the story of the airship 12

the story of the airship 12

The nearest hangar where repairs could be made and helium secured was at

Scott Field, near St. Louis, 400 miles away. By this time the ship had

barely enough lift for the pilot and 100 gallons of gas, not enough for

the co-pilot. So Trotter flew alone to St. Louis, landing so heavy that

the ship had almost to be carried into the hangar, made his repairs and

was back in Oklahoma the next day.

 

Sewell had the experience of seeing a propeller fly off while heading

down the bay from San Francisco, saw it careen wildly down, flew on to

the next airport on one motor, mounted his spare.

 

Always the pilots were calling for more speed, removing or streamlining

whatever sources of resistance they could, picking the time for

cross-country flights when conditions were favorable. They flew from

Akron to Washington and New York frequently at 60 miles per hour. The

Reliance did even better in a trip north in 1939.

 

Starting home after its winter in Florida, the ship was held up in

Jacksonville—by tire trouble of all things. The distance an airship can

make in a day is limited by the distance the bus can travel, since the

ground crew must be on hand at night to land the ship. And by now the

bus, with its radio equipment, masts and the like had reached the point

where only the special Goodyear YKL tires would sustain the 14,000

pounds of weight comfortably. There was a shortage of YKL’s when they

started and three standard tires had failed on the run up from Miami.

Neither Jacksonville nor Atlanta branch had YKL’s in that size and to

get them from Akron would entail a day’s delay.

 

Meanwhile the ship was tugging on the mast, with a strong south wind,

anxious to get under way. The pilots held a conference. Maybe, utilizing

the tail wind, they could make it non-stop all the way to Washington,

700 miles north and have Lange’s crew land them. If they ran short of

gas they could stop at Ft. Bragg, N. C., a convenient half-way point.

The Army had a motorized observation balloon there, and was always

willing to lend a hand to fellow airshippers. It was Sheppard’s turn to

take the controls. He sent a wire to Ft. Bragg.

 

“If I run short of fuel, I’ll circle the field as a signal. Could you

land my ship, lend me enough gas to get on to Washington?” The answer

came back promptly, in the affirmative, and the ship left at midnight.

 

Roaring across the Carolinas at mile a minute speed the Reliance sighted

Ft. Bragg before daylight, with plenty of gas left. An entire company

was lined up ready to land the ship. Sheppard flew low, cut his motors,

thanked them, flew on for Hoover Airport, arriving before noon. He

averaged 66 miles per hour over the 700 mile trip, and landed with

enough gasoline to have gone on to New York.

 

By utilizing helping winds, throttling his motors to cruising speed,

Sheppard had effected most economical use of his fuel supply.

 

Fickes used the same technique more strikingly in the delivery flight of

the larger Navy K-5 in 1941, when he flew in to Lakehurst from Wingfoot

Lake at 100 miles per hour speed, again demonstrating that greater

cruising radius than that for which a ship was designed may be effected,

whenever it is possible to pick departure times that are most favorable.

 

[Illustration: Ships like these, off New York City’s great harbor,

might afford warning of the approach of enemy submarines, or the

laying of mines to endanger its shipping.]

 

[Illustration: Operating from a base across in Jersey, the blimps

became a familiar sight around New York City during the World’s

Fair.]

 

[Illustration: While throughout the middle west, the long afternoon

shadows marked the arrival in one city after another of strange

visitors from the sky.]

 

Other improvements in construction or operating technique grew out of

the fleet’s experiences in flying in all weathers. A trip made by the

Defender in 1930 from Miami across to Havana brought home the usefulness

of the radio. The insurance underwriters insisted on a two-way radio

being installed, along with pontoons on the ship, as safety precautions.

Neither radio nor pontoons were needed during the crossing, but the

pilots sensed the desirability of being able to communicate with their

home station and their airport objective. Shortly after a short wave

frequency was granted to the ships, one of the early ones in aircraft,

and two-way sets were later installed on every ship, on the ground-crew

buses and at Akron.

 

This permitted the making of daily weather maps, extended the airships’

radius of action. Pilots would set out with more assurance, knowing that

they would be quickly advised of foul weather ahead, could change their

course, give appropriate instructions to the men on the ground, land

whenever it seemed desirable.

 

In the end the airships were all doing instrument flying, riding the

radio beams like the passenger airplanes, got their landing and take-off

instructions from the radio control towers at the airports.

 

The fleet proved an ideal testing vehicle for the expeditionary mast.

But progress moved carefully, a step at a time. As late as 1930 an air

dock was built alongside the company’s plant at Gadsden, Ala., for use

as an operating base in the middle south. It was thought necessary as a

half way point for ships headed for Florida. After the high mast came in

however, the Gadsden dock came to be used only for warehousing, and no

airship has been inside it in four years.

 

In 1932 the Volunteer started in from Los Angeles for Akron, making the

first successful trip of any non-rigid airship over the Continental

Divide. The Volunteer was due for helium purification and a new bag. No

helium facilities were available closer than Akron. Rather than deflate

the ship and send it by train, Pilot Smith decided to fly in. He laid

out a route via El Paso, San Antonio, and Scott Field, so that he could

get shelter, if necessary, at army hangars at those points. He berthed

at El Paso just after a 100-mile-an-hour storm had passed over, stayed

three days at Kelly Field, found it unnecessary to stop over night at

Scott. Even so, because of persistent head winds he had had to spend ten

nights in the open, setting up his low mast with screw stakes on the

open prairie.

 

Mooring out procedure had improved by the time that Sewell made the same

trip five years later, so he made only courtesy stops at the three army

camps, was on his own.

 

A mishap at Louisville gave impetus to the development of the high mast.

The retractible low mast mounted on top of the bus was attached to the

bag about half way between the car and nose of the ship, convenient to

get at, the system being referred to as “belly-mooring.” The low mast

was light, could be set up quickly and easily, would hold securely

against a straight pull of considerable force. However, it was not as

effective in the case of a wind shift, or gusts which rolled the ship on

its side. A higher mast, with the ship anchored at the nose, was free to

swing in all directions. Every one realized this, but it was only after

Crum’s ship was caught and twisted by a gust at Louisville, punching a

hole in the bag, that the change was made.

 

The high mast, built in sections, anchored by guy wires to stakes

screwed in the ground, was more bulky, took longer to set up, but would

hold the ship indefinitely once it was in place.

 

Thereafter both masts were carried in cross-country trips, the

convenient low mast being used for overnight stops in good weather, the

high mast for more extended operations, or when the weather looked

threatening.

 

The ground-crew bus was in evolution during this period. Built

originally to carry merely crew, spare parts and supplies it added a

radio room, navigation quarters, and carried the two masts. A scout car

cruises ahead to make overnight arrangements, a trailer follows, with

its own electric plant and expeditionary equipment, including a spot

light to play on the ship at night. Duties of airship personnel grew

more specialized and complex.

 

Members of the ground crew acted as radio technicians, meteorologists,

mechanics, riggers. They comprised a colorful group, recruited from all

parts of the country. Sailors from New Bedford, fruit growers from

Florida, farm boys from Ohio, ranchers from the San Joaquin valley, a

mechanic from a Chicago airport, a policeman from the Cleveland fair,

all dropped their work and followed the airships. The personnel list was

a history of every place an airship had operated.

 

The work wasn’t easy, involved long hours in the cold and rain when

storms threatened, picking up mail from their families on the fly in

cross-country operations, moving their households from north to south

and north again. But the ground-crew men stuck, most of them having ten

years’ service and more. On cross-country trips a crew of 14, including

pilots, is adequate.

 

The pilot personnel too formed an interesting group. Jack Boettner,

chief pilot, veteran of the group, with probably more airship hours than

any man in the world, certainly in non-rigid airships, had played

all-American football at Washington and Jefferson, been instructor at

Wingfoot Lake through the first war, was working in Goodyear’s

aeronautical sales when the fleet got under way.

 

As expansion started in 1927 Smith came in from the aero workshop, would

remain second in flight hours only to Boettner. Fickes from Akron

University, left the Efficiency Dept. to sign up, set up one of the

first outside bases, at New Bedford, flew the Mayflower when it picked

up Mr. Litchfield from an ocean liner, later became manager of all

airship operations. O’Neil from the workshop came on too, in that year,

became chief mechanic.

 

When a base was set up at Los Angeles, Lange, a New Englander who had

left Boston University to fly airships in the first war, later flying

out of Panama, joined up, was sent to California, later took charge of

the Washington base. Sewell, a Kansan with a similar record, having left

the state university to fly blimps in coastal patrol in 1918 came in,

captained a ship at New York, followed Lange at Los Angeles.

 

Further expansion came in 1929, when the Puritan, Mayflower, Vigilant

and Volunteer and Defender were added to the fleet. Now came Wilson,

Purdue footballer, Furculow from West Point and Mt. Union, Hobensack

from West Virginia U, Rieker and Crum from Ohio State, the last named

becoming engineer officer of the group.