Part 3

When enough men had assembled we lifted the plane out of the ditch, pushed it over to a group of pine trees and tied it down to two of the trees. After removing all loose equipment I rode into Maben with one of the storekeepers who had locked up his business when he heard about the landing of the plane.

I wired Wyche at Americus to ship me one of the two propellers I had purchased before leaving, then engaged a room at the old Southern Hotel.

While waiting for the propeller I had extracted promises from half a dozen citizens to ride at five dollars each. This would about cover the cost of the “prop,” as well as my expenses while waiting for it to arrive. When it did come I put it on the shaft between showers, with the assistance of most of Maben and Mathiston. I gave the plane a test flight and announced that I was ready to carry passengers when it was not raining too hard.

The Mississippians who were so anxious to fly when the propeller was broken immediately started a contest in etiquette. Each and every one was quite willing to let someone else be first and it required psychology, diplomacy, and ridicule before the first passenger climbed into the cockpit. I taxied over to the far corner of the field, instructed my passenger how to hold the throttle back to keep the ship from taking off, and lifted the tail around in order to gain every available foot of space for the take-off.

The first man was so audibly pleased with his ride that the others forgot their manners of a few minutes before and began arguing about who was to be next.

That afternoon a group of whites chipped in fifty cents apiece to give one of the negroes a hop, provided, as they put it, I would do a few “flip flops” with him. The negro decided upon was perfectly willing and confident up to the time when he was instructed to get in; even then he gamely climbed into the cockpit, assuring all of his clan that he would wave his red bandanna handkerchief over the side of the cockpit during the entire flight in order to show them that he was still unafraid.

After reaching the corner of the field I instructed him, as I had the previous passengers, to hold the throttle back while I was lifting the tail around. When I climbed back in my cockpit I told him to let go and opened the throttle to take-off. We had gone about fifty yards when it suddenly occurred to him that the ship was moving and that the handle he was to hold on to was not where it should be. He had apparently forgotten everything but that throttle, and with a death grip he hauled it back to the closed position. We had not gone far enough to prevent stopping before reaching the other end of the field and the only loss was the time required to taxi back over the rough ground to our starting point. Before taking off the next time, however, I gave very implicit instructions regarding that throttle.

I had promised to give this negro a stunt ride yet I had never had any instruction in aerobatics. I had, however, been in a plane with Bahl during two loops and one tailspin. I had also been carefully instructed in the art of looping by Reese who, forgetting that I was not flying a Hisso standard with twice the power of my Jenny, advised me that it was not necessary to dive excessively before a loop but rather to fly along with the motor full on until the plane gathered speed, then to start the loop from a level flying position.

I climbed up to three thousand feet and started in to fulfill my agreement by doing a few airsplashes, steep spirals and dives. With the first deviation from straight flight my passenger had his head down on the floor of the cockpit but continued to wave the red handkerchief with one hand while he was holding on to everything available with the other, although he was held in securely with the safety belt.

Finally, remembering my ground instructions, I leveled the plane off and with wide open motor waited a few moments to pick up maximum speed, then, slowly pulling back on the stick I began to loop. When I had gotten one-fourth of the way around, the ship was trembling in a nearly stalled position; still, the Curtiss motor was doing its best and it was not until the nose was pointing directly skyward at a ninety degree angle that the final inertia was lost and for an instant we hung motionless in the perfect position for a whipstall. I kicked full right rudder immediately to throw the plane over on its side but it was too late, the controls had no effect.

The Negro meanwhile decided that the “flip flops” were over and poked his head over the side of the cockpit looking for mother earth. At that instant we whipped. The ship gathered speed as it slid backwards towards the ground, the air caught the tail surfaces, jerked them around past the heavier nose and we were in a vertical dive; again in full control, but with no red handkerchief waving over the cockpit. I tried another loop in the same manner but just before reaching the stalling point in the next one I kicked the ship over on one wing and evaded a whipstall. After the second failure I decided that there must be something wrong with my method of looping and gave up any further attempt for that afternoon. But it was not until we were almost touching the ground that the bandanna again appeared above the cowling.

I remained in Maben for two weeks carrying over sixty passengers in all or about three hundred dollars worth. People flocked in from all over the surrounding country, some travelling for fifteen miles in oxcarts just to see the plane fly.

One old negro woman came up and asked,--

“Boss! How much you all charge foah take me up to Heaben and leave me dah?”

I could have carried many more passengers but it rained nearly every day and each flight rutted the field badly. When I landed it was necessary to pass over a soft spot between two hillsides, and before taking off I had to taxi back over this soft place on the way to the far corner of the field. During the last few days several men were required on each wing to push the plane through the mud to the hillside beyond. Another difficulty was that the old black wartime rubber shock absorber card had deteriorated to such an extent that I replaced it with hemp rope and taxi-ing over the harder parts of the field was a very rough procedure, especially since the ground had been plowed in years gone by and allowed to grow sod without being harrowed.

I made several attempts to find another suitable field nearby but there was none from which I could safely operate.

Landing fields are of primary importance to safety in aviation. It is not a question of how small a field a plane can operate from, but rather of how large a field is necessary to make that operation safe.

Large and well equipped airports situated close to cities will go far towards developing commercial airlines and keeping the United States at the top in aeronautical activity.

The cities who foresee the future of air transportation and provide suitable airports will find themselves the center of airlines radiating in every direction.

When an airline is organized, one of the primary considerations is the condition and location of the various landing fields where terminals are contemplated. If the airport is small and in poor condition, or if a passenger must of necessity spend nearly as much time in traveling from the business district out to the field as it will require for him to fly from the field to his destination, then it is very probable that some other city will be selected for the stopping point.

The condition of the field together with the fact that after a heavy rain it was often necessary to carry gasoline in five gallon cans a mile and a half over the railroad tracks by hand forced me to leave Maben and a large number of would-be passengers behind, and early one morning I took-off for the last time and again headed for Texas.

III

BARNSTORMING EXPERIENCES

I had strayed over a hundred miles off my course and experienced a minor crack-up, but I departed with two hundred and fifty more dollars in my pocket than I had arrived with, besides confidence in my ability to make at least a little more than expenses by barnstorming.

The constant rains had filled the rivers to overflowing, and after leaving Maben I flew over flooded territory nearly all the way to Lake Village, Arkansas. Often the water was up to the second story windows of the farmhouses, and a forced landing at any time would have at least meant nosing over.

I had installed the compass while waiting for the new propeller at Maben, and experienced no further difficulty in holding my course.

After circling Lake Village I landed in a field several miles north of town. The nearest building was a clubhouse and soon the keeper and his family had arrived beside the plane. They invited me to stay with them as long as I wished, but the keeper persistently refused to accept a flight in return for his hospitality. I carried only a handful of passengers that afternoon. The flying territory around that part of the country was fairly good and there were a number of fields available for planes to land in. Consequently an airplane was no longer the drawing attraction that it was farther in the interior.

I staked the plane down much earlier than usual and went over to the clubhouse.

Evening came on with the clearness of a full moon and open sky. The landscape was illuminated with a soft yellow light; an ideal night for flying. I decided to see what the country looked like from the air at night and jokingly asked my host to accompany me. To my surprise he willingly agreed. For some reason he had no fear of a night flight although I had been unable to persuade him to go up with me in the daytime. What his reaction would have been, had he known that I had never flown after dark before, is a matter of speculation.

We untied the plane, removed the canvases from engine and cockpit, and after a few minutes spent in warming up the motor, taxied down the field and took-off for a moonlight flight down the Mississippi and over Lake Village.

Later in the evening after the ship was again securely staked to the ground and we were sitting quietly in the clubhouse, my host stated that he had never spent a more enjoyable quarter of an hour in his life.

The next morning I was again heading towards Texas against a strong westerly wind which retarded the speed of the Jenny so greatly that even with my double fuel capacity it was necessary to land at Farmerville, Louisiana, to replenish my supply. From there I flew to Texarkana and landed between the stumps of the 1923 airport.

On the following morning I left Texarkana with a strong tail wind and after crossing the western end of the Ozark mountains, landed near a small town in north eastern Oklahoma where I took on a fresh supply of fuel and again headed north towards Lincoln, Nebraska.

My tanks began to run low about half-way through Kansas and I picked out a hillside near Alma. After flying low and dragging the field several times I came in for a landing, but just as the wheels were about to touch the ground I discovered that it was covered with fairly large rocks half hidden in the tall grass. I opened the throttle to take-off but the plane had lost too much speed for the motor to take effect and as it struck the ground the left wing hooked in the rocks and groundlooped the ship to the left but without doing serious damage. The landing gear wires were strained and about two feet of the rear spar on the lower left wing tip was snapped off. Nothing was broken however which would require immediate repairing.

[Illustration: © _Erickson_

WORKING ON NAVIGATION CHARTS FOR FLIGHT]

[Illustration: © _Erickson_

INSTRUMENT BOARD OF THE PLANE]

The field was quite a distance from Alma and in order to get an early start in the morning I stayed with the ship that night. During the heavy rains at Maben, Mississippi, I had constructed a hammock of heavy canvas which could be suspended under the top wing.

I tied the corners of this hammock to the upper strut fittings and crawled into the three blankets inside which were sewn up to form a bag. Thus I spent a comfortable night.

When I arrived over Lincoln the next day I circled over the Lincoln Standard factory, and after landing on the old flying field south of town, waited for the car which was sent out to bring in visiting airmen.

The remainder of the day was spent in “ground flying” with my friends in the factory. We had not been together for seven months and the usual exchange of experiences was necessary.

I soon learned that Bud Gurney had made a parachute for himself and was intending to test it by the simple method of going up to an altitude of fifteen hundred or two thousand feet and cutting loose from the plane. If the chute opened it was successful.

After a great deal of persuasion I prevailed upon him to let me take him up in my ship while we made the first test with a sand bag.

The tanks had just been filled with fuel but I had unlimited confidence in my Jenny and we lashed the parachute and a sandbag on the right wing. Bud, who weighed one hundred and sixty-five pounds himself, climbed into the front cockpit and we started to take-off with a total load of about six hundred pounds, to say nothing of the resistance of the parachute and sandbag which were directly in the slipstream from the propeller.

Even with this load we cleared the nearest obstacle by a safe margin and finally attained an altitude of about two hundred feet. Then we were caught by a descending current of air which carried the plane down to within ten feet of the ground, and try as I would I could not get any higher. A wooded hill was directly in front, and to avoid striking the trees I turned down wind. A railroad tressle was then in front of us and we stalled over it by inches. For five minutes we dodged hills, trees, and houses. I signaled Bud to cut the sandbag, but when he started to climb out of the cockpit to reach it, the added resistance brought the plane down still lower. Then in front of us appeared a row of trees, much higher than the rest, which I knew it would not be possible to get over. We were then passing over a grain field and I cut the gun and landed down wind. The grain was high enough to keep the ship from rolling far and we unloaded the handbag before taking off again. With the weight of the bag and its resistance gone, we had no trouble in getting out of the grain and back to the flying field.

A week later Bud carried out his original intention of testing the chute. It was successful.

Before continuing the flight to Minnesota, Bud and I made a short barnstorming trip through eastern Nebraska. That territory had been fairly well covered by other barnstormers, however, and we did very little business.

At one place where we landed we were overtaken by a violent thunderstorm combined with a strong wind. It came up so suddenly that we had only time enough to tail the ship into the wind and lash the stick to keep the ailerons from whipping before the wind struck us. We were both holding on to the tail trying to keep the plane from blowing away. Following the wind was a heavy rain which covered the ground with water and at each flash of lightning the electricity on the wires of the ship would pass to the ground through our bodies with the intensity of a booster magnet.

In an electric storm a plane acts as part of a condenser, since it is insulated from the ground by the rubber tires and wooden tailskid. It is possible to receive a violent shock by standing on wet ground and holding on to one of the wires.

We were unable to let go of the ship in the high wind and could only remain and take these discharges as they came. Fortunately the storm did not last long.

The night after our return to Lincoln we slept on the field so that I could get a good start in the morning. Bud was in the back of a Ford truck, and I was in the hammock.

The next morning was overcast with local showers which were visible in every direction. I took off soon after daybreak and after flying through several storms landed in a hayfield at Forest City, Iowa, where I serviced the ship between showers and took off on the final flight to Shakopee, Minnesota, where I expected to meet my father and carry him around on his campaign.

I found Shakopee covered by a cloudburst and in flying around waiting for the storm to pass so that I could land I got into a heavy shower near Savage. One of the cylinders cut out, and I was circling preparatory to landing in a clover field when two more stopped firing. I was flying at less than a two hundred foot altitude and loosing that rapidly. It was necessary to land immediately but the only choice of landing places lay between a swamp and high trees. I took the swamp and cut the throttle. When the wheels touched earth they rolled about twenty feet, sank into the spreader bar and we nosed over.

The rudder did not quite touch the swamp grass and the plane stopped after passing through three-quarters of a semi-circle, with the radiator cap and top wing resting on the ground. I was hanging on the safety belt but when I tried to open the clasp with one hand, holding on with the other to keep from falling out on my head, I found it to be jammed. After several futile attempts to open it I reverted to the two strap buckles at the end of the belt to release myself from the cockpit.

All this required not more than two or three minutes.

After getting out of the cockpit I inspected the plane carefully. Again there was little actual damage. The propeller was badly cracked and would have to be replaced; there was a crack in the spreader board which required winding with strong cord. Otherwise the plane was in perfect condition although splashed with mud.

For once there was no one in sight and I made my way through the swamp to the nearest farmhouse. On the way I found that there was solid ground along the edge of the swamp less than 100 yards from the plane from which I could take-off.

The farmer had seen the plane pass over in the rain and was on his way down towards the swamp when I met him. He informed me that it was not possible to get horses through the mire out to the ship and that he had no idea of how I was to get it back to hard sod again.

I borrowed a rope from him to use in pulling the tail back to a normal position and we started back to the swamp.

Meanwhile it seems that two boys had seen me land, and when I did not emerge from the cockpit immediately, had run to Savage with the news that “an aviator had landed upside down in the swamp” and that they had “gone up and felt of his neck and that it was stiff and he was stone dead.”

I had flown over the town in the rain only a few minutes before, and as in those days it was not difficult for anyone to believe anything about an airplane, the town promptly locked its doors and came crawling and wading through the swamp. The older inhabitants followed the railroad track around its edge and by the time I returned with the farmer and a rope there were enough townspeople to solve my problem by carrying the ship back onto solid ground.

They were undoubtedly much disappointed at having come so far on a false alarm but turned to willingly to help me get the ship out of the swamp.

The next edition of one of the Minneapolis papers carried the following item which typically exemplifies what has been the average man’s knowledge of aeronautics.

AIRPLANE CRASHES NEAR SAVAGE

Charles A. Lindbergh, son of ex-Congressman Lindbergh, crashed near Savage, Minnesota, this morning. He was flying in his plane three hundred feet above the ground when it suddenly went into a nose dive and landed on its propeller in a swamp. Lindbergh says he will be flying again in three days.

After reading this and similar accounts of equally minor accidents of flight, it is little wonder that the average man would far rather watch someone else fly and read of the narrow escapes from death when some pilot has had a forced landing or a blowout, than to ride himself. Even in the post-war days of now obsolete equipment, nearly all of the serious accidents were caused by inexperienced pilots who were then allowed to fly or to attempt to fly--without license or restriction about anything they could coax into the air--and to carry anyone who might be beguiled into riding with them.

My next move was to wire to Little Falls for a propeller which Wyche had expressed from Americus and two days later joined my father in his campaign at Marshall.

My father had been opposed to my flying from the first and had never flown himself. However, he had agreed to go up with me at the first opportunity, and one afternoon he climbed into the cockpit and we flew over Redwood Falls together. From that day on I never heard a word against my flying and he never missed a chance to ride in the plane.

After the campaign was over I spent the remainder of the summer barnstorming through Minnesota, northern Iowa and western Wisconsin. Most of the time I was alone, but I took one student around with me for a few weeks while I was teaching him to fly, and then I barnstormed southern Minnesota with my mother for ten days. My mother had never objected to my flying, and after her first flight at Janesville, Minnesota, she became an enthusiast herself.

We had been together constantly up to the start of my flying career and had both looked forward to flying around together. Consequently when the opportunity presented itself I wired her to meet me at Janesville.

My mother enjoyed flying from the first and has made a number of flights with me; including a round trip between Chicago and St. Louis in the mail compartment of my plane.