August 29, 1997
Dedication of C-46 crash on Blue Ridge Mountain at Syracuse's P & C Stadium

It was a Friday night when we did our dedication to the pilots of the C-46 airplane that crashed on Blue Ridge Mountain. We were to gather at the Syracuse Skychiefs P&C Stadium around 5:30. I had my three sons, Nicky, Tony, and Dylan along with me, so I knew the night was going to be a challenge. We arrived at the stadium, a short three blocks from our house on the north side of the city and started carrying in our gear.
(P & C Stadium in Syracuse, N.Y.)

I had brought three pieces of the plane we had brought down from the crash site, all parts of one of the motors. We had the cast plaque we will put on the wing of the plane on October 4th. Onondaga County in which I live wanted to remember the crewmen of the plane and made a proclamation for that night. It read:

Many members of the club arrived for the dedication. As time drew near I walked towards home plate. The announcer introduced our group and read the contents of the plaque. A revolutionary war group then gave a 21 gun salute with black powder rifles. Then a man from a local VFW post played taps. Everyone in the stadium stood up. I held the plaque above my head and the song started playing. I have heard this song numerous times in the past, but this time it was different. The music filled the stadium and I knew the three young pilots knew that Syracuse had not forgotten them.

After the ceremony I went up the the table where we had been set up. Many people had stopped by to look at the pictures we had taken on the mountain. It felt great sharing our experiences with them. The night ended quickly. The smell of hot dogs and cotton candy were in the air. As the sun set at the stadium I knew that I had only one task left to close a chapter on the Blue Ridge C-46. That would be to leave the permanent plaque at the crash site on October 4th.

OCTOBER 4, 1997
EXPEDITION #6 TO BLUE RIDGE MOUNTAIN

Three o'clock in the morning always arrives early. My three sons (I sound like Fred McMurray of the 1990's) were staying at my sister-in-laws house, so the house was especially quiet. I wanted to leave by 4:00 a.m. and woke up in a scare when I found out my alarm did not go off. Fortunately it was only 3:05 but I had a lot to do before I could leave. I packed, drilled mounting holes in the plaque and ate a light breakfast. As I started to load the van, my friend Michael Powell arrived. Usually Mike was tasked with babysitting while I mountain climbed, but this time he was able to come. I am sure if he knew the challenge ahead of him he may have stayed home. We brought everything we thought we would need. In my haste I almost forgot a change of clothes.

Our first stop was to meet Paul Dubay at the gate at Griffiths Air Base in Rome, N.Y. With Paul would be Frank Rinaldo, Tom Taylor, and John and Richard Mills. With a few words of greeting we loaded back in the cars to head to Speculator. It was peak color for the leaves, but at 5:00 a.m. everything was pitch black. Our trip was uneventful until we reached Rt. 8. We did not know they were resurfacing the road, but soon we reached a detour. There was no asphalt on the road and it was difficult to know which way to go. We crossed a bridge and found ourselves back on the correct road. By 6:15 we had arrived in town only to find that our meeting place, the coffee shop had gone out of business. This was our spot to discuss the days plans and grab a quick donout. Soon Paul Soderholm and his 7 year old grandson Trent Widrick arrived. Three men, Steve and Gerri Bonske, and a friend from the Saratoga area who had made attempts to reach the plane themselves also arrived. We then departed to the trail. This is one of my favorite parts where the whole convoy heads to the trail. It reminds me of the movie twister where their group mobilizes and chases their goal.

By 7:00 a.m. sharp we were ready to hit the trail. The sun was not completely up, but it was light enough. The trail looked completely different from the last time. There was still snow in May, and it was replaced by a season of growth. Our trail was consumed by brush and every step was a decision in which way to go. Shortly we had reached the Miami river and we made our way to the spot where we had to cross, at the cable. This was my 6th trip and I was getting confident where the cable was. When we reached the spot, the cable was gone. This cable stood since the 1960's and between May and now it was mysteriously removed. Had I missed the spot, were we at the right place? We thought we were at the right location so we found a beaver dam to walk across. By now we were 14 in number. Pete Davis and a friend Jan, a school teacher from Auburn, N.Y. had arrived. I was glad to see Pete, because he had the mounting hardware for the plaque. The beaver dam held up but there was a short branch of the river we still had to cross. It was about 8 feet wide with a small branch that served as a bridge. My friend Mike is somewhat heavier than I, and with my 200 lbs in weight I did not know if the branch would support me. With damp boots we each made it across. We found we had found the spot where the trail picked up again, and up a short hill we continued.

(Trent Widrick holding a propeller from the plane)

We were making great time, and with luck would reach the plane early in the day. Although we were never really lost, we knew the Freemont Brook was always on our right, it was difficult to know where we were. It had rained the night before, and was very foggy. I had used some landmarks on our previous trips like the Haystack Mountains. These could not be seen today. We eventually reached a spot called the clearing. We again noted the two man saw attached to a tree. We told young Trent Widrick that it belonged to Paul Bunyon. It was the saw he used to chop down the trees in the Adirondacks. He believed us. Wonder is an amazing thing. He could imagine Paul cutting down the trees with his blue Ox Babe, and my imagination brought us to this mountain in search of a plane. We were not that different. By this point I was totally soaked. If the man ahead of you grabbed a tree to catch his step a mini rainstorm fell upon you. My only consolation was that without the snow, my feet were fairly dry.

We continued on, knowing we were less than a mile from the plane. Without the visability we needed we did not know where we had to turn up the mountain to reach the plane. Our only true landmark was a large rock in the stream. Unfortunately our trail was not exactly in sight of the stream, and with the leaf cover, we could not see it. We eventually decided we had gone far enough and headed straight up. Nothing looked familiar. We found sheer rock ledges at the top. The trees looked different, the mountain looked different, but with the fog we did not know if we had gone to far or not far enough. Every step up that steep mountain was difficult. Sometimes I could not reach the next foothold so I used my knees to crawl up the hill. The GPS did not work at all. It told us we were too far, and I knew we were not far enough. At 3200 feet we continued to search, and the only thing we found was fresh bear droppings! We decided to regroup at the bottom of the mountain, so down we went. We sent a scouting party ahead to see if they could spot any sight of the trail. Mike's shoe split in half and without repairs he would not be able to go far. By now it was 12:30 in the afternoon, and we still did not know where we were. We decided by 2:00 we would head back even if we did not reach the plane. The plaque I carried was getting heavier in my pack. Someone had duct tape and made the necessary repairs to Mike's shoe.  He decided not to try the mountain again, knowing he had to get back the 4 + miles to the car.

(Plaque attached to wing of plane)

Pete shouted they had found the rock marker and we continued on. Nothing is more bitter than the taste of looming failure. We had come a long way and the thought we would not reach the plane was heavy on my mind. It was quickly replaced by the feeling soon we would be at our goal. A second wind had hit the team as we went along the rivers edge. When we saw the rock it was time to head straight up. I had never had to climb the Blue Ridge Mountain twice in one day, and with the plaque in my pack my legs were giving out. Frank Rinaldo offered to swith packs with me, and eventually I agreed. By this point I was very dehydrated, and getting dizzy. A short rest for a water break and I was ready to continue. The scouting party shot off three shots, BANG! BANG! BANG! They had found the plane! With a renewed spirit I continued to climb. Within 15 minutes we were at the plane. With the cover of snow lifted from the plane the wreckage was all visable.

The first question I had was had the first plaque survived. I wanted to bring it back for the sister of C.G. Pate who had died in the crash. The answer was it was still there! As we visited the crash site I wanted to look for any clue concerning possible grave sites near the wreckage. I knew where the bodies had been found, but with the leaf cover, could not determine where Jim Ryders grandfather had knelt before grave markers at the sight. I will need to return, with rake in hand to groom the site to do further examination. We easily spotted the engines. We found additional propellers that had been sheered from the plane on impact. I saw the tail section of the plane with the identification marker.

(wreckage photo from below the crash)

The three men from Saratoga in one of their expeditions found a hunting camp on another part of the mountain that someone had taken parts of the plane to build. That would explain why much of the fuselage was missing. How they carried it about 1 mile is beyond my comprehension. Pete and Paul Dubay took the plaque from my pack and mounted it on the wing of the plane. I then gathered the members of the Caterpillar Club together and remembered the pilots. I told them of the feelings of the sisters of Charles G. Pate. How they now remember their brother forever young, and be reunited with his family in heaven. I then read the inscription on the plaque. I found out later that young Trent cried during my speech. Who knows how this experience will be remembered in years to come. In 10 years will he bring his friends up to this site to remember the brave pilots who gave their lives on this spot. In 30 years will he bring his children to this spot? Time will tell, but the delivery of this plaque will be forever remembered in his heart and in the Adirondacks. No one who stumbles to this site will question what this plane was doing, or who its crew was. They are now part of its history.

(one of the Pratt & Whitney 2000hp engines)

We had less than 1 hour to spend at the crash site, but 2:00 came around. We knew it was a long journey back so we all said our goodbye's to the airplane. As we were leaving the sun finally broke through the fog. Across the way the haystack mountains were clearly visable. In the distance you could see Snowy Mountain, and it looked to the the rest of the entire world. As far as resting places go, this was clearly in the sight of God!

(attaching plaque to wing of plane)

The way down was less hard than the way up, but more dangerous. One slip could send you out of control. Different muscles were used to get down, and we did not have the snow to cushion the step. With the foliage you could not see exactly where you were stepping, but soon we were back down. Our first task was to find Mike. We quickly did and we were on our way out. I did not want to have to cross the Miami in darkness so we did not take many breaks. We stopped at the clearing to eat a quick snack and say goodbye to Paul Bunyon. Trent wanted to be the trail master on the way out, so we let him lead. I was worried that he would be able to make the 10 mile round trip, but he had more energy than the rest of us combined.

I knew Mike was having a difficult time walking all the way back, and I suffered a terrible cramp in my leg as well. More water and some advil and I was ready to continue. By 4:00 we had reached the Miami again. We made the trip across the tree bridge and beaver dam without incident. Now this is the home stretch, but mostly uphill after a long day. I remember falling through the snow to my hips in the early spring, and thinking the car was an eternity away. My pack was much lighter without the plaque inside, so it was not too difficult walking. The team members were chatting about their experience, and we all wanted to make town, to grab something to eat. As we neared the car Trent and Paul Soderholm started to jog towards the parking area. Frank and I thought that would be a good idea as well, so for the last 100 yards we jogged in as well. I think it was our way of telling the mountain that today we were stronger the the roadblocks it put up! We also know we were only a little away from total failure from finding the plane. Everyone returned safely to the car, mostly very tired, but unscathed.

(escapae hatch with warning message)

I quickly changed into a clean change of clothes and felt like a new man. We all wanted to reach town and get some warm food. The convoy in was a quick trip. Our favorite place to eat was still the Pizza Crust and it was open. It was so busy though it would take a long time to get any food. We were devistated. I questioned them about slices of pizza and they had eight. We took them all and ordered sodas and sat down. It took a long time for the slices to arrive. A table next to us offered us their french fries and we greatfully accepted. They also had a spare piece of pizza and we took. Frank talked to a couple of young kids and he bought two slices from them. Our pieces finally arrived and we had plenty to eat. I think of this as the modern day loaves and fish story like the sermon on the mount. I told a friend of mine that there would be a miracle happen that day, and really there were many. Instead of staying at home watching some football game on television, fourteen members of the Caterpillar Club decided to reach a remote area of the Adirondacks to remember heroes of a time long forgotten. Those three men will now live forever in the memories of our hearts and anyone for the next 100 years who visits that site. We had road blocks our entire trip. The trail was hard to follow. The cable was missing from the stream. The foliage was covered with dew, and mostly we were wet from 7:30 a.m. through out the entire day. The fog blocked our landmarks, and the first climb almost stole our energy to continue. Mike's shoe made it so he could not reach the top, but he permitted us to continue. We worked together as a team. For many it was their first trip to the plane, but we all paid our dues to become members of the club.

(Group photo on wreckage on October 4th, 1997)

Again I want to thank all who have spent the time reading these stories. I have a new motto for the club. Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path, and leave a trail.

A brief history of CHARLES G. PATE, crewmember of the C-46 Army Air Corp plane that crashed into Blue Ridge Mountain, N.Y. Adirondack's on September 19, 1944

By way of introduction, I am Jimmie Jean Pate Bowman, youngest sister of Charles G. Pate. My sister-in-law and sister Iris Pate of Pine Bluff, AR, and Anna Dene Pate Schuler of Tonawanda, have told me about your contacts with them. I understand that you would like to know a little of my brother's personal life, and obtain a photo. Enclosed is a page from "Walter and Rosannah Trimble", a book that includes a portion of my Trimble research. Also enclosed is a color shot of an oil portrait painted by my husband in 1994. It is from probably the last professional photograph made of C.G., as he was known by family and friends.

Pine Bluff High School (AR) where C.G. graduated in 1939, and the Junior High buildings were almost a campus with the high school on one corner, across the street on a block of its own was the Industrial Arts building, and across the street from that was the Junior High building. We could have classes in all three. It was a very strict school in those years - no unauthorized clubs were allowed, dress code, no lingering outside.

The Junior High Football practice field was a short-cut home. After classes C.G. would put his sousaphone, in its case, out of harm's way and join the group on the field. Should I have the misfortune to be spotted, he would talk me into lugging that music monster home, banging against my legs all the while!

After graduating, C.G. was employed by the gas company. He would rush in late, bathe and dress, jump on his bike with me behind him and off we would go to his date's house. I would then ride the bike home. We had no car. I realize this is probably more than you wished to know, but it gives life to facts.

Anna Dene sent me a copy of the article that appeared in the Buffalo paper. I am interested in having a copy of the memorial service, and a photo of the memorial itself. What other records you have, news clippings, etc., I would also like to have for family records. I have the papers sent with his remains - the name of the accompanying officer, as shown on the envelope, was "Present to Lt. A.W. Stephenson (this name was scratched out and above was written Robert L. Stever) at N.Y.C. Depot Rome N.Y. for Presentation to Receiving Funeral director Pine Bluff, Ark." Burial was in Lot 212, SE 1/4 Evergreen Section of Graceland Cemetery, Pine Bluff, AR. His name appears on a Veterans Monument in the cemetary. CHARLES GRANVILLE PATE

Charles was named after his grandfather McCulloh and was a young man with a bright future. World War II was upon us and he was a Lieutenant in the US Army Air Corps. While on a training flight the plane with a three man crew crashed in the Adirondack Mountains of New York State. Despite efforts to locate the downed plane it was eleven months before the crash site was found.

His wallet had been stolen shortly before the fatal flight. Some time later the wallet was anonymously mailed to his mother. It is now in the possession of his younger sister Jimmie Jean Pate Bowman. Among its contents is a copy of a poem and card which may have best expressed his goals in life. They are copied for the insight provided. MY CREED To live as gently as I can To be, no matter where, a man; To take what comes of good or ill And cling to faith and honor still To do my best, and let that stand The record of my brain and hand, And then, should failure come to me, Still work and hope for victory. Edgar A. Guest Commissioned for Christ and Country "Put on the whole armour of God,... and having done all.... stand" (Eph. 6:11-13) This is to recognize the bearer, Charles G. Pate, Pine Bluff Arkansas as an ambassador for Christ and a Representative at large of First Baptist Church Pine Bluff, Ark. By virtue of profession of faith in Christ and his membership in our church I hereby present this Certificate. /s/ Monroe F. Swilley, Jr. Pastor "As the father hath sent me, even so send I you"

Prior to his entry into the Army Air Corps he taught a teen age boys Sunday School Class. He was a baritone and sang in the First Baptist Church choir. He had been active in the Boy Scouts, played baseball and refereed for girls basketball. While attending high school he was a member of the glee club and played the sousaphone in the school band. He loved soft ball and played in the local amateur industrial league where he was the best class B league hitter with a .363 batting average.

Charles Granville (C.G.) Pate, born 01 August 1920, Jamestown, Independence County, Arkansas, the 7th child, third son of James Andrew Pate and Jim Irene McCulloh Pate. BATESVILLE DAILY GUARD, BATESVILLE, ARK. MONDAY, MAY 23, 1994 SOME WWII HEROES NEVER SAW COMBAT

By Jeff Donn - Associated Press Writer

WESTOVER AIR BASE, MASS (AP)

They are perhaps the most forgotten of World War II's forgotten. They never reached Europe or the Pacific. Instead they died thousands of miles from the war in lumbering bombers and crude fighter planes that plowed into snowy New England mountainsides or dropped into the Atlantic, often in the black of night. They were the casualties of flight training, deprived even of the gratitude and honor bestowed on victims of combat.

More than 15,130 men died in World War II flight training across the country, according to the Air force Safety Agency in Albuquerque, N.M. Among them were at least 118 men killed in 35 accidents on training flights from Westover in the western Massachusetts city of Chicopee, according to military and state records. Most died on flights of giant B-24 bombers, which allowed escape only through their underside in a crash. The plane was nichnamed the "liverator," but many called it the "Flying Coffin." The accidents were blamed on mechanical failure nad errors by often inexperienced pilots.

Frank Tencza, a vietnam Veteran from wilbraham, held a 1989 memorial service atop Mount Holyoke for 10 airmen who died in a Westover crash there in late May 1944 as they prepared to invade France on D-Day. That operation, so well-remembered by history, was launched 10 days later without them. This year, Tencza is organining another service at the South Hadley site for Saturday, two days before Memorial Day and nine before the 50th anniversary of D-Day. This one will honor all who died on Westover training flights in Wrold War II. Who would think of training accidents as part of the cost of war?" Tencza asked. "Let's remember them - at least once."

"Nobody in officialdom ever recognized them after they were dead. Within a month, they were forgotten," said Brian Lindner, who organized a similar 1989 service for nine victims of a crash on a mountain in Duxbury, Vt. They were sarcastically known as "90-day wonders," these fledgling fliers mostly in their teens and 20s who were sent to Westover to form crews, gain flight experience, and fly out three months later to join the Army Air Corp's 8th Air Force in Europe.

America's warplanes made a huge contribution in crippling Hitler's Germany. But the staggering losses in combat quickly washed away memories of training accidents, however terrible. "The numbers were absolutely nothing compared to the losses being taken on major raids," said Frank Faulkner, a historian of Westover. Sixty bombers were lost in a single raid over Schweinfurt, Germany, in October 1943. Meanwhile, relatives of training victims were tormented by a feeling that the deaths lacked the meaning and dignity of those who perished in battle.

"I think if he had died in combat, he was fighting for our country. He was only on maneuvers," said Vivian Leite of Middleboro, whose brother, Cpl. Jim Perry, was 18 when he died in October 1944 crash at Duxbury. For her, training victims are the "forgotten heroes." A final thought from Jimmie Jean Pate Bowman

Dear Lord,

So far today, God, I've done all right. I haven't gossiped, haven't lost my temper, haven't been greedy, grumpy, nasty, selfish, or over indulgent. I'm really glad about that. But in a few minutes God, I'm going to get out of bed, and from then on I'm probably going to need a lot more help.

Thank you, in Jesus' name, Amen Anon