As the McDonnell Douglas DC-10 took off in 1970, it was larger than any other wide-body plane—it was the future. Airlines needed an airplane with a large payload of passengers that could fly far but could also take off from small airports, like the 747. Douglas Aircraft, consolidated into one company for the first time with McDonnell, promised to give them that.
The firm itself tried out the concept of a flashy double-deck configuration before sanity set in and they were steered into something far more practical. The result was a three-engine widebody that could seat almost 400 people. Squeezed between the massive 747 and the short-distance planes, the DC-10 appeared to be the perfect middle ground.
Big operators like American and United arrived on the scene early on, attracted by its huge cabin volume, less noisy engines, and state-of-the-art avionics for the time. Its tri-jet configuration also exactly fitted the day’s long-range flight demands, with flexibility without compromising range.
But soon optimism was followed by fear. Within a few short years, the DC-10 was at the center of news stories around the globe for all the wrong reasons. Its cargo door was its humiliated Achilles’ heel. American Airlines Flight 96 blew up in flight in 1972 when the door failed—although the crew was able to guide the plane to the ground safely.
It came only two years later when Turkish Airlines Flight 981 also suffered from the same weakness. The aircraft flew apart in mid-air on that day, with all 346 aboard losing their lives. Investigations unearthed major design errors, leading to makeshift repairs and a broad industry change in safety protocol.
And then there was the blackest of days. American Airlines Flight 191, leaving Chicago O’Hare on May 25, 1979, when the left engine snapped off, severed hydraulic lines, and left the pilots powerless to react. The plane crashed, killing 273 in the deadliest U.S. air disaster up to that point. The FAA later grounded the entire DC-10 fleet for more than a month. Although it did later return to service, its image was never the same.
But the DC-10 soap opera wasn’t over yet. The U.S. Air Force saw possibilities in the rugged airframe and converted it into the KC-10 Extender, a refueling tanker that also carried cargo and troops. Delivered for the first time in 1981, the KC-10 became an institution. Its flexibility enabled it to refuel fighters, bombers, and transports on transoceanic missions, extending American air power even further.
From the Gulf War to Kosovo, from 9/11 missions to humanitarian deployments, KC-10s kept them flying, refueling combat and relief flights behind the scenes. For over four decades, these planes were the behind-the-scenes backbone of world operations.
Their mission is now coming to a close. Bases such as Travis Air Force Base have seen send-offs where aircrews, families, and veterans have attended to watch the KC-10s take off on their last missions. As General John Lamontagne has said, the history of the KC-10 lies in the men and women who piloted it, serviced it, and depended on it in the world’s most hostile environments.
What was a cursed commercial jet was transformed into a dependable military workhorse. The DC-10 made the aviation industry evolve following its initial tragedies, and its second life as the KC-10 demonstrated that even an airplane whose life started on unstable ground can be permanent.
Its commercial flights are behind it now, but the DC-10’s legacy—and the commitment of the crew that delivered it into existence—will be heard long after the last landing.