Flight to Heaven Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  PROLOGUE

  Chapter 1 - FLIGHT INTO ETERNITY

  TUESDAY, MAY 22—01:16—41,000 FEET SOMEWHERE OVER ZAMBIA, AFRICA

  FRIDAY, JULY 18, 1969

  Chapter 2 - PORTAL OF THE FOLDED WINGS

  Chapter 3 - AT THE EDGE OF DEATH

  Chapter 4 - NEW EYES FOR A NEW DIMENSION

  Chapter 5 - UNDER HIS WINGS

  Chapter 6 - SHRINE TO AVIATION

  Chapter 7 - DESTINED FOR THE SKY

  Chapter 8 - SECRET PLACE OF THE MOST HIGH

  Chapter 9 - FEAR AND MEMORY LOSS

  Chapter 10 - A FUTURE AND A HOPE

  Chapter 11 - SURVIVING THE UNSURVIVABLE

  Chapter 12 - GOOD NEWS AND BAD NEWS

  Chapter 13 - FROM HORRIFIC TO HEAVENLY

  Chapter 14 - JOURNEY TO HEAVEN

  Chapter 15 - CELESTIAL PERFECTION

  Chapter 16 - ASK AND RECEIVE

  Chapter 17 - LOSING LIFE TO FIND IT

  Chapter 18 - ON WINGS LIKE EAGLES

  FRIDAY, JULY 17, 1970

  Chapter 19 - ANNIVERSARY SURPRISE

  Chapter 20 - INVISIBLE CITY

  SEVENTEEN YEARS LATER TUESDAY, MAY 22—01:37—12,000 FEET, SOMEWHERE OVER ...

  Chapter 21 - ADVENTURES OF FAITH

  TEUSDAY, MAY 22—16:10—LUSAKA, ZAMBIA

  AFTERWORD

  HOW THIS BOOK CAME ABOUT

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  You are invited to share the life-changing story and message of Flight to Heaven

  Flight to Heaven

  Copyright © 2010

  Dale Black

  Written in collaboration with Ken Gire

  Some names of persons in this account have been changed to protect their privacy. Some aircraft numbers have also been changed.

  Cover design by Studio Gearbox

  Cover photograph: Jorg Grevel/Getty Images

  All Scripture quotations are from the New King James Version of the Bible. Copyright © 1979, 1980, 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Ave South

  Bloomington, MN 55438

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Black, Dale.

  Flight to heaven : a plane crash, a lone survivor, a journey to heaven—and back / Dale Black with Ken Gire. p. cm.

  Summary: “Dale Black tells how he survived a plane crash at age nineteen, his near-death experience of heaven, and how his life dramatically changed as a result of this event forty years ago”—Provided by publisher.

  ISBN 978-0-7642-0794-5

  (pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Black, Dale.. 2. Near-death experiences—United States. 3. Aircraft accident victims—United States—Biography. 4. Aircraft accidents—California—Burbank Region—History—20th century. 5. Air pilots—United States—Biography. 6. Spiritual biography—United States. I. Gire, Ken. II. Title

  BF1045.N4B495 2010

  133.901’3—dc22

  2010004286

  This book is dedicated to my wife, Paula,

  whom I love and adore, cherish, and respect.

  Without her gentle and loving prodding,

  you would not be reading about my journey to heaven

  or be holding this book in your hands.

  IN LOVING MEMORY OF

  my grandfather Russell L. Price,

  a man who learned to walk by faith and not by sight.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  After spending four years writing this book and another two years getting the help needed to bring it to fruition, the credit for the final product is broad based.

  The largest thanks goes to the most important person in making this book become reality, my best friend and wife of almost forty years, Paula Black. My love and appreciation also go to my children, Eric and Kara, for enriching my life in so many ways.

  I wish to thank author Beverly Swerling Martin, my writing coach, for her invaluable guidance and editing of this project. Much thanks to Lela Gilbert for helping write an earlier manuscript and to Greg Johnson, my literary agent, who believed in this project from the outset and quickly arranged the details for publication. Thank you to Kyle Duncan for being such an instrumental and effective liaison for this project with Bethany House Publishers and embracing it with his heart. Thanks go to Jeff Braun for his strategic suggestions, editing, and invaluable help in bringing this book to completion. A huge thank-you mixed with awe goes to Ken Gire, a writer with amazing skill and talent, who contributed his abilities to enhance the story in major ways.

  A big thank-you for her tireless and encouraging work as my personal editor goes to Sandi Gregston. Also thanks to Ray Gregston, Dana McCue, and Nicole Elliott for their suggestions and editing of the earlier manuscript.

  Thanks also to Harold Morby, a veteran of sixty years of pro fessional photography, for taking and providing the aerial photos of the crash site.

  Thanks to my sweet mother, Joyce Black, for her contagious upbeat attitude, her unending love, and for blessing her family with songs of praise throughout a lifetime.

  Lastly, I wish to thank and recognize a loyal and loving friend, Kara Joy Black, the best daughter any father ever had. Kara has developed wisdom well beyond her years and I found myself seeking her counsel regularly in preparing this book.

  PROLOGUE

  My life was forever changed after a plane crash.

  I was the only survivor.

  For days I remained in an intensive care unit, but not before taking an uncharted trip . . . to heaven. What I experienced there, words cannot do justice. Even the best words pale before the indescribable. For many months following the crash, due to serious amnesia, I remembered nothing. Nothing of the crash, the first three days in the hospital, or my visit to heaven. At least, my mind did not remember. My heart? Well, that’s a different story.

  I was assigned to Dr. Homer Graham, best known as Evel Knievel’s surgeon. My injuries were massive, but when I awoke in the ICU, I was a changed man. Yet I had no memory as to why. It seemed as if I had been given new eyes. I felt as though I were looking into another dimension. That was forty years ago.

  What you’re about to read is how my life was turned upside down by an airplane crash and why every major decision I’ve made since then has been a direct result of my journey to heaven. Those who know me may now understand why I’ve seemed like a bit of a misfit and why my life has often followed an offbeat path.

  You’ll learn why I’ve been emboldened and compelled to share the love of God with others. Why I volunteered on almost a thousand flights to more than fifty countries, building churches, orphanages, and medical clinics. And why I’ve trained lay ministers and medical personnel to help the needy worldwide, usually at my own expense.

  Since that fateful day, I have shared my story about the crash and the amazing recovery many times. But I have never shared publicly about my journey to heaven, until now.

  How could I keep this life-changing event a secret? There are several reasons.

  Right after the crash my memory was like a jigsaw puzzle with only a few recognizable pieces. It would
take eight months to start getting my memory back. And even longer for my injured mind and my transformed heart to get in sync.

  As soon as my memory returned, I told my grandfather everything that had happened, but he cautioned me about telling others. “Dale,” he said, “you can speak about your experience, or you can treat it as sacred and let your life be a reflection of your experience. By that I mean, if you really did see the other side, then live out whatever you believe you saw. Live what you believe you heard. Just live what you learned. Your life’s actions will speak louder than your voice.”

  So I made a solemn promise to myself and to God not to share my experience with anyone until He made it clear to do so. At the time I figured God might want me to keep the secret for only a year or two.

  Soon after the crash I attended a church service where a man claimed to have died, visited heaven, and come back to life. To me, the service was more self-serving than sacred. The very essence of heaven is God, yet the people were more interested in the sensation rather than the One who created it all and Whom heaven is all about. I was grieved by the event and my decision not to discuss my journey with anyone was further solidified.

  It also wasn’t hard to keep my secret because at times in my life, I have been truly disappointed in myself. Why couldn’t I have lived an even better life? Since I had clearly seen heaven and was so changed by the experience, why did I fail again and again to be the man I truly wanted to be? Why did I fail often to be a reflection of what I had seen and heard and learned? I guess seeing heaven didn’t change the fact that I’m human. Not only human—but also very flawed.

  So why share my experience now? Personally, I was perfectly content to keep my silence longer still. But the Lord orchestrated a series of events that convinced me it is now His time to share about my journey to heaven and back. For four decades I did live my experience. Now I am compelled to tell how.

  In some ways this story is about me. But it is not about me ultimately, nor should it be. It is about God. And it is about you. The two of you together, entwined in a story that, to me, is still breathtakingly sacred. My hope is that you will read not just with your mind but with an open heart. If you do, you may receive more than you bargained for.

  My story begins as I pilot a jet on a volunteer missionary flight in the dark of night over Zambia, Africa . . . at 41,000 feet. So please, fasten your seat belt, put your tray table in its upright and locked position, and hold on. It’s quite a ride.

  For the first time in forty years, here is my story.

  —Capt. Dale Black

  1

  FLIGHT INTO ETERNITY

  TUESDAY, MAY 22—01:16—41,000 FEET SOMEWHERE OVER ZAMBIA, AFRICA

  All passengers and crew will be dead in twenty-seven minutes if something drastic doesn’t change.

  And I will be responsible.

  With very little fuel remaining in our tanks, I’m out of options and out of time. And a lot of things just don’t make sense.

  The copilot’s hand trembles as he brings the microphone close to his ashen face. “Lusaka Approach, Lusaka Tower, Zambia Center. Anyone? Learjet Four-Alpha-Echo. Mayday, Mayday, Mayday.”

  Still no response.

  Thirty-eight-year-old veteran copilot Steve Holmes peers through the jet’s windshield from the right seat and demands an answer.

  “Where is the city? What is going on here?” He shakes his head slowly in stunned disbelief, for he too has weighed our options, and they are dwindling fast.

  Our gleaming luxury jet is equipped with the latest modern avionics package, including dual global navigation systems, but both became INOP (inoperative) over an hour ago. We have no idea why. No one is responding to our radio transmissions either, and in my sixteen years of professional flying, nothing has prepared me for what is happening now. Nothing could have. I feel my chest constricting as I reach behind me and lock the cockpit door.

  Transmitting on one-two-one-point-five, the emergency frequency that all controllers monitor, we try again.

  “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. Learjet November-Four-Two-Four-Alpha-Echo. Can anyone read? Over.”

  Again nothing. Only the hiss of static.

  Trying to slow my breathing and focus my thoughts, I lean forward, looking out the jet’s multilayered Plexiglas windshield.

  “I’ve seen campfires from forty thousand feet before, Steve. I don’t want to start our descent until we can see the lights of the city. Something should be visible. Keep looking.”

  Guilt gnaws at my stomach. My heart pounds wildly.

  How could I have allowed this to happen? How can so many things go wrong—all at the same time?

  As an airline pilot on temporary furlough from Trans World Airlines (TWA), I started a jet pilot training and jet sales corporation in Southern California. I donated airplanes, pilots, and maintenance services to help train and transport individuals to supply Bibles, gospel tracts, medical personnel, and supplies to those in need.

  This two-week-long volunteer flight is one of hundreds I’ve conducted over the last several years, feeling compelled to share God’s overwhelming love with others in a hurting world.

  This month takes us throughout Europe, the Middle East, and Africa.

  So far God has provided the means and the protection to accomplish our mission, but on this flight everything is starting to fall apart. Events are beginning to spiral out of control.

  Along with a professional flight planning service, both Steve and I have prepared meticulously for this flight. Three full-time professionals, for three full days, conducted intense flight planning. We accessed the latest international flight data resources and arranged for every foreseeable contingency. We dotted every i and crossed every t—or so we thought.

  The latest weather forecast indicated visibility would be unlimited for hundreds of miles around the capital of Zambia, our planned fuel stop. This flight should have been routine even with the extended holding delay required earlier by Sudanese Air Traffic Control.

  I pray silently.

  Steve rips off his headset and flings it across the cockpit pedestal.

  Trying to breathe, trying to steel myself, I speak slowly but firmly. “Steve, we need to work together. Let’s believe that God will help us get this aircraft on the ground safely, during our first and only approach. Can you do that?”

  Steve shoots me a hard look. “Sure.” Then he slams the thick checklist into the Learjet’s side pocket. “Approach Descent Checklist complete.” As a self-proclaimed agnostic, Steve doesn’t appreciate my reliance on God. At least not yet.

  “I’ll land on any runway I can see, Steve. We may be in thin clouds or above a layer of low stratus. The lights of the entire city, the whole country for that matter, may be out for some reason. Now, I’ve never seen this before, and I’ve got to admit I’ve never heard of it either. I know that doesn’t explain why we can’t see lights from a car, a truck, a campfire, or something. But, Steve, we’ll get this aircraft on the ground in just a few minutes, I assure you.”

  “Flaps 10 degrees,” I command.

  I hear the familiar whine of flap actuators responding.

  Both NAV needles move steadily toward the center of my HSI (horizontal situation indicator), verifying that we are on course. But to where? Lusaka, right?

  Yes, Lusaka, our planned destination. It must be Lusaka, I tell myself.

  “Glide slope alive,” I continue. “Give me gear down, flaps 20, and the Before Landing Checklist.”

  “Roger, gear coming down, flaps 20, and the Before Landing Checklist.”

  Seconds later.

  “Flaps 40, please.”

  I hear the tremor in Steve’s voice. “Flaps 40 selected, 40 indicated, the Before Landing Checklist is complete.”

  The sleek jet is all set for landing. No switches need to be moved again until safely on the ground—if we can find a runway. Making minor adjustments on the power levers and flight controls, I keep the speed at precisely 127 knots while adju
sting heading and pitch to stay on course and on glide slope. I fly using reference to the instruments only, while Steve peers into the blackness, straining for any sign of an airport and cross-checking my every move.

  The muscles in Steve’s face visibly tighten as he speaks.

  “One thousand feet above minimums.” Minimums means two hundred feet above the runway and the lowest altitude we can safely fly on instruments. Unless we can see a visible runway, we cannot descend below minimums . . . period.

  With a feather-like touch on the power levers, I reduce speed a tad while turning right just one degree to stay on course, on speed, and on glide slope.

  We will find this runway, on our first approach, I assure myself.

  “Five hundred feet above minimums.”

  “Do you have visual?” I feel my stomach tighten.

  “Negative. No visual. No ground contact. One hundred feet above minimums.”

  Steve shakes his head slowly.

  “Keep looking outside, Steve, but call minimums.”

  A few seconds pass, then Steve winces and barks, “Minimums, minimums. No contact.”

  For a split second I tear my eyes away from the cockpit instruments to look outside just above the aircraft’s long slender nose. Directly ahead there should be a visible runway—only utter blackness stares back. That’s when my heart stops.

  On the outside I appear calm and cool, but it’s only an act.