Wellstone Dies in Plane Crash (2024)

"It was destroyed. There was a chunk at one end, a fairly large charred portion in the middle and a chunk at the other end," Ulman said. "This was unusual. I have no idea what happened. We had no warning at all."

Wellstone's sudden death at age 58 immediately raised a tangle of questions about the balance of power in the Senate. His neck-and-neck race for reelection against former St. Paul mayor Norm Coleman was considered a key to holding the Democrats' one-seat margin of control.

Now Minnesota Gov. Jesse Ventura, an independent, has the power, but no obligation, to appoint a replacement for the remainder of the Senate term. Given the Democrats' single-seat advantage, Ventura's decision could significantly influence the upcoming lame duck session, which could be dealing with a long list of important issues -- including the budget. Ventura declined to say what he will do, except to promise that he won't appoint himself to the seat.

Beyond that, there is the question of which Democrat will be named to take Wellstone's place on the ballot. The situation was an eerie echo of an event two years ago, when Missouri Gov. Mel Carnahan (D), locked in a tight campaign for the Senate, died in a plane crash one stormy night three weeks before the election. In that case, Carnahan's name remained on the ballot and Missouri voters flocked to his legacy. His widow, Jean, was appointed to the seat, and is working frantically to hold on to it in this year's voting.

Minnesota law appears to require that Wellstone be replaced on the ballot, and a replacement candidate will have scarcely a week to make a case against Coleman. Recent polls suggested that Wellstone was opening a narrow lead, but whether that edge would transfer to another candidate is impossible to predict.

Coleman announced that he is suspending campaign activities out of respect for Wellstone.

Colleagues from across the political spectrum praised Wellstone as a passionate advocate for his beliefs. Sen. Tom Harkin (D-Iowa) broke into sobs as he spoke of "the most principled public servant I have ever known." Tears also choked the voice of Sen. Pete Domenici (R-N.M.), who joined Wellstone in an effort to require insurance companies to cover mental illness.

Tributes poured in from liberal groups that admired Wellstone's willingness to cast lonely votes on issues ranging from military spending to the environment. Wellstone was a hero to the left, and flirted with a campaign for president in 1999. When the Carleton College professor shocked the political establishment in 1990 by upsetting incumbent Rudy Boschwitz (R), Mother Jones magazine happily greeted him as "the first '60s radical elected to the U.S. Senate." He was, former vice president Al Gore said today, "the Mr. Smith who went to Washington."

Though some liberals disagreed with Wellstone's votes to allow states to ban gay marriage and to permit more government surveillance to fight terror, there was little doubt where his heart lay. Recently, he was the only candidate with a tough reelection fight willing to oppose the congressional resolution authorizing military force in Iraq.

More striking than odes from his allies, however, was a statement by his mirror image, conservative Sen. Jesse Helms (R-N.C.). "Paul Wellstone was a courageous defender of his beliefs," Helms said. "Despite the marked contrast between Paul's and my views on matters of government and politics, he was my friend and I was his."

As a freshman, Wellstone declared that he "despised" Helms. But during two terms in the Senate, he learned to nurture civil relations even with his adversaries.

President Bush, appearing with Chinese President Jiang Zemin at the Bush ranch in Texas, remembered Wellstone as "a man of deep convictions, a plain-spoken fellow who did his best for his state and for his country." Flags at government buildings in Washington and across Minnesota were lowered to half-staff.

Wellstone, a native of Arlington and a graduate of Yorktown High School, was traveling to Virginia, Minn., a blue-collar town near here, to attend the funeral of Martin "Benny" Rukavina, a retired union organizer. State Rep. Tom Rukavina, the man's son, said Wellstone had been a friend of the family for more than 20 years.

Traveling with the senator were his wife, Sheila Ison -- the high school sweetheart he married at age 19 -- and his adult daughter Marcia. Also aboard were campaign aides Will McLaughlin, Tom Lapic and Mary McEvoy. Pilot Richard Conry -- a favorite of Wellstone's, with more than 5,000 hours of flying experience -- and co-pilot Michael Guess, both employees of Aviation Charter Inc., were at the controls.

Wellstone had spent the morning campaigning in Minneapolis with Sen. Edward M. Kennedy (D-Mass.) and was to debate Coleman in Duluth in the evening.

The King Air, built in 1979, was engulfed in poor weather throughout the trip from the Twin Cities. Sources close to the crash investigation said the two pilots were advised several times during the flight of "adverse icing conditions" and were told before landing of the possible buildup of "moderate rime ice." Rime ice, a sort of freezing fog, can accumulate very quickly. Even a small, sandpaper-like buildup of ice on an aircraft's wings and other surfaces can disturb the airflow, causing the plane to lose lift or stall. Ice on engine intakes can break off and cause engines to fail.

However, the airplane carrying the senator was equipped with de-icing systems. Pneumatic "boots" on the leading edge of the wings could inflate and deflate to break ice; the plane's engine intakes and propellers were equipped with heating elements. When a "go-team" from the National Transportation Safety Board examines the wreckage, one of the first questions it will try to answer is whether those systems were activated and working properly.

A light snow was falling as the aircraft approached Eveleth out of the east. The small airport is not equipped with control tower or instrument landing system, so the pilots were making a "visual" approach while communicating with the tower at Duluth. About seven miles out, as they descended through clouds that hung as low as 400 feet, the pilots uttered their last communication to the controllers. It was routine.

Ulman, the airport manager, had turned on the landing lights. But no plane arrived. There was no distress call.

After a tense wait, Ulman took his own plane up for a look around. He spotted the wreckage in a remote spot -- "pine and swampy, a real unpleasant piece of property," according to St. Louis County Sheriff Rick Wahlberg. The nearest road was roughly a quarter-mile away. Investigators required all-terrain vehicles to reach the site.

According to Paul McCabe, a spokesman for the Minneapolis field office of the FBI, about 15 agents from across the state reported to the crash site to gather evidence. This is routine, McCabe said. "There was no indication or intelligence that would suggest that the crash was in any way an act of terrorism."

The agents were to be joined by 13 investigators from the safety board. In addition to icing, they will weigh other possible causes of the crash, including engine problems, mechanical or electrical failure. The board is likely to take weeks or months to reach a conclusion.

Staffers at Wellstone's Washington office huddled quietly and tearfully, but soon they were shuttling through the lobby of the Hart Senate Office Building to collect rich bouquets of flowers sent in condolence.

Later, several thousand mourners -- many dressed in Wellstone's trademark green -- gathered on the steps of Minnesota's state Capitol in St. Paul. Candles flickered in the drizzly dark. The Rev. John Spence, when his turn came to speak, tried to break through the gloom by shouting: "The Paul Wellstone I know would not want us looking like this. . . . Do not bow your heads. Stand tall! We must not quit the battle."

That was a pretty fair accounting of what drove Wellstone. He was a fighter -- a one-time wrestling champion who, despite a mild case of multiple sclerosis, once pistoned his way through 91 push-ups in a minute at the Capitol gym.

Reuters political correspondent Alan Eisner followed him through one of his last campaign events. "I love this," Wellstone said, as he rushed through a diner, shaking hands. The homestretch of a close election was his idea of paradise. "That's just gonna be so much fun."

Von Drehle reported from Washington. Staff writers Don Phillips and Eric Pianin in Washington and David Broder in St. Paul contributed to this report.

Supporters of Sen. Paul D. Wellstone (D-Minn.) mourn outside campaign headquarters in St. Paul after hearing news of plane crash. At Hart Senate Office Building, Wellstone staffers are consoled by aides from other Senate offices. Wellstone was seeking a third term in the Senate this fall.Staffers of Sen. Daniel K. Akaka (D-Hawaii) bring flowers to Wellstone's office. Flags at government offices in Washington were flown at half-staff.