Albert "Al" Archie Fletcher

Should you find something amiss at the memorial and feel so inclined, we would greatly appreciate any tidying up, as we only visit on October 26 of each year. Thank you.

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Al Fletcher was born in 1911 in Bessie, Oklahoma to his parents, Johanna Belter Fletcher (North Dakota) and Tom Fletcher (Missouri). Al grew up in a blue-collar family, with his dad holding jobs like drayman, beaver trapping, and farming to pay the bills. It was a very rough life that became much more complicated when his father left his mother and eventually had her "sent away" to a mental institution, which was not uncommon in those days. 1920s census data shows the family together in Oklahoma and by 1930 the fracture is apparent--Al is traveling the country doing rodeo and serving as the designated "father" to his siblings, Johanna is in Oklahoma at the Northwestern Oklahoma State Hospital, and Tom makes his way to Arizona.

Rodeo became a passion and an outlet for Al. He enjoyed seeing the country, something he likely never dreamed possible from his meager beginnings, and doing the thing he loved most. He was a "country boy" at heart, donning a cowboy hat, chaps, and spurs at all of his events. He rode saddle bronc and won many awards and prizes over the years, from Palm Springs, CA to Salt Lake City, UT to British Columbia, Canada. Al competed in the national finals in Madison Sqaure Garden in 1940 and 1941. Over the years he rode distinguished horses such as "Hoochie Kootchie", "Jessie James", and Gene Autry's beloved "Home Brew."

On October 16, 1940, Al completed his registration card for the services (sidenote: his unique order number on his card is 1111, which is also my wedding date and favorite number). When war was officially declared in December 1941, Al was proud to serve his country. He had been injured a month earlier rodeoing in Boston Garden and had to cut off his cast in order to enter the service. Al proudly served as a US Navy bombardier. To date it appears he served on U.S.S. Vega and U.S.S. Avocet. He earned the coveted Distinguished Flying Cross for unwavering bravery in battle. His flight logs from this time map out the runs he made, the number of bombs dropped, and any pertinent notes tied to the mission. But the final page could make you weep--it simply reads "The war is over. We are going home." In later years he could never bring himself to talk about the war much. The only thing my mom recalls him saying was that, as a bombardier, he had to fly low enough to see people running, an image that haunted this gentle-hearted man.

Al married Bessie Mae Jones on October 14, 1944 in San Diego, CA. He was a loving and deeply devoted husband--I have poured over countless love letters between my grandparents during the war. The letters tell a story of sacrifice, compassion, struggle, empathy, and pure love for one another. In the 1950s he was a highly sought after trainer of polo ponies at Will Rogers State Park in California. Santa Barabara adopted Al as their own "hometown hero." After the war he purchased his first and only home with the GI Bill in Manhattan Beach, CA. Here they laid down their roots and settled into their new home and eventually filled this house with four children-- Mike, Patricia, Alvin, and Jeff, whom he loved dearly. Of all of his achievements, his children surpassed them all--the medals, the stripes, the rodeo prizes all meant nothing compared to his precious children. With their limited means, he still brought a sense of adventure to his family, often taking the family station wagon on camping trips across the US.

After the war he found work at Fletcher Oil Company (no relation), where he worked until the time of his death. He also continued to care for polo ponies for wealthy clients on the weekends to provide for his family. He enjoyed recreational flying post-war and purchased a 1955 Beech Bonanza with two of his friends. He took weekly flights from Torrance, CA to many other local destinations. The most popular destination was Columbia, CA--a town rich in gold mining history. Through research it appears my grandfather owned a gold claim 4 miles north of the Columbia airport and weekly he would fly in to be on the property. Shortly before his untimely death, he damaged the wing flap on his Bonanza plane when he hit a deer on the runway! On the day of his tragic plane crash, he was catching a ride to the Columbia airport to work on his Beech Bonanza, which was parked/stored there.

October 26, 1974 was a beautiful fall day in southern California. My grandfather woke up early to fly with a young pilot, Doug Simpson, who wanted to show my grandfather his dad's "new" Cessna 172F plane. It is unknown to us how Doug and my grandfather met. As my grandfather was leaving the house that morning, the last thing my grandmother said to him was "Al, don't forget your coat." Doug took off from Long Beach, CA and flew to Torrance, CA to pick up my grandfather. It's estimated they took off around 7:30 AM to sunny skies, using only visual instrumentation to guide them. It has been said in my family that they used the I-5 to help them navigate through this area. As they approached Lebec they unexpectedly hit adverse weather--visibility was reduced to less than 1/4 mile. They were, quite literally, flying blind into this mountainous terrain. They flew into a mountain slope that we have since determined was on Tejon Ranch property--his death certificate says "2 miles S/W of Buzzard Springs and 1/4 mile East of the Grapevine Repeater." The time was around 8:40 am according to the FAA report, although a news article says the clock in the Cessna was stopped at 9:15 am. The plane was lost for several days and, I now know, that countless land, air, and ground crews were deployed to look for them. During this time two of Al's sons, who were grief-stricken and hopeless, went to a psychic. This psychic gave them false hope and told them that my grandfather was alive and was trying desperately to get home to them. Unfortunately, that wasn't true. You will see in news articles that the wreckage was spotted a day or two before the plane and bodies were recovered. Bad weather hit this area, which hampered the search and recovery. During my research I noticed that William Richardson was listed in at least one news article as the person who first spotted the wreckage. I immediately went to researching him by joining a Kern County Facebook group and sharing my story along with a list of names of police and CAP officials who were mentioned in the news articles. In about a day I was connected to the grown daughter of William Richardson, who sadly passed a while ago. I shared gratitude for the peace and closure her father brought my family that day--the search was over.

While there's no formal record of this, my mother recalls someone telling the family that at the recovery site there were no signs of life post crash. Meaning they didn't see that someone tried to escape the plane or crawl out in the dirt/desert. I'm sure it was utterly terrifying but the crash was quick and they likely both died immediately upon impact. We were also always told the crash occurred near the mountains by the "sharp curve on I-5." That is why we put up the road side memorial on the Lebec Service Road--it is smack dab on one of the sharp curves. I never knew so much as a name of the young pilot until 2022. I have spent a lot of time trying to research and connect with his family but haven't had luck as of yet. I was able to connect with an old family friend who shared interesting stories with me. She said on the day of the crash Doug's mother wanted to go up with him and he told her "Not today, mom." Bill and Helen, from everything I've heard and can find, were deeply loving and kind parents. Their only son, Doug, was their light and true joy. They were devastated by his loss. Helen told her family friend that the day he died, all of the clocks in the house stopped working. What's odd about that is the watch my grandfather was wearing at the time of the crash was recovered and my mom held onto it all these years. She gifted it to me for Christmas 2022. It looks to be in pretty darn good shape for surviving a plane crash but it obviously wasn't working and hadn't been worn in 48 years. I decided to slip it on my wrist and, when I did, the second hand started moving!

My grandfather's loss unexpectedly and tragically at 62 ripped a hole through my family. My grandmother, Bessie, become an agoraphobic and very rarely left her house. My mother and uncles all lost their father at pivotal times in their lives--my mother had a newborn at home, her second child of what would become four. My youngest uncle, Uncle Jeff, has dedicated his life to ancestry and researching his father and the live he lived, the lives he touched. My grandpa's Bonanza Beech plane, that was parked in Columbia, was sold to one of the partial owners. I researched the tail number through the FAA and was shocked to see the last known location of the plane/owner--just 5 miles from me in Scottsdale, AZ!! I have sent certified letters to that address sharing my story and asking if they have any plane parts (it appears to be a junkyard) but have been unsuccessful. I did connect with the last owner’s grown step daughter (thank goodness for Facebook!) and confirmed what online research had told me—her mother and step father were also tragically killed in a plane crash decades earlier. They were traveling with another couple in a Cessna and also had an unfortunate crash.

One other sweet part of this story is about a palm tree. When my grandfather purchased his house in Manhattan Beach he proudly planted a palm tree, a nod to his beach life. My mother vividly remembers the day her uncle and dad planted the sapling, standing just a few feet tall at the time. This tree would grow and grow, even long after my grandfather’s death. In preparation for our first trip to Lebec for Mother’s Day 2022 I wrote a letter to the now owners of my grandfather’s home. The actual home had long since been gone but the tree remains. I asked the home owners if they would be willing to mail me a leaf from the palm tree so that I could make a cross out of the palm leaves from his tree. Within 2 weeks of sending this letter I received a message from the home owners who were happy to accommodate the request. I connected with her on the phone and we spoke for an hour, commenting multiple times that it seemed like we knew each other. Like, in a weird way, maybe our souls had met before that day. She so graciously sent a full box of leaves, with which I made many crosses for my mom, her brothers, my sisters, and my children. I left a small cross here, as well, bringing a piece of his home back to him. This relationship, albeit forged through an interesting circumstance, is deeply special to me. I am grateful for the happy home that they’ve built on the land that is so special to me, as it was to my grandfather. The tree still stands tall, now towering over the second story of the home. I’m told that kids walking to school even are known to kiss and hug that tree, which brings me deep joy.

This land, and Lebec in general, is deeply meaningful to me. My dream is to some day buy a little piece of land here and build a small cabin and call it "Grandpa's Place." A place where we can laugh where we once cried. A place I can see my 2 little boys run wild through the hills. The hills that are so beautiful, yet represent such devastating loss for our family. Nonetheless, I'd like to re-write the story and change the narrative. So hopefully in years to come you may just see a little log cabin off in the distance and understand its importance.

There's so much more to this story, to his story, to my story. With many wonderful strangers who have become friends along the way. If you're reading this, you've already stuck with us for so long, and for that I am very grateful. More than anything I'd like you to know that my grandfather was a kind man, a salt of the earth type. He was deeply devoted to his wife, a present and loving father to his kids, and just an all around good man.

While you are here, my ask is to be present. To feel the gentle breeze dance across your skin. To enjoy the warmth of the sun on the back of your neck. To listen to the sounds of the cars passing by, the birds chirping, the dirt crunching underneath your feet. Notice the gentle roll of these sweet hills and where the blue sky kisses them. To be fully present and have gratitude for your life today. And to look up and send a loving thought to Al and Doug.