“Bobbed on the ground with fuselage until over on my back I go.”

The Daring Days of Early Aviation, from the Perspective of Will County, Illinois

By A. J. Smuskiewicz

Will County Historical Society

Fall 2019 Quarterly

Front Cover Illustration: Eddie Gardner flying his Curtis R-4

© 2019 A. J. SmuskiewiczAll rights reserved

Published by the Will County Historical Society

“Bobbed on the ground with fuselage until over on my back I go.”

The Daring Days of Early Aviation, from the Perspective of Will County, Illinois

Like the rest of the world, Will County, Illinois, looked on with amazement as human beings flew through the skies in the first airplanes, or “aeroplanes,” during the early 1900s. Newspaper reporters and editors in the county covered the early aviation developments with a mixture of great interest, profound awe, and—in some cases—fantastic expectations of the shape of things to come.

Residents of the county took special interest in the local adventurers who played key roles in the exciting aviation accomplishments. Yes, a couple of aviation’s pioneers heralded from Will County. These trailblazers were Eddie Gardner, a Plainfield-born airmail and stunt pilot, and William E. Somerville, an aviator, inventor, and aircraft designer who served as mayor of Coal City (straddling the counties of Grundy and Will). These men stood among the daredevils who were the first to soar into the sky in newfangled flying machines that pushed the limits of the technology of the time. Many of these pioneer pilots met their deaths while flying.

The enthusiasm of regional residents was piqued by the popular air shows and races that came through Will County towns, as well as the greater Chicago area, during the first two decades of the 20th century. Some of these shows boasted internationally famous aviators, such as Rene Simon and John Frisbie piloting their Moisant flying machines at Dellwood Park in Lockport in 1911. In 1912, the southwestern Cook County village of Clearing hosted the international air-racing competition called the Gordon-Bennett Cup, considered “the sport’s blue-ribbon affair.” [1-3] Clearing is the area where the portage between the Des Plaines River and Chicago River was traversed by Jacques Marquette and Louis Joliet in 1673; this portage eventually inspired the development of the Illinois & Michigan Canal, in the 1830s. [1]

The airplanes flying over Will County in the wonder years of the early 1900s were the rightful inheritors of the region’s great transportation legacy, which had previously included the explorations of Marquette and Joliet, the building of the I&M Canal, and the spreading of the railroads. In this article, accounts from newspapers, flight logs, and other historic documents are used to review the early days of aviation from the perspective of Will County. But first, for historical context, let’s briefly examine how airplanes and airmail began.

The Dawn of Aviation and AirmailThe Wright brothers—Orville and Wilbur—made history with the first powered, sustained, controlled flight

of a heavier-than-air aircraft in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, on December 17, 1903. [4] Soon afterward, there were further aviation developments by the Wright brothers and others, in both the United States and Europe. People loved reading about the daring exploits of the “bird men” (or “men birds”) in newspapers and magazines—though more than a few of these aviators were “bird women.” The public became captivated by the spectacle of barnstorming (stunt flying), air races, and the quest for speed, altitude, and distance records, with monetary awards offered by newspaper publishers and other financial interests. The following paragraph from the July 1910 issue of New York City-based Aircraft magazine suggests the excitement of the period: [5]

…tens of thousands of dollars are being offered all over the country for cross-country flights, notably $30,000 [equivalent to about $800,000 in 2019] for a flight from New York to St. Louis by “The New York World” and “The St. Louis Dispatch,” [sic] $25,000 for one between Chicago and New York by “The New York Times” and “The Chicago Evening Post,” $5,000 for one from Indianapolis to Chicago, and $10,000 for one from Washington to New York.

The danger for the people who flew the planes is indicated in the following excerpt from the September 1911 Aircraft about a big aviation event in Chicago the previous month. The event is described as “the greatest aviation meet ever held.” Remarkable, by today’s standards, is the seemingly cavalier attitude of the writer toward the accidents and deaths that occurred during the air show: [6]

There were extraordinarily few accidents at Chicago: Badger’s machine broke in the air when he imposed an unnecessary strain on it, and St. Croix Johnstone, it is thought, was unable to glide when his motor stopped, and plunged headlong into the Lake, both accidents being of course fatal. Outside of these two tragedies which, coming within two hours of each other, were certainly unnerving, not a single man was injured or even bruised…

In early 1918, the U.S. Congress appropriated $100,000 for establishing the first airmail routes. [8] Public airmail service, flown by Army pilots, began in May 1918 with a route between New York City and Washington, D.C., including a stop in Philadelphia. Later in 1918, air routes were established between New York and Cleveland and between Cleveland and Chicago. Trains carried the mail from these points to other cities.

The Department of the Post Office assumed control of airmail operations from the Department of War in August 1918. Additional airmail routes that were charted from 1919 into the early 1920s established connections between Chicago, St. Louis, Minneapolis, Omaha, San Francisco, and other cities. [8,9]

Various biplanes were used by the Post Office. One of the primary mail planes flown in 1918 was the Curtiss JN-4H (“Jenny”). This famous aircraft was equipped with an 8-cylinder, 150-horsepower Hispano-Suiza engine. It could carry a mail load weighing close to 300 pounds, travel at a top speed of 80 to 90 miles per hour, and cover a range of almost 200 miles. [8,10] Around 1920, the Post Office began using the de Havilland DH-4B as one of its main planes. This plane—a redesigned version of the Army’s “Flaming Coffin” DH-4—had the dependable and powerful 12-cylinder, 400-horsepower Liberty engine. The de Havilland could carry a mail load of as much as 500 pounds, travel at more than 120 miles per hour, and fly for a range of 400 miles. [8,11-13]

From the vantage point of the early 21st century, it is difficult to appreciate the challenges and dangers faced by the pilots who charted the first air routes during the early 20th century. The routes had never been flown before, and the directions to turn at any given points were uncertain. The pilots typically found their way by following vague directions given by local people at refueling stops and by referring to their simple compasses. For these pioneering airmail pilots, flying planes over long distances—in open cockpits through rough weather and with no lights at night—was an extremely risky business. The flying technology was new and unperfected, the plane bodies were less than sturdy, the navigation aids were relatively primitive, protection from the elements was limited, and the paths were unfamiliar. Deadly crashes and other fatal accidents—such as planes catching fire, exploding, and breaking apart in midair—were not uncommon. In 1920 alone, 15 U.S. airmail pilots were killed. That was a particularly deadly year. From 1918 to 1926, there was a total of at least 35 deaths. [11]

“This picture shows the crowd in one corner, the seating capacity running in a northerly direction from this point as far as the eye can reach. To the right will be noticed the sky scrapers along Michigan Avenue, the windows and roofs of which were invariably crowded with spectators.”

In 1927, the Post Office turned over airmail delivery to private companies, including Boeing Air Transport and National Air Transport (both forerunners of United Air Lines). [9,14] That was the same year in which Charles Lindbergh made his historic flight in the Spirit of St. Louis—the first solo, nonstop, trans-Atlantic flight—between Long Island, New York, and Paris, France.

In the subsequent decades, aircraft became more technologically advanced and much safer, and passenger air travel became the primary role of airplanes. Today—despite the occasional accidents—most people generally take airplane safety for granted. But it is insightful to remember that aviation before the 1930s was a dangerous endeavor mainly reserved for the bold and brave.

Eddie Gardner

One bold daredevil who survived his share of crashes and hard landings—until his luck finally ran out—was Eddie Gardner. Edward Van Buren Gardner born to Martin and Mary Gardner on a farm in Plainfield, Illinois, on April 4, 1888. [15,16] He became a chauffeur and a car mechanic in Chicago. He also enjoyed racing cars.

In addition to his fascination with fast automobiles, Gardner was enthralled by airplanes. During the First World War, he served as a pilot and flight instructor for the U.S. Army, logging more than 1,400 hours of flying time while stationed at Dallas, Texas. [15,17] Although an accomplished flyer, Gardner had unusually wobbly takeoffs, which prompted his fellow pilots to jokingly nickname him “Turkey Bird.” They thought he resembled a turkey trying to fly. He, understandably, was not fond of that moniker, though he did sometimes refer to himself as the rather rakish-sounding “Turk Bird.” [15,17] “Skinny” was another one of his nicknames.

In August 1918—about three months before the end of the war—Gardner received his civilian flying license. [18] He was soon hired as an airmail pilot by Benjamin Lipsner, the newly appointed head of the Post Office’s airmail service. Lipsner and Gardner were acquaintances. In 1910, Gardner had purchased a Runabout racing car from Lipsner. [15] In his 1951 book, The Air Mail—From Jennies to Jets, Lipsner described Gardner as “one of the most daring individuals of that time. Gardner was quick to acquire the new techniques in aviation and to him the word ‘impossible’ didn't exist. He was in his 20’s and did everything with a flourish and style.” [19]

Gardner was only the second pilot hired by the Post Office, after Max Miller. [11,18] These two airmen pursued a friendly but serious competition to accomplish great feats in the sky, until Miller’s death in a plane explosion in September 1920. [11] On the morning of September 5, 1918, the men took off from New York’s Belmont Park in separate planes in a milestone “pathfinding” mission to Chicago.

For these two pilots, it was a race. Gardner piloted a Curtiss R-4 with a 400-horsepower Liberty engine. Flying with him was mechanic Eddie Radel. Miller took off in a Standard JR-1B with a 150-horsepower engine, leaving about two hours earlier than Gardner (who struggled with mechanical difficulties as he tried to take off). The Post Office’s purpose for these flights was to survey an air route between the two big cities, as well as to prove that airmail could be faster than rail mail. The main measurable goal was to complete the trip in less than 10 hours. [20,21] Lipsner later wrote, “As the superintendent of a very young and growing air mail service, I knew how much depended on this flight. Aside from possible loss of life, failure might mean the end of the air mail service—or at the very least would ruin our expansion program.” [19]

Gardner and Miller each experienced mechanical problems during their flights through the heavy fog and rain. Nevertheless—after several stops to refuel, ask directions, and make phone calls about their progress to Lipsner (who was waiting in the Federal Building in Chicago)—both pilots made it to the Windy City. Miller landed in Chicago’s Grant Park first, at just before 7:00 pm on September 6—some 36 hours after his New York takeoff.

Bonfires were lit in the park to help guide Gardner’s arrival at night, but he and Radel had been forced to set down in Westville, Indiana, and wait until daylight to complete their trip. They touched down in Grant Park at a little after 8:00 am on September 7. [18,19,22]

On the return trip to New York on September 10, 1918, Gardner completed the flight within a single day, flying into the night in his determination to achieve the 10-hour goal. His Curtiss R-4 somersaulted upon crash-landing in the darkness at Hicksville, Long Island, just shy of the Belmont Park destination. The rough landing left the two Eddies with minor injuries, but Gardner won bragging rights to establishing a record time between Chicago and New York—9 hours and 18 minutes, according to an article published by the National Air and Space Museum. [20] Miller was unable to complete the return trip, as a leaky radiator forced him to land in Lock Haven, Pennsylvania. [20,22] Gardner’s accomplishment demonstrated that a fast mail route between Chicago and New York would indeed work.

A description of Gardner’s return trip to New York, taken from his personal flight log, can be found in a typed document in the archives of the Will County Historical Museum and Research Center in Lockport. [23] This fascinating text, provided below, gives the reader a palpable feeling of what these early path finding flights were like for Gardner and other pilots. Adding to the historical interest is Gardner’s closing comment suggesting that Liberty engines can help defeat the Germans (“Huns”) in the war. (A version of this text, worded slightly differently, appeared in Illinois Lions Magazine in February 1972 in an article by Elmer F. Ott titled “Illinois Pilot was in the Cockpit for the First Flight of Mail by Air.”)

“On the morning of September 10th I went to Grant Park to get ready for my trip. A steady downpour of rain, clouds and gloom was all that welcomed me in the sky, but my determination to eat supper in New York could not be bothered with weather conditions, so at 6:25 a.m. I was New York bound. [It was because of the] rain and clouds that I would lose sight of ground at 400 feet of altitude. Headed across lower Lake Michigan directly for Gary, Indiana, with a head wind of 22 miles an hour. From there I flew a compass course of 104 degrees, which landed me at Bryan, Ohio, at 8:45.

Took on 38 gallons gas and 9 qts. oil. Left Bryan at 9:20. Still raining, heavy haze and fog. Climbed to an altitude of 7800 feet and flew a direct compass course of 92 degrees. After flying for an hour and thirty minutes in sunshine above the storm, I came down to get my bearings and was on the shore of Lake Erie, directly on my course. Landed at Cleveland at 11:16. Had lunch, took on gas and oil. Was delayed one hour and 54 minutes getting filled up with gas. Left Cleveland at 1:12, clouds breaking and clear weather ahead.

Flew a compass course of 104 degrees. Good vision, beautiful trip and good territory until directly over Oil City, Pa. From there, flew over mountains at an altitude of 8000 feet. Flew for two hours and I started looking for Lock Haven. Came directly over course, landed at Lock Haven at 4:47, eastern time. Took on gas and oil.

Left Lock Haven at 5:45, clear sky, and flew a compass course of 104 degrees over mountain ranges and beautiful levels. Flew two hours, when dusk set in. Checking myself on the map, I was directly over Jersey City, straight on my course, with Belmont not more than 20 minutes on my way.

By this time, New York City was lighted up and a most wonderful sight. New York City to my right and back, Belmont should be close, but all lights looked alike. By this time it was 8 o’clock and pitch dark. My next thoughts were of Mineola Flying Field. I flew around for 20 minutes, going through figure 8s, but could not see either Belmont or Mineola, so decided to try and land. I picked a field that looked clear of trees and buildings, so decided to land. Could not tell the condition of field, whether it was level or a stone quarry.

I came down to a level of tree tops, started to level, when I felt a crash, my landing gear gone. Bobbed on the ground with fuselage until over on my back I go. 8:12 p.m., with a record run of 7 hours and 46 minutes flying time, the only ship flown through in one day from Chicago to New York. But I can say, it is an unpleasant place to be, over New York City, not familiar with landing places, pitch dark. But I felt that all should profit by my experience, and every hangar and flying field in the United States be equipped with star rockets and signal lights for an emergency as I was in.

I can only give all credit to mechanician Eddie Radel and Liberty Motor. Its wonderful performance on my entire trip, not even a foul spark plug, and from inspection [of] the motor after trip [I] found it in perfect condition. More Libertys and less Huns.

[signed] Aerial Mail Pilot.

On September 15, 1918—just five days after his crazy crash-landing in New York—the Turk Bird took off to fly the mail from Cleveland to Chicago. However, his plane failed to gain altitude. He crashed into two houses, once again leaving himself only slightly injured. No one on the ground was hurt, according to reports. [18] Gardner had a much easier flight—and set another time record—on May 15, 1919, when he carried the mail from Cleveland to Chicago in 3 hours, 50 minutes. [17] Left Gardner’s

plane is mobbed by the crowds on his return flight.

After he and other pilots were fired for staging a strike against the Post Office later in 1919 [11], Gardner moved to Nebraska, where he worked as a test pilot for an aircraft manufacturer. He also performed stunt flying in air shows—a risky endeavor that ultimately spelled his doom. On May 5, 1921, his plane crashed during a competition at an aviation tournament in Holdrege, Nebraska. [22,24] He died the next day in a hospital in Lincoln. Like many early aviators, he was a young man at the time of his death, having just turned 33 the month before.

Gardner was survived by his sister and mother in Joliet. He was buried in Plainfield Township Cemetery. [16,24] On August 3, 1957, Gardner’s sister, Nellie, was on hand at the new post office in Plainfield for the unveiling of a mural depicting her brother’s historic Chicago-to-New York flight. The mural, by Plainfield artist Harold Hewlett, was later moved to the mail-sorting room of the city’s modernized postal facility. [25]

William E. SomervilleBy any estimation, William E. “Billie” Somerville has to be one of the most interesting and multifaceted

individuals in regional history. His life began far from Will County—in Scotland, where he was born in either 1869 or 1870. He worked in Scotland as an electrician and marine engineer before immigrating to the United States in 1892. He initially worked in America as an electrician, electrical engineer, and mechanic, in Pennsylvania, Texas, and elsewhere. Somerville moved to Coal City in 1893 or 1895 (depending on the source) after coming to town to attend the funeral of his brother, who had been killed in a coal-mining accident. He became a superintendent at, and later the manager of, Macomber Whyte Company, a manufacturer of hemp rope and wire rope in Coal City. He

Eddie “Turk Bird” Gardner, Pride of Plainfield, at his

favorite place, in the cockpit of his airplane.

invented new types of manufacturing machines for use by this industry. He also served as Coal City’s electrical engineer. [26-28]

Somerville became involved in civic matters—especially in regard to community improvement and industrial development—and he decided to run for mayor. Most stories about Somerville state that he was elected mayor in 1905. However, according to the official website of the Coal City government, he served his first of two stints as mayor from 1907 to 1913. The government website lists Andrew McKean as the mayor from 1905 to 1907. [29] Mayor Somerville pursued policies to change Coal City “from a mining to a manufacturing center,” according to a report in the Wilmington Advocate in January 27, 1911.

Somerville and McKean had more in common than their mayoral service. They also both enjoyed racing automobiles. Some accounts credit Somerville with owning the first automobile in Coal City. At a Fourth of July event in 1907, these two men raced with several other drivers over a seven-and-a-half-mile course through and around Coal City. Somerville drove an automobile that he had built himself. Neither Somerville nor McKean finished the race due to problems with their cars, according to a story published by the Carbon Hill Historical Society in 2010. [30]

While mayor, Somerville’s endless curiosity and mechanical instincts led him to pursue an interest in aviation. He cofounded the Illinois Aero Construction Company, where he designed gliders and airplanes, including a seven-person biplane that was flown by hired pilot Earl Daugherty to a height of 1,800 feet. That plane is considered by some historians to be the first aircraft with a tractor-type design—that is, an engine mounted with the propeller in front of it, allowing the plane to be “pulled” rather than “pushed” through the air. [26,27]

Other historians point to other aircraft for this first. Somerville also invented a number of airplane parts, most notably innovative upward-curved wing tips, or winglets. He obtained several patents, and he defeated a lawsuit filed by the Wright brothers for patent infringement. [26,27] He also constructed an airfield and hangars on leased land along the southern edge of Coal City.

Somerville enjoyed piloting gliders at the sand dunes in Indiana. He also flew airplanes himself, though he sometimes hired other pilots to fly his planes. A report in the Kankakee Daily Republican on October 1, 1910, briefly describes one of his flying efforts, though without divulging the outcome: “Hundreds of people watched the attempted flight of William Somerville, Mayor of Coal City and superintendent of the wire rope factory, in the airship invented by him.” He was further described in the paper as “the first and only mayor in the United States to build and fly a plane” and as owning “probably the most complete library [of airplanes] of any who soar the air.”

A multi-passenger biplane built by Somerville for his Illinois Aero

Construction Company

Reports in the Wilmington Advocate covered both the successes and failures of Somerville’s aviation efforts. The following two Advocate accounts are from, respectively, June 9, 1911, and June 23, 1911:

Mayor W. E. Somerville, of Coal City, is planning a trial flight in his recently completed aeroplane. Friday last the official had his second machine removed from the Somerville shops to a field south of the city. In another few days Mr. Somerville plans to give the new machine a test. The latest ideas of Mr. Somerville in building air ships have been installed in the machine and he expects to be in shape to make many flights during the summer.

W. E. Somerville, aviator and aeroplane builder of Coal City, after a successful flight Tuesday last, attaining a height of 150 feet or more, met with an accident which damaged the machine considerably, when he struck a tree in alighting from a trial flight in that place.

In late 1912, fire destroyed many of Somerville’s aircraft, manufacturing machines, buildings, and design plans. [26,27] Somerville became discouraged by that tragedy and by a general downturn in the aviation business (in terms of decreased investment by wealthy Americans). This temporary “apathy” toward aviation among “Americans of means” was identified by Aircraft in September 1911 as “one of the very potent causes of America’s falling behind other nations in general aviation progress.” According to Aircraft, aviation in France, Great Britain, and Germany was especially energized during this time because of the (pre-World War I) “military exigencies” of those European nations. [3]

Somerville shifted his focus back to the wire-rope business and other entrepreneurial and community interests. He served as mayor of Coal City again from 1925 to 1931. [29] He organized and directed the Coal City Marine Band, and he sometimes played clarinet with John Philip Sousa’s renowned band.

Getting out of the flying business probably allowed Somerville to live to an old age, unlike Gardner and many other aviators of the early 1900s. He lived into his 80s, dying in September 1950. He was buried in

A view inside Somerville’s aircraft manufacturing factory in Coal City

Mount Olivet Cemetery in Wilmington. In 2010, Somerville was inducted into the Illinois Aviation Hall of Fame. [27]

Wilmington Advocate and Other Reporting

As indicated by the above newspaper accounts about Somerville, the Wilmington Advocate, as well as other regional newspapers, enthusiastically printed reports on the early developments of aviation. Some reports also referred to other interesting issues of the day in their aviation stories—issues that offer historical insights for readers today. The following newspaper accounts about early aviation inside and outside our region are obtained from records kept at the Will County Historical Museum.

The Will County aviation coverage actually predates the invention of airplanes by several decades. On August 12, 1856, the Joliet Signal featured the following item about an exciting balloon ascension in Joliet:

By advertisement it will be seen that Prof. Brooks makes one of his grand balloon ascensions from

this city, on Saturday next. He is the greatest aeronaut living and has made more successful voyages through the heavens than any other man. Of course he will have a great crowd to witness his daring feat.

The referred-to “Prof. Brooks” was Silas M. Brooks, a Connecticut-based inventor and showman who promoted himself as “Professor Silas Brooks, the Great American Aeronaut.” His popular events included balloon shows during the daytime and fireworks at night. Brooks recorded 187 gas-balloon ascensions from the 1850s into the 1890s. [31]

After the Wright brothers’ historic flight in 1903, aviators from France made a lot of news with their accomplishments. On August 14, 1908, the Wilmington Advocate reported on an “aeroplane” flight made in New York by French pilot Henri Rarmen:

At last an airship has been reached that really flies like a bird at a rate of forty miles an hour and remains under perfect control. This was shown by Henri Rarmen at Brooklyn Beach, N.Y., last week when his heavier than air flying machine did all claimed for it and flew through the air at express train speed. The aeroplane brought from France rose from an especially prepared runway at the will of the inventor, and after attaining a height of twenty-five feet flew straight ahead on a direct line, finally alighting with grace when the air pilot diminished the motor power.

The continued accomplishments of the Wright brothers were dutifully reported by the Advocate. A “new record” made by Orville at Fort Myer (outside Washington, D.C.) was described on July 23, 1909:

Washington – Establishing a new record for aviation in America, Orville Wright, in the Wright aeroplane at Fort Myer, made a spectacular flight of one hour, 20 minutes and 45 seconds duration. The longest previous flight was of 74 minutes made by Wright at Fort Myer last fall.

During the entire flight the machine was under perfect control, but several times appeared to the spectators to be on the point of diving forward. Several thousand persons were given an exhibition which included the most daring feats of aviation yet accomplished, and at its conclusion a might cheer went up from the throng.

The machine traveled a distance of about 70 miles, it was estimated by Wilbur Wright, and at one time during the flight the height attained, between 260 and 280 feet, exceeded the highest point ever reached by a heavier than air machine on this continent. The most wonderful part of the flight was the execution of three complete “figure eights” which required careful maneuvering in directing the machine.

An intriguing circling of the Statue of Liberty by Wilbur was reported by the Advocate on October 1, 1909. Notice how the abilities of aeroplanes are contrasted favorably with those of dirigibles:

Soar in the Air – Aviator Wright Circles the Statue of Liberty in Biplane – New York – Wilbur Wright circled the great Statue of Liberty at the entrance of New York harbor in his aeroplane Wednesday, while in the upper part of the city two huge dirigible balloons failed ingloriously in their task. This, the first day of flight of the Judson-Fulton Celebration, was a victory for the heavier than air machine.

Both Wright and Glenn H. Curtiss [the main American competitor of the Wrights] soared successfully from the aerodrome on Governors Island in their motor propelled biplanes … [By contrast,] both great dirigibles, manned respectively by Capt. Thomas Baldwin and George L. Tomlinson and entered in the New York World’s [a newspaper] $10,000 New York to Albany race, were forced to descend because of mechanical difficulties before they were well under way.

Wilbur Wright made three sensational flights and Curtiss made a brief though successful test spin of 30 seconds duration. … In all three of his flights the Wright machine showed greater speed than that of Curtiss, but the Curtiss flier seemed to keep its equilibrium better and remained on an even keel. Wright, in fact, met with one slight mishap in his first flight when a wing tip struck the ground on landing and considerably jarred his machine.

Wright’s action in circling the Statue of Liberty is taken as a challenge to Curtiss, for Curtiss, it will be recalled, was the first to mention such a flight. From now on it is expected that the two aviators will strive to outdo the other, although neither will do anything reckless.

Wilbur’s flyby past Ulysses S. Grant’s tomb on October 8, 1909, as described in the Advocate, is further indicative of the publicity stunts performed by competing pilots during this era:

Wright defies the wind – soars high above the international navy ships – New York – Circling the air 100 feet above the ships of the international navy, Wilbur Wright Tuesday flew up the Hudson river in his aeroplane from Governors Island, passing Grant’s tomb, in the most spectacular flight the world has ever seen.

Wright had his machine under perfect control, and thousands along the route stood in astonishment or cheered the daring aviator.

It is estimated that Wright made approximately 15 miles. He covered the distance in 33 minutes and 33 seconds.

Wright made the trip in what he declared as an 18-mile wind, in spite of his assertion that an 11-mile wind was the limit of safety.

He started by circling over the battleship fleet on the Hudson river and then struck out in the direction of Grant’s tomb at a height of about 100 feet.

As he went toward the Battery he rose higher, reaching probably 200 feet. The machine dipped like a launch in a swell as it proceeded.

As the aeroplane approached the city, flying steadily, but bucking the wind, the roofs of all the buildings became crowded and pleasure craft started up the river in an effort to keep up with the remarkable craft that flew above them. They were soon compelled to give up the chase, for Wright outstripped the fastest of them.

As the machine flew high above the water craft, the little maroon-colored canoe, which Wright had previously attached to his aeroplane in the event that he would be compelled to alight on the water, was plainly visible.

As the machine pushed into the breeze, dipping slightly occasionally as though caught by a downward trend of the air, and then again was lifted suddenly, apparently striking a disturbing air current, the absolute mastery of the aviator was strongly impressed on the spectators.

The Wilmington Advocate sometimes ventured beyond basic reporting to share the opinions of observers regarding the new aviation technology. In a highly speculative and extremely optimistic—or extremely alarming, depending on one’s perspective—piece from September 10, 1909, the “end of war” and a world government (hinting at the future League of Nations) are forecast as a result of technological advancements of the aeroplane:

The Aeroplane to End War – The perfection of the aeroplane simply means the end of war, says William T. Stead [an English newspaper editor who would die in the Titanic sinking in 1912]. [32] Armaments will go as armor went, while twelve inch guns will be as obsolete as the bow and arrow. The

aeroplane is the next step. Like Lytton’s potent compound of electricity and dynamite, by which a child could destroy an army by waving a wand, the aeroplane places illimitable forces of destruction at the command of anybody who can raise fifty thousand dollars and find half a dozen desperadoes to do his bidding.

As Captain Tullock [a British military officer?] says, fifty miles of the concentrated essence of the empire in the Thames valley could be brought to ruin by a single airship planting a dozen incendiary missiles in certain spots during a high wind. Only a few minutes would be necessary to have the whole riverside, with ships, wharves, warehouses and also the arsenal, in an unconquerable blaze.

The human race is absolutely unprotected from above. What, then is demanded? The governments should federate into one great world state, with international tribunals interpreting the laws and an international parliament without whose command no war could take place on the earth, in the air or on the sea.

It is interesting to compare the above perspective with that in the below excerpt from the July 1910 Aircraft magazine, which emphasizes the potential wartime benefits of air power over ground forces: [33]

The warrior in the air is a fighter of the third dimension, whereas his brother on the earth moves in but two dimensions. He is not bound by the ordinary rules of motion that circumscribe the activity of the soldier of the line. There has been much discussion and considerable disagreement about the ability of an aviator to inflict damage by dropping bombs, but the few experiments conducted in this country at Los Angeles and San Antonio, Tex., so far as their results are known, would indicate that the bomb and the man-bird are not altogether a useless combination for warlike operations.

Denys P. Myers, the military and foreign-affairs expert who wrote that commentary in 1910, would live for many more years, until 1972. [34] He would have many opportunities to see just how unimaginably devastating the military might of airplanes and their bombs would become in two world wars and many other conflicts.

Perhaps new technology always summons forth the extremes of great expectations and optimism versus grave doubts and doom-and-gloom fears. This reminds me of what my father said he frequently read in newspapers during the development of atomic bombs and nuclear energy following World War II (1939-1945). While some “experts” predicted bountiful free energy and a virtual earthly paradise resulting from the wonders of nuclear energy, others forecast the bleak end of civilization because of the bomb. I suppose that we actually ended up somewhere between doomsday and utopia.

We know that war and conflict did not end. Some things never do. It is revealing to observe that conflict along the Mexican border—the source of enormous political controversy these days—is nothing new. I know from my family’s history that during 1916 and 1917 (before World War I), my grandfather served in the U.S. Army along the Mexican border as part of an expedition, under General John J. “Black Jack” Pershing, trying to capture border-crossing “insurgents” affiliated with Mexican revolutionary Pancho Villa. Many Americans were getting killed by Villa’s guerilla activities. On February 10, 1911, a few years before my grandfather was posted there, the Wilmington Advocate reported on the novel use of aeroplanes against Mexican insurgents at the border:

Washington – The war department is about to establish an aeroplane patrol along the Rio Grande river and for the first time in this country, aviators will enter the military service of the United States.

So far as an air scout can discover, General Hoyt, the commander of the department of Texas, will soon be in a positon to determine the facts as to the activities of the insurgents along the Mexican border.

At present, owing to conflicting reports, the army officers engaged in maintaining neutrality find the task difficult, and the troops are continually making wild goose chases after military expeditions reported to be crossing the Rio Grande, which rarely materialize.

In the meantime, when the troops are on these false scents, it is presumed that armed parties make their way across the river at unguarded posts.

General Wood, chief of staff, General Allen, chief signal officer, and John Barry Ryan, president of the United States Aeronautical Reserve, held a conference Monday, and afterward it was announced that the war department has accepted the tender of Robert Collier of one of his new Wright biplanes, which is now in New York, and this will be rushed to the Mexican border by express and turned over to General Hoyt. The reserve is prepared to furnish half a dozen other machines for military use at short notice.With that number

of machines soaring constantly over the crooked channel of the Rio Grande and back into the country where illegal expeditions may be organizing, it is believed the military will be able practically to establish an impenetrable patrol along the border. An ad for the Wright Flyer in the September 1911 Aircraft magazine boasted

about this aeroplane’s many records and noted, “These records, together with the wonderful work of Model B for the Army on the Mexican Frontier, proves beyond dispute that THE WRIGHT FLYER has established its position not only as the PIONEER but the PEERLESS machine.” [35]

As airplanes were beginning to be used for military purposes, the public continued to thrill over the aerial feats accomplished in peaceful pursuits. On August 18, 1911, the Advocate described an exciting pass over Wilmington by the famous Boston-based aviator, inventor, and showman Harry N. Atwood. This flight was part of a highly publicized air trip made by Atwood from St. Louis to New York between August 14 and August 25, 1911. Aircraft described that trip as a “new world’s record for a cross-country flight … by Harry N. Atwood on his Burgess Wright machine when he flew from St. Louis to New York, a distance of 1,265 miles, in ten days.” [36] During the previous month—on July 14, 1911—Atwood had generated quite a bit of news by becoming the first pilot to land on the lawn of the White House. He flew in to accept an award from President William Howard Taft for flying from Boston to Washington, D.C. [37] So the people of Wilmington were filled with great expectations for his flyover on August 18, as reported in the Advocate:

Business was nearly at a standstill in this city Monday afternoon in anticipation of the arrival of Harry N. Atwood in his aeroplane flight over our city en route from St. Louis to Boston. For several hours before he was scheduled to pass over Wilmington, people were standing around in groups watching for him. At 5:15 he sailed over Braidwood and five minutes later he passed over this city at a height of about 300 feet. Atwood is the first aviator to fly over Wilmington and he was greeted with a large crowd of upturned faces.

Atwood’s appearances in Chicago during his August 1911 history-making adventure were also recorded in the Advocate in two additional reports. Note that the last paragraph of the second report is especially insightful:

Grant Park Aviation Field, Chicago – Smashing all American records for a day’s flight, Atwood, the Boston aviator, flew into Chicago from St. Louis, en route to New York and Boston, and joined the other winged vehicles on the lake front.

He completed the aeroplane dash across the prairies of Illinois in five hours and thirty-four minutes of flying time, the distance traveled between dawn and nightfall being about 300 miles. The average speed of the journey was fifty-six miles an hour.

Rapidly as the public is becoming accustomed to aeroplane novelties, it received fresh cause for wonder and enthusiasm when Harry N. Atwood landed in Chicago Monday at the end of his flight from St. Louis. The distance traveled by him between 8:05 a.m. and 6:22 p.m. was 315 miles. The trip broke the American record for a day’s flight and demonstrated the remarkable efficiency which has been reached in aeroplane construction. Not once between St. Louis and Chicago did the machine fail or need repairs.

Atwood’s [previous] spectacular flight from Boston to New York, which ended July 1, was 257 miles long and was made in two days. The second day’s stretch, from New London to New York, was 122 miles and was made in 3 hours and 22 minutes. This flight has been eclipsed in every way by the St. Louis–Chicago flight. Express trains travel between Chicago and St. Louis in 8 hours: Atwood’s time in the air was 7 hours and 30 minutes.

Following a historic course of travel in the settlement of the Illinois prairies, Atwood gave many thousands of dwellers on farms and in towns their first opportunity of seeing an aeroplane in motion. How some of the pioneers must have reflected on the marvel of the changes in transportation—first the slow-going wagons, then the canal boat, then the railway, now the aeroplane—all within memory of living persons! And the aeroplane is destined to further development and extended use.

The celebration of Atwood’s landing in Chicago was also described in the September 1911 Aircraft: “Upon Atwood’s arrival at the Chicago Meet during his remarkable flight from St. Louis to New York, he was accorded a hearty reception by not only the great crowd of spectators but also by the leaders of the meet.” [6] The magazine includes a photo of Atwood being “held high in the air upon the shoulders of [businessman] Harold F. McCormick and [Aircraft president] Alfred W. Lawson, who carried him from the place where he landed to the front of the grand stand and judges box.”

Additional famous aviators who entertained spectators in Will County and adjoining communities during this era included Rene Simon, John J. Frisbie, and the Moisant siblings. Simon was an accomplished French aviator. During an appearance in Chicago on August 14, 1911, he had to be rescued by boat when he dived too low over Lake Michigan, his engine failed, and his plane landed in the lake. A motorboat was hailed by a pilot in another plane. Some historians consider this to be the first airplane “rescue at sea.” [38,39] Frisbie was an Irish aviator who was killed on September 1, 1911, in a crash at a Kansas air show. [40,41] The Moisant International Aviators was the name of a barnstorming group founded by John B. Moisant, an Illinois-born aviator of French ancestry. In 1909, Moisant designed and built an unusual biplane that was described as the “first all metal aeroplane” (compared with conventional planes made mostly of wood and fabric). He named this plane “L’Ecrevisse,” meaning “crawfish” in French. [42] Moisant was killed during an air competition in Louisiana on December 31, 1910. His brother Alfred and sister Matilda were also aviators, and they carried on the family’s aviation work. [43,44]

The names of Simon, Frisbie, and Moisant are all mentioned in the following Advocate report from August 25, 1911. Note that the “Friday” event at Dellwood Park in “Joliet” [actually Lockport] described here occurred just eleven days after Simon’s rescue from Lake Michigan and just seven days before Frisbie’s fatal crash in Kansas:

Several from this city are in Joliet today (Friday) attending the aviation meet. A letter from the editor of the Joliet News gives the best of promises for the flying machines in this city Friday, Saturday and Sunday this week. The railroads and interurbans are making preparations to carry the crowds and the latter are giving special rates. Simon and Frisbie with Moisant machines are the very best in flying today. With the Moisant monoplane of only fifty horse power in racing in Chicago, Simon beat two of the seventy horse

Harry N. Atwood and the biplane he flew on his “record breaking trip from St Louis to New York

1,265 miles.

Photo of Atwood being carried on shoulders of crowd in Chicago in August 1911, from September 1911 Aircraft. Page 230 

power machines and one of 100 horse power, and at other times these machines only beat Simon fractions of a second.

Dellwood Park at Joliet can be reached by the street cars for a nickel and the service is perfect. Admission to the park is 25 cents for this event and it has the reputation of being the most beautiful and most orderly park in the state, with artesian wells, abundance of shade and the best of music. The amusements, luncheons and everything pertaining to the park are of fine quality and in splendid taste. So writes the News editor.

A newspaper ad for the “Great Inter-State Fair at Kankakee, Illinois” reveals that this fair was held from September 4 to 8, 1911. The events were to feature the Moisant International Aviators, including Simon and Frisbie, who were described as “both first money winners at the Chicago International Aviation Meet [who] will sail among the clouds at the Fair on Monday and Tuesday.” According to the ad, the “Exhibition will consist of starting and alighting, bomb-throwing, altitude flights, and on Tuesday a five-mile race between Moisant monoplane and

A bi-plane flown by John J. Frisbie Moisant’s all metal bi-plane, named “L’Ecrevisse” (crawfish in French)

John B. Moisant in front

Curtis[s] type biplane.” Of course, we know that Frisbie would be killed shortly before this fair. Death was a constant haunting specter for the brave heroes of early aviation.

The dangers were real. However, the pioneers of aviation ignored them—or worked to overcome them—as they pursued their dreams of aerial accomplishment and glory. An editorial in Aircraft in September 1911 bemoaned the popular press’s sensationalism of aviation fatalities and looked forward with optimism to the future: [45]

The element of danger in aviation is not excessive. Considering everything—the limited knowledge of meteorology, the youth of the science, the mechanical limitations, the eagerness of beginners to attain the ranks of good aviators and reap honors and prizes without adequate training, with self-made, crude creations; considering all this, one has rather reason to be enthusiastic over the big prospects of aviation.

The Confident Spirit of Pioneers

The forward-focused attitude of that 1911 editorial probably encapsulated the

confident spirit of the times, when airplanes were new. This is the same spirit and courage that pioneers always possess—including those pioneers who extended aviation’s reach to the moon in 1969. Will County also played a crucial role in that adventure 50 years ago, in the form of aeronautical engineer and Joliet Junior College graduate John C. Houbolt. It was Houbolt who convinced the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) to use the lunar-orbit-rendezvous procedure for landing on the moon—the procedure in which a lunar module carried the astronauts to the surface of the moon and then back to a command module that was orbiting the moon. [46,47] That was the key idea that made it possible for NASA to meet President John F. Kennedy’s goal of landing men on the moon by the end of the 1960s. John C. Houbolt had the kind of brilliant, creative, mechanical mind that William E. Somerville and Eddie Gardner would have understood.

Will County enjoyed a front-row seat in the audience of the early drama of aviation. Its residents watched in wonder as the flying machines soured over their heads in aerial shows and races. And they read the local newspaper accounts of aviation accomplishments around the world with fascination. But Will County also played important roles on the stage of the drama, with Somerville and Gardner being responsible for some of the greatest early aviation achievements. Today, we can be grateful to these fearless regional pioneers in aviation. They lived lives of great danger, but also great productivity and accomplishment. We should remember their legacy as we continue to stretch our reach into the heavens, including back to the moon, to Mars, and to the stars.

References

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