This another of Dean Reynolds experiences. He worked at the Vernal airport for many years. Dean calls the story:

March 15, 1975

Even though we had had an easy winter, we were still looking toward the first day of Spring in six days. I had been working for Frontier Airlines for twenty-three years and was on duty at the time. The last flight had departed some time ago, and all our paper work had been taken care of. Myself and my fellow worker, Harold "Buzz" Oliver, were relaxing , and looking out the large South window at the praire dogs, running around in the field across the East West runway, by the rotary beacon.
The temperature was in the fifties and the wind was calm. There were several light planes, flying around the valley, and we could occasionally hear one as they flew within ear shot of the terminal building, where we were.
We watched as a Blue Cessna 150 was practicing touch and go's. We could see him as he negotiated the down wind leg, heading North one quarter of a mile East of the runway, planning to land South on runway 16.
As we were facing South and looking out the South window, we lost sight of him as the building obstructed our view. We continued to pass the time of day, while waiting for time to take another hourly weather observation, and sending it out on the Teletype to the U.S. Weather bureau.
As was our habit, we casually focused our attention on the runway to observe and remark on the landings made by incoming aircraft. We were particularly interested in observe the landing of the Cessna 150 because we had observed that the pilot was having difficulty, flaring out the landing, to result in a smooth touch down.
As the 150 came into view, the plane was already on the runway sliding down the middle. This was unusual as generally landing aircraft was still airborne as they came into blew through the window.
Instantly, I could see that the aircraft fuselage had broken in two. But the two halves had not separated and were still joined together.
Buzz hollered..."My H____ he's on fire!"
Then, I could see flames licking at the bottom of the fuselage, which was resting nearly on the runway surface. It was then that I was aware of a brisk wind that had sprung up.
I ran to the door and jerked it open and sprinted toward my pickup, which was parked inside the security fence on the ramp. I had parked my pickup there, because being airport manager at the time, I was obligated to drive down the runways and taxiways each day, to inspect for any debris on the surfaces and to see if any runway lights had been broken or had been tampered with.
My little pickup equealed it tires, as the 400 Chevy engine responded with a bellow air throughout the carburetor.
The 150 had stopped almost even with the taxiway turnoff onto the ramp. As I passed the taxiway turnoff onto the ramp. As I passed the taxiway headed for the 150, a Cessna 182 pulled up and stopped, right where the South taxway entered the ramp. I saw two occupants setting in the 182 looking over toward the 150.
As I screeched around the front end of the 150, I was saying to myself, "Why me?"
I could see flames had engulfed most of the fuselage by now but that the wind from the west was blowing strong enough that most of the flames were concentrated on the east side of the aircraft. That's where the pilot was setting as he flew the plane from the left seat.
I threw open the door of my pickup, which as I learned later, sprung the hinges. As I ran toward the plane, I could see the pilot slumped forward over the dash. The flames were being by the wind in sheets up along the door and window, where they flared out along the under surface of the wing. The fuel tanks are located in the wings. I reasoned in my mind as I approached the wreckage, that the door handle was going, to be too hot, by mighty heat from the flames. And, maybe the door would be sprung and hard to open. Or, maybe it would be latched on the inside. I determined that no matter how hot the door handle might be, I would grab it and forcibly open the door, regardless.
As I ducked into the flames, I held my left arm up to cover my face and eyes, while grabbing onto the door handle and jerking the door open. The door handle wasn't very hot. The door swung forward, and as it did so, it brushed the flames aside so that they were directed out around behind me. I put my left hand on the chest of the pilot and my right arm around his right shoulder an lifted him into the upright position in the seat. As I did so, I glanced at his face. It appeared that his forehead was severely crushed and lacerated, as the blood was pouring down over his face and into his lap. Regardless of the blood, I instantly recognized him as being L. J. Wilson, one of my good personal friends whom I had known for years.
As I held him upright in the seat with my right arm, I reached across his lap with my left hand, searching for the buckle of his seat belt. I located it immediately and lifted on the edge. The buckle opened easily, and I can still hear the clunk as it fell to the floor. I put both of my arms under his and stepped back unto the ground, attempting to pull him with me. His upper body came out, but his feet remained in the aircraft entangled in the rudder pedals. Under my breath I said "L J., your're coming out one way or another!"
The wind was shaking the plane, and I could feel the heat of the flames on my back. I ducked my head and then jumped up on the edge of the doorway with both feet and fell backward with all my weight and strength, jerking him with me. We both fell to the ground. I broke both of his feet as I jerked him from the aircraft. Wrapping my arms around him, I began backing away from the aircraft.
Then, my mind came back to reality, and I wondered why the fuel tanks hadn't exploded as yet. The thought had no sooner entered my mind than a hot rush of air hit me as the fuel tanks did indeed erupt. I fell over backwards to the ground. L. J. was making funny gurgling noises. I regained my feet and dragged him to the edge of the runway where I laid him down. Then, I noticed someone standing right where I had left L. J.
Being airport manager, my thoughts then went to my official duties. I entered my pickup and drove quickly back to the terminal building, while dodging around several emergency vehicles that were arriving on th scene. I quickly picked up the phone and dialed the Grand Junction flight service and advised them that the Vernal Airport ws closed because of a demolished aircraft on runway 16.