A feat of superb airmanship
Excerpts from the book: "E’ il Comandante che vi parla (This is your Captain Speaking)" By Corrado Schreiber
In one of my trips to New York with the DC-7C the only very difficult and dramatic (but that could have been tragic) episode of my career happened to me. I was captain of Alitalia Flight 602 of April 21 of 1959 from Rome to Milan and to New York and I had left Milan since a few hours, to New York, skipping the stopover in Shannon because unfavourable winds were not expected to require an additional supply of fuel.
The night was calm, we were expected to arrive on time, the flight had become a quiet Atlantic navigation. I left the cockpit after the usual recommendations to the first officer and I went to lie down in bed. I was relaxing for ten minutes when I heard on the left side of the plane, two strong and deaf blows, accompanied by a dry and decisive shake . Immediately returned to the cockpit. The engine number two, namely the inner left was crazy, the speed regulator was not working anymore. The propeller was spinning much more than the engine could tolerate, and was screaming; the tone of the engine, in fact, exceeded the other three’s.
In the meantime the parameters, oil pressure and temperature, were outside the norm.
Together with an engineer (there were two on board) I decided immediately to “Feather” the engine. In doing so the propeller would become neutral to the direction of flight, the engine would stop and we returned to base, which was much closer than the destination. But when the engineer operated the electric actuator for "Feathering" the propeller, it refused to take up to neutral and continued in its mad rush. There was no applicable procedure in the "emergency check ist".
The fact that the propeller didn’t stop involved a huge risk because it created a large aerodynamic resistance and also continuing to turn, would drag all the moving gears and motor (shaft, connecting rods, pistons and accessories) to a failure. The damage would have been severe and might even ignite an inextinguishable fire on board until the cause had ceased.
The fire could also have spread to the area of fuel tanks with easy to understand consequences. Due to the uselessness of the normal emergency procedures, a sudden bright idea was needed.
The engineer cut off the oil from the engine: I hoped that without lubrication it "seized". As a matter of fact, a few minutes after, a new shake convinced us that the motor shaft had broken. A danger was averted. However, the propeller continued to turn on its own and aerodynamic imbalances were disrupting the flying order. The propeller spinner had become a burning block sparkling in the night. The radio operator, had already launched the MAY-DAY message, followed by the sentence: Unable to Maintain attitude.
I realized that the burning shaft of the propeller, sooner or later would cut off, heading, perhaps, toward the fuselage. It is not unlikely that this incident has occurred in more than a plane crash.
I was already down to fourteen thousand feet and had ordered the cab for 'decompression', so if the propeller had struck the fuselage, there was not the risk of an explosive decompression. Knowing the direction of rotation of the engine I impressed to the aircraft a left upward spiral trajectory.
Doing so I gave the propeller, in addition to the centrifugal force, another one caused by gyroscopic precession with a resultant direction that would have detach it from the engine on a course perpendicular to the wing, thus avoiding either the fuselage and the outboard engine.
The propeller, or rather the hot block, pulled away in the right way just as I had expected, and disappeared into the ocean.
The second and dangerous part of the emergency was over. In the propeller spinner place was left a small glowing crater. I decided not to discharge the fire suppressant, which I preferred to keep in case of need. I made up my mind to increase speed: the rushing wind had its effect and the crater was slowly reduced until it disappeared altogether.
I must now face the third phase: the immediate landing at the closest available airport. I decided to land in Shannon. The co-pilot and navigator did prepare the route, distance and flight time. I asked the engineer to calculate the total weight of the planned landing: about Fifty eight thousand Kilos, too many compared to the maximum allowed landing weight of fifty thousand. I had to reduce the weight by damping fuel, but I thought it was not prudent. I did not know exactly what the real damage to the airframe was and how many incandescent particles could still be around. I decided to make an overweight landing. I tried to glide gently, and then if any damage had occurred to the structure, not a big deal: this was not a bigger risk compared to the possibility of a fire.
Like, I think, it happens to all pilots in difficult situations, I made an exceptionally smooth landing. Usually, a bad landing occurs when everything appears simple and easy. Arriving to the parking there was a small crowd of people and an Air France crew. The commander wanted to board to congratulate me. The recognition that came from an unknown fellow, pleased me.
In all this hubbub, thankfully, the passengers had not realized that something was wrong; I had informed them that there was a failure on board and were heading to an alternate airport for landing. But they learned the truth only upon landing, when everything was happily resolved.
The newspapers reported the event all over Europe and I cannot deny that I liked the big appreciative titles. I was struck especially by the title of a German newspaper: "Gut gemacht, riders!" (Well done, pilot!)
It was a rare experience which confirmed, once again, the high degree of safety attained by scheduled flights. Even in a totally unexpected event, everything had gone for the best.
'The commander Corrado Schreiber was awarded with a Silver Medal for Aeronautic Valour for the conduct in this difficult emergency'