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1956 - 2025, Celebrating over 65+ Years of Service

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Back CoverInside FrontInside Back

Excerpts from
AAHS Journal, Vol. 70, No. 4 - Winter 2025

Table of Contents 

AAHS Model Advertisement  

The AAHS has a collection of vintage, large-scale, aircraft models available for sale. The collection includes over 80 models, several pedal cars and an assortment of modeling supplies.

Interested parties, please inquire for more information.

A digital catalog is available.

Tyson Smith, President
Email: membership@aahs-online.org
Phone: 951-777-1332
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Models for Sale

Beech Bonanza History, Part 1:
80-Year Reign of the World’s Longest Continuously-Produced Aircraft

The Beech Bonanza - a fast, 4-6 seat single-engine light plane, arguably the first fully modern light plane - is a marvel of aviation history. It is reputedly the longest continuously-built aircraft in the world.[1] First on the scene in 1947, it amazed the lightplane world with its advanced mix of modern features: sleek, all-metal (aluminum) hollow-shell (semi-monocoque) construction, retractable tricycle landing gear, variable-pitch propeller, 165-horsepower, flat-six engine, complete instrumentation for blind flying, and airliner speed for four people. It was made all the more distinctive by its unique V-shaped tail.[2]

It took the aviation community by storm. While most prewar lightplane makers - Piper, Aeronca, Taylorcraft, Luscombe, Stinson, Ryan, Fairchild, etc. - in the postwar recession shrank, collapsed, suspended operations, went out of business, sold out to others, abandoned the lightplane market, and/or transitioned into other industries, Beech slowly blossomed.[3]

Over the next seven-and-a-half decades, the Bonanza evolved into straight-tailed and 6-seat variants, acrobatic models, two-seat military trainers and drones, turbo-charged speedsters - plus various twin-engine derivatives even including a pressurized version.[4]

Since 1947, over 18,000 Bonanza variants, and 6,000 twin-engine derivatives, have been built and found service in nearly every country in the world, with most still airworthy today. Directly or indirectly, most of the legendary line of postwar, modern, all-metal, prop-powered Beechcraft designs can trace their origins, at least in part, to the Bonanza.[5]

Textron, as the new parent company, is shifting its focus to more modern, expensive, and profitable turboprops and jets. It has announced that production of this aviation icon will come to an end, as soon as the last outstanding orders are filled.[6] It’s time to note the incomparable milestone, reflect on this historic aircraft, its origins and developments, its impact on aviation, and the forces that shaped it, sustained it, and brought it to this moment.

The Company

Beech Aircraft Co. was formed in 1932 by Walter Herschel Beech and his wife Olive Ann, with engineer Ted Wells. Walter’s storied career, barnstormer-to-businessman, spanned the pioneering companies of the "Air Capital City," Wichita, Kansas: Laird/Swallow (America’s first mass-produced "commercial" airplanes, under Matty Laird and Jake Moellendick), and Travel Air (formed with Clyde Cessna and Lloyd Stearman, America’s highest-volume planemaker by 1929), and his own namesake Beech Aircraft Co., emerging in 1932 from the Depression-era ashes of Curtiss-Wright’s 1929 acquisition of Travel Air.[7]

At the top of Beech were a handful of powerful decision-makers. Its legendary founder, Walter Beech, was in his later years crippled by a coma-inducing encephalitis in 1940. He increasingly handed most management responsibility to his wife and co-founder, Olive Ann. She was a shrewd, stern, disciplined businesswoman, who managed to wrangle $63.5 million in government and bank loans ($1,460 million in 2025 dollars[8]) to finance Beech’s ten-fold expansion for war production. "She ran the place," workers have reported. Olive Ann, in turn, delegated much authority to trusted V.P. and General Manager Jack Gaty.[9]

But Walter made his presence felt, and frequently strolled throughout the vast Beech factory complex, especially the experimental and engineering offices, asking questions, and keeping staff on their toes. Later generations of practical . . .


Beechcraft Model 35 prototype

The Caterpillar Club

You are up practicing aerobatics in your Extra EA-300. On entering a snap roll to the right you feel a buzz in the stick, quickly followed by a bang as the right aileron departs the aircraft. The stick is now frozen with plane is a slow roll to the right. Attempts to break the mechanical jam fails.

Time to leave.

Release the canopy - release the safety harness - roll out of side of the cockpit - count to three - pull the ripcord on you parachute.

Pop!

You’ve just joined an exclusive club – the Caterpillar Club.

The idea that a human life might be saved by a thread of silk seems almost poetic. Yet for aviators in the early 20th century, that fragile thread was often the difference between life and death. The Caterpillar Club, whose members earn their place by surviving parachute escapes from disabled aircraft, was born out of this tension between fragility and resilience. To understand its origins, we must first trace the long and sometimes reluctant history of parachutes themselves.

The Dawn of the Caterpillar Club

As far back as the 15th Century, individuals have thought about ways to descend from large height using a "personal" device that could lower them safely to the ground. Leonardo da Vinci sketched a pyramidal shaped parachute that he thought could lower a person gently to earth beneath its canopy. There is no evidence of him testing the concept in any form. In the 16th Century Fausto Veranzio published Machinae Novae, depicting a man suspended beneath a cloth device that resembles today’s modern "round" parachutes. While speculative in nature, they helped foster the ideas for the development of the practical parachute.

One of the impediments to the development of the parachute was the lack of a vehicle to carry an object or person to a height sufficient to test the device, short of dropping small objects off building or cliffs. The development and expanded use of man-carrying balloons in the 18th Century change this. Interest in the prospect to being able to jump from one, either for fun or in the event of an emergency, increased with the frequency of use. One of the first recorded successful parachute jumps was made in 1797, when French balloonist Andre-Jacques Garnerin leapt from a balloon over Paris with a silk parachute. The canopy swung wildly during the violent descent, but Garnerin survived, apparently without significant injuries. He must have been a great salesman as well, because both his wife and niece would later make similar jumps becoming the first women parachutists. These demonstrations also helped establish silk as the material of choice for parachutes.

The first known parachute jump from an airplane was performed March 1, 1912, when Albert Berry, a professional parachutist, jumped from a Thomas Benoist designed plane piloted by Anthony Janus. The chute was placed in a cone-shaped canister fixed to the plane’s landing gear, and was deployed via a static line as Berry fell away from the plane. The jump was made over Jefferson Barracks, an Army post overlooking the Mississippi River south of St. Louis, Missouri.[1]

Aviation’s Reluctance

The advent of powered flight in the early 1900s began to change things. Initially, pilots were reluctant to consider carrying parachutes for a number of reasons. Among the primary reasons were that the early parachutes were heavy, weighing upwards to 30 lbs or more. They were also cumbersome, generally packed in a substantial bag attached to the plane (not the pilot) and used a static-line form of deployment. These penalties coupled with the marginal performance of early aircraft caused them to be . . .


Irvin Air Company Caterpillar Club pin

The Hudson Valley Regional Airport

The short, stubby control tower indicated that this was a controlled airfield and that it provided takeoff and landing clearances. The long, white Passenger Terminal failed to produce a single, suitcase-carrying traveler, but that the sizeable parking lot in front of it was about half-full meant that there was some activity here. Oddly, in this day and age, there was no charge to use it. A few tailwheel airplanes, affectionately known as "tail draggers," were parked in the distance, but the pair of Piper pistons - a single-engine Saratoga and a twin-engine Seminole - were parked on the ramp outside of the terminal. Is this where airliners used to park? This was the Hudson Valley Regional Airport, located south of Poughkeepsie.

A Cessna 172 Skyhawk, subjected to its run-up, filled the air with its almost ear-splitting grind. But when its pilot was satisfied that its systems were fully functioning, it taxied parallel to Runway 33, which was interspersed by the otherwise green-velvet patches of grass, and executed its takeoff in the direction of the billowing windsock on this sweltering July day, leaving silence.

Silence says nothing, except, perhaps, to communicate that what is, is not always what was. Where did the airline service go? Possibly an even more important question is: Where did the original airport go?

Red Oaks Mill Airport

Airports of a century ago were not the mega-complexes from which wide-bodied airliners accommodating 300 to 500 passengers gathered before or after their continent-slinging journeys. Any flat parcel of land, devoid of trees, was sufficient for the rudimentary fabric-covered and wire-braced biplanes to touch down, generating public interest and hoping to exchange revenue for rides in an aerial profession known as "barnstorming." In many ways, the Hudson Valley Regional Airport got its start this way, but not exactly at this location and not by its present name.

Located at the intersection of Route 376 and Spackenkill and Vassar roads, it was typical of the post-World War I airfields, whose plowed paths served as runways and sported nary a structure, except, perhaps for a hangar. The one here, on property originally owned by Fred Cleveland, measured 80 by 100 feet and the 1,500-foot runways were oriented toward the west and the southeast. Trees in its northeastern corner precluded takeoffs in that direction.

"The airport was established in 1927 amid nationwide excitement that was generated from that year’s New York-to-Paris nonstop solo flight by Charles Lindbergh," according to Anthony M. Musso in his "Red Oaks Mill Airport" article in the Poughkeepsie Journal.

John Kelsey Sague, Poughkeepsie’s major, ensured that the city leased the land from Cleveland, officially designating it an airport, and John M. Miller, Sague’s son-in-law, a barnstorming pilot and a Pratt Institute graduate with a mechanical engineering degree, managed it between 1931 and 1933.

Having personally witnessed Lindbergh’s departure from Long Island’s Roosevelt Field in the "Spirit of St. Louis," he often performed in air shows and set cross-country flight records of his own.

"There were weekly air shows (at Red Oaks Mill) and I remember one in particular," according to pilot Charles . . .


Poughkeepsie Airport, c. 1935

Harold E. Morehouse:
Engineer, Designer, and Biographers of the Flying Pioneers

Back in 1894 when the waters of Lake Michigan were clean and the air over Detroit was clear, Harold Morehouse was born near Keeler in southwest Michigan. His early inclination toward mechanical drawing developed in rivalry with a grade-school chum, Rex Earle. Both would ultimately follow this means to a goal. Earle, in later years, became a very successful Chicago architect, but died young in 1940. Harold became seriously interested in flying machines in 1909 and his own drawings followed this course within the limited knowledge then available. By July 1910 he had seen a Curtiss Biplane exhibited at a local county fair and although the airplane was not flown. The mere sight of it cast his final determination to pursue aviation.1 He subscribed to the new weekly magazine, Aero, and began to acquaint himself with everything in aviation.

In the rising enthusiasm of the day the Aero Club of Illinois held what was billed as the largest aviation program ever presented in the United States, at Grant Park, in Chicago. This nine-day International Air Meet drew virtually every American flyer plus five from foreign countries. There was the Wright Team, the Curtiss Team, the Moisant Team, and there was Harold Morehouse observing it all.

The motivation to fly became overwhelming, but parents, being as they are, refused any permission of this sort. Some semblance of contentment was achieved through the building and flying of rubber-band powered models and it was not until 1912 that they relented enough to allow Harold and his brother to build a 22-foot hang-type glider. Perhaps they were aware that there was not a suitable launching site anywhere in the vicinity. They failed to recognize the ingenuity of two eager young men or, "where there was one horsepower, there was hope."[1] Adding controls and a tricycle landing gear, using bicycle wheels, they hitched up their flying contraption to the "O’le gray mare" and proceeded down the nearest country lane. With the aid of a brisk breeze, the glider lifted from the ground and was actually doing rather well until their horse power turned his head and then in disbelief bolted down the lane somewhat uncontrolled. The tow cord broke and down came the glider, tail first, which demolished the fragile framework.

The remainder of 1912 and 1913 were well spent with frequent trips to Chicago and Cicero Flying Field. Here was the joy of watching and then doing odd and helpful jobs around the field. This catapulted Harold out of farming and into an I.C.S. course in Mechanical Engineering. Upon completion of this he left home, much against his parents’ wishes, and obtained employment in Battle Creek as a junior shop apprentice while doing part-time drafting on steam pumps and air compressors. With a year’s experience at the board, he moved to Toledo and became a draftsman in a glass factory though he wanted to get into the motor department at Willys-Overland. Another year’s experience and in 1915 he returned to Michigan and to work . . .


Harold Morehouse with his 2nd engine design

Passion, Serendipity and Perseverance; Completing the "MY GAL SAL" Story

Author’s note: The motivation for this articles came from a gift from a neighbor of a section of aircraft spar from Boeing B-17E "My Gal Sal," 41-9032, removed during her 12-year restoration. While familiar with the basics of her story, I was now motivated to find everything possible about her history.

America

By early 1941, America’s active participation in the growing world conflict seemed inevitable. The War Department ordered the production of 36,500 airplanes and training of 30,000 pilots each year. While not officially at war, many young men were already enlisting. Such was the case for nearly every one of the men who would later crew the bomber named "My Gal Sal." At the same time, America was engaging its industrial power, transforming factories and designing ever more lethal machines of war. In light of the events in Europe, much of that focus fell upon aircraft design. In September 1941, the B-17E debuted as a far more capable, potent and radically different version of this heavy bomber. On March 16, 1942, B-17E 41-9032 rolled off the assembly line and was delivered to the recently created Army Air Forces. By this time, America was officially at war, and planning for the establishment of U.S. air bases in England.

Operation BOLERO

There was much work to be done in planning for the massive build-up of the Army Air Forces in England, but the first and most obvious task was to define the method and means necessary to deploy aircraft. Code named Operation BOLERO, chief among priorities was plotting the route which aircraft would utilize. Due to range constraints, aircraft had to hop-scotch across the Atlantic. The route chosen stretched from Maine to Canada, then Greenland and Iceland before arriving in Britain. Greenland needed air bases, with the northern alternate field being a particular challenge. Gen "Hap" Arnold, Chief of the Army Air Forces, personally selected world-renowned aviator and Nordic expert, Bernt Balchen to oversee construction and command the northern base known as Bluie West 8. A Norwegian officer whom Arnold commissioned as a U.S. officer, Balchen had gained fame as Admiral Byrd’s pilot in the Antarctic. Bolero was well on its way to beginning operations.

97th Bomb Group

By May 1942, Boeing B-17E 41-9032 had been assigned to the recently created 97th Bomb Group located at MacDill Army Airfield in Tampa. Shortly thereafter, the 97th moved to a new field in Sarasota where its buildup accelerated with an influx of newly trained men. With crew and plane now mated as one fighting unit, pilot Ralf Stinson dubbed his new bird “My Gal Sal” after his girlfriend. For the next several weeks, "Sal" and her crew would train incessantly and prepare for the deployment to England. Unanticipated delays ensued and involved brief stateside relocations. New armament, engines, radios and turrets were installed at Middleton, Pennsylvania. Following the Japanese attack on the Aleutians, a brief relocation to Seattle for submarine patrol duty was ordered. Nevertheless, by the end of June, "Sal" was back in the Northeast and all the pieces were in place for the planned deployment of the first contingent of B-17s to England.

Chaos

At 0830 on June 26, the first of 15 B-17s departed Presque Isle, Maine, on their historic sortie. Leaving the fueling stop at Goose Bay, Canada, elements comprised of four aircraft each, staggered 15 minutes apart, made their way to Greenland. "SAL" would be one of four bombers in the lead. While enroute, weather at the primary airfield, Bluie West 1, had badly deteriorated. The trailing 11 aircraft were able to turn back to Goose Bay, but the lead element had progressed too far and hadn’t the fuel needed for a return.

Chaos ensued for the four Greenland-bound. Training in the states had been rushed to meet wartime demands and crews inexperienced in navigation at extreme northern latitudes struggled to cope. Radio discipline was poor, resulting in simultaneous and garbled transmissions, and was complicated . . .


Boeing B-17 "My-Gal-Sal" on Greenland ice cap

With Watson’s Whizzers & Operation PAPERCLIP

[Editor’s note: This article originally appeared in the Winter 1995 issue of the AAHS Journal. The story that follows is as Isolde Baur, Karl’s widow, presented to the AAHS. It is a compellation of her recollections and diary entries that Karl made at the time. Minor editorial changes have been made to the original version for clarity and readability. We assume that Karl’s diary entries are translations from his native German. Certain verb tenses, word order, etc. have been changed to render a clearer meaning. Since we have two "voices" presenting, Isolde’s and Karl’s, we have used different font faces to make it easier for the reader to follow. Isolde’s comments are in "Times Roman" while Karl’s are in "Arial/Helvetica." Where additional clarity is needed, italicized notes, enclosed in brackets, have been added.]

Fifty years ago - after Germany"s complete defeat in WWII - the nations of the Western Alliance divided among themselves what was left of Germany"s industrial plants. Every piece of machinery was dismounted and shipped to Russia, France, and Great Britain to make sure that Germany would never have a chance to rise again to leadership in the industrial world.

The United States of America was mainly interested in German technologies and scientific achievements accumulated during WWII. One of the items on the list of priority was the Me 262, the only jet engine-powered fighter plane in combat, designed and built by the Messerschmitt Company.

Karl Baur, chief test pilot for all experimental aircraft of the Messerschmitt Company during that time, was closely involved, through his responsibility for flight testing, in developing the Me 262 to series production.

Taken into "custody" by the Americans in May 1945, Baur recorded the final chapter of this aircraft in his diary and notes. He was taken to the United States as one of the first German scientists under contract of Operation PAPERCLIP, the code name of the War Department’s "recruitment" of key personnel.

"Watson’s Whizzers and Operation PAPERCLIP" is a document of German-American history and a perspective from the "other side of the fence."

Thirty-two years after Karl Baur’s death - he died October 12, 1963, in Arlington, Texas - I feel it must be of interest to some people in the United States and Germany to know "how and why" it happened. Today, restored Me 262s can be seen in museums in the United States and Germany with a couple of airworthy ones demonstrating its capabilities.

April 29, 1945 - [Karl] The Americans had arrived during the night. I had taken my family to the bomb shelter in the cellar of a brewery, two floors down, the night before and we were asleep when the shelter filled up with people. Around 5:00 A.M. no noise could be heard from flying aircraft, bombing or shelling.

Karl took a chance and stepped out of the shelter to investigate. On the corner to our apartment house he met the first American soldier, a young fellow who was scared to death. When Karl approached him speaking English he was relieved and asked Karl about soldiers in this area to defend the city. His assurance that there were no German soldiers in this area made him feel somewhat easier.

It was noon, however, before we were allowed to leave the shelter. Curfew was from 9:00 P.M. to 5:00 A.M.

April 30, 1945 - [Karl] Looting and stealing all over the city [Augsburg]! The "Guests of the Fuhrer"[1] stole whatever they could. Wine cellars of the city’s retailers were located behind our apartment house. Some looters opened them and carried the wine away in anything from buckets, bottles, and tin cans. One person "parked" a bucket on our back door.

[Isolde]Karl rushed to pick up the bucket and we treated all tenants to a glass of the most delicious red wine which we had not tasted in years.

Our car, which we had parked on a friend’s property behind the apartment house, had been stolen and we found it the next day on the street around the corner - sitting there without any gasoline. We had no intention of letting it get away! Let’s paralyze it!

Removing one wheel should do it. Wrong! The guy who wanted it so badly had a new wheel mounted the following day. This time we removed some engine parts plus another wheel to play it safe. This guy must have hated the whole world when he arrived the next time. We were able to roll the car back to the parking spot at our friend’s place and removed all four wheels and the battery. A few months later it was used as barter to secure food for the family.

May 2, 1945 - [Isolde] Gerd Caroli, Karl’s former colleague from the Messerschmitt Company, came running up the stairs in the morning. . . .


Me 262 with 50mm cannon, 1944. Karl Baur, second from right with Messerschmitt personal. (Author’s collection)

Forum of Flight

In November 2025, Textron Beechcraft announced the termination of the G36 Bonanza and G58 Baron production bringing an end to an 80+ year run. Moreover, it brings an end to Beechcraft’s production of piston powered aircraft, as well, after almost 100 years. This Forum of Flight takes a look back at some of these piston powered planes.

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.


The Beechcraft Model 17 Staggerwing was introduced in 1932 and remained in production until 1948, being replaced by the

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CEO’s Message

2026 will mark the 250th anniversary of America’s founding, and the 70th anniversary of AAHS. The nation, via America250.org, is celebrating this semiquincentennial by setting an ambitious goal; to see all 350 million Americans perform service hours in honor of the contributions of our country’s founders, pioneers and trailblazers. Rosie Rios, the Chair of the U.S. Semiquincentennial Commission says "America’s 250th anniversary is more than reflecting on our past, its about honoring the contributions of individuals who built this country, the innovations that put this country on the map, and a man on the moon, and imagining what the next 250 years might look like for our children and generations to come".

At AAHS we’ve been working for 70 years to preserve the successes, failures, the innovations, and lessons learned by the aviation pioneers of America, all with volunteer effort. For 70 years we have been living this mission, to record and honor those individuals and organizations that have shaped aviation today. Volunteers, passionate about the stories of our aviation past, and how those stories have shaped our technology, culture and traditions of today, make it happen. Regular people, with some time and interest in giving back, are helping AAHS, and America, preserve the voices of our aviation heritage.

Later in 2026, We’ll be celebrating our volunteers at AAHS’ 70th Anniversary, on October 2-4th, with a weekend of aviation history, entertainment and tours of the newly renovated AAHS archive facilities, here at Flabob Airport! There will be vintage aircraft available for both rides and photograph opportunities, and local aviation venues to visit, as well. See how AAHS volunteers are processing member collections, collecting research material, and sharing aviation photos via our Journal articles and posts. We look forward to getting more information about our 70th Anniversary celebration in upcoming Journals, on our Facebook page and website.

Consider, also, providing some hours to contribute to the mission of AAHS and America250 by volunteering. Your service hours at AAHS can help catalog aviation collections, make important aviation documentation available to researchers and identify historic aircraft. It can be done remotely! These service hours can be recorded at America250.org and provide real support to an organization that relies on your effort to make these histories available to the public.

Visit America250.org to learn more about the overall vision for America’s 250th, and us at www.aahs-online.org, to contribute to America’s service goals!

Jerri Bergen AAHS CEO


AAHS booth, March RAFB, Calif.