American Aviation Historical Society

Editor’s Note: At one time or another many of us have looked up into the night above the leading cities of the nation and seen a flashing light slowly edging its way across the sky, accompanied by the low monotonous drone of engines. As this phenomenon drew closer one may have been startled to see a flying red horse, complete with flapping wings, or a giant whale swishing its tail, or perhaps a great flamingo winging its way through the darkness. Sights such as these have captured the imagination of millions of people around the country and given a great deal of pleasure to youngsters. They have even had some humorous side effects. One gentleman, upon leaving a bar in the Santa Monica area, looked up and saw the famous red horse-and promptly took the pledge.

Former AAHS member Bob LoVece had a very large and interesting part in the cruise of the “WONDER SHIP.” He was persuaded to set down his account for the Journal, told herewith.

Most of the credit for the visions of loaves of bread, giant whales, flying red horses, and the like, cruising in the sky above the larger cities goes to a Mr. Douglas Liegh, famous for his awe-inspiring Broadway advertising signs; and considered tops in outdoor advertising. What better way is there to bring a message to millions of people at once than to float it over the rooftops and command their attention by such startling displays as those mentioned above.

To accomplish this the Douglas Liegh Sky Advertising Corp. was formed with bases set up at Lakehurst, N.J., Moffet Field, and Santa Ana, California. Naturally the vehicle most likely to fill the requirements of this type of advertising was the old non-rigid airship. The veteran of countless hours of sustained flight, of fighting the U-boat in form of the glorious Navy Blimp. The slow speed, massive envelope area, and endurance potential made it the logical choice.

It was the year 1946, and already there were half a dozen airships of the "K" class, combat patrol type, which waged war against German subs and never lost a ship from a convoy under their protection, at work on both Coasts, displaying their wares. These airships had displacements of 320,000 cubic feet, were powered by R-1340 Wasp engines, and could do better than 65 knots over a range of 2,000 miles. Late in 1946 the Continental Baking Company of New York, makers of Wonder Bread, were persuaded to embark upon a campaign similar to those of its predecessors, Mobilgas, Tidewater, and others, to outfit a blimp.

The significant difference was that this was to be a nationwide barnstorming operation lasting two years and covering some 100 large cities. Plans were drawn up and in November I was assigned to the crew of what was to become the “WONDER SHIP.” For this length of operation, it was decided that the "K" ship would require too much maintenance and ground crew to be practical, so an "L"ship similar to those used by Goodyear Aircraft Corp. for so many years in its own advertising, was chosen. The "L" ships were not designed for cruise or combat patrol work but were used for training in the Navy’s lighter-than-air program. The envelope capacity was only 123,000 cubic feet, and two . . .

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In a rather dramatic rescue, the Museum of Flight in Seattle acquired the Number 1 Lear Fan prototype for display. A true rescue it is, because the airplane would have gone to NASA for use as a structural test article, resulting in its destruction. A total of $40,000 was raised through donations to secure that revered piece of history, which now hangs in the museum’s Great Gallery.

The first flight took place on New Year’s Day, 1981 with Hank Beaird and myself as pilots. The story could be started well before that date, however, possibly as early as November 22, 1965, when Bill Lear’s description of the concept of a twin-engine single-pusher propeller airplane was published, or as late as Christmas day, 1980, when we ran up the airplane’s engines for the first time. A reasonable starting point for anything short of a book probably is February, 1980, plus or minus a little, when a funding package worth about $50 million from the Northern Ireland Department of Economic Development, together with a U.S. limited partnership of $30 million, was put in place, creating for the first time a reasonable assurance of the money to do the job.

Market response to the airplane had already been unprecedented. On the books were 93 orders with deposits, having a market value of almost $98 million. (The Vice President of Sales of LearAvia at that time, by the way, was none other than Torch Lewis.) The amount of work still to be done before a Lear Fan could fly was staggering, however. As of February 1, 1980, for example, only 7 of 76 engineering drawings required for the engine installation, had been released. Of 66 drawings required for control surface design, none had been released. Of 95 drawings required for the wing design, two had been released. In short, large and critical parts of the airplane had not been even designed, let alone built.

In addition, the funding came with a number of strings attached, the most crucial being that the airplane had to fly by the end of 1980; the $50 million from Northern Ireland was contingent on meeting that date. In many respects, the timetable seemed impossible. (Many pundits said it was, and they were nearly right. Personally, I was sure from the day the funding package was sealed that there would be a feast of crow on the table at the end of the year. As it turned out, I would not know until New Year’s Day whether I would help serve it, or help eat it.)

The first flight was scheduled for October 24, 1980. The strength of the organization in Reno that February stood at about 69 people in engineering and about the same number in manufacturing, plus a few in the usual supporting departments. That number was to grow to something in the neighborhood of 400 employees in Reno by the end of the year, plus a similarly sized group that was building parts in Northern Ireland. If anyone among those designing, building, and testing the airplane didn’t sometimes work all day and into (if not through) the night, ignore weekends, work right through meals, spend holidays and vacation days at the plant, and generally did not live to make the airplane fly, I don’t know who it was. (I wish I could name all the people and tell their stories, but if I started, . . .

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After our mom’s death, my sister and I spent some time preparing the "old homestead" for sale. Imagine my surprise when I discovered in a dark corner of the attic all of my old stuff – including lots of childhood treasures I thought had long since been consigned to the landfill. There were baseball cards, comic books, and an old wooden box that my dad had made, containing a heap of my toys, many of which were aviation related. Most of the airplanes were smaller and more beat-up than I remembered them, but there they were.

The thing I remember most about the planes my friends and I had is that they didn’t last very long. Most couldn’t survive repeated test flights from second-story bedroom windows, or all those crash landing in dirt piles, after strafing the army men and dump trucks bunkered there. It never occurred to me as a 7-year old that a die-cast or tin airplane wasn’t really designed for such treatment. Maybe that’s why there seem to be fewer planes in antique shops compared to cars and trains.

Does that mean that the battered survivors are all valuable? Not necessarily. Collectors and dealers say that the value of such a toy depends on several variables, including how many were made, the complexity of the construction, the company that built it, and of course the toy’s condition.

Just for fun, I decided to evaluate my own toys. I also contacted neighbors, friends, and relatives to see what kind of impromptu collection I could put together. I managed to assemble a pretty good representative sampling of what are now known as collectibles.

A word of warning: The antiques shown on these pages are real toys. In other words, they’ve been played with. Most of us did not have the foresight to protect our toys in their original packaging, nor were they squirreled away in a safe-deposit box. They ended up in junk drawers, attic trunks, and basement crates.

The dealers who set the standards for antique toy values use several methods that have evolved through the years. It used to be that a toy was simply labeled Good (G), Very Good (VG), or Mint (M) condition. Today most toy collectors have adopted a scale with a wider range, using a numerical designation:

C10 - Mint, like new (Higher price paid for Mint in original package)
C9 - Near Mint, no noticeable flaws, tiny marks upon inspection
C8 - Excellent, minor wear on edges only
C7 - Very Fine, minor wear overall, very clean
C6 - Fine, shows some wear in spots, but taken care of
C5 - Good, wear evident overall, shows that it has been played with

With that in mind, I quickly realized that few toys I had collected would unlikely stand the scrutiny of even C5 standards. There are plenty of broken propellers, bent empennages, and seized landing gear – not surprising in toys and games that have sat moldering in basements and attics for 30 years or so. But it certainly detracts from their monetary value. As one dealer explained, "Just being old doesn’t cut it."

Several others told me that age, size, or number produced may actually have less to do with value than what they call the nostalgia factor or desirability . . .

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Students changing buildings at Hofstra University and Nassau Community College on Long Island are most likely oblivious to the fact that they are walking on areas that were once occupied by taxiways and runways. To which airport they belonged is either equally elusive to determine or altogether forgotten. But the two hangars which are now part of the nearby Cradle of Aviation Museum and house some 70 historic aircraft, may provide a clue. “Mitchel Field,” they indicate. But where exactly did this “field” go? Early Area History Military in purpose, Mitchel Field was located in an area originally designated the "Hempstead Plains" and became the latest in a line of such military installations. "Most of the aviation activities on Long Island centered around the skies of the Hempstead Plains,” according to Reggie Shore in his article, “Mitchel Field and the History of Aviation on Long Island". The Hempstead Plains, a 60,000-acre area in the center of Nassau County, is the easternmost native grassland in North America and somewhat of a mystery because it cannot be explained by its geological foundation.

Devoid of trees and shrubs, it was an untouched expanse of grassland and with its obstruction-less characteristics, was conducive to flying during the early part of the 20th century.

"Scientists speculate that the presence of so much grass with so few other plants was caused by the Indians, who might have burned the land as an aid to hunting or farming," Shore continues.

While trees failed to rise from this flat field, airplanes eventually did from one designated "Mitchel," but the military purposes the area had previously served were many.

During the Revolutionary War, for example, the 17th Light Dragoons of the British Army were stationed there and an Army enlistment center also took root. During the War of 1812 and the Mexican War, it became an infantry training post named Camp Black. During the Civil War, it served as that conflict’s base under the name of Camp Wilfred Scott. And during World War I, it became Camp Mills, and the 42nd (Rainbow) Division, which included the Fighting 69th Regiment, trained there.

"Camp Mills, an area of 913 acres lying just west of Mitchel Air Force Base, was the largest center of the American Expeditionary Forces during World War I, with some 80,000 men under canvas and in barracks during the period,” advises Elizabeth Brown in the “Historic Michel Field".

The facility, initially known simply as "Hazelhusrt Aviation Field Number 2," was leased by the government a year earlier, on July 1, 1917, from the Hempstead Plains Company.

Finally, the area was designated Michel Field on July 16, 1918, after New York City’s youngest mayor, John Purroy Mitchel, who was killed in a Signal Corps Army Air Service . . .

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Laibel Wellcher was born in Kiev, Ukraone, then a part of Russia, August 14, 1881. He was one of a large family that immigrated to the United States in 1890 when he was nine years old. They eventually ending up living in the Washington, D.C., area. Willcher received his elementary education from a retired teacher who lived with the family, and was particularly adept at mathematics, languages, and pen and pencil etching. Athletically inclined, he learned to be an expert swimmer and oarsman. He became a naturalized citizen.

Willlcher enlisted in the United States Navy at Washington, D. C. April 17, 1901. He changed his name to Arthur L. Welsh in order to make it sound more “American.” He served on the USS Hancock and USS Monongahela. During his service he was stationed at Guantanamo, Cuba, for a time, and was honorably discharged April 16, 1905.

In May, 1905, he became seriously ill with typhoid fever and was hospitalized for four months. A long period of convalescence followed during which he dreamed of flying machines and flying, for he had been interested in aviation since the first reports of man’s ability to fly. Welsh furthered his education and became a bookkeeper, and at the same time was a boys’ physical education instructor, but his inner interest was in aviation. He studied everything he could obtain concerning it and saw Orville Wright make the public demonstration flights before War Department staff officers and high government officials at Fort Myer, Virginia in September 1908. He was there again when both Orville and Wilbur completed these tests in June and July 1909. At that time Welsh was a bookkeeper for the Gas Pintach Company of Washington, D.C.

After observing Orville Wright fly during these tests Welsh’s interest intensified and he resolved to learn to fly. He idolized the Wright brothers and felt they represented all that was worthwhile in aviation. In the fall of 1909 Welsh started writing to the Wrights about employment with them. These letters seeking employment were basically ignored. Not discouraged, Welsh made a trip to Dayton to meet the Wrights and press his interest on them. His sincere persistence won over the brothers. The Wrights explained they had no openings but agreed to take him on as soon as conditions would allow.

Training

Later that year the Wrights decided to go into the exhibition business to demonstrate and promote their aircraft. They hired renowned balloon and dirigible man, Roy Knabenshue, to become their exhibition manager and run the program. Knabenshue was well versed in the necessary procedures and problems involved in carrying on such activities. They needed . . .

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This issue of the Forum focuses on contributions from a number of members focusing on broad spectrum of subjects, many at recent events. The Society has thousands of images in need of cataloging. You can help by volunteering to assist in cataloging from your own home. Interested in helping? Go to www.AAHSPlaneSpotter.com and check the system out.

The FORUM is presented as an opportunity for each member to participate in the Journal by submitting interesting or unusual photographs. Most of the images come from contributions to the AAHS archives. Unfortunately, with older images the contributor information has been lost. Where known, we acknowledge them. Negatives, slides, black-and-white, or color photos with good contrast may be used if they have smooth surfaces.

Digital submissions are also acceptable, but please provide high resolution images (>3,000 pixels wide). Please include as much information as possible about the image such as: date, place, msn (manufacturer’s serial number), names, etc., plus proper photo credit (it may be from your collection but taken by another photographer). Send submissions to the Editorial Committee marked "Forum of Flight," P.O. Box 483, Riverside, CA 92502-0483. Mark any material to be returned: "Return to (your name and complete address)." Or you may wish to have your material added to the AAHS photo archives.

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The readers of the AAHS Journal enjoy the talents of many engaging authors that, with their research and writing, give us fascinating insights into the development and use of aviation here in these United States. The depth and breadth of aviation topics brought to life in the AAHS Journal’s pages is a stunning testament to the enduring interest that aviation holds in our culture. It would be hard to find another publication that routinely speaks to such diverse topics as the use of material substitutes in aircraft production, women’s aviation fashion, aviation toy collections, and how commercial airline routes were developed.

At the Editor’s office however, we see far fewer members of late volunteering up their histories, memories, or their documentation for publication. The AAHS Journal exists exclusively to educate, illuminate and preserve our aviation stories and photos, whilst also being a darn good read. But we don’t make our material up out of internet headlines; old blogs or tweet topics - it comes from our readers! And if our readers don’t provide article material, then the journal, and thus AAHS, suffers.

More and more often in recent publications, our stalwart Editor has had to pull AAHS archive material and take time to shape it into article material, wheedle additional articles from authors already submitting works (and we thank them heartily for their generosity!), contact other organizations for reprint permissions, and look to early AAHS article topics for update potential, to fill the pages of the AAHS Journal.

What does this portend for our future? Is there no more ‘new’ aviation history to record, discuss and illuminate with photos? Is our format no longer viable in today’s digital downpour, with information available by verbal query to Siri over a cup of tea in the garden? Are there no longer sufficient aviation enthusiasts who take the time to document a topic they find interesting to share with others?

We have to consider that many of these questions may be answered in the affirmative. AAHS has to adapt our output according to the input we can expect to receive. Those adaptations aren’t clearly defined yet, but we need to remind ourselves that member-driven publications RELY on the membership to keep the wind under our wings! Is there interesting topic material you might submit for one of our authors to write up for you? Do you know an individual that has had a unique aviation tale that deserves to be documented? We’ll do as much as we can to give the readership what we all expect from the AAHS Journal, but at the end of the day, it does come down to you.

We look forward to hearing from you,

Jerri Bergen
AAHS CEO

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