It was raining. A cold, miserable November mist hung over the Tri-State Airport as Southern Airways Flight 932 made its final approach. On board were 75 people—players, coaches, fans, and the flight crew. They were coming home from a tough 17-14 loss against East Carolina.
Then, silence.
The Marshall 1970 football team didn't just represent a school; it represented a town. Huntington, West Virginia, isn't a massive metropolis. It’s a place where the local college team is the heartbeat of the community. When that plane clipped the trees on a hillside just short of the runway on November 14, 1970, that heartbeat stopped. There were no survivors.
Honestly, it’s hard to wrap your head around the scale of that loss. Imagine an entire athletic department, the most prominent boosters in town, and a generation of young men just... gone. It remains the deadliest sports-related air disaster in U.S. history. But to understand why we still talk about this team today, you have to look past the tragedy and see what they were building before the crash.
What People Often Get Wrong About the 1970 Squad
Most people know the story from the movie We Are Marshall. Hollywood does what Hollywood does—it makes things shiny. But the actual 1970 team wasn’t some ragtag group of losers. They were a team in transition, led by Rick Tolley, a coach who was known for being intense and demanding.
Tolley was a "system" guy. He was trying to implement a disciplined, hard-nosed culture at a program that had struggled for years. By 1970, things were starting to look up. They weren't winning every game, sure, but they were competitive. They were physical.
The 1970 roster was a mix of local kids and recruits from across the East Coast. You had guys like Ted Shoebridge, the star quarterback from New Jersey who was the focal point of the offense. He was "The Guy." Then there was Art Harris, a standout running back. These weren't just names on a jersey; they were local celebrities. People in Huntington knew them. They saw them at the grocery store.
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The loss at East Carolina that afternoon was frustrating. It was a game Marshall felt they could have won. That’s the cruel irony of sports history—the "what ifs" are usually about a missed tackle or a bad call. For the Marshall 1970 football team, the "what if" became a permanent, haunting void.
The Immediate Aftermath: A Town in Paralysis
Huntington didn't just mourn. It froze.
When word got out that the plane was down, people rushed to the airport. They stood in the rain, staring at the smoke. The identification process was grueling. Because the fire was so intense, many of the victims couldn't be identified. This led to the creation of the memorial at Spring Hill Cemetery, where six players are buried together.
The grief was suffocating.
There was serious talk about dropping the football program entirely. Why wouldn't there be? There was no one left to play. No coaches left to coach. The equipment was gone. The spirit was broken.
Jack Lengyel, the man who eventually took the job of rebuilding, often noted that he wasn't just recruiting players; he was recruiting a reason to keep going. But the decision to continue wasn't unanimous. Some felt it was disrespectful to play so soon. Others felt that stopping would be the final defeat.
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Rebuilding From Absolute Zero
The NCAA eventually granted a waiver that allowed Marshall to play freshmen on the varsity team in 1971. This was a huge deal because, back then, freshmen weren't allowed to play varsity sports. This gave birth to the "Young Thundering Herd."
But let's be real—1971 was a bloodbath on the field. They were playing with kids who should have been on a junior varsity squad against seasoned grown men. They won two games that year, and honestly, those two wins felt like Super Bowl titles.
The weight of the Marshall 1970 football team legacy sat heavy on those new players. They weren't just playing for themselves; they were playing for the 75 who weren't there. Every time they walked past the memorial fountain on campus—the one that shuts off every year on the anniversary of the crash—they were reminded of the stakes.
The Logistics of a Tragedy: Why Flight 932 Crashed
People still debate the "why."
The National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) investigation concluded that the pilots were flying below the required altitude for that stage of the approach. It was dark. The weather was garbage. The airport didn't have the sophisticated instrument landing systems that we take for granted in 2026.
They were using a non-precision approach. Essentially, the pilots were looking for the ground while flying through clouds and rain. They thought they were higher than they actually were. By the time they saw the trees, it was too late.
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It was a preventable tragedy, which only makes the pain sharper for the families. There wasn't a mechanical failure. The engines were working. The plane was airworthy. It was a navigation error compounded by poor visibility.
Why the 1970 Team Matters Now
We live in an era of "rebuilding" in sports. A team trades away their stars, loses for three years, and calls it a "process."
Marshall's rebuilding wasn't a strategy. It was a necessity for survival.
The 1970 team is the reason Marshall University still has an identity. If they had folded the program, the school might have shrunk into obscurity. Instead, the tragedy became a unifying force. It’s why the "We Are Marshall" chant is so guttural and loud. It’s not just a cheer; it’s an assertion of existence.
If you ever visit Huntington, go to the fountain. It was dedicated in 1972. It’s a massive bronze piece that features 75 points of water—one for every soul lost. Every November 14th, at the exact time of the crash, a ceremony is held and the water is turned off. It stays off until the following spring.
It’s a stark, silent reminder of a Saturday night when the world ended for a small West Virginia town.
How to Honor the Legacy Today
If you’re a sports fan or a history buff, simply knowing the name of the team isn’t enough. The legacy of the Marshall 1970 football team is best honored by understanding the human cost of the games we love.
- Visit the Memorial Fountain: It’s located in the center of the Marshall University campus. It is a place for quiet reflection, regardless of whether you’re a Thundering Herd fan.
- Support the Memorial Fund: Marshall University maintains scholarships in honor of those lost. Contributing to these helps ensure that the educational dreams of those 1970 players continue through others.
- Read "The Marshall Story" by Keith Morehouse: Keith’s father, Gene Morehouse, was the radio announcer who died in the crash. His perspective is deeply personal and avoids the glossy finish of national media.
- Watch the Documentary "Ashes to Glory": While the feature film is great for drama, this documentary provides the actual footage and interviews with survivors and family members that give the true weight to the story.
The story of the 1970 team isn't just about a plane crash. It’s about the fact that even when everything is stripped away—every coach, every star player, every bit of momentum—the community remains. Huntington decided that the best way to remember the dead was to keep living, and that’s why the Thundering Herd still takes the field today.