Old School
*Obviously, written/published some years back
Around the World Eighty Years Ago*
The U.S. Army Air Service’s 1924 epic flight
Some things never change. Many tourists have experienced a snooty French waiter looking down his nose at them. Eighty years ago, a tired group of Americans faced the same situation. Seems that at this particular French sidewalk café, steaming in the heat and humidity of Saigon, a waiter refused to serve the Americans because they were not wearing dinner jackets!
Never mind the fact that these Americans were in the midst of an epic adventure - trying to be the first to circumnavigate the world by air and couldn’t afford to carry along non-essential items such as formal wear - this restaurant had standards and “Messrs would have to leave.”
This is just one amusing anecdote from the incredible journey undertaken in 1924 by eight US Army Air Service pilots. Along the way, they battled incredible odds, untested equipment, diplomatic snafus, mechanical failures, and social exhaustion. Despite the hurdles, they made history.
In 1924, the US Army Air Service was in danger of becoming extinct with fewer than 1,000 pilots and less than half that number of obsolescent aircraft. One method encouraged by the Air Service leadership to stave off extinction was to win various aviation contests and the attendant headlines.
Congress could be counted on to fund things popular with the public. Garnering publicity by setting speed and altitude records or winning air races kept the Air Service popular, but not enough to keep it growing. As war-era planes atritted through crashes or simply wearing out, Congress was not buying enough to keep pace with the losses.
Major General Mason Patrick, Air Service boss, had been studying the chances of making an around the world flight as far back as 1922. He thought that a successful mission would get enough attention from America’s people that Congress would be forced into providing more money.
Eventually Major Fred Martin led pilots Lieutenants Lowell Smith, Leigh Wade and Erik Nelson in this mission. Each pilot was allowed to select his own mechanic so Technical. Sergeant Arthur Turner, Staff Sgts. Alva Harvey, Henry Ogden, and one officer with a mechanical background, Lt John Harding found themselves in the rear cockpit of the flight’s chosen mounts: the Douglas World Cruiser (DWC).
The DWC was an adaptation of an existing Navy design, the DT-2, powered by a 425 hp 12 cylinder liquid-cooled Liberty engine. Those engines would be a great source of aggravation and effort to the crews during the flight. The DWC won the competition use due to its great structural strength and ability to operate as both a wheeled land plane and by swapping wheels for pontoons, as a seaplane.
The crews began the flight from Seattle, Washington. Prior to starting, however, Gen Patrick knew that the press would write more interesting stories if the planes had names rather than simply listed as “No. 1, 2, 3, or 4.” He gave the men leeway to name each aircraft after a U.S. city, as long as the names covered the breadth of America. Seattle (1), Chicago (2), Boston (3), and New Orleans (4) hit all the compass points.
Just prior to that take-off, mechanic Turner removed himself from the flight due to illness. Lt Smith chose alternate pilot Lt Leslie Arnold to take Turner’s place. Arnold would say, “No man was ever more astonished than I when I found I was going along.”
On April 5, 1924, the adventure began. Lt Arnold wrote in his notebook of the flight,
“As I look down on Lake Washington and Seattle…I wonder how many of us will get all the way around…..
Visibility is only fair this morning, but above the haze that half veils the earth the summit of Ranier stands out as clear as crystal. No wonder the Indians call it Iahuna, the mountain that is God. I saw Lowell glance back over his shoulder at it several times and I’m sure the memory of its grandeur will inspire us all the way around the world. This undertaking somehow makes you feel the presence of the Ruler of the Universe as you have never felt it before.”
Airborne for nearly seven hours each flying day, the crews cruised at just over 72 mph. Seven hours of handling a large aircraft with no autopilot, sitting only feet behind the unmuffled V-12 Liberty engine and wind noise, all the while having their faces either stung and frozen when flying in Arctic conditions or stung and baked in the jungles and deserts of Asia. It is little wonder that the early generation of aviators were universally hard of hearing after a career spent flying.
On April 30th, Major Martin and his backseater Sergeant Harvey crashed while trying to cross an Alaskan mountain range. Separated by lousy visibility, the other crews didn’t see the mishap and continued on to that day’s goal. Martin and Smith survived the crash and, after many days, hiked to rescue.
After flying all day, the beat up crews were usually reliant on themselves to maintain their aircraft. At each stop, they performed “general inspection, routine work, and servicing.” This was their way of saying that after landing, no matter what the weather or field (or water) conditions, the crews inspected all wires, fittings and visible parts, flushed gasoline line strainers, oiled thrust bearings and valve stems, wiped clean the fuselages and cowlings, replenished oil and gas tanks, topped off the radiator, and when in floatplane mode, removed the port hole covers and inspected the pontoons morning and night. “Routine” maintenance indeed!
At several scheduled and unscheduled stops, the DWCs required major repairs. 22 of the cantankerous Liberty engines were eventually changed. Other than tedious, this was no big deal at a proper facility. However, an engine change in the Aleutians meant a long, freezing night in knee deep Arctic waters. Another engine failure on the flight from Haiphong to Tourane (modern day Da Nang, Vietnam) forced the Chicago to land in a lagoon several hours short of Tourane.
The other crews waggled their wings after seeing the Chicago land safely and continued on to Tourane. Once there, they summoned a Navy destroyer to carry a spare engine back to the stranded crew.
They tied the DWC to a bridge and used the bridge as a fulcrum to work a block and tackle arrangement to hoist out the old Liberty and attach the new one. Once this impromptu exchange was completed, Smith cranked the engine and they flew on to Tourane. From there, the remaining three airplanes flew to Saigon and a meeting with the snobbish garcon.
The incident with the waiter actually highlights a chronic complaint of the goal-oriented aviators. At every stop, public clamor for elaborate receptions and photo opportunities with local gentry piled on the airmen. Since the flight was representing the Air Service and in a larger sense, the United States, the airmen had to grit their teeth and bear the Chinese, Turkish, or British equivalent of the ‘rubber chicken and peas’ circuit.
Besides making the flyers uncomfortable, the social pressures extended their work day. After hours of the most demanding flying, then three-four more spent servicing the aircraft, the crews had to then clean up and present themselves for the toasts and cheers of the locals. It was often midnight or later before they saw a bed and the next morning’s take-off loomed only a few hours away. They thus flew every day completely tuckered out.
After a ten hour day getting into Paris, the crews changed into formal uniforms (sent ahead by the Air Service!) and attended a special showing of the Folies Bergere. When the lights went down, so did six pairs of eyelids! All six promptly fell asleep during the most famous show of its day.
Returning to their hotel, the still tired men hung hand lettered signs on each door:
Please do not wake us
Until nine o’clock tomorrow morning
Unless the hotel is on fire
And not even then
Unless the firemen have given up all hope.
The next day, they alighted for London where Lt Wade demonstrated the Americans can be as polished as any Old World denizen. Hosted by the Royal Air Force at its club in Piccadilly, Erik Nelson recounted the tale:
“It was at the table and on one side of Leigh sat a dignified general and on the other sat Lord somebody. Well, with a knife in one hand and a fork in the other, Leigh fell sound asleep - and snored. Nor was this his first offense for he had done the same thing at a dinner after one of our long flights in the Kurile Islands. But folks insisted on entertaining us, so listening to Leigh’s imitation trombone solo was the price they paid.”
On their first attempt to leave the British Isles on the way to Iceland the Chicago and Boston encountered fog soon after takeoff and elected to turn back and wait for better weather.
Lt Nelson, in the New Orleans, also took off but elected to proceed. After a harrowing incident, he arrived in Iceland and sent back this laconic telegraph to his comrades in the UK:
GOT INTO PROPELLOR WASH IN THE FOG WENT INTO SPIN PARTIALLY OUT OF CONTROL CAME OUT JUST ABOVE THE WATER CONTINUED ON LANDING AT HORNA FJORD ALL OK NELSON
The next day, Chicago and Boston took off again for Iceland. This stretch of the journey was ill-fated. The Boston’s oil pressure dropped to zero and Wade was forced to land on the open ocean. Smith, in the Chicago, watched as the Boston touched the waves but due to fuel concerns, couldn’t stop. He dropped notes to a US Navy destroyer posted 100 miles away and later to a telegraph station on the Icelandic coast. The crew was rescued but the aircraft was battered to a pulp in the rough ocean and sank.
Speeches, awards and civic honors piled on the men after they finally landed back at Seattle on September 27th. Reporters constantly harassed the flyers for quotes. One newsman asked Lt Smith, “Would you do it again?” Smith summarized the feeling of all the Army men when he said, “Not for a million dollars…..unless I was ordered to.”
The Chicago, now resting in a place of honor in the Smithsonian Air & Space Museum, flew more than 26,000 miles in 363 hours, 7 minutes of flying time. Or out of the total trip time of 175 days, just over 15 days were actually spent airborne. The other days were consumed by weather delays, maintenance snags and the incessant need to socialize on behalf of the United States.
If publicity is what the Air Service wanted, publicity is what it got. The flight paid the hoped for dividends. Within two years, Congress had tripled funding for airplanes.
SIDEBARS
The machines:
Douglas World Cruiser Chicago:
Type: Single engine tractor, two-place biplane
Construction: Tubular steel and wood framework with fabric cover. Metal fittings and cowling. Floats are 3-ply veneer and mahogany planking
Wingspan: 50 ft
Length: 35 ft, 6 in
Engine Liberty V-12 rated 400-425 hp
Fuel capacity: 450 US gal
Oil capacity: 50 US gal
Cooling: Water
Landplane Seaplane
Weight lbs
(empty/max) 4300/6915 5100/7715
Max speed 104 mph 100 mph
Cruise: 90 mph 85 mph
Rate of climb 500 fpm 500 fpm
Ceiling: 10,000 ft 7,000 ft
Endurance: 2,200 miles 1,650 miles
The Men:
Major Frederick L. Martin, commander: Initially a Coast Artillery officer, he became a pilot after 12 years in the Army. At the journey’s start he had 700 flight hours, the least of any of the pilots. Later in his career, he was the Commanding General for the Hawaiian Air Forces, December 7, 1941, the day the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.
1Lt Lowell H. Smith, adjutant, later commander of the flight: Learned to fly while working as an airplane mechanic for Pancho Villa during the Mexican revolution. Earned the Mackey Trophy for the 1919 Transcontinental Reliability and Endurance Test, flying coast to coast in 54 hours. In 1923, was a pilot for the first air to air refueling. Eventually held 16 national and world aviation records.
1Lt Leigh Wade: WW I flying training squadron commander, became a test pilot at the US Army’s McCook Field, establishing an altitude record of 27,120 feet the early 1920s. An expert in aerial photography, he left the service for a civilian job but was recalled for duty during World War II. The year after the 1924 Flight, he was a driver in the first transcontinental non-stop auto race, traveling from Los Angeles to New York in 165 hours, 50 minutes.
1Lt Erik H. Nelson, engineering officer: Swedish born, he served as a merchant seaman before emigrating to the United States in 1909. Enlisted in the Air Service as a mechanic and went on to become a pilot during WW I. A mechanical wizard, he left the Army to help form the Boeing Aircraft Company, serving as a consultant in the development of the B-29 Superfortress for WW II.
1Lt Leslie P. Arnold, alternate pilot/replacement mechanic: A theater actor before joining the Army, he participated in the 1921 Army bombing of obsolete battleships off the Virginia coast. He left the service in 1928 to help found what became Trans World Airlines. Recalled to active duty during WW II, he served as a colonel with the US Eight Air Force in England.
1Lt John T. Harding, mechanic: A mechanical engineer with a law degree, he enlisted as a private in the Air Service during WW I. Later he was granted a reserve commission and worked as a civilian mechanic at McCook Field. He held the patent to an electric fuel valve that was used extensively in American fighters during WW II. An interesting physical feature of Harding was that he had one brown eye and one blue.
SSgt. Henry H. Ogden, mechanic: The youngest of the World Fliers at 23, he was a marvel at trouble-shooting mechanical faults. He also performed plane-to-plane transfers during airshows during his off duty time. He later helped organize the Michigan Air National Guard and became a commercial test pilot.
SSgt Alva L. Harvey, mechanic: A hard working mechanic, Harvey had caught Fred Martin’s eye when the latter was the commander of the Air Service’s mechanics school. Harvey was also an accomplished parachute jumper. He became a pilot in 1926 and commanded a B-29 bomb group in the Pacific during WW II.
Crash and Rescue of the Seattle’s crew
In the early stages of the trip, on April 30, 1924, flying from one stop on the Alaskan coast to the next, Maj. Martin and SSgt Harvey encountered dense fog that reduced their forward visibility to a few feet. While trying to clear a mountain pass, they crashed and were lucky to survive with only minor injuries. Unfortunately, they were stranded miles from anywhere with no means of communications.
They spent the first night huddled in the wreck of the Seattle, then set out to find help. After eight days of hiking through the wilderness with almost no food, they stumbled onto a lake cabin that had canned supplies inside. A day of rest and nourishment there and they set out again. They spotted a boat of Aleut Indians who took them to a nearby fish cannery that had a radio. They were finally picked on May 14th.
Offered the chance to travel east around the world to meet the flight in Turkey and assume command again, Martin magnanimously declined saying:
“While there is nothing I should like better than to rejoin the flight….a considerable portion of the flight will have been accomplished without me. In fairness to Lt Smith, who succeeded me in command, I think he should so continue…and bring the flight back to the United States.”