If Hillary Clinton wasn’t at Dartmouth that day, I might not have died. It was a bad day … overcast … snowy … cold ... dark … Lebanon airport, New Hampshire at 5:00 pm on Thursday, December 2, 1993. Just my luck, Hillary was there … We were on the taxiway, ready to take off … then the tower ordered us to abort. Hillary’s jetliner had priority over our four-seater. We were told to use a different runway. Klaus and Harry frantically tried to reprogram our flight computer. Hillary took off. Minutes later, we took off … We were too low when we turned the wrong way … We never saw the mountain … We were still climbing when the trees took us down. Three men died on the mountain that night. One came back. Being dead was a delight. Coming back was painful. This is my story. I’m Ed.