Munson: The Life and Death of a Yankee Captain (43 page)

Thurman’s death would cause the 1980 roster to change, with Chris Chambliss traded away to get a replacement catcher in Rick Cerone from Toronto. “With Thurman playing more first base in the end, we thought it might be the end for Chris in New York anyway,” said Audra Chambliss. “We hated to leave, but that’s baseball.”

Billy Martin would get himself fired again after punching out a marshmallow salesman in a bar. Dick Howser would be named manager. Gene Michael became the team’s general manager.

In September 1979, the NTSB issued its accident report, based on the investigation of Edward McAvoy. He cited “startling mistakes” by Thurman and concluded:

“In summary,” said the report, “the Safety Board concludes that the pilot’s conduct of the flight set the stage for oversight and confusion. His disregard for standard practices, procedures and regulations created an atmosphere in which he could not recognize a worsening situation. Perhaps a more experienced pilot would have recognized the dangerous situation more readily and may have taken proper and timely action … Therefore, the Safety Board concludes that the manner in which the pilot conducted his flight was the primary factor which precipitated the accident sequence, not his training and experience.”

McAvoy explained, “One employee of A-Flite, an Akron company, taught Munson instrument flying, and another, the operator of the flight center, was the designated FAA examiner. Similarly, one employee of FlightSafety International, Inc., in Wichita, taught Munson to fly his new Citation jet, and another tested him and gave him an FAA jet rating.”

“Cessna had a contract with FlightSafety to provide flight training to purchasers of Citation jets and Munson received the flight lessons as part of a purchase package,” observes Ettie Ward in the
book
Courting the Yankees
. “Although most purchasers were required to get their instruction at FlightSafety’s Wichita site and divide their time, on a prescribed basis, between simulator training time and actual flying, much of Munson’s instruction in flying his new jet took place while traveling to and from baseball games on the West Coast and the All Star Game in Seattle. At the time of the crash, Munson had just 41 hours of flying time in the Cessna Citation and only six hours as pilot-in-command.”

Said McAvoy, “This opens the door to Munson’s being a novice pilot.”

Despite the findings of the NTSB, Diana was advised to sue Cessna and FlightSafety, the company that trained and certified Thurman to fly the Citation. (Cessna reported that it was the first Citation in the United States to be involved in an accident.) She retained a Canton attorney, Eugene Okey, a former minor league player and amateur pilot himself. Assisting him at trial was Daniel C. Cathcart, who had a long history of litigation in airline accidents, including the 1977 Canary Islands collision between KLM and Pan Am jets, and the 1979 American Airlines DC-10 crash, at the time the worst air disaster in history.

The suit, filed in federal district court in Akron, Thurman’s birthplace, in 1980, sought $42 million in damages. Basically, the suit claimed that Cessna and FlightSafety should be liable because of the very findings of the NTSB report—that the sale of the jet and training were a package deal, and that it was in Cessna’s interest to grant a license so they could sell the plane.

A claim was also made about design defect in the cabin entry door, which contributed to preventing Thurman’s rescue.

The value of the plane, $1,218,900, was part of the claim in the suit. An additional $3 million was sought for Munson’s “conscious pain and suffering” while he was still alive. Punitive damages of $9 million were sought, in part “because of alleged negligence in the use of high-pressure sales tactics to induce Munson to buy a sophisticated
aircraft, when the company knew he was a pilot of limited experience.”

Cessna’s lawyers claimed that Munson “crashed not because he should not have been flying a Citation, but because he should not have been flying at all on August 2, 1979. He was fatigued from a late flight in bad weather the night before, and in pain from persistent knee problems, which were aggravated by an injury the night before that necessitated his removal from the game. He was overly complacent in the relatively undemanding circumstances on August 2, 1979, and was under stress from various concerns. All these things together were a prescription for the disaster that occurred.”

Leading to the trial, depositions were taken from Billy Martin, Graig Nettles, and Reggie Jackson about Thurman’s piloting abilities, and from Yogi Berra and Gabe Paul about his future earning potential in baseball that was lost.

It took four years and approximately $127,000 in expenses for the case to go to trial—five years from the time of the accident. But on May 25, 1984, after only four days of testimony, the parties agreed to settle the case. (Only Cessna was a defendant at this point; Flight-Safety had reached a separate settlement.) The settlement amount was never announced, but it was said that the $1.69 million figure reported in the press was “an understatement.”

The Yankees, in an unrelated move, also sued FlightSafety and Cessna, making similar claims through their lawyer, John McCarthy of Cleveland, but suing over their loss of services of their player, whom they likened to property or “unique chattel” in terms of market value. But the district court ruled against the Yankees, noting that their loss was “merely a remote and indirect consequence” of the defendants’ actions.

“The accident changed the way aircraft manufacturers, insurance companies, and the FAA look at ‘hurriedly training pilots in new aircraft,’” says Jerry Anderson. “Today, it takes twenty-five to fifty hours
of flying with a safety pilot before you can move up to a more complicated aircraft and fly on your own. It’s ironic that Thurman’s death helped change the aviation industry and probably saved many other pilots and passengers from a similar fate.”

Despite the findings of the NTSB regarding Thurman’s pilot skills that day, three people did survive the crash thanks to the actions he took under emergency circumstances. Yes, Thurman survived the crash, only to die in the fire. He would likely not have lost his life had the plane not hit the tree stump. And when the plane came to a halt on Greenburg Road, Thurman’s last words were of concern for his passengers—“Are you guys okay?” He had saved their lives with his actions in landing the doomed aircraft.

“Thurman flew that airplane to the last nanosecond,” says Anderson. “He kept it under control and brought us down. He never panicked. He saved our lives.”

Ruth Munson died in 1987 in Canton and is buried a few steps from her son. Darrell Munson died in April 1991 in Alexandria, Louisiana, probably on his way to or from Florida, where he alternated stays with his Tucson residence.

Even Thurman’s classmates, so loving in their recollections, all seemed aware of the “difficult” circumstances of his upbringing. All things considered, Thurman ended the cycle that began at least with his grandparents, if not earlier. The Munson children are well-adjusted, good citizens of the community, living happy and productive lives.

What ended this cycle and made Thurman the man he was, rather than someone who might have been doomed to a lifetime of psychiatric care, discussing his parents?

Basically, two things saved him. First was his discovery at age twelve of Diana Dominick and his acceptance into her family, giving him a sense of how things should be. He used that to raise his children
and to create a family for himself that he never had. Tony “Tote” Dominick, who died in 1985, was both a father-in-law and a best buddy.

Second was his gift of being an elite athlete, which kept him active in sports year-round and provided him with good coaching supervision, good role models, and close friends.

“What saved Thurm was his talent,” says his brother Duane. “If he had been just an ordinary ballplayer and fumbled around the league or not made it, nothing would have saved him. And the Dominicks weren’t much of a family, but they were Diane’s family and she became his wife. The bottom line was that he made some bad decisions, didn’t know who his friends really were, and for some reason, gave up on his roots, for whatever reasons. I contributed to that too because I left home and missed his high school years. That hurt me a lot and maybe it hurt him too. I hope not, but I have to believe it may have. Maybe I could have been a more positive influence on his life, who knows. Janice sure wasn’t a positive influence on him when she was there and I’m not convinced that any of the Dominicks were either. Things just seemed to snowball and happen for no particular reason. I only ever took credit for making him a little tougher and more competitive. I think I succeeded and have no regrets in those areas, just that I wasn’t there at some times when he probably needed an ear and a real friend, particularly a family friend.”

“Thurman was a helluva ballplayer. Aside from that I’m not giving him any credit,” says Darla. “He wasn’t nice to his family. His dad might have been a creep and you wouldn’t have liked him, but at least he worked an honest day’s living. He took care of us honestly. He didn’t go around doing other things to make money.”

Thurman’s siblings did not manage to maintain a close relationship with Diana and her children, and eventually Janice and Duane settled in Georgia, with Darla the one remaining sister in Canton. As in all cases where families go through such periods, the stories tend
to have different interpretations depending on who is doing the telling. Of this there is no doubt: Thurman sought to break free of the Munsons and very much embraced the Dominicks, and later found the happiness of a long-denied family life in the family where he was the dad. And he conducted that part of his life just fine.

One might wish that the surviving siblings had a closer relationship to Diana and her children, and in fact to one another, but perhaps it was their destiny, given the home they emerged from.

An impressive grave site was constructed for Thurman near the entrance at Sunset Hills, not far from what is now Munson Street. It is in Section 1, Lot 6. An etching of Thurman in his home uniform, bat held in his left hand, appears above the inscription

On a lower section of the grave under and to the left of the word
MUNSON
(with a space for Diane on the right), it says simply

There is a 15 on the rear of the massive stone.

Munson’s uniform number 15 was retired on the spot during the ceremonies at Yankee Stadium following his death, and his locker remained vacant, although sometimes used to store equipment. It isn’t glassed in or untouched. Plans for the new Yankee Stadium called for Thurman’s locker to be placed in its museum portion.

The plaque for Thurman in Yankee Stadium’s Monument Park was dedicated on September 20, 1980, and says:

The copy on the smaller marker in front of his retired uniform number says:

A 5,700-seat minor league ballpark at 2501 Allen Avenue SE in Canton was built and named Thurman Munson Memorial Stadium in 1989, serving as home to an Eastern League farm team in the Indians organization. Lou Piniella was among those who attended the dedication. A small round number 15 surrounded by pinstripes can be seen on the outfield wall, but the signage for the park was minimal and it wasn’t well received by those who rate minor league parks for architecture and ambience.
By 1996, the stadium had lost that Eastern League team, and it shifted to use by the independent Frontier League, where Michael Munson played for the Canton Crocodiles (later to be called the Coyotes). He wore number 15, wherever he played.

By 2007 no professional games were being played there, but Ma-lone College, a small Christian college located just blocks away from Thurman’s Frazer Avenue home, played their home games there. The home on Frazer is occupied, but unmarked by any sort of marker. “This is a big-time football town,” sighs Joanne (Fulz) Murray, Diana’s friend. “So, as a professional baseball player, Thurman wasn’t so widely embraced and honored locally, nothing close to how fans feel about him in New York.”

A senior center was named in Thurman’s honor at the Horace Mann School on Grace Avenue NE.

After Thurman died, Linda Fisk, Carlton’s wife, sent a sincere, handwritten letter to Diana Munson. She describes the growing respect Carlton had for Thurman and, despite the rivalry and negativity reported in the media, she explains that a real bond was developing between the two men. Speaking for Carlton, she writes: “I don’t think he knows how to play without hurt but he told me he felt like he lost family and might as well have stayed in the hotel instead of playing when he heard of the crash—emotional pain can’t be iced down.”