Times Union, Albany, USA
Section: MAIN
Page: A1
FRIDAY, December 23, 1988BODIES, WRECKAGE CREATE GRIM SCENE
By Mike Leary Knight-Ridder
The crumpled cockpit of the Pan Am jumbo jet lay on its side atop a windswept hilltop east of town, its nose shattered, its steel ribbing sticking out. Bodies, draped in white plastic sheets, were strewn about.
A smashed section of wing lay in another farm field a few miles closer to town. There were more bodies, undraped and unrecognizable, bloody pulp with bits of cloth adhering. Miniature liquor bottles, unbroken, were scattered about the bodies.
At the edge of town, one of the airliner's seats with its unfortunate female passenger still strapped in, her arms and legs akimbo, was embedded in the wreckage of a gray stucco row house. One of the plane's rubber life rafts lay deflated amid the rubble.
A few blocks away, a huge jet engine had corkscrewed into the pavement. Several locals posed next to it for photographers, as if it were a trophy.
Across town, in the Sherwood Park section, there was only a jagged 30- foot deep crater, partly filled with jet fuel, where four houses once stood. Around the crater's rim stood the burned-out hulks of more homes. The blackened, twisted wreckage of automobiles littered the main road linking Glasgow with England through the south.
This was the 6-mile-long path of destruction cut by the doomed airliner after it disintegrated at 31,000 feet Wednesday night. This was how as many as 280 people died - 258 passengers bound for New York and 22 local residents named Thursday as dead or missing. This was the site revealed at dawn Thursday.
"This is what could not be seen at night," said British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, obviously shaken after a tour of the area. "The destruction of the houses ... and the crater and the amount of metal and debris all around. ... It's far worse than I thought, and one had no idea till one came here of the enormous area over which debris is spread."
As she spoke, police officers behind her in the field where the cockpit lay were busily scooping up credit cards, luggage tags and billfolds from the grass and placing them in clear plastic bags. In distant fields, soldiers, some with dogs, could be seen searching among grazing sheep for more bits of bodies and shards of metal. Each piece was being precisely plotted to aid investigators in reconstructing the crash.
In the air, Royal Air Force helicopters were systematically photographing the forests and fields around town, hoping to catch the glint of metal and alert ground searchers to take a closer look.
By midmorning, the police had sealed off six main sites where debris fell. In the town, residents tried to go about their business, as if everything was normal. It wasn't. Joggers dashed past smoldering houses, ducking under yellow tape strips hung by the police to cordon off damaged areas; paperboys delivered issues picturing their own town ablaze on the front page.
Mandy Andrews pushed her youngsters, Cheryl and Dean, in a stroller past the huge jet engine embedded in the pavement not far from her front door. She glanced at it sideways with a look of horror.
"There was a sound like thunder and the sky was suddenly on fire," she said. "I could see this big round glowing object dropping toward my house. I thought it was bomb. I didn't know what to think. I thought we might die."
She patted her daughter on the head. "Cheryl slept through it all," she said. "After it hit, I ran upstairs and she was stretched out, asleep. I gave her a hug. I was so glad we were still alive."
Down the road, Ella Ramsden's house was the only one in that area damaged by flying debris, and it was pulverized, but she miraculously escaped injury.
The house had apparently been battered by flying bodies, including that of the woman still in her seat. The belongings of the dead - shredded suitcases and camera cases - lay in heaps with her household goods.
Morris Henry, a local contractor, did not escape. He and his wife were among the local adults and children listed as missing by police Thursday afternoon.
"His house was there," said a neighbor, pointing to the ominous- looking crater as the first rays of sunshine stuck it.
"It (the sky) was even brighter when the plane fell," he said. "The sky was brilliant, the streets were on fire, the rooftops were on fire. It was raining molten metal. The fire hydrants were damaged so there was no water pressure. The firemen had to stand and watch it all burn."
The previous night, Jerry Ross, a cattle dealer and one of Henry's friends, sat slumped in his damaged house on the town's main street. "This has been a horrific day," he said, puffing on a hand-rolled cigarette. "My friend is dead."
He had been painting his living room wall when the plane crashed and shrapnel-like objects whizzed through his windows. He threw himself onto the floor, shielding his wife. He was still shaken hours later.
As Thursday dawned, his spirits perked up. He resumed painting. Workmen showed up to replace his shattered windows.
Across the street at the Townfoot gasoline station and tire dealership, owner Sam Hamilton struggled to smile. He pointed to his damaged house - "That one, the one with the television antenna knocked crooked. But my family is intact."
In the back of his store, a pile of scrap tires had been set ablaze, but in his warehouse all his new stock was undamaged.
"I'm just thankful," he said. "This is a day everybody in Lockerbie is thanking God they're alive."