Pain, cold, darkness ... then rescue

The air fell away and the treetops shuddered the night Molly Haupt's world changed. One moment, she was flying. The next, sinking, dropping, falling onto a strange and rugged land.

Haupt awoke bloody and battered, lying on the wreckage of her father's plane as her parents' lives ebbed in the Francis Marion National Forest.

Nine years later, the images and sensations from that night remain crisp — the biting cold, the jagged fear, the stark isolation, the inky darkness that swallowed her cries for help.

But Haupt also remembers the caring rescuers who wrapped her in their coats, the chaplain who soothed her until her relatives arrived, the church ladies who sat by her bedside in a Charleston hospital. Their warmth sustained her at a fragile time and kept the bitterness at bay as Haupt reclaimed a life forever altered.

"They were just so wonderful. Being surrounded by such warm people, I really came away with a faith in the inner kindness of people and the importance of community," the 27-year-old New York City resident said. "That has helped me in the years after."

On Tuesday, Haupt plans to return to Charleston for the first time since the January 2000 plane crash to speak at the Coastal Crisis Chaplaincy's annual banquet at the Charleston Area Convention Center. There, she will reunite with the emergency workers, chaplains, doctors and volunteers who helped with her rescue and recovery. Haupt said it is her way of giving back to those who were such a balm to her.

The Rev. Rob Dewey, the chaplaincy's founder, stayed by Haupt's side for much of the time between her rescue and her relatives' arrival. They've continued to correspond over the years, exchanging notes and Christmas cards.

"She's such a strong young lady," Dewey said. "We go to about 1,000 or so 911 situations every year. Some of them really stick with me, and you never forget them. This is one. There's a connection that will be with us for a lifetime."

Her ordeal began with the promise of fun and Florida sunshine. Haupt and her parents had been on their way to visit friends in Key West, a chance to leave frigid New Jersey for a few days. William Haupt, a veteran pilot who flew 727s for United Airlines, was behind the controls of the single- engine Piper Comanche. Beside him was Molly, then 18 and studying for her pilot's license. Her mother, Sharon, recently retired from the Princeton High School library, sat in the rear of the four-seat plane.

They planned to stop for the night in Savannah, but the trip seemed to be taking longer than expected, possibly due to head winds. Then, over Georgetown, the plane began to shake.

William Haupt calmly turned toward his wife. "I think we might not have enough fuel."

He'd been flying for 35 years. He could handle it.

He consulted a map and radioed Charleston air traffic controllers about 9:25 p.m. to request landing procedures. The plane was near Cordesville in Berkeley County. Molly looked out the window and saw nothing but darkness below them.

The plane shook again. It became clear they weren't going to make it to Charleston.

William Haupt told them to prepare for an emergency landing, and Molly's mother calmly reminded her to buckle her seat belt. As the plane dropped altitude, Molly saw the tops of trees race by her window. Then everything went black.

She awoke on the plane's wing, disoriented. Pain ripped through her leg, and blood was everywhere. Suddenly, her father's voice sounded inside the cockpit. "Get out! Get out!" he cried.

Molly reached inside and touched him. "I think they're coming for us," she told him. "Hold on, they're coming."

He didn't reply.

Molly reached in the back seat for her mother and held her hand. Sharon Haupt was silent. After awhile, she stopped moving, as well.

Molly tried her cell phone. No signal. She looked for a flashlight. No luck.

Molly leaned back against the wing, afraid her movement might cause something to happen to the plane. Darkness cloaked her surroundings. She had no idea where they were.

She heard a plane, a helicopter. Are they looking for us, she wondered. Every so often she heard a car pass in the distance. They must be near a road.

Time passed. How much she didn't know.

The lights surprised her when they finally cut through the dense woods, illuminating the forest. "They're here, they're here!" she shouted to her parents. No reply. She started screaming toward the light. "We're here! We're here!"

They found her shivering, near hysterical. Five hours had passed since the plane went down. More than 100 people, helicopters and an Air Force C-17 had been searching the countryside for the plane. They were amazed to find her alive, and saddened that her parents had not been as lucky.

They comforted Molly Haupt and rushed her to Medical University Hospital, where doctors determined she had a broken collar bone, torn knee ligament and many cuts and bruises. They were kind, consoling.

Dewey stayed by Molly's side, offering support, helping her call her brother in Los Angeles and relatives in the Northeast. Later, volunteers from Grace Episcopal Church showed up and sat with her through the long night so she wouldn't be alone and scared.

After two nights, Molly headed home with relatives, her visit to Charleston a jarring blur.

Henry Stackhouse, one of the state Department of Natural Resources officers who helped rescue Molly Haupt, wondered at times what became of the cold, frightened girl. Losing both parents like that. All that trauma. He hoped she was able to move past the tragedy and that she made out all right.

Haupt said the tragedy always will be part of her, but she hasn't allowed it to define her life. She took Dewey's advice and talked openly with her family about the ordeal. That helped.

She returned to school and graduated from Columbia University with a degree in English literature. While there, she met a man who would become her husband. They now have a 1-year-old boy and live in Manhattan, in the same apartment her parents purchased before their death. She gave up her plans for a pilot's license, but she isn't scared of flying. She is, in a word ... OK.

"I think a lot of people who go through an experience like this come away bitter. I didn't, and I think that's partly because of how wonderfully I was treated in Charleston," she said. "I think what happened could have been much worse if it happened in another place. I'm just so thankful to all of them for what they did."

Reach Glenn Smith at 937-5556 or gsmith@postand courier.com.