Surviving a Horrific WWII Army Plane Crash and Making it All the Way to 2020

By Seth Landau, grandson

I might not have been here. But my grandfather miraculously survived a U.S. Army Air Corps (precursor to the U.S. Air Force) bomber crash during World War II, so this story can be written. He never spoke about the details, but web searches bring up news reports saying the accident happened the night of August 8, 1943 during a routine training flight. My grandfather’s aircraft plowed into the harsh desert 120 miles west of Salt Lake City, Utah. Crash-landing into what is now Interstate 80 then skidding off the road onto nearby Western Pacific railroad tracks. Minutes later the bomber was slammed by a freight train resulting in a 26-car pile-up and what the Associated Press called a “dizzy pyramid of destruction.” One pilot was killed and 10 others were dragged from the wreckage and survived, including Irwin Landau of New York, New York.  

My grandfather was a good example of the storied work/life dichotomy. A dedicated family man who busted his hump Monday through Friday in uptown Manhattan selling and repairing jewelry for most of his post-military career. Trying to get details about himself, his past, or our family history was like pulling teeth. He was very content to live his life to the fullest without dwelling too much on yesterday. But his first grandson, me, turned into a writer, and sorry grandpa, but more people will have heard of you now. His was actually a fascinating life. 

(grandma and grandpa c 1940s)

My grandfather’s father Joseph came to America with his family through Ellis Island in the early 1900s. Joseph’s father, Yitzchak, I was told by relatives was the mayor of his town of Leczyca, Poland before leaving for America. Ironically, sadly, Leczyca was destroyed during WWII fought in by my grandfather and his brother Norman. The Landau’s Polish hometown is no more and what few records exist are now in nearby Lodz.

(grandpa's household according to the 1930 U.S. Census)

My family and others from Leczyca, roughly translated to Lentshizer in English, stayed in touch after immigrating to the NY boroughs through their Young Friends of Lentshizer organization that was originally a networking/social club and still exists today in a much smaller and bleaker capacity as a non-profit raising funds for funeral expenses. Last month during Thanksgiving week my grandfather was buried alongside his compatriots in the group’s dedicated plot in a New York-area cemetery.

(Young Friends of Lentshizer group photo c 1930, grandpa's Uncle Philip Landau 2nd row, 2nd from Right)

Irwin Landau was a blue-collar working man, but many of both his distant and not-that-distant kin were members of what could be called high society or the austere side of the tracks. His aunt Mitzi Landau was the mother of Aaron Feuerstein, famous textile manufacturer and philanthropist who is still around today and in his 90s. A cousin connected to my great-granduncle Rabbi Raphael Victor Landau told me our family lineage is descended from the renown 1700s rabbi and community leader Yechezkel Landau aka the Noda Biyhudah. Another relative, the late Dr Arthur Landau of Cape Town was on the team of doctors that performed the first heart transplant in South Africa. Many years ago when I was digging through our genealogy I had the pleasure of personally interviewing Landau relatives who were also esteemed professionals, professors from Harvard to San Francisco State University and even a couple of notable real estate developers in Southern California from Newport Beach down to San Diego.

The starting point for all this discovery was the deepest link, my grandfather Irwin. He himself stubbornly didn’t stay in touch with his family basically beyond his wife, kids and grandkids and in fact many of the above famous players from our family tree said something to the extent of “we lost touch with him x number of years ago.” In his own emails and letters to me, grandpa corroborated, saying things like “they were at your grandmother and my wedding but we haven’t heard much from them since.” People just don’t “lose touch.” They don’t care and either quickly or insidiously drop the connection. As someone who is nostalgic, a seeker, and eminently interested in where I came from, it hurts my heart to hear things like the above…but that was grandpa, like a lot of people. He and my grandmother loved their immediate family no doubt, but they weren't investigators nor deeply curious about our origins and bloodline.

(grandpa, me, grandma)

My grandfather Irwin Landau was a complicated man. On one hand he wasn’t sentimental and would throw away old pictures rather than keep. He could also cut someone out of his life if they hurt or disappointed him. On the other hand, he could be fiercely loyal, taking care of his family with home loans, elbow grease installing a brick backyard patio or living room floor, and often bringing food and gifts to our house. In a more dour example, never giving up on a particular relative who encountered numerous run-ins and trouble with drugs, the law and toxic and abusive relationships. Conversely, he could and did completely ignore certain relatives he didn’t like personally, generally didn’t approve of, or someone innocently connected to an unwelcome individual. It was all very muddled and even those on his good side, as I was, felt residual effects from a trail of infighting and deterioration between the family. Maybe it was a generational thing, a personal thing, or a mix…but feelings weren’t often discussed by either of my grandparents. My grandfather was tough but loving, strong but extremely sensitive.

(VIDEO: grandpa at our 4th of July party, Long Island NY, 1985)

I think people are in our lives at certain times for a designed reason. Select people are meant to be with us for a really long time; many people are meant to be there for a shorter tenure. I’ll leave that up to God or the Divine to discern the hows and whys and not question it too much. When it comes to my grandpa (and grandma), they were put in my life from birth through the end of my schooling; then the relationship dropped off precipitously. 

Grandma and grandpa Landau were the COOLEST grandparents a kid could ask for. They had a majestic (to me) two-story house in Whitestone Queens, NY with a lovable black schnauzer Brandi who would come careening down the linoleum kitchen floor as soon as you announced you had a “cookie” for her.

Idyllic backyard with a small greenhouse and a brick barbecue. The house had a basement with a bar (of no consequence to us kids) and entertainment area full of old board games and books from when my father and his brothers were growing up there during the 1950s and 60s; sometime in the 80s my grandfather added a sauna. I loved sitting in the sauna, sans heat, and smelling the sweet cedar. Whenever my sister and I would visit they’d always take us to Raindew (like a Walgreen’s) to get a toy (for me: Star Wars, He-Man, Matchbox cars). When they visited my childhood house on Long Island they always came bearing gifts…they were providers and nurturers and specialized in making those around them have a good time and feel at-home.

Not one to question things in general, I distinctly remember grandpa’s response to one of the biggest earthquakes in NYC history. I happened to be sleeping over at their Queens house the evening of the Ardsley quake, Oct 19, 1985. Jolted awake and seeing everything in the room shaking and making noise like something out of Poltergeist, my disoriented 9-year-old self called for help. “Go back to bed, it was just a big truck,” replied my grandfather from downstairs. For the record, it was not just a big truck. 

My parents divorced and mom moved my sister and I across the country to Arizona around my high school years. (Foreshadow: one of the things I remember most about my grandfather was him relaxing in his recliner in the den, pictured below, while watching Westerns.)

From then all through college my grandparents wrote a tome of letters to me and even attended my graduation at Arizona State University, the last time I saw them in-person. They always encouraged me to focus on my studies and get good grades to set myself up for success. I believe they mentioned that at least once in every single letter and telephone conversation. During college broadcasting school they were enthusiastic about my radio, TV and newspaper reports I’d send them. 

(college graduation at ASU)

I stayed the course for awhile after college, pursuing a print reporting career. Where our relationship really started to dissipate was when I decided to drop everything at the age of 23 and move to Los Angeles to chase my dream of working in movies. My grandparents didn’t understand the move, didn’t know what to say, my grandfather even encouraging me to “get a trade,” a far cry from the fervent cheering I received all through college. 

(they wrote too many letters to count from high school through college)

After I made my first movie, I sent them a screener and they reviewed it tepidly, saying it wasn’t really their cup of tea but they were very proud of my accomplishment. At one point I asked them if anyone from our family was out in Los Angeles and even better, working in Hollywood? They knew of no one but remembered the kid from next-door when grandma and grandpa were a young couple living in the Bronx. The kid’s name was Mark Rothman, and they said he was some kind of TV producer and I could look him up and use their name. I found an email for Mark, reached out, he expressed genuine surprise that I was able to track him down (the Directors Guild had his contact info; wasn’t difficult) and immediately fondly remembered my grandparents, even commenting borderline-awkwardly that he had a bit of a crush on my grandmother back in the day. Mark and I met up in his Malibu neighborhood for lunch, we then went back to his condo to watch his latest theater project pitch on VHS, but ultimately I contacted him about 30 years too late. He was kind of a big deal in the 70s, writing and producing for TV hits like The Odd Couple, Happy Days and Laverne and Shirley. He even told me the story of his bitter break and estrangement from his old writing partners Lowell Ganz and Marc Babaloo Mandel, who would go on to be A-list Hollywood screenwriters, often collaborating with Ron Howard. Sadly, Mark Rothman would not be able to help me get an agent. He was however a cautionary tale on why you shouldn’t burn bridges. My grandparents asked how the meeting went. I told them great.

In addition to my father, who died at the age of 40, my grandfather was probably the greatest influence on my personality. He was assertive, sometimes stern, an extremely hard worker, a dedicated husband all wrapped in an acerbic, wry sense of humor. He definitely wasn’t perfect, but he was a survivor who provided and I am so grateful for all he gave us for many years, the traits he imprinted onto me, and I mean come on, since he made it to the age of 96…for his genes. I'll always love him dearly. (His older brother Norman, who spent his entire career in the U.S. Navy and would entertain me at family get-togethers with jokes and pulling quarters from my ear, also recently passed away at 96.) 

In my first feature film I modeled one of the lead characters after my grandfather and infused the character with extrapolated streets-of-New York grit played to humorous effect. In one scene I captured grandpa’s tendency to keep his phone calls shorter than gassing up the car if at all possible while still assiduously hitting all the major check-in notes but not getting too deep. 

(VIDEO: my movie "grandpa")

In 2011, my grandmother Phyllis Landau ascended and my grandfather was never the same, even though he went on for another nine years. My grandfather lost one of his sons, my father Joel (three of us pictured below) in 1991, and took it very hard.

But losing his wife of 60+ years was most likely his soul’s knock-out punch. Not to say he didn’t enjoy life afterwards, because I’m sure he had many enjoyable experiences and fond memories. Shortly after my grandmother passed, I called grandpa to see how he was. He sounded more depressed than I’d ever heard him and when I asked what he was up to he said “Oh nothing. I’m just sitting here staring at the wall.”

His health was good-to-great his entire life…until midway through 2020 when I got a call from my Uncle Steve, one of my father’s two brothers. I was told grandpa wasn’t doing well and they were relocating him from Florida back to New York, where he’d be admitted to an assisted living facility in the area after a brief stayover in the home of relatives. For my grandfather, who was still driving at 95 years old, this was probably the last straw. Losing one of his three sons, then his longtime wife and soulmate was bad enough, but losing his independence, in my opinion, made him check out. Things happened fast. At the start of 2020, he went from healthy to losing his faculties by mid-year to passing in autumn. No major surgeries, medicines or catastrophic events.

While he was back in New York staying with family before being transferred to the care facility, I spoke to grandpa on the phone for the last time. His memory had been deteriorating all year and by this time he couldn’t recall much…nonetheless we spoke for about 10 minutes, ironically one of our longest phone calls. He told me about talking recently with his brother Norman about “the service [military].” Some people would posit that’s an old man losing his mind and thinking his deceased brother is alive when in fact he isn’t. But I see it a much different way. To me, Irwin Landau was transitioning to the other side and he was starting to interact with souls there, including his brother who crossed over in 2018. 

The more I think about death in this existence, the more I think that towards the end, we have one foot in the tangible world and one foot in the astral. Those two realities intertwining would confuse anyone…especially someone close to 100 years old. At the terminus of that final phone call with grandpa he said “I hope I get to meet you some day.”

He will, because I’ll indeed see him on the other side eventually; but until then he has A LOT of catching up to do.

Seth Landau is a journalist and writer/director/producer/actor. His reporting has appeared in Voice Media Group, The Arizona Republic and more. His films have been released across all digital platforms. Although now assimilated to the Pacific coast and Southwest, he is forever in his heart and soul a New Yorker.