Outside Looking In

Damascus disaster
Last week I had the pleasure of talking to Jim Sandaker of Ortonville for two hours and it was one of the most compelling visits I've ever had.
Sandaker was a PTS (Propellent Transfer System) crew member in the Air Force that maintained 18 siloed missiles armed with nuclear warheads in Arkansas. It was the most dangerous job in the military during peace time. PTS members would offload and load propellants on numerous rockets
On Sept. 18, 1980, Sandaker was in close proximity when Titan II, a 106-foot, two-stage rocket with a 9-megaton warhead on top, exploded in Damascus, AK. Titan II was supposedly 600 times more powerful than the bomb dropped on Hiroshima.
"It was the loudest thing I've ever heard in my life," Sandaker said. "It was a giant ball of fire and a huge mushroom cloud as high as you could see. The underground missile had thick concrete walls surrounding it but the explosion blew large chunks of concrete everywhere.
"Concrete chunks the size of trailer houses were flying through the air," Sandaker told. "Rebar as thick as your arm was twisted like pretzels."
Without any regard for his own personal safety, Sandaker volunteered to put on a Rocket Fuel Handlers Clothing Outfit. Including the air pack, rubber boots and runner gloves, the RFHCO suit weighed 60 pounds. Sandaker and another PTS crew member went searching for two men who were inside the silo area when the rocket exploded.
The two men, Airmen David Livingston and Sgt. Jeff Kennedy were eventually found. Although badly wounded, both men were still alive. Sandaker rode in the back of a truck with Livingston, his good friend, and the one brave doctor who remained to help anyone in need, to where they were informed that medical personnel would be stationed one-fourth mile away. But when the truck got there, police, EMT’s, firemen and doctors were nowhere to be seen, likely scared off by the possibility of a radioactive leak. So, the truck proceeded to a small town 15 miles away where a medical triage had been set up.
Sandaker was informed the next day that Livingston didn't make it. Kennedy, although badly burned and with a broken leg, survived the explosion. Several other men were badly wounded.
The accident occurred when a PTS crew member went into the silo to maintain a low pressure reading on the first stage of the rocket. The nine-pound socket he was using was accidentally dropped, falling 80 feet and piercing the fuel tank on the rocket. If the fuel would leak out, the light-skinned rocket would collapse and cause a spontaneous combustion.
Livington and Kennedy went into the silo, wearing the protective suits, to turn on the ventilation fans in an attempt to filter the fumes outside.
The first (lower) stage of the rocket collapsed after the gas escaped and then exploded, thrusting the second stage of the rocket and warhead through a 750-foot concrete and steel door above it. The second stage soon exploded, catapulting the warhead even further away. After a lengthy search, the warhead was located the next day in a ditch. Because of a safety device on the warhead, the damage was limited and no radioactive chemicals leaked out.
Had the warhead exploded, it would have sent massive amounts of radioactive earth into the air. Depending on wind conditions, the dirt could have carried many miles and possibly have killed hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of people in the southern United States who would not have had time to evacuate.
I remember hearing about the Damascus accident when I was in college, but I don't recall the news being as uncomfortable as this.
There is so much more to this story. A documentary was made a few years ago about it in which Sandaker and others told their story.
To this day, Sandaker takes medication for nightmares about the incident.
"I would have nightmare about burning up in my (REFCO) suit and things like that," he said. "I didn't talk about it for a long time, but I decided to give my story for the documentary so David Livingston would be remembered. He was a great guy."

Mascot connection
As I was putting together the "Yesteryear" column of news from the Mascot filed of 100, 75, 50 and 25 years ago, I came across a brief article on the front page of the Jan. 18, 1948 publication that caught my eye.
The headline read: "Mary Lou Muhl is new writer at Mascot".
I knew that was the maiden name of my good friend John Lindstrom's mother. I have known the Lindstrom family for many years. John and I graduated high school together in Tracy and now both he and his mother and brother all live in Willmar where I live.
I gave John a call and it was verified that it was his mother who was hired by the Mascot. Small world.
Mary Lou told me that she worked at the front desk and among some of her duties was to take phone calls and write wedding announcements. She left the Mascot a year later and worked for the telephone company.