Terror on Flight 811

February 24, 1989. The day was just one hour old. Along with my wife, Linda, I hoped to be back on our home soil in Australia in 12 hours or so. Flight 811 to New Zealand, the first leg of our trip home, promised to be little more than a routine flight.

Twenty minutes into our journey, we were startled by a loud thud on the plane’s right-hand side. A section of the plane’s interior caved in, just a row away from us. Debris and fiberglass were blown about the cabin. A wind of incredible strength roared through the aircraft. Little did we know then that nine passengers had been blown out of the aircraft​—one of them drawn into one of the aircraft’s right-hand engines!

The hysterical screams of passengers were all but drowned out by the sounds of the howling wind and the shaking fuselage. Linda and I simply gazed at each other. Words were not necessary. We knew we were about to die!

Facing Sure Death

I looked behind me and noticed that oxygen masks had dropped from the ceiling for most of the passengers but not for Linda and me. I stood up in an attempt to pry the mask compartment open but was dragged back into my seat by my wife.

Still, we managed to pull our life jackets from beneath the seats and assumed the crash position. For all we knew, we were about to crash into the Pacific!

Again Linda and I looked at each other. “I love you, Linda,” I said. “I love you too,” she replied. Resuming the crash position, I put my head down, and I began praying to Jehovah God.

You often hear that people close to death have scenes from their lives flash before them. Both of us experienced that. We were also assaulted by ‘if onlys.’ My wife and I are both Jehovah’s Witnesses. I had hoped to qualify some day as a ministerial servant in the local congregation. But it now seemed sure that I would never reach that goal. Linda was tormented by regrets over never having entered the full-time preaching work as a pioneer, which she had often talked about doing.

Again I called upon Jehovah, this time aloud, with my right hand clutching Linda’s. One of the hostesses issued a frantic plea for all passengers to remain seated. Outside, there was nothing but darkness. Inside, total terror.

‘What would happen should Linda die and I survive?’ I thought. ‘What would her parents think of me for taking their daughter away and failing to bring her home?’ The resurrection hope had never been so crucial to us as at that moment.

Contemplating the slim chance of surviving the crash, I started thinking about ditching into the sea and contending with sharks. I looked down at my feet and reached for my shoes under the seat in front of me. ‘If a shark is going to have a go at me,’ I thought, ‘he’ll have a tougher time biting through my shoes!’ Irrational? Yes. But rationality is scarce at such times.

Touchdown!

Suddenly, an announcement: “Two minutes to touchdown!”

“Two minutes to touchdown?” I was puzzled. ‘You don’t touch down in the ocean​—you crash,’ I thought. ‘Could we be heading back to Honolulu?’ Within moments I had my answer. The lights came on, and we had the smoothest of landings. Wild applause broke out among the passengers as the plane came to a halt! I remained slumped in my seat. But not for long. Soon came a call to evacuate the plane. We headed for the exit doors and slid down chutes to the safety of the runway below.

A safe distance from the crippled aircraft, I surveyed the reason for our half hour of horror: A 30-foot [10 m] section of the fuselage had ripped away, exposing six rows of the business-class section, a portion of the cargo hold, and a small area of first class. I remember noticing that an entire section of business-class seating remained intact and felt relieved that everyone must have survived. How wrong I was! It turned out that some six rows had indeed been blown out of the jet, carrying nine passengers to their terrifying death.

As a shuttle bus began taking us back to the main terminal, the passengers began consoling one another. It was apparent that more and more of them were succumbing to shock. Arriving at the terminal, all available telephones were immediately seized. Stunned passengers tried to reach family members before such ones would be shocked by radio and television reports.

I will never forget the next six hours: Bloodied and emotionally stunned passengers strewn about the floor of the airport lounge. News teams and lawyers congregating outside. Airline personnel trying to shield us from them. Constant passenger counts as officials scrambled to determine who was, in fact, missing.

Later, each passenger was questioned by U.S. Federal Bureau of Investigation agents, keen to establish as soon as possible whether terrorist activity was responsible for the disaster. It appeared unlikely, but airline authorities were understandably on edge. Just two months earlier, a terrorist bombing had downed a jet over Lockerbie, Scotland. We later learned, however, that structural failure was the likely cause of the flight 811 tragedy.

Home at Last!

After a brief rest and a hot meal at a Waikiki hotel, we were told that the flight was being rescheduled for later that night. While a few opted to remain in Waikiki to recover, Linda and I and dozens of others decided we wanted this nightmare behind us as soon as possible. Nevertheless, our flight out of Honolulu was one nerve-racking experience. The slightest movement of the plane sent shivers up and down our spines. One of the crew dropped a plastic cup of ice and the sound was startling. Rows of passengers, myself included, jumped out of our seats.

In due time, however, we arrived safe and sound in Australia. A relative, one who does not share our faith, observed that our faith probably helped us to cope with the midair drama. And thinking back to that terror-stricken flight, Linda and I have no doubts that our relying on Jehovah God and our sure faith in his promise of a resurrection were a great comfort to us.

Although we cannot claim that our survival was in any way miraculous, we are certainly grateful to be alive. In fact, the experience has helped us to appreciate more than ever that life is a precious gift from God. And we are more determined than ever to use it to the full to his praise.​—As told by Roger White.