CHAPTER 1
LEARNING TO FLY IN A "JENNY"
Letter excerpts by William Muir RusselFeaturing Edward Southard's vintage photos from 1919
Work has begun in earnest, and I must admit it is a more novel experience thanI expected. We were ordered to report at the field yesterday at seven o'clock,which meant rising at 5:15 in the morning, and a hasty breakfast. Dressed inour overalls, we were at once set to strenuous mental and manual labor; takinginstruction by lecture, and tearing down and assembling aeroplanes. The work isentirely new to me, and has to be done rapidly, but it is amazing how much onecan learn by practical experience even without instruction. At twelve o'clock,a bugle sounds, which informs us that we can check in our tools and rush toa small cafeteria across from the field and stand up to a delicious luncheon ofham and egg sandwiches and a bottle of coca cola. I then crawl into one of thehangars and have a rest—that is, if I rush my sandwich.
Another bugle at one o'clock, and we return to the assembling andrepair department. Work then continues until four o'clock, when we aresummoned for muster and inspection. At 4:30, we have drill for half anhour; then two or three times a week, a lecture on aero-dynamics. It mayseem incredible to you, but I am enjoying work, and outside of a few achingbones, never felt better in my life.
I had dinner and a good visit with Jim Buckley the other evening. Hehas failed in his physical exam, for aviation on account of bad eyes. Theaverage down here accepted is five out of twenty-four examined.
You will understand that it will take some little time for me to becomeaccustomed to work, so I will not write you again for a few days.
Never before have I looked forward so eagerly to Saturday afternoon andSunday for rest as now, at the end of the first real working week of my life.I felt, however, that such a breath from Heaven as a week-end rest was toogood to be true. Sure enough, it was so.
My work during each day has been practically the same. To prove howstrenuous it is, it will probably surprise you to know that I have been in bedevery night by a quarter of nine, with the exception of Sunday night guardduty. I have, however, been placed on the flying list, which means that Ihave a flight every day, weather permitting. My first ride was what theycall a joy ride. You merely sit and endeavor to accustom yourself to the newsensations. From now on, I will be permitted to drive with the instructor atanother set of controls behind me to correct any fault. It is hard to describethe feeling. At first it gives you very peculiar sensations in your stomach andears. One thing that surprised me was the roughness of the riding. Lookingat an aeroplane from the ground, it seems to glide, but the riding in theaeroplanes in use here is very rough and choppy. It may be a consolation toyou to know that I have been assigned to an instructor who is said to be themost conservative flyer on the field.
My second inoculation for typhoid yesterday gave me no fever. I returnedto my room, waiting all afternoon for evil effects to come, but instead ofthat, I felt better and better. This morning, I wakened at the usual earlyhour, and felt so good that I did not take the rest of my 24-hour leave, andreported to the field. It was a mistake, because I found about the busiest dayof my short enlistment experience awaiting me. Two other men and myselftore down two entire machines and packed them for shipment.
One young fellow came here, entered the aviation school, and has beenplaced under guard, and removed from the flying list because he cheatedin an examination. Although he is still in the camp, he will probably bedishonorably discharged. Captain Royce gave us a good talk on this subjectyesterday, and told us the way it was dealt with at West Point.
In comparison with an automobile, it has been surprising to me howsimple the construction of an aeroplane is, and the rapidity with which itcan be set up and torn down.
The last two days have been beautiful—the air clear and still. Ten tofifteen machines have been in flight nearly all the time. You cannot imaginethe difference between flying at Memphis and here. At Memphis, we hada small field with heavy woods on one side, where naturally the air wascool and descending rapidly, while on the other side was a lumber yard,on which the sun beat down heating the air, and causing it to rise. On afield of this kind, you can imagine the bumps you hit as you cross from theascending air into the still air, and then into the descending air. On theother hand, the field here is a mile square, and the surrounding countryopen, and of the same level, which causes the ride to be a gliding motion,perfectly smooth.
Yesterday, six new machines arrived, the first of a bunch of eighteenwhich have been ordered for this field, making forty-eight in all. They arestandard aeroplanes, manufactured, I think, in Plainfield, New Jersey. Thesame type of machine is used at Mineola.
Work has been progressing, although slowly. Since our bad storm theother evening, the weather has been better, and the ground is drying outvery rapidly for such a marshy place. The machines are being set up, and bythe end of the week, we ought to have all forty-eight in commission. Thenew machines show beautiful workmanship, but as yet we have had noneof them in the air. Some of these machines, we expect, will be equippedwith the new "stick" control. We are informed that we will have to learnits use—that is, instead of using a wheel to guide your elevators andailerons, you use a rod or stick, which you work sideways and forwards andbackwards to govern your movements. This control is used almost entirelyon the French and British machines. It can be more rapidly handled withone hand, leaving the other for the gun and the different manettes. Now,we are taught to hold the steering wheel at the top center and guide it withone hand, and thus practically follow the same motion as with the stick.
Yesterday, the Speedway races were held for the benefit of the Red Cross fund,and to co-operate and add to the interest, our field was asked to fly over anddescend on the Speedway. Only instructors and advanced students were allowedto take part in the flying. It was a mighty pretty sight to see the fifteen machinesgo skimming through the sky and coiling down, and then drop one at a timeinto the field. Mr. Boyer will be interested to know that his son Joe drove avery pretty race up to the 150-mile mark, when he was forced to withdraw onaccount of engine trouble. His running mate, the famous Louis Chevrolet, didnot make as good a record. The day was perfect, and they had a good crowd ofsixty thousand persons, a very successful show for the Red Cross.
The last week has been so perfect, and so much has been accomplished,that I feel as if I had a new lease of life, and am more enthusiastic aboutflying than ever.
The sun has shone all week, and, as a result, the ground has thoroughlydried out. Last Monday, I made only one flight, but on each of the remainingdays, I have made two. With this long consecutive run, I have at last got someconfidence in myself, and yet, at the same time, I feel how little I really know.The flying in mid-air above an altitude of two thousand feet is comparativelysimple. The quicker action and decision is required as you get nearer theground. I should say that, barring such accidents to an aeroplane as mighthappen to an automobile, a locomotive, or even a carriage, from a concealeddefect, or the breaking of a part, a fellow is safe when flying at a height ofmore than one thousand feet; between one thousand and five hundred feet,he is reasonably safe; at less than five hundred feet, there are elements ofdanger. You cannot rest even in a straight course as with an automobile. Eachlittle puff of wind swings you to the right or to the left. The early morningflight, however, is very different. The air usually is perfectly quiet, and youglide along like a bird. My instruction last week consisted practically ofstraight flying, with occasional turns. The early part of this week, I spentin making left hand turns in the form of a circle or square. On Wednesday,I began on right hand turns, which are very different from the left handones. This is due to the revolving of the propeller, the tendency being notonly to turn your machine to the left, but also to upset it laterally to the left.This must be prevented by giving it right rudder and right aileron more thanleft, thus holding your machine in a stable position. Seven machines havebeen somewhat damaged this week on account of too steep a descent beforelanding. The ground is still somewhat soft, and the front wheels stick in themud, which throws the tail up in the air, and causes the machine to stand onits nose, and smash the propeller. Ordinarily, it is not very serious, but rathera nuisance, as it puts the machine out of commission for some time.
Aeroplanes now are plentiful. We have forty-eight for the use ofseventy-three students. One of our most advanced men, who was alreadyrecommended for his commission, has been indefinitely suspended forlooping the loop with a passenger. In the first place, it is strictly against therules for a student to loop the loop without permission of the commandingofficer, and secondly, it is forbidden except for an instructor ever to loopwith a passenger.
Saturday ended by far the best week yet of my training. The goodweather brought new life to everybody. We now have practically all of theplanes set up and in running order. In addition to our forty-eight machines,there are six private aeroplanes. I have been able to get eleven flights sincelast Monday, and in that many one can accomplish a good deal. I havebecome perfectly accustomed to the new and rather pleasant sensations, andyet the various flying movements seem as strange and unnatural as ever.On this account, I sometimes feel discouraged, but they tell me the facultycomes to you over night. At any rate I am pinning my faith on this.
The landings still look impossible to me, but as I have not tried to makeany yet, it is no wonder.
The delightful weather of last week did not last. This week it has gone tothe other extreme. Monday was the only day I could make a flight. The restof the time the rain has beaten down, and the field is practically lost to theeye under four inches of water.
Shortly after my flight Monday, all flying was stopped on account of anasty accident to one of the solo men, who escaped miraculously from awreck in a tail spin. This is a form of accident which a novice aviator mustalways guard against. It is usually the result of carelessness or a moment'sforgetfulness. From the minute you first begin instruction, you are warnedabout it, and told how to keep out of it. A "tail spin," as it is called, iscaused from losing headway. It results from two factors—failing to nose themachine down on the turns, and failing to keep the direction of the windclearly in mind. On making a turn, if you do not nose the machine towardsthe ground, you necessarily lose such headway that the plane becomesuncontrollable. The nose will drop on account of the weight of the motor,throwing the tail into the air. If the wind is coming from a side direction,it will strike the plane, whirling the tail, and tend to spin it around thenose as an axis. Your only chance to gain control is to head to the groundwith the motor off and the rudder held against the wind until you gainsufficient headway to get control once more of the machine. If you are at analtitude of over five hundred feet, your safety is assured, otherwise a wreckis imminent. This boy kept his head remarkably well, and never ceasedfighting to gain control. When they got him out of the wreckage with onlya couple of minor cuts on his face and a bad shaking up, they went overevery part of his machine. It was badly smashed, but the controls were all ingood condition. He fell about two hundred feet, and in that small space oftime he had removed his glass goggles, unfastened his safety belt, throttledthe motor, and shut off the spark—the four things he should have done. AsI said, after this accident, all flying was called off for the rest of that day,and for the remainder of the week, it has poured rain.
Another rather unfortunate experience of a different kind has come toone of the boys, a nice fellow, this week. He entered just about the time Idid, and it has been evident that flying did not appeal to him. All the timehe struggled to overcome his aversion to the new sensations, but somehow,they were so unnatural to him that he failed to master his feelings.Wednesday, he went with tears in his eyes to headquarters, and after a longtalk with the Captain, was released from the Aviation Corps. He was abrave enough fellow, and wanted to continue. This is the second case wehave had. It seems that one's feelings are not controllable. You are eitherfascinated or dread it.
Tomorrow, we will have inspection here by a board of officers fromWashington.
During this rainy spell, all the planes have been put in good runningcondition, and the extra time consumed in putting a polish on. I supposethat you have heard that the Curtis Aeroplane Company has beenreorganized and new equipment has been installed so that it is said they canmake five thousand machines this year.
Saturday, we leave for Rantoul. They say that there is no better flyingfield in the country. A concrete foundation, covering about forty acres, hasbeen laid so that we will not have the trouble and danger of either startingor landing on the wet, soggy ground.
Saturday noon, thirty-eight machines, each carrying two passengers,will rise at short intervals and fly in a line. It will be a novel movement inAmerican army experience to transport a corps in this way. I think I will bepermitted to be a passenger in one of the planes, Mr. Pond's, and if so, hewill probably let me drive it all the way down. This will be considered extratime, and not marked against my instruction hours. The other ten machineswill be torn down and shipped by freight.
Barracks life will be new to me, but I feel sure it will be preferable to thehaphazard way we have been living. It will save an hour or two's time inthe morning, and instead of grabbing breakfast and rushing to a train, wecan have a snappy setting up exercise and a peaceful breakfast afterwards,and so much the more flying; lunch at 11:30—a thing we have not knownhere—will be served; one o'clock another roll call; two o'clock, an hour ofdrill; three to five, recitations in aero-dynamics, practical electricity, andmeteorology; five to seven, two more hours of flying instead of a trampor run to the junction and a ride on a freight train, and a scramble on acrowded trolley car—then supper and bunk (I mean bed, of course). A newcommanding officer, Captain Brown, I understand, will be in charge ofthe post, with three French aviation officers. I had the good fortune to goin with them from the field today—Lieutenants Gauthier, Laffly and LaPier. The latter, I am told, has twenty-eight German planes to his credit.They will conduct the courses in military science of the air. One of themany interesting things I learned was that their fighting machines cantravel at a speed of one hundred and fifty miles an hour, with a landingspeed of ninety miles an hour. Contrast this with our maximum flyingspeed of eighty miles and a landing speed of forty miles. You will appreciatehow little we will really know, even after we have received our completeinstruction on this side. He told me, too, about Guynemer, the great aviatorwho has forty-nine German machines to his credit. He said that Guynemer,as an aviator, was only a mediocre flyer, and that his great success lay inhis daring and remarkable marksmanship, often bringing down the enemyplane with one shot.
It was rumored, but not definitely known, that we were leaving Ashburn,until just before an order came to set the machines in perfect condition tobe prepared to fly to Rantoul at five o'clock next morning. So after workingfrom seven until five on Saturday and Sunday, we left for Rantoul at teno'clock Monday morning. Everyone wanted to take an aeroplane, or go asa pilot, but hopes were shattered when word came that only instructorsand advanced students should fly, and that each should be accompaniedby a mechanic. So on account of the method of assignment, the solo mentook the remaining planes, either as drivers or passenger mechanics—thenthe civilian mechanics filled the remaining cars. Practically all the studentswere left out, and I missed my chance to ride. It would have been quite anexperience, as well as good training, to fly cross-country for one hundredand fourteen miles.
