Bomber buffs rescue old warrior from grave : After half a century, some components of the classic aircraft--and their spirits--will fly once again.

Walter York knew “Old Grand Dad” was in trouble before the B-17 bomber even left the runway.

“We changed the radio three times, but we couldn’t get it to work,” York recalled. “The weather was terrible--it was fogged in from one side of the U.S. to the other. We didn’t have anything but trouble that night, and it was a long night.”

That was Oct. 24, 1943, the night York and four other airmen parachuted into absolute darkness over the Continental Divide as the crippled bomber slammed into the rugged Bitterroot Mountains.

All the fliers survived the jump, although the pilot landed miles from the rest of the group and was not rescued until days later. All managed to walk out of the woods and be picked up by ranchers. And later, the Army buried the crash debris to prevent pilots from constantly reporting it as a new accident.

Now, nearly 50 years later, aviation buffs are exhuming Old Grand Dad from its shallow Montana grave. Parts from the bomber will fly again in restored aircraft or help finish museum display pieces.

America produced 12,677 of the elegant, heavily armed “Flying Fortress” planes that could suffer unbelievable damage and still fly to safety.

But the B-17 was a war bird. When peace came, nearly all were scrapped. Only a dozen or so still fly, most at air shows. Each is worth perhaps $4 million. Spare parts cost thousands--when they can be found at all.

“The Forest Service contract (to recover Old Grand Dad) said we had to let them know if we found any treasure. I told them that to me, a B-17 is treasure,” said Don Collett, president of Heritage Plane Diggers, an aircraft recovery group associated with the Hill Air Force Base Museum at Ogden, Utah.

For three summers, Collett and his volunteers have gone to the Montana high country to uncover the long-buried wreck in the Beaverhead National Forest.

Some private companies turn a profit by salvaging planes, but for Collett it is a hobby, if not a passion.

Others are drawn by the allure of the unknown.

“There’s something of a mystery in each crash,” said John Stebbings, a Hill airman and Heritage member.

Most of Old Grand Dad’s mystery has been solved. With a serial number from the wreckage, Stebbings obtained the accident report and found the three surviving crewmen.

“We just ran out of gas and had to bail out,” said York, who was then an 18-year-old radioman. He still hasn’t forgiven the long-dead pilot who flew in poor weather because he had a date that night.

What turned out to be Old Grand Dad’s last flight was to have been a simple cruise from Oklahoma City to Pendleton, Ore., but radio problems left the crew unable to navigate in dense fog. A collision with a goose shattered the pilot’s windshield. Any fuel not spewing from a leaky tank was exhausted as the pilot sought a landmark.

With two engines dead and a third about to fail, the crew bailed out.

“It wasn’t any fun, but we were young and we got scared just about every day we flew, so it wasn’t that bad,” said York, now retired in Decatur, Ill.

Collett learned of the crash in 1989 while searching for parts for the Hill Museum’s partially restored B-17.

Although long abandoned, the planes are government property. Salvage is by permission only. Some wrecks are auctioned, but those difficult to recover--like Old Grand Dad--are given away.

“It would sure be nice to find one just sitting on the top of the ground,” Collett said wistfully, standing at the edge of a hole made by tedious pick-and-shovel work. Forest Service rules prohibit bulldozers or backhoes.

Torn bits of olive drab aluminum fuselage in a sloppy mound next to the hole await recycling. Usable parts make a much smaller pile--wing spars, an engine, armor plate and rubber oxygen masks, all remarkably well-preserved after years underground. Last year, Collett dug out a .50-caliber machine gun, its barrel twisted in the crash. It’s a rarity. Guns were usually removed before burial.

This year’s dig was remarkable for a more personal find.

Stebbings recently interviewed the co-pilot and was surprised by the elderly man’s only question: “Did you find my shoes?”

“He was wearing his flight boots when he bailed out and he left a brand-new pair of shoes on board,” Stebbings explained.

Shoes were rationed in 1943. The young lieutenant had only one pair, and it hurt to lose them.

Sometime this summer, Robert Bateson of Wilbraham, Mass., will receive in the mail a pair of oxfords he hasn’t seen for a long, long time.