelled the Electra towards a snow-covered mountain near Boca de Quadra, a deep inlet along Alaska’s Southeast coast. Gillam picked up the mike and sent his brief message of warning: “One engine has conked out—expect trouble!” Catching a glimpse of the fast approaching mountains through the window, he dropped the microphone and jerked up on the controls, trying to lift the plane over the oncoming trees.

The crash happened about 6:30 p.m., and as Joe described, “it was like being in an explosion—a shuddering impact, the sound of crushing metal, blindness and extreme pain, at the same moment.”

Joe and Harold were the first ones able to move and, fearing a fire, they pushed the seriously injured Robert Gebo and Dewey Metzdorf out of the wreckage and into the snow. Then, with Sandy’s help, they struggled to free Susan Batzer, whose arm had been pinned in the wreckage. After realizing the fire risk had passed, they laid her gently on the floor of the airplane and attended to her wounds.

The cabin of the plane was so badly smashed they couldn’t use it. However, after concerted effort, Joe and Harold were able to dig out snow, rocks, and trees from under the left wing of the plane and then, using engine tarps, they created a shelter there from the winds and falling snow. The first four days and nights, it rained and snowed constantly, and they couldn’t build much of a fire. Their wet clothing meant they were soaked to the skin. All were dressed in everyday business clothes, completely ill-prepared for the Arctic cold. After the initial shock of the crash had worn off, they opened the nose of the plane and secured their luggage, and were able to change into warmer clothes. But as the rain and snow continued, after a day or two, these clothes also became wet and were removed in favor of something else that was dry. Eventually they had no more clothing to change into. Joe put his wet shoes near the fire to dry them but, unfortunately, they burned and melted beyond use. From that time on, he was without shoes and was only able to wrap his feet in rags.

They were grateful for the few emergency food provisions on the plane that they rationed out with great care: a few cans of corned beef, some sardines, bullion cubes, chocolate bars, coffee and tea … plus they had that fruitcake which had been destined for Chick Hailes. Joe also described:

“I got down on the floor of the plane and went through it inch by inch, searching for leftovers from the lunch we had eaten just before the crash. It all came back clearly, picking up crumbs of bread, frozen grapes, and disintegrated apples. I took this little tray back up under the wing where we were living. Given our circumstances, these small pieces of food were really a treat at the time. I thought for a while that frozen grapes must be the greatest thing since home cooking. We didn’t have many, but they sweetened our mouths and renewed our spirits just a little.

On several occasions, they were able to see or hear search planes looking for them, but their crash site was too far hidden in the trees to be spotted. It was maddening to be so close to being rescued.

On the fifth day, they heard an explosion which Joe and Harold recognized as likely coming from a rock quarry on Annette. Harold Gillam, feeling a particular responsibility for his passengers, hiked his way to a nearby peak and thought he recognized a few landmarks. After returning to the group, he decided to go in earnest to search for help … but, what no one realized, in that stillness and cold, the sound of the explosion had carried almost 30 miles. Joe described Harold’s quest to find rescue:

“It required a high degree of bravery and courage to strike out into that Alaskan wilderness alone. He must have realized that his chances of survival were slim. No one will ever know what suffering he endured in his efforts to find help. A searching party later found his body a few miles down the mountain where he had died while likely trying to get back to us.”

In Anchorage, Alta’s days had been long and full of anguish. At first, the newspaper stories described the extensive efforts being made by boats and planes to comb a vast area of southeast Alaska. But no signs were found of the missing aircraft. On many days, bad weather severely limited the search. Gradually, the articles and reports in the paper diminished. An airplane lost in the wilderness was not uncommon in Alaska. Unknown to most, and likely a consequence of the emotional and physical strain, Alta experienced a miscarriage during this time. It was an additional sad loss for her.

But, Alta believed in prayer and she prayed fervently and steadily for her husband’s welfare and that he would somehow be found and rescued. Alta’s faith was strengthened by a story from her youth. Her grandmother, Sophie Moulton, had been a Mormon pioneer, crossing the expanse of today’s Nebraska and Wyoming in the fall of 1856 as part of the Willie Handcart Company. Trapped by an early snowstorm in the mountains of Wyoming, dozens in the company died, but two-year old Sophie and her whole family had survived.

Another spiritual reinforcement for Alta was a copy of Joe’s patriarchal blessing that he had received in 1939 and which promised him a life of many significant

accomplishments. Alta wanted very much to believe that blessing would somehow be fulfilled. For her little son, Johnny, who celebrated his second birthday just ten days after the airplane’s disappearance, it was a confusing time. He enjoyed sleeping in the big bed, but he missed his dad.

Soon, the official search for the missing plane was abandoned. Some of the correspondence to Alta began to turn to expressions of sorrow and sympathy. Ben Lofgren, their home teacher, who had been with Alta that night when the phone call came that the plane was lost, later said:

“Finally I had to privately agree: there was little possibility that any of them could yet be alive.… It’s been three weeks, and still no word… much as we might hope and pray, there are still the cruel realities of life.”

One of the leaders of the local LDS branch in Alaska had written to Nicholas G. Smith, a General Authority in Salt Lake City who knew the Tippets family. He asked, “What should be done about Alta?” The inquiry was understandable. Alaska, at that time, was not a very accommodating place for a widow with a young child. Elder Smith, however, had a simple answer to the question. He said, “Trust Alta, her judgment will be sound.”

About three weeks after the plane was lost, Omer J. Smith, a young serviceman in the Anchorage branch, went to visit Alta and he observed a noticeable change in her countenance. He wrote:

“This day, when we went to visit, she was all spruced up and smiling. We asked what had happened … did she get word? ‘No,’ she said, ‘but I had an answer to my prayers and I know that he is alive.’ We didn’t want to dissuade her belief, but we thought he now had been missing too long to have survived. She said, ‘I just got to the point where I had to know either yes or no, if he was still alive. I was willing to accept whichever,’ she said, ‘and yes was the answer I got.’”

Other members of the Anchorage Branch had similar experiences,. Captain Harold Johnson and Mac McCarrey went to see Alta and Cora McCarrey remembered her husband returning to the car. He remarked to her that “Alta has either totally lost it and is living in a dream world or she really has had a revelation and knows something that none other can hardly comprehend.” Alta’s only concession Alta and Johnny

was that, if they would give her one more week, she would then follow their advice and start making plans to leave Alaska.

Alta subsequently described: “I told our church friends and CAA officials who visited with me, ‘I know my husband is alive!’…. I went to bed that night and had the first restful, unbroken sleep I had had in three weeks.”

Twenty-one days had now passed since the time of the wreck. Joe was still without shoes, and the rags that wrapped his feet did not protect him much. They were all suffering severely from injuries and frostbitten hands and feet, and they could never seem to get warm. It was agony to attempt to move around. The temperatures were frequently far below zero. In cold weather, the body needs food for fuel, but those emergency rations were pretty much gone. In effect, the four men were slowly starving and freezing to death. So, they concluded, they must get down off the mountain to where it might be warmer.

It was an almost superhuman task to move Metzdorf and Gebo, and items of possible value, down an almost vertical mountain. They would lower a portion of their supplies, canvas, wet clothing, etc., and then climb back up to get the remainder. Every exertion was painful, and because of their injuries, particularly so for Gebo and Metzdorf. It took them nearly two full days to complete the descent and, by the time they reached the bottom, everyone had new bruises from head to foot.

Sandy Cutting took their twenty-two rifle and went out in search of some stray animals, but he found and shot only a squirrel. Any larger animals remained hidden. The four men had squirrel soup five times before they finished him—bones and all. The soup was not very nourishing, but it did help.

It was indeed a little warmer at the bottom of the mountain, and they built a lean-to shelter that helped protect them from the wind. Despite it all, their hunger never seemed to go away. Jointly, in their desperation, they decided that, with Gebo and Metzdorf unable to travel, the only possible way to save themselves was for Cutting and Joe to strike out to search for help. By this time, the four men were bound together as brothers in friendship and mutual need. They thought and acted as though they were as a single unit. It was a heart-wrenching decision to leave Gebo and Metzdorf behind in a helpless condition, but it had to be done.

The night before they set out from camp to find help, Joe retired to the nearby woods, kneeled down in the snow, and prayed.

“I don’t believe any man ever prayed more earnestly than I. It was more than a prayer. I talked to God. I knew God had saved us for some purpose. I knew that in some unknown way we would be delivered. I asked Him for guidance. I also asked that our families be comforted and that our wives might be given the assurance that they were still alive. That prayer was literally fulfilled. As I learned later, it was on the very next day that my wife went to the officials of the organization for

which I work and to the branch presidency and told them she knew I was still alive and that I was on my way for help. Everyone thought she was beside herself, but in her heart she knew. God has a means of communication.”

“I do not know how he answered the prayer that gave my wife the assurance that I was still alive. I do know, however, that the prayer was answered. I know, also, that God can lead men to safety in answer to prayer. I know my prayer was answered because I am still alive to tell this story. Without God’s help, we could never have endured what we were called on to face during the next ten days.”

As Joe and Mr. Cutting made their final preparations, they left the last two bouillon cubes for Gebo and Metzdorf, took a final drink of warm water, and started out for help.

View of crash mountain (right), Weasel Point (foreground), and Boca de Quadra.

Their decision to risk going to look for help was rooted in seeing a body of water in the distance. If they could walk along the shore, they might be able to reach some sort of habitation. It was a wild hope, but the Lord had given them brains and sound bodies, so they felt they should give Him a chance to lead them out of their predicament.

They didn’t walk—they shuffled as they waded through snow nearly eight feet deep. They often had to stop and help pull each other out of a hole. The countryside was rough and fraught with danger, and it slowed their progress to a hopeless pace. The hills were steep, forcing them to zigzag back and forth to avoid sliding helplessly. Enduring the bitter cold night meant they feared freezing to death so they slept close, and would take turns waking each other to make sure they were still alive. Sometimes their wet clothing would freeze together, requiring tremendous effort to separate themselves.

Having a life-and-death dependence on each other, Joe knew they needed each other, and if one should die, the other would surely die, and likewise the other two men they had left

behind. The fear of letting down their friends was constantly on their minds and those thoughts helped to push them to carry on.

When they reached the shore of the bay (Weasel Cove), they were keenly disappointed. Instead of a sandy beach, they found only rocks and logs, and it was necessary for them to travel through the trees. The scene was discouraging. Ice was floating in the water, and it looked dangerously cold. But, after going some distance, looking across the cove, they saw the framework of a cabin. Eager to see if there were food and shelter in the cabin, they had to find a way to reach it. They immediately set out to build a raft, tearing one of their last remaining blankets into strips to tie logs together.

Carefully setting their raft into the water, they quickly learned it was only buoyant enough to hold one of them. As soon as it started to sink, Joe jumped off while Cutting continued to paddle. Joe could only swim back to their launch point, and watch Cutting as he struggled to make it across the bay.

When he got to the abandoned cabin, Cutting found an old and heavily damaged rowboat and two coffee cans, one with some tar in the bottom and the other half full of rice (and infested with weevil). He started back across the bay to get Joe, towing the boat behind the raft. However, as he neared the shore where Joe was waiting, the tide changed. Sandy battled the waves and tide until he could get the raft back to where Joe could wade out and help pull it in. Desperately dependent on each other as they were, the strain of trying to get back together and having the tide determined to keep them separated, was almost too much to bear. Finally reunited on the shore where Joe had a fire burning, they cooked the rice and weevil, and ate it with relish. To them, it was a veritable feast.

The next day was spent repairing the old rowboat, plugging holes with torn pieces of their blanket and by mixing the tar with kapok from their sleeping bag. It worked, but only if they constantly bailed water. So keeping the boat afloat as they crossed over to the cove was challenging, but they needed the protection of the cabin. Soon, as if from heaven, several crows flew down near them and Sandy was able to shoot three of them with the rifle. Immediately, they set to clean them and cook them—and they ate every bit of each bird, except for the feathers.

They were now on a point of land jutting out into Boca de Quadra, which had a narrow outlet to the sea. After a harrowing excursion in their boat to an abandoned cannery to the south, they determined to head to the north and out into the open ocean. They felt if they could make their way to the sea, they were sure to encounter a vessel or find an inhabited place where they could get help.

On Saturday, January 30, they started out, despite knowing their chances were slim, but concern for their two comrades back in camp forced them to take the risk. They both sat in the bottom of the boat using one of the empty coffee cans to scoop water over the side. But the boat leaked faster than they could bail it out. Bailing with one hand and paddling with the other, only about an inch of the boat was above the waterline. Before starting this trip, Joe had a clear prompting not to go. It was more than a feeling, it was a warning.

But, despite the warning, Joe felt compelled to try and save his friends back at camp. As a result they were headed for disaster!

About an hour after they set out, a violent storm suddenly rolled in. The sky turned black and the waves grew angry and more violent. With each passing moment, they fought to keep their little boat from capsizing. But, with the wind and rain, it was simply too much. The boat rolled over, and they lost their overcoats, cooking utensils, and everything but the clothes on their backs. Struggling in the icy water, they were chilled to the bone, fighting off blocks of ice that were floating all around them.

“Our clothing dragged us down and the waves tossed us around. Just for a moment, I lost all faith and was angry with the Lord. Why, I thought, have you let me go through so much, for so long, only to drown here today? But, almost as I completed that thought, with my head barely above water, I found my feet touching the bottom. Pushing off and trying to swim, we kept together and made it the short distance to the shore. But we found only rocky cliffs.”

Battered against the rocks and pulled back into the water by the waves, incredibly, they were finally able to grasp a ledge and pull themselves up on to the bank. It was all they could do to simply collapse and gasp for air, completely exhausted and unable to move. Their hands and feet were bleeding, their clothes were caked with ice, yet they marveled that they had not succumbed to exhaustion or hypothermia while in the water.

Fortunately, they had kept their matches in a small bouillon cube tin sealed with adhesive tape and they were dry. They made a small fire and tried to warm their feet, but it was like trying to thaw a piece of ice. With their clothes still wet and frozen, they set to drying them out. After a great effort, they managed to get warm. Incredibly, they suffered no frostbite or other serious effects from this near-death experience! Doctors later surmised that they were so conditioned to the cold, after almost a month exposed to the elements, that they had been protected.

After traveling some distance, they saw a dark object on the edge of the bay. On investigation they found the remains of their old boat that had been washed upon the shore, beaten against the rocks, and smashed. When they turned it over, Joe found his valuable bundle of documents and papers under the seat, still preserved and dry. Carefully wrapped in oilcloth were: Joe’s Bible, Book of Mormon, and a book by Richard L. Evans, Unto the Hills. The scriptures had been a source of inspiration to him in their trials, and helped Joe to keep up his faith, his courage, and hope.

Fortunately, the end of Weasel Cove was frozen over, so they were able to cross on the ice. But, then, just a few hundred feet short of their camp, they saw a Coast Guard cutter circling to leave the bay. With all the energy they could muster, they ran toward it yelling, falling, and stumbling in their agony and desperation to be seen, but it was too late. The boat kept going, and within seconds heavy discouragement set in. Had they listened to the promptings, and not ventured out into the bay that day, the cutter would surely have seen them and picked them up. Joe was convinced that the boat came into the

bay as an answer to his prayers. They would have been saved that day, but they were not where they should have been.

On Monday, February 1, both Cutting and Joe felt they surely would be rescued that day, but the much hoped for rescue did not come. They had now been without a full meal in almost four weeks. All they could do now was wait at the cabin, hoping that another boat would come in and pick them up.

Exploring up and down the shore, they had previously found some mussels. They hadn’t eaten any before, as they knew some species were poisonous. However, their condition had become so desperate, they decided to try them anyway. If they were going to die, they would at least die with their stomachs full. After collecting as many as they could carry, they built a fire and roasted them. It took a great number of mussels to make an ounce of food, as each mussel was about the size of a match head.

That night they kept waking each other up to see if they were still alive, as they fully expected to be poisoned. When they realized the mussels were safe, the next morning they decided to go for more.

With their situation now seeming even more desperate, Joe wrote a letter to his wife in the small notebook he had kept with him, telling her again of his love for her and for little Johnny. As he wrote each heartfelt word, he hoped that she would never have to read this letter, but facing an uncertain future, he felt it best to be prepared.

He wrote: “My Darlings, I have been going to write a note to you for four weeks, but I have had, and do have, so much faith that it won’t be long until we are together again that I thought it unnecessary. I still do.”

The weather was getting worse. About noon on February 2, they saw a small Coast Guard vessel enter the bay, but it turned in the opposite direction. They could see the boat about six miles down the bay where it appeared to have anchored near the old cannery. They began a vigil, watching the boat, and building a large bonfire. They waited anxiously for a signal, any signal that would indicate they had been spotted, but none came. As darkness fell, they were not able to see the boat and they became even more discouraged.

It was now the third of February. At four a.m., another blizzard started and they woke up unable to see a thing. At five a.m., they built up their fire, and by about nine a.m. the storm finally subsided. Everything around them was white and covered with snow. As the clouds cleared, they didn’t know whether the boat had left the bay or not. But, needing shelter, they turned to go back into the trees to get out of the wind.

A few minutes later, Joe looked at Cutting with a puzzled look, wondering if he had finally lost his mind or was hallucinating. After a few anxious moments, it was clear they had both heard the same noise, the unmistakable sound of a motorboat engine.

Looking out into the bay, they could see the boat (the USCGR ‘Tucsan’) turn toward them. Two men in a rowboat were nearing the shore! Emotions of joy, relief, and gratitude overwhelmed them both, and they waded into the water and practically fell into the boat. The two Coast Guard crewmen, Leonard Olsen and Carl Dudler, were shocked to find survivors of the Gillam crash! Joe and Sandy were soon excitedly taken on board the Tucsan.

The prayers of many people, family and friends, were realized that morning as Joseph Tippets and Sandy Cutting were rescued from a remote beach near Boca de Quadra Inlet. Joe and Sandy’s bonfire had been spotted by the crew of the Tucsan , which just happened to come into the bay. The crew of the boat had noticed their signal fire the night before, but the boat’s captain had waited until morning and for the weather to clear.

The Tucsan headed out for Ketchikan where Joe and Cutting were taken to the hospital. They were weak and they had both lost over sixty pounds. But they only stayed for a few hours, and then insisted on going with the rescue team to find Gebo and Metzdorf. After a brief aerial search, a plane with Cutting on board flew over the campsite of the missing men, and they were able to drop a parcel of food to Metzdorf, who struggled from under the shelter to get it. Amazingly, they were both still alive!

Meanwhile, on board the USS McLane, a party of about twenty men headed up into the wilderness to get the last two survivors. They had somehow survived in these rugged mountains for eight days, stranded without any provisions. During the hike to the campsite, more than half the rescue group suffered various sprains, bruises, and even broken bones. Finally, the next morning they were able to reach Gebo and Metzdorf, and that emotional reunion even affected the stalwart leaders of the rescue team. For the two men, this had been a thirty-one day nightmare of suffering and untold agony. Both Gebo and Metzdorf were lying in nearly three inches of ice and melted snow. Two days later, carried out on stretchers, their incredible ordeal was finally over, and amazingly both men recovered with only a few missing toes.

There was pandemonium in Anchorage when the news broke of the rescue. In the Civil Aeronautics Administration (CAA) offices and corridors, men were weeping unashamedly; the girls were crying, shouting, laughing and embracing one another. According to Chandler Griggs, a CAA official, “Needless to say, work was at a standstill. Never have I seen such a display of happy relief.” Joe’s niece, Mildred Hackett, who had been staying with Alta, reported, “Last night when the word came of finding them, everyone gathered in groups on the street and that is the only thing they discussed. It is very odd, but most of the Church people and even a lot of outsiders hadn’t completely given up hope.” Donna Sainsbury, who was 10 at the time, recalled, “I remember as if it were yesterday. Our little Branch of the Church in Anchorage had been traumatized as this miracle unfolded.”

According to one of Joe’s CAA colleagues, Roy Cliff, “I had sat in the Tippets’ home and heard Alta’s lone, but unalterable, faith that God had more for her husband to accomplish in his lifetime…. The next morning I awoke to hear her courage vindicated and to rejoice with all of Alaska that Joseph and some of his companions had been found.” Alta’s statement to a reporter was heartfelt, “To me, it was simply an answer to prayer.”

The rescue and subsequent reports about the Gillam crash survivors made headlines across the nation. It was an inspiring story of heroism and endurance that brought a welcome respite to many who were weary of news during the darkest days of World War II.

After several more weeks in the hospital, Joseph was finally able to return to Ogden, Utah, and one of the first people he went to see was Brother Jesse Draper, his old scoutmaster. He thanked Brother Draper for his patience and lessons he had taught him about making splints and bandages. Joseph especially remembered learning how to start a fire and about the importance of keeping “dry matches.”

Years after the incident, when Joe was a bishop, he often spoke to youth leaders and encouraged them “not to despair” when young people did not appear to care or pay attention to what was being taught. “Some day they will remember, will appreciate, and will apply those lessons. And they will be very grateful for your words and counsel.”

In looking back over their experience, Joseph recognized God’s outpouring of blessings upon him and those who endured this experience with him. He said:

“We thank God for leading the boat to our rescue. The captain of the boat had ventured out over thirty-five miles from his course to come into that little bay to rescue us. He was influenced to come to that spot in answer to prayer. We regard it as a modern manifestation of God’s power. The influence of the faith and prayers of our good wives and friends did much to bring us safely home. I shall never forget the courage and faith of my companions. Their undaunted courage in the face of adversity will always be an inspiration to me. We join in thanking God for providing so many blessing in our behalf. May we ever remain faithful to Him.”

Joseph Tippets went on to a long career with the Federal Aviation Administration and served as Bishop of the Capital Ward in Washington, D.C. during the 1950s. He was recognized by Brigham Young University in 1967 with an Honorary Doctorate Degree in Public Service. He passed away a year later in Adelphi, Maryland.

———–

John Tippets is the son of Joe and Alta Tippets, and was born in Anchorage, Alaska in 1941. He attended Brigham Young University before serving a Mission in Eastern Canada, then completed his undergraduate and MBA degrees at the University of California, Los Angeles. His working career has included forty-two years associated with American Airlines, the last seventeen as President of the American Airlines Federal Credit Union. He subsequently accepted a three-year assignment as President and CEO of the North Island Credit Union in San Diego.

John is the author of “Hearts of Courage,” the amazing true account of the 1943 Gillam plane crash in southeast Alaska, told largely in his father’s own words. The story was also the subject of a BYU documentary program for their ‘Inspiring Lives’ series. There is presently a “Hearts of Courage” exhibit on display at the Museum of Idaho in Idaho Falls, not far from Arimo, where Joseph was born.

John is a frequent guest speaker for civic groups, conferences, and at firesides and other LDS gatherings. He can be contacted at johntippets@live.com or by Facebook message.