It was raining. Not just a drizzle, but a cold, nasty November mist that clung to the hills of West Virginia. On November 14, 1970, Southern Airways Flight 932 was humming through the dark, carrying the Marshall University Thundering Herd back from a tough 17-14 loss against East Carolina. They were almost home. Everyone was probably thinking about sleep, or maybe a late-night meal, or just getting off that cramped McDonnell Douglas DC-9. Then, at 7:35 p.m., the world just... stopped.
The 1970 Marshall football plane crash isn't just a "sports tragedy." That's too small a phrase for it. It was a localized apocalypse. Seventy-five people died. That included nearly the entire football team, the coaching staff, the athletic director, and dozens of prominent Huntington citizens who had hitched a ride to see the game. Imagine an entire city’s heartbeat skipping a beat and never starting back up.
What actually happened on that hillside?
People talk about the "why" a lot. Aviation experts have poured over the data for decades. Basically, the plane was on its approach to Tri-State Airport. It was coming in low. Too low. The NTSB later figured out that the pilots were likely relying on a faulty altimeter or misinterpreting their instruments in the heavy rain and fog. Whatever the reason, the jet clipped the treetops on a ridge just west of the runway.
It didn't just land hard. It flipped, exploded, and incinerated.
There were no survivors. None. In a tiny town like Huntington, that kind of loss is impossible to calculate. You didn't just lose a football team; you lost the guy who lived next door, the dentist who fixed your kids' teeth, and the local broadcasters you listened to every Saturday. Jack Hardin, a reporter for the Huntington Advertiser, was one of the first on the scene. He described a landscape of fire and silence. It’s a haunting image that hasn't faded in over fifty years.
The sheer scale of the void
Let’s be real for a second: Marshall wasn't some powerhouse program at the time. They were struggling. But they were their team. When the plane went down, it wiped out 37 players. It took out Head Coach Rick Tolley and his entire staff.
🔗 Read more: Who Won the Golf Tournament This Weekend: Richard T. Lee and the 2026 Season Kickoff
It’s hard to wrap your head around that. Usually, when a team has a tragedy, there are leaders left to pick up the pieces. Here, there was no one left to lead. The athletic department was a ghost town. The university president, Donald Dedmon, found himself presiding over a campus that felt more like a cemetery.
The fight to keep the program alive
You've probably seen the movie We Are Marshall. It’s a good film, mostly accurate, though it takes the usual Hollywood liberties with the timeline and the drama. But the core truth—the "Young Thundering Herd"—is real.
There was a very loud, very logical movement to just cancel the football program. Why wouldn't you? There were no jerseys to fill, no coaches to blow whistles, and a community so paralyzed by grief that the sight of a football field felt like an insult. But the students wouldn't have it. Neither would the surviving players who weren't on the flight (like Nate Ruffin, who sat out due to injury).
Red Dawson was the only coach who wasn't on the plane. He’d driven back instead of flying. Can you imagine that survivor's guilt? It’s a heavy thing to carry. Dawson, along with a new, energetic coach named Jack Lengyel, had to do the impossible: build a team from scratch using 15-year-old recruits, walk-ons, and athletes from other sports who had never strapped on a helmet.
The NCAA made an exception (and it changed everything)
Back then, freshmen weren't allowed to play varsity football. It was a hard rule. But considering the 1970 Marshall football plane crash had literally deleted the roster, the NCAA granted a waiver. This was a massive turning point. Without those freshmen, there is no Marshall football today. Period.
💡 You might also like: The Truth About the Memphis Grizzlies Record 2025: Why the Standings Don't Tell the Whole Story
The 1971 season was brutal. Honestly, they got hammered in most games. They were small, inexperienced, and playing against grown men. But on September 25, 1971, something happened that felt like a miracle. They played Xavier at home. It was their first home game since the crash.
With no time left on the clock, freshman quarterback Reggie Oliver threw a screen pass to Terry Gardner for a touchdown. Marshall won 15-13. People didn't just cheer; they cried. It wasn't about the scoreboard. It was about the fact that they were still there.
The lasting legacy and the Memorial Fountain
If you ever go to Huntington, you have to go to the Memorial Fountain. It’s the centerpiece of the campus. It’s huge, made of bronze, and weighs 6,500 pounds. Every year, on the anniversary of the crash, they turn the water off. It stays off all winter as a silent tribute to the 75 lives lost.
It’s a heavy place. You see people leaving flowers, old jerseys, or just sitting in silence. It reminds you that sports are never "just a game" when they are the thread holding a community together.
Why we still talk about this in 2026
We live in an era of "rebuilding" in sports. We use that word for a bad draft or a losing season. But Marshall redefined what rebuilding actually means. They spent the 70s and early 80s losing. A lot. It took them years to become competitive again. But they never quit.
📖 Related: The Division 2 National Championship Game: How Ferris State Just Redrew the Record Books
That resilience eventually led to the 1990s, where Marshall became a dominant force in Division I-AA (now FCS) and then transitioned into a top-tier FBS program with guys like Randy Moss and Chad Pennington.
But the success isn't the point. The point is the refusal to vanish.
Practical ways to honor the history
If you’re a sports fan or a history buff, understanding the 1970 Marshall football plane crash is a lesson in communal trauma and recovery. Here is how you can actually engage with this history beyond just reading an article:
- Visit the Spring Hill Cemetery: There is a mass grave there for the six players whose remains couldn't be identified. It is one of the most moving memorials in the United States.
- Watch the documentaries: While the movie is great, the documentary Marshall University: Ashes to Glory provides the raw, unpolished truth from the people who lived it.
- Read "The Marshall Story": Look for local accounts and archives from the Huntington Herald-Dispatch. They have kept the stories of the individuals—not just the players—alive for decades.
- Observe the silence: If you find yourself in West Virginia in November, attend the fountain ceremony. It starts at the exact time of the crash.
The tragedy taught us that a team belongs to its city, and a city belongs to its team. When the engines failed on that DC-9, it could have been the end of Marshall University’s identity. Instead, it became the foundation of a spirit that says "We Are Marshall." It’s a phrase that isn't just a chant; it’s a promise to the 75 people who never made it home that they will never be forgotten.