Dick Fettig recalled the explosion when a plane crashed into the house behind him. The sound has not been erased out of my memory, he says. NANCY McCARTHY The Daily Astorian
Gardener Robin Powers collected plants for 20 years to put in the garden around the house owned by Greg and Nancy Marshall. The crash, he says, was a most traumatic thing. Its still a most traumatic thing. NANCY McCARTHY The Daily Astorian
Rebuilding can turn negative into a positive, says homeowner
GEARHART - The vacant lot where a house once stood will have a house once again, says Greg Marshall.
"The plan is to rebuild the same house, the same floor plan, the same look," said Marshall, who, with his wife, Nancy, owns the property where a plane crashed into their home Aug. 4.
"The challenge will be how to create the old beach house feel."
Marshall said he hopes they will be able to move into their new home by the end of next summer.
The couple has moved "from the stage of bewilderment to acceptance" following the crash, Marshall said.
"We've got to accept what happened and move on. There's no use fighting it."
The Marshalls bought the house at 398 N. Marion Ave. 20 years ago. It became the focus of family gatherings. They spent long weekends there, playing golf and enjoying the beach.
Even nearly two months after a plane crashed into a Gearhart house, flowers are brought to remember the three children who died there. Nothing is left on the property, but owners Greg and Nancy Marshall plan to build a house that looks like the house that was destroyed. Photo by NANCY McCARTHY - The Daily Astorian
They are "continually amazed" about how many people have told them they used to live in or visit the house, which was nearly 90 years old, Marshall said.
Once they were notified of the crash, they arrived at the house "soon after it was cinders," Marshall said, and they were overwhelmed by the compassion that people expressed. Now, he added, "We expect they will do what we're trying to do - turn a negative into a positive."
They haven't been in contact with the other families involved in the tragedy. But Marshall said he wishes the compassion extended to them would be extended to the families of Jason Ketcheson and Frank Toohey, the pilot and passenger in the plane.
"Those family members were equally devastated. They are not the villains. That was the last thing on their minds."
'I appreciate every day of my life even more' (video) Tragic memories linger for Gearhart residents
Some citizens think memorial would honor victims in plane crash, help town heal
GEARHART - Whenever Jacob Redekop and his wife, Judith, walk through their garden, they are reminded of that awful day nearly two months ago.
Their cherry tree, singed by the fire, is dead, but the pear tree is hanging on.
"Every time we come out here, we find glass," Redekop said. "There are pieces of Venetian blind in our garden. The hydrangea bushes don't take heat very well.
"Every time a plane flies over or a child is hurt, we relive that terrible morning," he said.
On Aug. 4, a single-engine plane crashed into a Gearhart house and exploded into flames, killing three children: Julia Reimann, 10, of Beaverton, and her cousins, Hesam "Sam" Farrar Masoudi, 12, and Grace Masoudi, 7, of Denver, Colo. A mother and two other children were treated for serious burns at a Portland hospital and released several days later.
The plane's pilot, Jason Ketcheson, of Cannon Beach, and passenger Frank Toohey, of Cullaby Lake, also died.
Ketcheson, an experienced pilot, had taken off from the Seaside Airport just after 6:30 a.m. At 6:37 a.m., the plane began to tumble from the sky, clipped some tree branches and pitched into the house at 398 N. Marion Ave. Cause of the crash is still being investigated by the Federal Aviation Administration and National Transportation Safety Board.
Life is precious
If there's one thing that those who witnessed the plane crash have learned in the past two months, it's that life is precious and death is random. The lesson learned is almost a cliché, but clichés, as neighbors surrounding the site know too well, are based in truth.
"It can happen, it is real. It happened just a few feet away from us," said Redekop, as he stood in his garden, pointing to the trees where the plane clipped his branches. The trees are only about 25 feet from the bedroom window where he and his wife were sleeping.
"I was still drowsy, just getting out of being drowsy," recalled Redekop, whose house is adjacent to the property where the crash occurred. "I heard an airplane coming by, and it sounded awfully low. The next thing I heard was a tremendous crash. My wife jumped out of bed and ran downstairs. She screamed that the whole house next door was on fire.
"Fire was leaping out from the house and into my garden - about 20 feet. How anyone got out of that house alive was a miracle," Redekop said. "It was a ball of flame. My children used to play in that house."
At first, he said, there's disbelief.
"How could this happen to a seashore town? There's disbelief, then finally acceptance, then belief, then the grieving process.
"I'm a physician, too. I see death every day. But it still hits me as hard as everyone else. I guess the community is still dealing with this."
Then Redekop echoed what others also said.
"Why should I be spared? I'm in my 70s. Why should children with just a few years of life be taken away? I struggle with the injustice of it every day."
Community feels vulnerable
Everyone in town knows Greg and Nancy Marshall, who own the property, Redekop said. "It's a small town."
"The community will go on as before, but there's a sense of vulnerability that wasn't there before. It's going to be in our psyche for a long time - the randomness of it all. If the plane had crashed just 30 feet to the north, no one (on the ground) would have been killed."
Jacob Redekop still sees evidence of the crash in his garden. A physician who sees death often, Redekop says this experience "still hits me as hard as everyone else." Photo by NANCY McCARTHY - The Daily Astorian
The house on the north side of the Marshall's house also received damage, but no one was inside it at the time.
"I sure hope we've learned that life is very precious, very transient, and death is random. It will be part of our history for a long, long time."
While he expects another house will be built on the property eventually, Redekop said he hopes there might be room for some kind of remembrance "so the family has some place to grieve."
"My first reaction is to have a memorial park or children's playground, where children can play," he said. Something "joyous" should be placed there, Redekop added.
"I never get tired of children's laughter."
The sound remains
Cars still drive by 398 N. Marion Ave. and slow down, while heads turn to look at the site, which has been cleared. Even the stone fireplace - the only thing still standing after the fire - is gone. Only gravel remains. All of the flowers, stuffed animals and hand-scrawled condolences that collected there for several days are gone. Occasionally, however, a small bouquet will appear on the stone steps leading to the site.
"There has been an outpouring of support," said Dick Fettig, who lives in the house behind the now vacant lot. Cars stop, back up, people take pictures. Flowers are replaced constantly. I don't know how long that will last.
"People are looking at us all the time. I'm not used to that. We're the focus of attention."
Fettig has collected many photos of the fire in an album. The first photo shows his white picket fence in front of a wall of flames. The photo, taken by Fettig's sister-in-law, Joyce Beckett, appeared in The Daily Astorian the morning of the fire.
"I knew there was big trouble in the house," Fettig recalled. "I had seen a lot of people in there."
Fettig grabbed his hose and started spraying the roof of his garage, which was about 30 inches from the fire. Firefighters also started spraying the garage. "I could see steam coming off of it; in another one or two minutes it would have burst into flames," Fettig said.
Whenever he hears a plane now, he walks outside, searching the sky.
"Just about every day I 'hear' the crash," said Fettig, who was sleeping soundly when the plane hit the house. A few seconds later, an explosion occurred. "The sound is not erased from my memory."
He believes that a bench installed at the tennis courts with a plaque would be an appropriate way to remember those who died.
A friend, who knows that Fettig's house is about 50 feet from the site, told him, "Dick, it looks like that was not your day."
"I appreciate every day of my life even more," Fettig said.
A new perspective
Even though the property is cleared, the memory hasn't gone away, said Clatsop County Commissioner Patricia Roberts, who lives three houses to the west of the site.
"We are all numb," she said. "You hear about these things happening. You also look at the senselessness of it all."
She said she is thankful that the firefighters from Gearhart, Seaside, Warrenton and Lewis and Clark who responded to the call were able to contain the fire.
The property at 398 N. Marion Ave. in Gearhart has been cleared since a small plane hit the house that had been there for nearly 90 years. Many plants died from the fire that engulfed the house. Photo by NANCY McCARTHY - The Daily Astorian
"I see the site is cleared, but that empty space used to be a great house," Roberts said. "That has gone away."
Now, she said, she realizes that "nothing is more important than this day. It puts things into perspective.
"You can make plans, but God's laughing at us when we say we have a plan.'"
Life, she added, isn't a matter of logic. "It's just a matter of chance."
Like Fettig, she finds it difficult to believe how many people drive and walk by to view the site.
"We all know children died and adults died, and that affects us. I think the memorial is the community moving on and accepting it and embracing life. Enjoying it and knowing there are risks. That's what we have to do."
Signs of renewal
Twenty years ago, the house at 398 N. Marion Ave. had no garden. Robin Powers changed that.
"We planted a new yard," said Powers, who is the gardener for the property's owners, the Marshalls. "The beds were not here at all."
But gradually, Powers collected a "couple hundred" varieties of flowers - "everything under the sun." He planted 15 different kinds of mints and 15 types of alliums.
"You see those lilies over there?" asked Powers, pointing to Jacob Redekop's yard. "Well, I had one of every color here."
Gearhart residents talk about the crash every day, Powers said. The Vietnam veteran says some people may be going through something similar to post traumatic stress disorder.
"You're layin' in bed. Boom! Next thing you know, you're on the floor," said Powers, who has talked to Redekop and other neighbors about that August morning.
"It has been the most distressing month. ... It was the most traumatic thing. It's still a most traumatic thing."
But Powers is quick to praise the emergency crews for risking their lives to help those inside the house. Still, he said, the area needs a hospital that can handle trauma patients without sending them to Portland.
"Everywhere there's a home there's a potential disaster," he said.
Powers, who said he wants to see the Marshalls "have their house back," has already started to think about replanting the yard. He has his own variety of climbing rose - Red Elizabeth flora bunda - that once covered the front porch, and he may replant it. Although the property looks as if nothing survived, Powers sees a sign of renewal in a small purple bloom of a periwinkle, a vinca major. Purple flowers are fairly rare, he said.
"I'm a stubborn guy," Powers added. "I see that and I know there's a little rebirth.
