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BY

GLENN H. CURTISS

AND

AUGUSTUS POST

WITH CHAPTERS BY CAPTAIN PAUL W. BECK, U.S.A.
LIEUTENANT THEODORE G. ELLYSON, U.S.N.
AND HUGH ROBINSON

 

NEW YORK

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY

PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1912, by FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY

---

All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
languages, including the Scandinavian

TO
MRS. MABEL G. BELL
WHO MADE POSSIBLE THE AERIAL EXPERIMENT ASSOCIATION
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED BY
THE AUTHORS

 

Chapter I

 

The Coming Airman & : An Introductory Chapter

THE time has come when the world is going to need a new type of men almost a new race. These are the Flying Men. The great dream of centuries has come true, and man now has the key to the sky. Every great invention which affects the habits and customs of a people brings about changes in the people themselves. How great, then, must be the changes to be brought about by the flying machine, and how strangely new the type of man that it carries up into a new world, under absolutely new conditions!

Each year there will be more need of flying men; so that in telling this story of a pioneer American aviator, his struggles, failures, and successes, it has been the desire to keep in mind not only the scientific elders who are interested in angles of incidence, automatic stability and the like, but also the boys and girls the air pilots of the future. It is hoped that there will be in these introductory chapters for whose writing, be it understood, Mr. Curtiss is not responsible‹ a plain unvarnished story of an American boy who worked his way upward from the making of bicycles to the making of history, an inspiration for future flights, whether in imagination or aeroplanes, and that even the youngest reader will gain courage to meet the obstacles and to overcome the difficulties which Glenn H. Curtiss met and overcame in his progress to fame.

Here is a man who is a speed marvel who has beat the world at it. First on land, riding a motorcycle, next in a flying machine, and finally in a machine that was both water and air craft, which sped over the surface of the sea faster than man had ever traveled on that element, and which rose into the air and came back to land with the speed of the fastest express train; a man who traveled at the rate of one hundred and thirty- seven miles an hour on land, fifty-eight miles an hour on the water and who won the first International speed championship in the air.

More than that, they may see what sort of a: boy came to be the speed champion and to know some of the traits that go to make the successful airman, for it is said of the great aviators, as of the great poets, they are born flying men, and not developed. The successful flying man and maker of flying machines, such as Glenn H. Curtiss has shown himself to be, realizes how dangerous is failure, and builds slowly. He builds, too, on his experience gained from day to day; having infinite patience and dogged perseverance. And yet a great aviator must be possessed of such marvelous quickness of thought that he can think faster than the forces of nature can act, and he must act as fast as he thinks.

He must be so completely in harmony with Nature and her moods that he can tell just when is the right time to attempt a dangerous experiment, and so thoroughly in control of himself that he can refuse to make the experiment when he knows it should not be made, even though urged by all those around him to go ahead. He must feel that nothing is impossible, and yet he must not attempt anything until he is sure that he is ready and every element of danger has been eliminated, so far as lies in human power. He must realise that he cannot change the forces of nature, but that he can make them do his work when he understands them. Some of these qualities must be inbred in the man, but the life- story of Glenn H. Curtiss shows how far energy, courage, and tireless perseverance will go toward bringing them out.

It is from among the country boys that the best aviators will be found to meet the demands of the coming Flying Age. They have been getting ready for it for a long time‹long before the days of Darius Green Does any one now read "Phaeton Rogers," that story of the inventive boy back in the eighties, and recall the "wind-wagon" which was one of his many inventions, There were many like him then, and there are more like him now; always tinkering at something, trying to make it "go," and go fast. And there are many of these who are building up, perhaps without knowing it, the strong body, the steady brain, courage, perseverance, and the power of quick decision‹the character of the successful airmen of the future.

The history of aviation is very brief, expressed in years. In effort it covers centuries. First come the inventors, a calm, cautious type of men, holding their ideas so well in trust that they will not risk their lives for mere display and the applause of the crowd. Then the exploiters, eager for money and fame; men who develop the possibilities of the machines, always asking more and getting more in the way of achievement with each new model built. Though covering a period of less than a half score of years, aviation already has its second generation of flyers, pupils trained by the pioneers, young and ambitious, eager to explore the new element that has been made possible by their mentors. From the country districts, where the blood is red, the brain steady and the heart strong, will come many an explorer of the regions of the air. Just as the city boy in developing the wireless telegraph strings his antennae on the housetops and the roofs of the giant skyscrapers, so will the country boy develop his glider or his aeroplane in the pasture lands and on the steep hillsides of his own particular territory, and we shall have a race of flying men to carry on the development of the flying machine until it shall reach that long dreamed of and fought-for perfection.

 

 

Chapter II

 

The Boyhood Days

GLENN HAMMOND CURTISS was born at Hammondsport, New York, May 21, 1878. His middle name shows his connection with the pioneer family for which the town is named. Then Hammondsport was a port for canal boats that came up Lake Keuka; nowadays it is an airport for the craft of the sky. It is a quaint little town, lying on the shores of a beautiful lake that stretches away to Penn Yann, twenty miles to the north. Glenn's old home was called Castle Hill. It was nearly surrounded by vineyards and fruit trees. It was once the property of Judge Hammond, who built the first house in Hammondsport. On this site now stands the Curtiss factories.

All about Hammondsport are the great vineyards that have made the town famous for its wine, for Hammondsport is in the very heart of the grape-growing section of New York State. These vineyards give the boys of Hammondsport a fine opportunity to earn money each year, and Glenn was always among those who spent the vacation time in tying up grape vines, and in gathering the fruit on Saturdays and at other odd times.

Some of the neighbors' children picked wintergreen and flowers, and sold them to the summer; excursionists. One time Glenn was invited to go with them. He sold six bunches for sixty cents. His mother applied the amount toward a pair of shoes in order to teach him the use and value of money. He was then three years old and wore a fresh white dress and a blue sash.

Glenn was afterwards taught how to prune and tie vines and gather fruit and at harvest time he was often seen with pony and wagon making a fast run to the station to get the last load of grapes on the train.

With the care of his sister and the work on the home vineyard, life was not all play, for Glenn was "The Man of the House," after his father's death, which occurred when he was four years old. At this time, he went with his mother and sister, to live with his grandmother who lived on the outskirts of the village.

Hammondsport is divided by the main street, and the boys of the two sections, like the boys in cities, were always at war. The factional lines were tightly drawn and many were the combats between the up-town boys and the low-town boys. The hill boys had a den in the side of a bank that sloped down from Grandma Curtiss' yard, walled in with stones of a convenient size. This gave them good ammunition and a great advantage in time of battle.

Among the members of the up-town gang were, "Fatty" Hastings and "Short" Wheeler, "Jess" Talmadge and "Cowboy" Wixom and Curtley, as the boys called Curtiss. He was captain of the band, because he had a sort of ownership of the den. Thus the war waged until one day they punctured Craton Wheeler's dog "Pickles," which so infuriated the enemy of the lower village that they were on the point of storming the fort in the hillside from above, and would no doubt have done BO had they not chanced to trample upon Grandma Curtiss' flower beds which caused this indignant lady to issue forth and put the entire gang to rout. The cave continued to be a safe refuge for the hillside gang until "Fatty" Hastings grew too big to squeeze through the entrance and sometimes got stuck just as the gang was ready to sally forth against the enemy, or blocked the whole crew when they were in retreat.

During the winter months Glenn gave his hand to making skate-sails, and became very proficient at it, and when summer came and the boys went on bird-nesting excursions in the woods, he was usually the daring one who allowed himself to be lowered by a rope over the cliff's edge or climbed to the topmost limbs of the big hickory trees. At school, mathematics was young Curtiss's strong point, and when finally he came to pass his final examinations in the high school, he topped his class in that study with a perfect score of one hundred, and in Algebra he stood ninety-nine. It is reassuring, however, to find that in spelling he was barely able to squeeze through with a percentage of seventy-five. Glenn sometimes slipped up on the figuring, but the principle was usually right; he had figured that out beforehand. The boys of Hammondsport used to say that Glenn would think half an hour to do fifteen minutes' work. One wonders what they would have said, if they had been told that in after years he was to think and plan and scheme for a year, and then when he was all ready, to wait hour after hour, day after day, to accomplish something requiring a little more than two hours' time; like his flight from Albany to New York, the first great cross-country flight made in America.

When Curtiss was twelve years old his family went to live in Rochester, New York, so that his sister might be able to attend a school for the deaf at that place. He went on working at Rochester after school hours and during vacation time, first as a telegraph messenger, then in the great Eastman Kodak works, assembling cameras. He was one of the very first boys hired by that establishment to replace men at certain kinds of work, and while the men had received twelve dollars a week, Glenn received but four dollars. Before long, however, he had induced his employers to make his work a piece-work job, and had improved the process of manufacture and increased the production from two hundred and fifty to twenty-five hundred a day. He was thus able to earn from twelve to fifteen dollars a week. It was while employed in the camera works at Rochester that Curtiss saved the life of a companion who had fallen through the ice on the Erie canal. When praised for his act of bravery he simply remarked: "I pulled him out because I was the nearest to him."

All during the time that Curtiss was working for others for wages, he continued to tinker making things and then taking them apart; Once he told some of his companions that he could make, out of a cigar box, a camera that would take a good picture. Of course they laughed at him and bet that he couldn't do it. But Glenn did do it, and a picture of his sister with a book was produced and is still unfazed, and in good condition, in possession of his family. He constructed a complete telegraph instrument out of spools, nails, tin, and wire and this so impressed the lady with whom the Curtisses boarded that she remarked to one of her friends that "Glenn Curtiss will make his mark in the world some day; you mark my words." This particular lady tells of the time that Glenn used to talk of airships, and he was not yet sixteen years old. Curtiss was fond of all sorts of sports, taking part in the games the boys would get up after school and on Saturdays. He liked to play ball, to run, jump, swim, and to ride a bicycle.

His time was too much taken up, however, with more productive efforts, such as the wiring of dwellings for electric light or telephones, to permit of much time being given to boyish sports.

He was most original and had a keen sense of humor.. He was fond of an argument, and had one striking characteristic; once he had made up his mind as to the why and wherefore of a thing, he could never be induced to change it. To illustrate this trait; one day an argument arose between Glenn and another boy as to whether or not a whale is a fish, Glenn holding that it could be nothing but a fish. The other boy finally reinforced his argument by producing a dictionary to show that a whale is not a fish, whereupon Curtiss asserted that the dictionary was wrong and refused to accept it as authority.

Curtiss was always eager for speed to get from one place to another in the quickest time with the least amount of effort. He was obsessed with the idea of traveling fast. One of the first things he remembers, says Curtiss, was seeing a sled made by one of his father's workmen for his son beat every other sled that dashed down the steep snow-clad hills around Hammondsport. He begged his father to let "Gene" make him a sled that would go faster than Linn's. "Gene" made the sled and Glenn painted it red, with a picture of a horse on it. Furthermore, he beat every sled in Hammondsport or thereabouts.

The bicycle became all the rage when Curtiss was growing into his early teens and nothing was more certain than that he should have one as soon as he could earn enough money to buy it. And when he got it he made it serve his purposes in delivering telegrams, newspapers, and such like. He developed speed and staying powers as a rider, and soon thought nothing of making the trip from Rochester to Hammondsport to see his grandmother, who still lived in the old home in that village. The roads of New York were not as good as they are nowadays, when the automobile forces improvements of the highways, but Curtiss rode fast nevertheless. In fact, he managed all his regular work this way. His idea was first, to find out just how to do it, and then do it. Then he would find out how fast a certain task could be performed, and get through with it at top speed. The surplus time he devoted to tinkering with something new.

Grandmother Curtiss finally prevailed upon him to go back to Hammondsport and live with her. For a time after his return he assisted a local photographer and his experience in photography gained at this time has since proved of great value to him, and, incidentally, to the history of aviation; for in photographing his experiments Curtiss' pictures have a distinct value, as much for being taken just at the right instant, as for their pictorial detail. Following his photographic employment, Curtiss took charge of a bicycle repair shop. It was a little shop down by the principal hotel in Hammondsport, but Curtiss foresaw the popularity and later the cheapness of the bicycle, and he believed the shop would do a good business. James Smellie owned the shop, but Curtiss' mechanical skill soon asserted itself and he became the practical boss. This was in 1897. George Lyon, a local jeweler, was a competitor of Shellie's in the bicycle business, and got up a big race around the valley, a distance of five miles over the rough country roads. When Smellie heard of the race he made up his mind that Curtiss could win it and went about arranging the equipment of his employé. That race has passed into the real history of the town of Hammondsport. Everybody in the town and the valley was there, and great was the excitement when the riders lined up for the start. They started from a point near the monument in front of the Episcopal church and within a few moments after the crack of the pistol they were all out of sight, swallowed up in the dust clouds that marked their progress up the valley. After a long interval of suspense a solitary rider appeared on the home stretch, hunched down over his handle-bars and riding for dear life, without a glance to right or left. It was Curtiss, who probably has never since felt the same thrill of pride at the shouts of the crowd. The next man was fully half a mile in the rear when Glenn crossed the finish-line.

This was Curtiss' first bicycle race, but later he acquired greater speed and experience and rode in many races at county fairs in the southern part of New York State. What's more, he won all of his races. This was good for his bicycle business, which -thrived in the summer, but languished in the winter. During the dull period Curtiss took up electrical work, wiring houses, putting in electric bells, and doing similar work of a mechanical nature. An incident is told of his mechanical skill at this time that illustrates his inquisitive mind. An acetylene gas generator in one of the stores got out of order one day, and no one in the store could tell just how to repair it. Curtiss had never seen a gas generator, but that did not deter him from going at it. He studied it out in a little while and then put his finger on the trouble. After that the generator worked better than ever. A little later he decided to build a gas generator after his own ideas. He started with two tomato cans and built it.

This was the first appearance of Curtiss' two tomato cans. They played an important part in his subsequent experimental work, figuring all the way through from this first gas generator to the carburetor of a motorcycle, and at last to enlarge the water capacity of Charles K. Hamilton's engine on his aeroplane so that he might cool his engine better in making the record flight from New York to Philadelphia and return in the same day. In this first case the two tomato cans developed into an acetylene gas plant with several improvements, and his own home and shop were lighted by it. Later the plant was enlarged so as to furnish light for several business houses of Hammondsport.

 

 

Chapter III

 

Building Motors & Motorcycle Racing

IN the spring of 1900 Curtiss embarked in the bicycle business for himself, opening a shop near his old place of employment. This shop soon came to be known as the "industrial incubator," because experiments of many kinds were tried there a hatching-place for all sorts of new machines. The first one developed was destined to open up to Curtiss a new field of action, one that furnished the opportunity for new speed records, and enlarged the scope of his activities beyond the limits of the little town and the valley, and spread before him possibilities as wide as the boundaries of the continent.

Curtiss had ridden a bicycle in races, and got the utmost speed out of it; but the bicycle, as a man-propelled vehicle, did not travel fast enough to suit him. He therefore set about devising means for increasing its speed possibilities. One day Smellie, his old employer, came into Curtiss' shop, tired out and perspiring from his efforts in pedaling his bicycle up the hill. "Glenn," he said, "I'm going to give the blamed thing up until they get something to push it." That was Curtiss' cue, and it promptly became his problem‹ getting something to push it! He determined to mount a gasoline engine on a bicycle, and at once began to search for the necessary castings. Finally he secured them and began the task of building a motor. Unfortunately, the man who sold him the castings sent no instructions for building a motor, so the problem was left to Curtiss and to those who interested themselves in his work. They studied and planned and made experiments, learning something new about motors all the while. Eventually, with the assistance of local mechanics, the castings were "machined" and the motor assembled.

Curtiss afterward described it as a remarkable contrivance; but it did the work. This motor had a two-inch bore and a two-an-a-half-inch stroke and drove the bicycle wheel by a friction roller pulley. First, Curtiss made the pulley of wood, then of leather, and finally of rubber. It was tried first on the front wheel and then on the rear one, and so numerous were the changes in and additions to its equipment, that the bystanders‹ and there was the usual number of these saw only the humorous side of the thing and declared that it looked like a sort of Happy Hooligan bicycle with tin cans hung on wherever there was room. The tomato can again came to the front in Curtiss' experiments, and now served to fashion a rough and ready sort of carburetor, filled with gasoline and covered over with a gauze screen, which sucked up the liquid by capillary attraction. Thus it vaporized and was conducted to the cylinder by a pipe from the top of the can.

Then came the first demonstration of a bicycle driven by power other than leg muscles, and it attracted almost as much attention in Hammondsport as the first bicycle road race which Curtiss had won some years before. The newfangled machine, which the village oracle declared could not be made to go unless the rider put his legs to work, did not promise much of a success on its initial trip. Curtiss started off for the post-office, but had to pedal all the way there, the motor refusing to do its part. Coming from the post-office, however, it began popping and shoved the wheels around at an amazing rate, while Curtiss sat calmly upright and viewed the excited citizens of Hammondsport as he sped by.

That was the beginning of Curtiss' motorcycle; but the ambitious inventor did not rest with the first success. Work at the "incubator" went on unceasingly. The young mechanical genius carried on his regular duties during the days but spent most of the nights in his experiments. Curtiss would not have said that he worked nights, but that he spent his evenings in "doping out" the best way to build something. He has never changed his habits in this respect. lie still "dopes out" something for the next day or the next month while "resting" from his daylight duties; though the process would now be expressed in somewhat more scientific terms. In truth, one may say that Curtiss worked all the time. In office or shop hours, like other persons, he did what he had to do; while at other times he did what he wanted to do. Curtiss was different only in that he wanted to do those things which other people would call labor. Experimental work was recreation to Curtiss, and because of this mental attitude he was able to stick at a task day and night and keep up "steam" all the while.

Curtiss seldom planned on paper. Plans seemed to outline themselves in his active mind, and when, later, he became an employer of a number of men, he simply outlined his ideas, describing just what he wanted to accomplish, and left it to their ingenuity. Sometimes one of his assistants would ask him a question and after standing for minutes as if he had not heard, Curtiss would suddenly reply and outline a task which it would require all day to carry out. Once Curtiss had decided that a certain course of action would bring certain mechanical results, it usually turned out that way, and because of this and the further fact that he was as good a workman as he was a designer, the men he had gathered around him grew to regard his judgment as final and therefore went ahead with absolute confidence as to the results.

There was a remarkable spirit of cooperation in the "industrial incubator." This spirit continued through the early years of Curtiss' first business successes, and it obtains to-day in the big Curtiss aeroplane and motor factories at Hammondsport. The alertness of the men around Curtiss, and the atmosphere of cooperation may be due, in some measure, to the curious interest they always hold as to what he will do next‹and there is certain to be something happening out of the ordinary. Thus, work with Curtiss seldom becomes monotonous and without its surprises.

To go back to the first motor Curtiss built; it was quickly found to be too small, and he secured another set of castings, as large as he could get. With these he constructed a motor with a cylinder three and a half by five inches, and weighing a hundred and ninety pounds. This machine proved to be a terror. It is true that it exploded only occasionally, but when it did it almost tore itself loose from the frame. But it drove the motorcycle as fast as thirty miles an hour and gained such a remarkable reputation in Hammondsport that a story is still told in the town of the time Curtiss made his first trip with it, when it carried him through the village, up over the steep hills, through North Urbana and as far as Wayne, where it ran out of gasoline and came to a stop of its own accord. Thus Curtiss went ahead with his work to construct and improve his motors, and improvement came with each successive one. The third motor was better suited to the needs of the bicycle and furnished better results. Meantime, Curtiss began to receive inquiries and even some orders, and business took a decidedly favorable turn. Judge Monroe Wheeler took a great liking to the young man, who used to come over to his office to get the judge's stenographer to typewrite his letters, and helped him to establish credit at the local bank, and in other ways. Half a dozen fellow- townsmen became interested enough in Curtiss' motorcycle experiments to put money into the business, and within a short time a little factory was built on the hill back of Grandma Curtiss' house. It was an inconvenient place to put up a factory, and all the heavy material was hauled up to it with some difficulty, but the light, finished product, which in this case could go under its own power, rolled down the steep grade without trouble. In spite of these little obstacles; in spite of the fact that Hammondsport is located at the end of a little branch railroad which seems to the visitor to run only as the spirit moves the engineer‹in spite of every handicap, the business grew rapidly.

Curtiss was, by this time, happily married and Mrs. Curtiss helped with the office work at the factory, which stood then, as it does to-day, at the very back door of the old Curtiss homestead on the hillside. Curtiss used to take out his best motorcycle in these days and go off alone to all the motorcycle races held in that section of the State. Incidentally, he scooped in all the prizes, for he had the fastest machine, and he was a finished rider. On Memorial Day in 1903, Curtiss ventured far a field for an event that brought him his first notices in the big newspapers of New York City. He entered and won a hill-climbing contest at New York City, on Riverside Drive, and immediately afterward mounted his wheel, rode up the Hudson to another race, at Empire City Track, and won that also. This gave him the American championship.

Later, at Providence, R. I., he established a world's record for a single-cylinder motorcycle, covering a mile in fifty-six and two-fifths seconds. While this was phenomenal speed, it was as nothing in comparison with the record he was soon to establish. He built a two-cylinder motor and on January 28,1904, at Ormond Beach, Florida, he rode ten miles in eight minutes fifty-four and two-fifth seconds, and established a world's record that stood for more than seven years. Curtiss was not content even with this. He wanted to travel faster than man had ever traveled before. He had built a forty horse-power, eight- cylinder motor for a customer who wanted it to put in a flying machine which he was building, and in order to try out the motor Curtiss built an especially strong motorcycle, using an automobile tire on the rear wheel and a motorcycle tire on the front wheel. On a strong frame the big forty horsepower motor was mounted. It was not given a thorough try out at Hammondsport, for it was winter and snow lay deep on the roads. With the aid of some of his shop men, Curtiss took the freak machine out on the snow-covered roads, merely for the purpose of seeing if it could be started as it was geared in the machine. It proved that it would start all right, and so it was hurriedly boxed and rushed to the train, which was actually kept waiting several minutes. Curtiss was going South to make new records, and even the railroad men on the little branch road from Hammondsport to Bath, felt an interest in his undertaking. This, by the way, is typical of the way things are done at Hammondsport. When there is need for rushing matters, the men work night and day without complaint. These last-moment rushes are often due to the giving of much thought to the details before commencing to build, and sometimes because, in building, improvements which must be incorporated suggest themselves. Curtiss' rule, as he expresses it, is: "What is the need of racing unless you think you are going to win; and if you are beaten before you start, why take a chance?" But there are other considerations for the builder of racing machines to take into account. If your competitors know what you are doing, and they will know, somehow, if you give them a little time, they will go you one better. Therefore, this belated activity at the Curtiss factory is not always without its motive. Take, for instance, the first big International race for the Gordon Bennett aviation trophy, which Curtiss won at Rheims, France, in 1909. In spite of the fact that Curtiss' motor was built in a great hurry, barely giving the necessary time to finish it and reach Rheims for the race, Bleriot, the chief French builder of the monoplane type, changed his motor as soon as he had read a description of the one Curtiss was to use

The motorcycle which Curtiss had built and mounted with the eight-cylinder motor proved to be a world beater the fastest vehicle ever built to carry a man. It was taken to Ormond Beach, Florida, where it was tried out on the smooth sandy shore, which stretches for miles, as level as a billiard table and almost as hard as asphalt. Here, on January 24, 1907, Curtiss mounted the heavy, ungainly vehicle and traveled a mile in twenty-six and two-fifth seconds, at the rate of one hundred and thirty-seven miles an hour! This stands to-day as the speed record for man and machine. Curtiss, without goggles and with no special precautions in the matter of costume, simply mounted the seat, took a two-mile running start before crossing the line, and was off. Bending so low over the handle-bars that he almost seemed to be lying flat and merged into a part of the machine itself, he flashed over the mile course in less time than it takes to read these dozen lines. This speed trial was the culmination of weeks of study, work, and experiment. Day after day, and even at night, Curtiss had schemed and worked; now to get the weight properly placed and balanced; here to strengthen the frame and overcome the danger from the torque, and the tendency to turn the machine over, and finally to obtain the right sort of tires and to put them on securely. Ordinary tires, on wheels revolving at such an amazing speed, would have been cast off the rims like a belt off a pulley, by the centrifugal force.

These and a thousand other details were worked out so thoroughly that the machine, when ready, required very little testing out. In describing the trial Curtiss said that he could see nothing but a streak of grey beach in front of him, a blur of hills on one side, and the white ribbon of foaming surf on the other. The great crowd that watched the smoking, whirring thing that flashed by as if fired from a great gun, caught but a fleeting glimpse of Curtiss.

The record could not be accepted as official, because the motor was too big and powerful to be classed as a motorcycle engine. It therefore stands as an absolutely unique performance, unequalled, and not even approached as regards speed' until three years later, when Barney Oldfield, driving a two hundred horse-power Benz automobile, covered a mile over the same course in twenty-seven and thirty-three hundredths seconds.

Curtiss had developed, improved, and exhausted the motorcycle as far as speed possibilities were concerned, and was soon to give it up for something of far greater potential possibilities the aeroplane.

 

 

Chapter IV

 

Baldwin's Balloon

THOMAS SCOTT BALDWIN was engaged in building a dirigible balloon in California when he chanced to see a new motorcycle, the motor of which seemed to be exactly what he wanted to propel his new airship. He learned that it was the design and product of a man named Curtiss, at Hammondsport, N. Y., with whom he entered into correspondence. The result was that Captain Baldwin went to Hammondsport for a personal interview with the man who had turned out the motor.

Baldwin expected to find, as he afterward said, a big, important-looking manufacturer, and great was his surprise to find a quiet, unassuming young man, scarcely more than a youth. The jovial Baldwin and the unobtrusive Curtiss became great friends at once. They discussed motors of all sorts, but particularly motors suitable for dirigible balloons, then in the first stage of development. When Baldwin asked Curtiss the price of one of the type then used in the Curtiss motorcycle, he was surprised at its cheapness, and ordered one on the spot. This was built at once and proved successful. Later several other motors were built at the Curtiss factory for Baldwin, each one showing some improvement, and some of them designed to meet the increasing demand for a more powerful motor of light weight for use in dirigible balloons. As a natural consequence of Baldwin's success with the use of the Curtiss motor, it was but a short time until it came to be the best known motor in America for aeronautic work. At the St. Louis World's Fair, in 1904, Captain Baldwin's "California Arrow," the only successful airship out of all those which were brought from Europe and every part of America to contest for big prizes, was equipped with one of Curtiss' motors. Baldwin's success at St. Louis was a triumph for Curtiss, and soon all dirigible balloons operating in this country were driven by Curtiss motors.

Hammondsport was now to have a new sensation and to witness an experiment which eventually led to momentous developments. In order to test the power of the motors he was building for Captain Baldwin, and for the purpose of determining the efficiency of his aerial propeller, Curtiss constructed a "wind- wagon," a three wheel vehicle with the motor and propeller mounted in the rear of the driver. When he took this queer contrivance out on the road for its first trial, the town of Hammondsport turned out to witness the fun. Consternation among the usually mild-eyed work horses spread throughout the little valley as the " wind-wagon" went scooting up and down the dusty roads, creating a fearful racket. Before the start was made an automobile was sent ahead to clear the way and to warn the drivers of other vehicles. The automobile, however, was quickly overhauled, passed, and left far in the rear by the whirring, spluttering, three-wheeled embryonic flying machine.

Protests by farmers, business-men and others quickly followed this experiment. They argued that it frightened the horses, made travel on the roads unsafe, and was "bad for business generally." As the machine had served its purpose with Curtiss, and had given Hammondsport its little diversion, the famous "wind-wagon" passed into history, and, like so many other of Curtiss' experiments, remains only in the memories of those who were directly interested or those who watched in idle curiosity.

Other airships were built by Baldwin and Curtiss from time to time, and these were used successfully in giving exhibitions throughout the United States. The work of these two pioneers of the air had attracted the attention of the United States Government, in the meantime, and great was the elation at Hammondsport when an order came from the War Department at Washington for a big dirigible balloon for the use of the Signal Corps. Baldwin was commissioned to build the balloon and Curtiss the motor to propel it. This was an important undertaking, and both Baldwin and Curtiss appreciated the fact. It marked the beginning of Governmental and; military interest in aeronautics in this country, the possibilities of which were already engaging the attention of the military authorities: of Europe. The success of this airship meant much to both men, and Baldwin and Curtiss worked all through the winter of 1904-05 to make it so, Baldwin, meanwhile, having moved to Hammondsport in order to be in touch with the Curtiss factory, where all the mechanical parts Of his airships were being made.

In order to meet the specifications drawn up by the War Department, the big airship was required to make a continuous flight of two hours under the power of the motor, and be capable of maneuvering in any direction. Curtiss realized that in order to fill these requirements a new type motor would be needed. He designed and set about building, therefore, a water-cooled motor, something which had not been attempted at the Curtiss factory up to this time, and the success of which marked a long step in advance. Although Baldwin had built thirteen dirigibles, all of which had been equipped with motors built by Curtiss, and all of which had been operated successfully in exhibitions the Government contract was his most ambitious undertaking. About the balloon itself, there was never any doubt; the thing that clung constantly in the minds of these men who were bending every effort to the conquest of the air, was: "Will the motor do its work in a two- hours' endurance test, and will it furnish the necessary power to drive the big airship at a speed of twenty miles an hours" The conditions under which the trial was to be made were entirely unique. The motor had to be suspended on a light but substantial framework beneath the great gas-bag, and from this framework the pilot and the engineer had to do their work.

The Army dirigible was completed on time and its test took place at Washington in the summer of 1905. Captain Baldwin acted as pilot and Curtiss as engineer. The airship met every specification and was accepted by the Government. A flight of two hours' duration was made over the wooded hills of Virginia, and this stands to day as the longest continuous flight ever made by a dirigible airship in this country.

 

 

---

 

My First Flights

Glenn H. Curtiss

 

Chapter I

 

Beginning To Fly

IN 1905, while in New York City, I first met Dr. Alexander Graham Bell, the inventor of the telephone. Dr. Bell had learned of our lightweight motors, used with success on the Baldwin dirigibles, and wanted to secure one for use in his experiments with kites. We had a very interesting talk on these experiments, and he asked me to visit him at Bienn Bhreagh, his summer home near Baddeck, Nova Scotia. Dr. Bell had developed some wonderfully light and strong tetrahedral kites which possessed great inherent stability, and he wanted a motor to install in one of them for purposes of experimentation. This kite was a very large one. The Doctor called it an "aerodrome." The surfaces not being planes, it could not properly be described as an aeroplane. He believed that the time would come when the framework of the aeroplane would have to be so large in proportion to its surface that it would be too heavy to fly. Consequently, he evolved the tetrahedral or cellular form of structure, which would allow of the size being increased indefinitely, while the weight would be increased only in the same ratio.

Dr. Bell had invited two young Canadian engineers, F. W. Baldwin and J. A. D. McCurdy, to assist him, and they were at Baddeck when I first visited there in the summer of 1907. Lieutenant Thomas Selfridge, of the United States Army, was also there. Naturally, there was a wide discussion on the subject of aeronautics, and so numerous were the suggestions made and so many theories advanced, that Mrs. Bell suggested the formation of a scientific organization, to be known as the "Aerial Experiment Association." This met with a prompt and hearty agreement and the association was created very much in the same manner as Dr. Bell had previously formed the "Volta Association" at Washington for developing the phonograph. Mrs. Bell, who was most enthusiastic and helpful, generously offered to furnish the necessary funds for experimental work, and the object of the Association was officially set forth as "to build a practical aeroplane which will carry a man and be driven through the air by its own power."

Dr. Alexander Graham Bell was made chairman; F. W. Baldwin, chief engineer; J. A. D. McCurdy, assistant engineer and treasurer; and Lieut. Thomas Selfridge, secretary; while I was honored with the title of Director of Experiments and Chief Executive Officer. Both Baldwin and McCurdy were fresh from Toronto University, where they had graduated as mechanical engineers, and Baldwin later earned the distinction of making the first public flight in a motor-driven, heavier-than-air machine. This was accomplished at Hammondsport, N. Y., March 12, 1908, over the ice on Lake Keuka. The machine used was Number One, built by the Aerial Experiment Association, designed by Lieutenant Selfridge, and known as "The Red Wing." The experiments carried on at Baddeck during the summer and fall of 1907 covered a wide range. There were trials and tests with Dr. Bell's tetrahedral kites, with motors, and with aerial propellers mounted on boats. Finally, at the suggestion of Lieutenant Selfridge, it was decided to move the scene of further experiments to Hammondsport, N. Y., where my factory is located, and there to build a glider. I had preceded the other members of the Association from Baddeck to Hammondsport in order to prepare for the continuance of our work. A few days after my return I was in my office, talking to Mr. Augustus Post, then the Secretary of the Aero Club of America, when a telegram came from Dr. Bell, saying: "Start building. The boys will be down next week." As no plans had been outlined, and nothing definite settled upon in the way of immediate experiments, I was somewhat undecided as to just what to build. We then discussed the subject of gliders for some time and I finally decided that the thing to do was to build a glider at the factory and to take advantage of the very abrupt and convenient hills at Hammondsport to try it out. We therefore built a double-surface glider of the Chanute type.

As almost every schoolboy knows in this day of advanced information on aviation, a glider is, roughly speaking, an aeroplane without a motor. Usually it has practically the same surfaces as a modern aeroplane, and may be made to support a passenger by launching it from the top of a hill in order to give it sufficient impetus to sustain its own weight and that of a rider. If the hill is steep the glider will descend at a smaller angle than the slope of the hill, and thus glides of a considerable distance may be made with ease and comparative safety.

Our first trials of the glider, which we built on the arrival of the members of the Experiment Association, were made in the dead of winter, when the snow lay deep over the hillsides. This made very hard work for everybody. It was a case of trudging laboriously up the steep hillsides and hauling or carrying the glider to the top by slow stages. It was easy enough going down, but slow work going up; but we continued our trials with varied success until we considered ourselves skillful enough to undertake a motor- driven machine, which we mounted on runners.

 

 

Chapter II

 

The First Flights

IT was my desire to build a machine and install a motor at once, and thus take advantage of the opportunity furnished by the thick, smooth ice over Lake Keuka at that season of the year. But Lieutenant Selfridge, who had read a great deal about gliders and who had studied them from every angle, believed we should continue experimenting with the glider. However, we decided to build a machine which we believed would fly, and in due time a motor was installed and it was taken down on Lake Keuka to be tried out. We called it the "Red Wing," and to Lieutenant Selfridge belongs the honour of designing it, though all the members of the Aerial Experiment Association had some hand in its construction. We all had our own ideas about the design of this first machine, but to Lieutenant Selfridge was left the privilege of accepting or rejecting the many suggestions made from time to time, in order that greater progress might be made. A number of our suggestions were accepted, and while the machine as completed cannot properly be described as the result of one man's ideas, the honor of being the final arbiter of all the problems of its design certainly belongs to Lieutenant Selfridge.

Now that the machine was completed and the motor installed, we waited for favorable weather to make the first trial. Winter weather around Lake Keuka is a very uncertain element, and we had a long, tiresome wait until the wintry gales that blew out of the north gave way to an intensely cold spell. Our opportunity came on March 12, 1908. There was scarcely a bit of wind, but it was bitterly cold. Unfortunately, Lieutenant Selfridge was absent, having left Hammondsport on business, and "Casey" Baldwin was selected to make the first trial. We were all on edge with eagerness to see what the machine would do. Some of us were confident, others sceptical.

Baldwin climbed into the seat, took the control in hand, and we cranked the motor. When we released our hold of the machine, it sped over the ice like a scared rabbit for two or three hundred feet, and then, much to our joy, it jumped into the air. This was what we had worked for through many long months, and naturally we watched the brief and uncertain course of Baldwin with a good deal of emotion. Rising to a height of six or eight feet, Baldwin flew the unheard-of distance of three hundred and eighteen feet, eleven inches! Then he came down ingloriously on one wing. As we learned afterward, the frail framework of the tail had bent and the machine had flopped over on its side and dropped on the wing, which gave way and caused the machine to turn completely around.

But it had been a successful flight and we took no toll of the damage to the machine or the cost. We had succeeded! that was the main thing. We had actually flown the "Red Wing" three hundred and eighteen feet and eleven inches! We knew now we could build a machine that would fly longer and come down at the direction of the operator with safety to both.

It had taken just seven weeks to build the machine and to get it ready for the trial; it had taken just about twenty seconds to smash it.

But a great thing had been accomplished. We had achieved the first public flight of a heavier-than-air machine in America!

As our original plans provided for the building of one machine designed by each member of the Association, with the assistance of all the others, the building of the next one fell to Mr. Baldwin, and it was called the "White Wing." The design of the "Red Wing" was followed in many details, but several things were added which we believed would give increased stability and greater flying power. The construction of the "White Wing" was begun at once, but before we could complete it the ice on the lake had yielded to the spring winds and we were therefore obliged to transfer our future trials to land. This required wheels for starting and alighting in the place of the ice runners used on the "Red Wing." An old half-mile race track a short distance up the valley from the Lake was rented and put in shape for flights. The place was called "Stony Brook Farm," and it was for a long time afterward the scene of our flying exploits at Hammondsport.

It would be tiresome to the reader to be told of all the discouragements we met with; of the disheartening smashes we suffered; how almost every time we managed to get the new machine off the ground for brief but encouraging flights, it would come down so hard that something would give way and we would have to set about the task of building it up again. We soon learned that it was comparatively easy to get the machine up in the air, but it was most difficult to get it back to earth without smashing something. The fact was, we had not learned the art of landing an aeroplane with ease and safety‹an absolutely necessary art for every successful aviator to know. It seemed one day that the limit of hard luck had been reached, when, after a brief flight and a somewhat rough landing, the machine folded up and sank down on its side, like a wounded bird, just as we were feeling pretty good over a successful landing without breakage.

Changes in the details of the machine were many and frequent, and after each change there was a flight or an attempted flight. Sometimes we managed to make quite a flight, and others and more numerous merely short "jumps" that would land the machine in a potato patch or a cornfield, where, in the yielding ground, the wheels would crumple up and let the whole thing down. Up to this time we had always used silk to cover the planes, but this proved very expensive and we decided to try a substitute. An entirely new set of planes were made and the new covering put on them. They looked very pretty and white as we took the rebuilt machine out with every expectation that it would fly. Great was our surprise, however, when it refused absolutely to make even an encouraging jump. For a time we were at a loss to understand it. Then the reason became as plain as day ; we had used cotton to cover the planes, and, being porous, it would not furnish the sustaining power in flight. This was quickly remedied by coating the cotton covering with varnish, rendering it impervious to the air. After that it Hew all right. I believe this was the first instance of the use of a liquid filler to coat the surface cloth. It is now used widely, both in this country and in Europe.

We had a great many minor misfortunes with the "White Wing," but each one taught us a lesson. We gradually learned where the stresses and strains lay, and overcame them. Thus, little by little, the machine was reduced in weight, simplified in detail, and finally took on some semblance to the standard Curtiss aeroplane of today.

All the members of the Aerial Experiment Association were in Hammondsport at this time, in eluding Dr. Alexander Graham Bell. We had established an office in the annex which had been built on the Curtiss homestead, and here took place nightly discussions on the work of the day pas and the plans for the day to follow. Some of the boys named the office the "thinkorium." Every night the minutes of the previous meeting would be read and discussed. These minutes, by the way, were religiously kept by Lieutenant Selfridge and later published in the form of a bulletin and sent to each member. Marvelous in range were the subjects brought up and talked over a these meetings! Dr. Bell was the source of the most unusual suggestions for discussion. Usually these were things he had given a great deal of thought and time to, and, therefore, his opinion on any of his hobbies were most interesting. For instance, he had collected a great deal of information on the genealogy of the Hyde family, comprising some seven thousand individuals. These he had arranged in his card index system, in order to determine the proportion of male and female individuals, their relative length of life, and other characteristics. Or, perhaps, the Doctor would talk about his scheme to influence the sex of sheep by a certain method of feeding; his early experiences with the telephone, the phonograph, the harmonic telegraph, and multiple telegraphy. At other times we would do a jig-saw puzzle with pictures of aeroplanes, or listen to lectures on physical culture by Dr. Alden, of the village. Then, for a change, we would discuss, with great interest and sincerity, the various methods of making sounds to accompany the action of a picture, behind the curtain of the moving-picture show, which we all had attended. Motorcycle construction and operation were studied at the factory and on the roads around Hammondsport. McCurdy used to give us daily demonstrations of how to fall off a motorcycle scientifically. He fell off so often, in fact, that we feared he would never make an aviator. In this opinion, of course, we were very much in error, as he became one of the first, and also one of the best aviators in the country. Atmospheric pressure, the vacuum motor, Dr. Bell's tetrahedral construction, and even astronomical subjects all found a place in the nightly discussions at the "thinkorium."

Of course there were many important things that took up our attention, but we could not always be grave and dignified. I recall one evening somebody started a discussion on the idea of elevating Trinity Church, in New York City, on the top of a skyscraper, and using the revenue from the ground rental to convert the heathen. This gave a decided shock to a ministerial visitor who happened to be present.

When summer came on there were frequent motorcycle trips when the weather did not permit of flying, or when the shop was at work repairing one of our frequent smashes. "Casey" Baldwin and McCurdy furnished a surprise one day by a rather unusual long distance trip on motorcycles "Let's go up to Hamilton, Ontario," said Baldwin, probably choosing Hamilton as the destination because he was charged with having a sweet heart there.

"All right," answered McCurdy.

Without a moment's hesitation the two mounted their wheels, not even stopping to get their caps, and rode through to Hamilton, a hundred and fifty miles distant, buying everything they required along the way. They were gone a week and came back by the same route. ---------------------

A favorite subject of talk at the "thinkorium," at least between McCurdy and Selfridge, was on some of the effects of the "torque" of a propeller and whenever this arose we would expect the argument to keep up until one or the other would fall asleep.

After the nightly formal sessions of the members of the Association the courtesy of the floor was extended to any one who might be present for the discussion of anything he might see fit to bring up. Later we would adjourn to Dr. Bell's room, where he would put himself into a comfortable position, light his inevitable pipe, and produce his note books. In these note books Dr. Bell would write down everything his thoughts on every subject imaginable, his ideas about many things, sketches, computations. All these he would sign, date, and have witnessed. It was Dr. Bell's custom to work at night when there were no distracting noises, though there were few of these at Hammondsport even during the daylight hours; at night it is quiet enough for the most exacting victim of insomnia. Dr. Bell often sat up until long after midnight, but he made up for the lost time by sleeping until noon. No one was allowed to wake him for any reason. The rest of us were up early in order to take advantage of the favorable flying conditions during the early morning hours. Dr. Bell had a strong aversion to the ringing of the telephone bell the great invention for which he is responsible. I occasionally went into his room and found the bell stuffed with paper, or wound around with towels.

"Little did I think when I invented this thing," said Dr. Bell, one day when he had been awakened by the jingling of the bell, "that it would rise up to mock and annoy me."

While the Doctor enjoyed his morning sleep we were out on "Stony Brook Farm" trying to fly We had put up a tent against the side of an old sheep barn, and out of this we would haul the machine while the grass was still wet with dew. One never knew what to expect of it. Sometimes a short flight would be made; at others, something would break. Or, maybe, the wind would come up and this would force us to abandon further trials for the day. Then it was back the shop to work on some new device, or to repair damages until the wind died out with the setting of the sun. Early in the morning and late the evening were the best periods of the day in our experimental work because of the absence of wind.

On May 22, 1908, our second machine, the "White Wing," was brought to such a state of perfection that I flew it a distance of one thousand and seventeen feet in nineteen seconds, and lance without damage in a ploughed field outside the old race track. It was regarded as a remarkable flight at that time, and naturally, I felt very much elated.

 

 

Chapter III

 

The "June Bug"

 First Flights For
The Scientific American Trophy And First Experiments
With The Hydroaeroplanes

FOLLOWING the success of the "White Wing," we started in to build another machine, embodying all that we had learned from our experience with the two previous ones. Following our custom of giving each machine a name to distinguish it from the preceding one, we called this third aeroplane the "June Bug." The name was aptly chosen, for it was a success from the very beginning. Indeed, it flew so well that we soon decided it was good enough to win the trophy which had been offered by The Scientific American for the first public flight of one kilometer, or five-eights of a mile, straightaway. This trophy, by the way, was the first to be offered in this country for an aeroplane flight, and the conditions specified that it should become the property of the person winning it three years in succession. The "June Bug" was given a thorough try-out before we made arrangements to fly for the trophy, and we were confident it would fulfill the requirements.

The Fourth of July, 1908, was the day set for the trial. A large delegation of aero-club members came on from New York and Washington, among whom were Stanley Y. Beach, Allan R. Hawley, Augustus Post, David Fairchild, Chas. M. Manley, Christopher J. Lake, A. M. Herring, George H. Guy, E. L. Jones, Wilbur R. Kimball, Captain Thomas S. Baldwin and many other personal friends. The excitement among the citizens of Hammondsport in general was little less than that existing among the members of the Aerial Experiment Association, and seldom had the; Fourth of July been awaited with greater impatience.

When Independence Day finally dawned it did not look auspicious for the first official aeroplane Might for a trophy. Clouds boded rain and there was some wind. This did not deter the entire population of Hammondsport from gathering on the heights around the flying field, under the trees in the valley and, in fact, at every point of vantage. Some were on the scene as early as five o'clock in the morning, and many brought along baskets of food and made a picnic of it. The rain came along toward noon, but the crowd hoisted its umbrellas or sought shelter under the trees and stayed on. Late in the afternoon the sky cleared and it began to look as if we were to have the chance to fly after all. The "June Bug" was brought out of its tent and the motor given a try-out. It worked all right. The course was measured and a flag put up to mark the end. Every thing was ready and about seven o'clock in the evening the motor was started and I climbed into the seat. When I gave the word to "let go" the " dune Bug" skimmed along over the old race track for perhaps two hundred feet and then rose gracefully into the air. The crowd set up a hearty cheer, as I was told later for I could hear nothing but the roar of the motor and I saw nothing except the course and the flag marking a distance of one kilometer. The flag was quickly reached and passed and still I kept the aeroplane up, flying as far as the open fields would permit, and finally coming down safely in a meadow, fully a mile from the starting place. I had thus exceeded the requirements and had won the Scientific American Trophy for the first time. I might have gone a great deal farther, as the motor was working beautifully and I had the machine under perfect control, but to have prolonged the flight would have meant a turn in the air or passing over a number of large trees. The speed of this first official flight was closely computed at thirty-nine miles an hour.

Dr. Bell had gone to Nova Scotia, unfortunately, and, therefore, did not witness the Fourth of July flight of the "June Bug." The other members, however, were all present. It was a great day for all of us and we were more confident than ever that we had evolved, out of our long and costly experiments, a machine that would fly successful and with safety to the operator. Lieutenant Selfridge was particularly enthusiastic, and I recall when Mr. Holcomb, special agent for a life insurance company, visited the field one day a heard Selfridge talk about flying.

"You must be careful, Selfridge," said Mr. Holcomb, "or we will need a bed for you in the hospital of which I am a trustee."

"Oh, I am careful, all right," replied Selfridge, but it was only a few days later when he left Hammondsport for Washington, and was killed while flying as a passenger with Orville Wright at Ft. Meyer.

In Selfridge we lost not only one of the best posted men in the field of aeronautics, a student and a man of practical ideas, but one of our beloved companions and co-workers, as well.

Three machines had thus far been built a flown, first the "Red Wing, " designed by Lieutenant ant Selfridge; next the "White Wing," by Baldwin, and last the "June Bug," by me. It was no McCurdy's turn and he designed a machine which he named the "Silver Dart. " While this was building we decided to take the "June Bug" down to the lake, equip it with a set of pontoons, or boat, and attempt to fly from the water. It was my idea that if we could design a float that would sustain the aeroplane on an even keel and at the same time furnish a minimum of resistance, we would be able to get up enough speed to rise from the water. Besides, the lake would afford an ideal flying place, and, what was more important still, a fall or a bad landing would not be nearly so likely to result in injury to the aviator.

Accordingly, we mounted the "June Bug" on two floats, built something like a catamaran, and re- named it the "Loon." It required some time to construct light and strong floats and it was not until the beginning of November, 1908, that we were ready for the first attempt to fly from the water ever made in this or any other country. The "Loon" was hauled down to the lake from the aerodrome on a two- wheeled cart, there being no wheels for rolling it over the ground. I remember we had to build a platform on the cart and to strengthen the wheels to carry the weight of nearly one thousand pounds which the added equipment had brought the total weight up to.

This first experimental hydroaeroplane was a crude affair as compared with the machine in which I made the first successful flight from and landing upon the water, more than three years later at San Diego, Cal. The cleaner lines, the neat, light-weight boat and the other details of the Curtiss hydroaeroplane offer as striking a contrast to the "Loon" as the modern locomotive offers to the crude, clumsy affairs that now exist only in the museums. So great is the difference that one is inclined to marvel that we had a success whatever with the first design.

We made many attempts to rise from the water in the "Loon," but owing to the great wed' were unable to make any real flights, although the observers on shore were sure that the pontoons were sometimes clear of the water. By the end of November our experiments had convince every one of us that we needed more power‹a more time than we had at our disposal just the The best motor we had at our command was a to deliver only enough power to drive the "Loon" at twenty-five miles an hour on the water. This was not enough to get the machine into the a unless assisted by a strong head wind, and were not anxious to try flying in a strong wind In the meantime McCurdy's machine, the "Silver Dart," had been completed and mounted wheels. The first flight was made by McCurdy December 12, 1908, over the "Stony Brook" flying field. The "Silver Dart" was practically the same as the "June Bug." Shortly after this was shipped to Dr. Bell's place at Baddeck, Nova Scotia, where McCurdy and "Casey" Baldwin used it all through the winter in practice, making flights from the ice and covering all the country thereabouts. McCurdy estimates that in his some two hundred flights in the "Silver Dart," he covered more than a thousand miles.

 

 

Chapter IV

 

The First Flights In New York City

As a result of the winning of the Scientific American Trophy, the Aeronautical Society of New York City placed an order in the winter of 1908-09 for an aeroplane to be demonstrated at Morris Park Track, New York City, in the spring.

Plans were outlined for enlarging the Hammondsport factory and work commenced on the machine ordered by the Aeronautical Society. It was the plan of this Society to purchase the aeroplane and have one or more of its members taught to fly it. The machine was finished in due time, thoroughly tried out at Hammondsport before it was shipped to New York, and finally sent to the old Morris Park Race Track, where the Aeronautical Society had arranged for the first public exhibition ever held in the history of aviation. There, on June 26,1909, I had the honour of making the first aeroplane flights in New York City, in the machine bought by the Aeronautical Society.

The Society intended to make Morris Park the scene of aviation meets and of experiments with gliders, but the grounds proved too small and recommended a change to some other place in vicinity of New York City, where there was plenty of open country and where the danger from unexpected landings would be minimized. I fool over all the suitable places around New York City and finally decided upon Mineola, on Long Island. The Hempstead Plains, a large, level tract lying just outside Mineola, offered an ideal place for flying and the Aeronautical Society machine was brought down there from Morris Park.

There was such a fine field for flying at Mineola that I decided to make another try for the Scientific American trophy, which I had won on the previous Fourth of July at Hammondsport with the "June Bug." I wanted that trophy very much, but in order to become possessed of it I had to win it three years in succession, the conditions being changed from year to year to keep pace with the progress and development of aviation. The second year's conditions required continuous flight of more than twenty-five kilometers (about sixteen miles) in order to have the flight taken into account in awarding the prize, which was to go to the person making the longest official flight during the year.

I believed I could make a fine showing at Hempstead Plains and preparations were made for the attempt. The aeroplane was put together near Peter McLaughlin's hotel and a triangular course of one and a third miles was measured off. After I had made a number of trial flights over the course I sent formal notice to the Aero Club of America that all was ready for the official flight, and the Club sent Mr. Charles M. Manley down as official representative to observe the trial for the Scientific American trophy.

On July 17th, 1909, a little more than a year from the first official flight of the "June Bug" at Hammondsport, we got out on the field at Mineola at sunrise, before the heavy dew was off the grass, and made ready. It was a memorable day for the residents of that particular section of Long Island, who had never seen a flying machine prior to my brief trial flights there a few days before. They turned out in large numbers, even at that early hour, and there was a big delegation of newspapermen from the New York dailies on hand. Flying was such a novelty at that time that nine-tenths of the people who came to watch the preparations were skeptical while others declared that "that thing won't fly, so what's the use of waiting 'round." There was much excitement, therefore, when, at a quarter after five o'clock, on the morning of July 17, I made my first flight. This was for the Cortlandt Field Bishop prize of two hundred and fifty dollars, offered by the Aero Club of America to the first four persons who should fly one kilometer. It took just two and a half minutes to win this prize and immediately afterward I started for the Scientific American trophy.

The weather was perfect and everything worked smoothly. I made twelve circuits of course, which completed the twenty-five kilometers, in thirty-two minutes. The motor was working so nicely and the weather man was favorable, that I decided to keep right on flying until finally I had circled the course nineteen times and covered a distance of twenty- four a seven-tenths miles before landing. The average speed was probably about thirty-five miles hour, although no official record of the speed was made.

Great was the enthusiasm of the crowd when the flight ended. I confess that I, too, was enthusiastic over the way the motor had worked and the ease with which the machine could be handled in flight. Best of all, I had the sense satisfaction that the confidence imposed in me by my friends had been justified.

As the machine built for the Aeronautical Society had thus met every requirement, I agreed teach two members to fly at Hempstead Plains. Mr. Charles F. Willard and Mr. Williams were the two chosen to take up instruction, and the work began at once. Mr. Willard proved an apt pupil and after a few lessons mastered the machine and flew with confidence and success, circling about the country around Mineola.

These flights at Mineola gave that place a start as the headquarters for aviators, and it soon became the popular resort for everyone interested in aviation in and near the city of New York.

 

 

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