CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Review of Some Fundamentals

During the protracted period when Hamilton-Standard, Sikorsky, and Chance Vought found the going rough as they endeavored to create new products that could be sold to a reluctant government, Pratt and Whitney for a while made much smoother weather of it. The Wasp engine had proved so outstanding that no other power plant had challenged it, and in a field that offered the greatest volume. Subsequent engines, while not outclassing all competition, as had the Wasp, won a fair share of the market. As a matter of fact, it was Pratt and Whitney that had provided most of the resources out of which the other divisions had prosecuted their new developments. But now as the year 1937 arrived, even the bellwether of our flock began to find the pickings scarce.

For certain ones in the Army Air Corps still persisted in advocating liquid cooling, and now, as they began occupying positions of power, they pressed harder than ever, this despite the fact that the brilliant performance of the air-cooled radials had all but driven liquid-cooled in-line engines out of the country. In England, however, where the Bristol air-cooled engines had not attained to the same leadership as had the Pratt and Whitney and Wright radials in America, Rolls Royce had done an outstanding job with a racing-plane engine which they had later developed into a fine pursuit engine. In Germany, where tremendous effort was being made to rehabilitate aviation after the terms of the Treaty of Versailles had been modified, Junkers had taken a license to build Pratt and Whitney engines but, as usual, had not built power plants wholly comparable with the original. Simultaneously B.M.W. had prosecuted the development of their own liquid-cooled engines, a type in which they had background and experience. These facts, plus some new liquid-cooling developments, had encouraged certain men in the Army to promote an American liquid-cooled program.

By using Ethylene Glycol, or Prestone as we know it in our automobile antifreeze mixtures, many of the difficulties inherent in liquid-cooling were ameliorated. The new “pressure-cooling” systems became competitive with the “baffles” of the radials in so far as weight and performance were concerned; they still retained the old handicaps of leaky plumbing. In order to exploit this progress, the Army Engineering Division at Wright Field had designed a liquid-cooled, in-line engine of its own, and turned over the job of building and testing it to the Allison Engineering Company, of Indianapolis, Indiana.

Allison, skilled in automotive experimental work, especially that associated with racing in the speedway, had built up a fine reputation by undertaking highly experimental projects that, for one reason or another, failed to appeal to companies interested in production. Allison’s president, “Pop” Gilman, had done a lot of Diesel development, and other clever experimental work for BUAERO when I was chief of the Engine Section, and he had built up a highly competent outfit. After completely redesigning the Wright Field effort, Pop had gone ahead to make a fair engine out of the “Allison.”

In addition to their convictions that the United States should develop a good liquid-cooled engine, some men in the Air Forces had always believed that General Motors should become a factor in engine production. Out of this conviction, the time came when General Motors absorbed Allison and put its back into power-plant development. This meant tough competition for the aircraft industry and while we might, by dint of great effort, keep ourselves in the forefront of technological progress, we could not, of course, match the limitless financial resources of “the corporation.” With the head start we already held in current engine types, we should more than hold our own, but now with the cold hand of the long depression pressing down on us, we found the new Army-G.M. alliance cold comfort indeed.

Meanwhile, the Army continued its pressure on Pratt and Whitney and Wright Aeronautical, to force both companies to undertake liquid-cooled engines of their own design. The fact that the two types would not mix any better than oil and water, and that for us to divert a portion of our limited energies to something we did not believe in would impair the development of air cooling, seemed to have no weight with a few liquid-cooled fanatics.

And now they dug up a new angle. It seemed that out in Santa Monica, Don Douglas and his engineers were studying a new twin-engined bomber and were leaning toward the idea that, in order to reduce the drag and improve the air flow over the wings, the engines, instead of being mounted outside in the cowls, should be completely housed in the wings. To meet this requirement, the engine must be flat, in the form of a pancake. Our own studies contemplated a twenty-four-cylinder job, and such an arrangement demanded liquid cooling. Under tremendous pressure from Wright Field, where, of course, the purse strings were held, Pratt and Whitney reluctantly agreed to go ahead. Similarly, Wright Aero accepted the inevitable.

This was the situation in the summer of 1937, when, with Chance Vought Aircraft just beginning to round out into an effective team, I was put out of commission by an automobile crack-up that took me out of active service for several months. Coming home after dark in a driving rain from a day of trout fishing at the East Haddam Fish and Game Club, some thirty miles from Hartford, I was smacked so hard by a speeding motorist that my new convertible was reduced to a heap of junk. Only through kind providence was I spared the same fate.

Out of the hospital, I moved from Chance Vought over to the head office at Pratt and Whitney, to undertake a new program. Here I set up a small research department and, with a tight little organization, began collecting all the facts and many fancies, with a view to shaping a new course.

As the brains of this organization I selected John Lee of Vought. The designer of the radical SB2U monoplane dive bomber, John had employed his scientific mind to the company’s great practical advantage. He would require at least a year to assemble a body of information that might prove of value in approaching our problem. The time had come for someone, free from administrative responsibilities, to make a considered estimate of the new situation out of which policy decisions might be reached. Of one thing we were sure: there is a definite limit to the number of design projects any one engineering department can handle. The sure way in which to break down even the best organization is to overload it.

In order to get John Lee and his crew started on their study, I set for them the task of making a coldblooded analysis of the liquid-cooled air-cooled controversy. To this end they were to design, from the ground up, a series of single-seat fighters, each of which was to utilize each engine to best advantage. We were not interested in proving a case for either engine, but in ascertaining for ourselves, without prejudice, which engine was best suited to the job. We chose the single-seat fighter because this was the type in which the liquid-cooled appeared to best advantage. John Lee’s job was to design a whole family of fighters, orthodox or unconventional, and from this collection make a factual analysis that would resolve our problem for us.

Meanwhile I would make the grand tour of the industry, calling on everyone who might have an idea or an opinion to contribute to our study. Out of such a tour we might gather a few valuable ideas, and hopefully indicate to our customers our own deep interest in their problems. I would approach the matter with an open mind, collect detailed notes of my interviews, and assemble them in such form as would best indicate the thinking of the whole industry on our problem.

And so, while John Lee assembled a handful of selected assistants, I set out on my tour. At Bethpage, Long Island, I interviewed Roy Grumman and Jake Schwoble and visited their shops. Roy, the president of the company, was also its leading engineer—then a rather common situation in aviation—while Jake, a hard-hitting shopman, was more or less the business manager. Here was a competent pair surrounded by an able team, doing a smart job, as we in Vought so well knew through competing with them.

At Seversky’s (now Republic’s) plant at Farmingdale, Long Island, I was impressed by the sharp contrast between the two Russians, Seversky and Sikorsky. Both were White Russian refugees, both had left their native land, where they were no longer welcome even to live, much less create airplanes, and both had found in free America a climate under which they could employ their talents. Alex P. de Seversky, ably supported by clever engineers led by Kartveli, was a power in the fighter field and, as an ardent advocate of air-cooled engines, had backed Pratt and Whitney exclusively.

On arrival at the Naval Aircraft Factory, Philadelphia, I found many old friends and associates of my days in BUAERO. The factory, in compliance with some legislation that required them to produce a certain percentage of all production, as a so-called “yardstick to private industry,” had undertaken to manufacture Wright Whirlwind engines under license. The management had little sympathy with the idea—any such yardstick must be a rubber one—and what with interferences by local politicos and the usual complications inherent in government manufacture, the project had bogged down.

At Glenn L. Martin’s plant down near Baltimore, I had a good visit with the old-timer sometimes described as “the dean of the airplane industry.” A conservative when it came to design, Glenn had pioneered in volume production processes, and on the financial side had taken numerous risks that proved intelligent. And for all his ups and downs, he had lost none of his zeal for commercial aviation, even though he had lost his shirt as had Sikorsky and Boeing, building Clippers for Pan American Airways.

A visit to BUAERO brought recollections of exciting days under Admiral Moffett and emphasized his inimitable qualities. By now the Engine Section, having lost its sense of direction, had begun to waver in the air-cooled versus liquid-cooled conflict, and no longer wielded its old influence.

From Washington’s hazy atmosphere I moved out to the clearer skies of the Pacific Northwest. At Boeing, Claire Egtvedt, though reduced by indifferent health to acting in an advisory capacity, still kept his unimpaired view of the fundamentals of aviation. His orderly, considered estimate of the engine problem was more than worth the trip west; besides, it was stimulating to yarn about the good old days.

Phil Johnson’s departure from Boeing had left a big vacuum. Having been banished from the American transport scene, he had undertaken to create his newest masterpiece, Trans-Canada Airlines. Phil had once told me a story about how he had got his first job with Boeing. While still a student in aeronautics at the University of Washington, he had chanced to be alone in the office of the head of the department at the moment when Bill Boeing had called on the telephone to inquire the name of a likely student to fill a job in his new factory. Phil, answering the ring, had promptly replied, “P. G. Johnson!”

Proud of his Scandinavian origin, he delighted in springing a pet question, “What is dumber than a dumb Swede?” His answer, “A smart Irishman.”

Down in Los Angeles, where a big segment of the airplane business, attracted by the physical and economic climate, had set up shop, I found Don Douglas at his old stand in Santa Monica, Dutch Kindleberger in a new shop at Inglewood, Jack Northrup in a new establishment at Hawthorne, and Bob Gross at our old flying field at Burbank. These men, though competitive and individualistic, and as different one from the other as night from day, were all animated by the same enthusiasm for aviation and zeal for its advancement.

Don Douglas, conservative as to design, skillful in production, long on timing, and alert as to customer service, had done one of aviation’s outstanding jobs. His company, like the others, remained pretty much a one-man show, managed by engineers with good judgment and a limitless capacity for work. Don’s was a well-balanced show, founded on sound character, far-sighted vision, and Scotch thrift.

“Dutch” Kindleberger, of North American, a journeyman engineer specializing in military aircraft, delighted in personally contriving ingenious labor-saving devices. A salty citizen, he once summed up the case for the airplane, “There never has been an airplane designed and built that wasn’t full of bugs. And you can’t delouse an airplane with insecticide. Instead you pick them out the hard way, like hunting fleas on a woolly dog, and when you finally get the one that is making his nose twitch, it is probably biting him under the tail!”

“Dutch,” to my shocked surprise, had shifted his allegiance to liquid-cooled engines and was even then mocking up a new power plant installation that threatened serious competition for Pratt and Whitney. However, I remembered that Dutch knew how to give a customer what he wanted, and the Army was his principal customer.

Bob Gross, who had bought Lockheed for a song, had succeeded in giving Don Douglas real competition in air transports. While tending to depreciate his own efforts, he managed an aggressive outfit that placed a high premium on speed. Jack Northrup, having launched a new company, was bubbling with enthusiasm for his newest project, a big bomber designed along the lines of his earlier flying-wing. Always unorthodox, yet extremely practical, he was most helpful to me with my problem.

Following my Los Angeles visit, I flew down to San Diego to look up Reuben Fleet of Consolidated Aircraft, an enterpriser who had lost none of his enthusiasm for, and skill at, making an honest dollar. By this time the Navy had become San Diego’s major industry and FLEET AIR filled the skies with formations of carrier aircraft.

Out of this tour around the country, I not only collected every man’s point of view as to power plants, but got an interesting cross-section of the industry as a whole. One-man shows for the most part, they were managed by engineer executives, a combination hard to beat when manufacturing was involved. In contrast with the rather studied approach we had in United, they were bold and forthright. Averaging then somewhat under forty-five years of age, they compressed into brief business careers the whole history of aviation.

In a brief span of two decades, they had created a whole new technology, and this had been accomplished in the face of many vicissitudes. Through doing business largely with a few customers like the government or the airlines, they had developed an outlook quite at variance with that of industries dealing with large numbers of individual customers. As an important segment of the national security, it was natural that they should look upon their profession more as a public service, and thus develop an appreciation of public relations. At a time when new enterprises had been almost interdicted by the unfavorable economic climate and they had been singled out for attack, they had still gone on, with youthful self-reliance, with rugged independence, and a competitive spirit, to exploit the freedom of their homeland and create a new art.

And out of my swing around the circuit, I reached clear conclusions with respect to my own problem, aircraft power plants. I had heard nothing to shake my convictions as to the superiority of air-cooled radials. On the contrary, I had heard much to confirm them. If the Air Corps still wanted a source of supply for liquid-cooled engines, they should look elsewhere than Hartford. Furthermore, even if Pratt and Whitney could create the world’s best liquid-cooled engine as well as the best air-cooled, it would do little good. The two required different tools, different production processes, in fact separate factories, and we already had our hands full with our own job.

This added up to the fact that in trying to do both jobs we were compromising our ability to discharge our responsibility with respect to air-cooling. We must get back on the beam at the first favorable opportunity and devote our resources to continuing to build the best air-cooled engines in the world.