American Aviation Historical Society

This year the AAHS is celebrating its 70th anniversary (1956 to 2026).

Come join us this October to commenorate this milestone.

For details on the event and to register simply follow this link. AGENDA

Or download the promotional flyer under "Read Article".

Jerri Bergen, President
Email: events@aahs-online.org
Phone: 951-777-1332

Articles are in PDF format

C. Alfred Anderson has been described as "The Father of Black Aviation."[1] There are many myths and legends in circulation about his training, but until recently no one knew the actual story.

From July 1930 to February 1932, Anderson trained to obtain an Air Transport License (ATL), enabling him to ?y as a commercial pilot and to train others. Anderson went on to become the Chief Flight Instructor for the Tuskegee Airmen, a Black group of pilots who demonstrated exemplary performance in combat.[2] Anderson’s Air Transport License was issued in February 1932.

This article reviews the context of Black aviation in the late 1920s and early 1930s. It is the context that makes Anderson’s achievement stand out. The resolve both Anderson and his trainer exhibited are like two pro?les in courage. Much of the information presented here has never before been pulled together.

Black Aviators in the 1930s

Allowing Black pilots into the fraternity of aviators was not popular and many well-respected ?iers opposed it. Most notably, Charles Lindbergh made public statements to the effect that Blacks could never be able to learn to ?y well enough. Even years later, in 1961, Chuck Yeager opposed allowing Black candidates into the space program.[3]

In the 1920s and 1930s there were few trainers in the U.S. willing to work with Black candidates. The uncommonness of the kind of courage it took to provide professional-level training to a Black pilot is implied by the fact that in the decade following the granting of the ATL to Anderson, in spite of interest and talent, only six more Black pilots in the entire United States were allowed to advance to the top rating. The CAA (Civil Aeronautics Authority) did not issue the transport license after November 1, 1937. After that, the top license was commercial.

The following list gives the license number, name, community of residence, and year the license was earned when known. In the list, license numbers do not relate to the chronological order in which Black candidates received their transport or commercial licenses. Instead, the numbers follow the order in which they received their private licenses.

Of the pilots listed, Renfro is fourth on the list but was the third to earn the ATL, and Coffey, number six on the list, was the fourth to earn the ATL. Renfro and Coffey received the ATL in 1936 — a gap of about four years after Anderson and Green. Allen held a “limited commercial” license until about 1940, then upgraded to commercial. Terry held a private license, and Ashe held a Student license until about 1940.

•?7638 Charles A. Anderson, Bryn Mawr, PA (1932)
•?15897 John W. Greene, Jr. Boston, MA (1932)
•?29452 Robert Terry, Besking Ridge, NJ
•?32546 Earl W. Renfro, Chicago, IL (1936)
•?32630 George Allen, Latrobe, PA
•?36609 Cornelius R. Coffey, Oaklawn, Chicago, IL (1936)
•?54573 Charles M. Ashe, Philadelphia, PA

By 1940, in addition to the pilots listed above, two pilots held the limited commercial license.

•?30217 Grover C. Nash, Chicago, IL
•?43814 Willa B. Brown, Chicago, IL

When this list was compiled and published by the Bureau of the Census, the Bureau explained that they relied on information provided by the CAA and they admitted that there may have been omissions. It is not known how many omissions there may be to the list, but one omission that is known is Lewis Albert Jackson, license number 38719. Jackson learned to ?y in 1932, and the ?rst license examination he sat for was for the transport license. This was in 1937.[4] As far as I can learn, he never obtained a private or limited commercial license, and this may be the reason he was overlooked in the Census Bureau list. In 1942, Jackson, then holding the commercial license, obtained an instrument rating. He believed he might have been the ?rst Black pilot to have been so rated.

The Tuskegee Experiment

The “Tuskegee Experiment” was set up to see if it was possible to train Black pilots for military service. Incredible now, the Army’s of?cial policy stated that Blacks were too physically slow and mentally incapable to learn to ?y airplanes. It was for these reasons that training Blacks to be military pilots was considered to be an “experiment.” The fact was, though, . . .

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I have a suspicion. I suspect that someone reading this actually once built a model airplane. There was a survey done back in the Apollo days that asked the astronauts if they ever built a model. All of them responded “Yes.” Maybe us mere mortals did too. I know I did. And still do. Part of that suspicion is that this publication has been seen by, dare I say, thousands of model building fellow readers. Yet, going back to that first issue of the AAHS Journal on my shelves (back to 1956), I can’t ever recall seeing a single example or article about "model building" in these pages.1 Personally, I think that’s a shame, as there is so much we AAHS "historians" have in common with model builders. Both groups enjoy the historic record. Historians, to learn the stories, modelers to help to “get it right,” and view it in three dimensions.

Here’s my personal experience with just one project I have done over my years of building/reading that you might relate to. I’ve been a model builder since the age of 6 or 7. I started with gluing together pieces of wood that claimed to resemble some sort of airplane. That was good enough for me at the time. As that time passed, these wooden wonders began to better resemble aircraft and the kits that came along started looking more like the real things. Later on kits started to be offered in this new material – plastic. I remember being a little put off since this new stuff didn’t require anything but the addition of glue. They didn’t seem to be as much fun since it was an assembly process without much personal skill involved.

Oh, was I ever wrong about that! "Plastic" brought the hobby to the masses! Now people whose parents would never allow their child to wield a "sharp object" could trust them to build something without injury. They obviously didn’t know anything about X-ACTO® knives! And those plastic kits were a lot more than paint-by-numbers pieces in three dimensions.

Those plastic kits were bought and built by the thousands. Planes, cars, boats, tanks - there was something for every interest. And most were treated like fancy toys. A lot of them were. But a few actually crossed over into the realm of historically accurate representations of the real things. With a little more attention and a careful application of paint and a bit of "artistry," some of the results went well beyond "toy."

The hobby changed. Many builders left active participation to raise families, etc. Some stayed, and many returned after things in life "quieted down." But the evolved hobby now brought expectations that weren’t present at the beginning of the mass marketed hobby kits. It was now expected that new kits would be accurate representations of the real things, not just facsimiles, as in the past. And the builders now got "involved" beyond gluing, painting, and kind of-sort of representing the real thing. So, where did modelers now turn to for confirming those accuracies?

For me it was a two-pronged process. I had turned to trying my hand at scratch building after doing a few modifications to existing plastic kits and then having an incredible lasting friendship with two masters of the scratch building approach, George Lee and John Alcorn. Their "calling cards" to this sort of model building? You’ll find ample evidence of their passion/work in stunning models on display in places like the National Air and Space Museum, the National Museum of the United States Air Force, and the National Naval Air Museum, to name a few. I was blessed to have their friendship and tutoring.

Then there was the research. This was long before the internet. You wrote letters. You visited museums, you read the printed stuff – British aviation magazines, British modeling publications. You made contacts with people in the know. I built a network of sources for my projects. All these folks were always willing to point me to sources . . .

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Two pioneers of Marine Corps aviation, one a Marine Corps aviator and the other his observer-gunner, during the closing days of WWI, demonstrated such heroism and tenacity in the face of overwhelming odds that they received the only two Medals of Honor awarded to Marine Corps airmen during the war. The heroic actions of Second Lieutenant Ralph Talbot, USMCR, and Corporal Robert G. Robinson, USMCR, occurred 29 days before the signing of the Armistice on November 11, 1918. They were at the Western Front for only two and a half months. These two young men who flew together could not have been more different in their personalities and personal backgrounds, yet together they became a formidable opponent in combat.

The United States entered the war unprepared. It took over a year to marshal aviation assets for combat at the front in France after declaration of war on Germany on April 6, 1917. There was no structured "pipeline" for flight training. There were no U.S. combat aircraft.

The Germans were eventually forced to retreat after their big push in the spring of 1918, but in the fall were still fighting furiously on the terrain they held and in the airspace above it. It was still a very dangerous place in the final months of the war. It was in this scenario that Talbot and Robinson fought in their two-seater aircraft while in Marine Squadron "C" of the Northern Bombing Group (NBG), based in Le Fresne, France, near the Calais-Dunkirk coastline.

Ralph Talbot’s Early Years

Ralph Talbot (called Dick by his friends) was born on January 6, 1897 in South Weymouth, Mass., just outside Boston. His talents became evident early in his teenage years. While in high school he excelled in English, History, French and German. He was very good in sports, especially baseball, and was a good marksman. At 5’9.5" and 145 lbs. he appeared to be lean and agile, just about right for athletics.

Talbot attended Mercersburg Academy, Penn. after high school to strengthen his academic background in order to qualify for admission to Yale University. This prep school had a close affiliation with the Ivy League universities. While at Mercersburg (1915-1916), he was on both the baseball and track teams and involved in literary organizations. Upon entering Yale in 1916 his experience on debating teams attests to a talent for public speaking and literature. His ambition was to become a newspaperman.

The sport of flying by the privileged had taken hold and undoubtedly triggered enthusiasm within Ralph during his stay at Yale, despite the carnage at the First Battle of the Somme (1916), where the British Royal Flying Corps (RFC) suffered an attrition rate of 100% and the average pilot lasted about three weeks at the front.

The duPont Flying School

Talbot’s Commission application clearly reveals his keen interest and experience in aviation as an area which he determined he most excelled. He had about 16.5 hours in the air under instruction at the duPont Flying School in Delaware in the summer of 1917, occurring after his first year at Yale. He listed . . .

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The golden age of commercial aviation ran roughly between 1927 and 1967 with the glamorous period being 1935 to 1965. In those 30 years the whole of the aviation industry used whatever means possible to engage sales prospects from airline passengers to military decision makers. We can thank Charles Lindbergh, a host of aviation "firsts," National Air Racing, and dazzling aerobatic displays to whet the imagination of young and old. Amongst the promotional materials used were aircraft desk models and airplane ashtrays.

Most of the aircraft companies began offering factory produced or factory sanctioned models as early as 1930 with some being in-house models and some being subcontracted to local or familiar companies here in the USA. These companies and the marketing opportunities they supported sprang up around the country with clusters forming in Southern California and New York with others in Seattle and Chicago. A list of all these companies is quite extensive. This discussion will be limited to the companies that created approximately 80% of the population of these aviation artifacts. The discussion here will be mostly concerning the airplane ashtrays with some extended examples of desk models.

Early in the business most model suppliers worked with the local airplane company, but over time there was some crossover. The stories of how model companies came about can be quite interesting. Some involved a bit of intrigue. Whoever influenced Joe Paden to produce his uniquely styled airplane ashtrays was the catalyst that spurned the creation of miniature aircraft models to support the growing interest in aviation.

We know that before Paden started his operations the aircraft companies were simply creating corporate models from retired wind tunnel models. The early biplane types tended to suffer from hangar rash for the few consumer models that were sold. Other influences, such as the craze for building static, as well as flying, wood models created a parallel bit of marketing interest. Knowing that building wood models would not seem as unique (every boy and some girls were already building those), the next medium would be cast metal.

No doubt Paden and others studied the various cast iron and early diecast toy airplanes. The major difference would be in creating high quality molds and to incorporate the Art Deco fascination with Chrome and other metal finishes. In addition, these new commercial models would be as close to scale as possible where many toy airplanes had cartoonish proportions. The goal was to have a model in your hand that was very close in perspective and size when compared to the one that just flew over.

During the flying rage, even in the Depression, being able to show or share a "company model" was quite the feather in one’s hat.

The airplane type that most likely spawned a whole new model industry was the Boeing B-247. In later years it was scoffed and overshadowed by the Douglas DC-3. In 1931 as the United States was in the grip of the Depression, Boeing, along with United Airlines (the two joined in the United Aircraft & Transport Corp. conglomerate, 1929-34), created and operated the first modern airliner, the B-247. It was the first airliner that checked off many boxes, with safety and speed being the most important, that made the B-247 the forerunner to modern airline operations.

The airplane saw lots of popular press and Boeing saw a marketing opportunity – produce models. There were relatively few full-scale airplanes flying so what’s the next best way to get the burgeoning flying public engaged with their creations? Where does the public go that is associated . . .

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I really enjoyed reading Scott Fisher’s Priceless Memories in the Fall 2025 issue of the AAHS?Journal. Scott and I have known each other for a long time, and he served on the Board of the Air Power Museum here at Antique Airfield for several years.

His article led me to review a piece about more contemporary die-cast airplanes I had written/printed in the January 2024 Brent’s Blast, our monthly email newsletter for the members of the Antique Airplane Association (AAA).

So, with Jerri Bergen’s encouragement, the following is an updated version of that piece.

One of my long-time interests (actually since I was a kid) has been model aircraft. Similar to others of my age (the "Boomer" generation) it started with plastic models from Monogram, Revell, Hawk, Aurora, and others. Next came control line aircraft, primarily Cox PT-19s, and then for me onto full scale aircraft, by-passing the usual RC aircraft route.

While I have dabbled occasionally in various model aviation sectors since, it has not been a priority interest in my life, save for maybe one area I still have an interest in, and do occasionally add to my collection.

That would be die-cast aircraft/banks. Not the Hubley, Wyandotte, Tootsietoy, etc. (though they are neat) of the past, but those built starting in the 1990s, primarily by Iowa based companies Ertl, Spec Cast/Liberty Classics, Scale Models, First Gear, and a couple of others. Those companies, based in and around Dyersville, Iowa, famous for their die-cast models of tractors, trucks, cars, and heavy equipment, decided to add aircraft, specifically aircraft banks, to their product lines in the early 1990s.

The first was Spec Cast/Liberty Classics, which introduced a Travel Air Mystery Ship bank in 1991 with their U.S. Air Mail series of three. Their first authentically marked Mystery Ship banks were the Texaco #13, and the famous red and black #31, which were produced in 1992 and 1993 respectively.

Of course, at that same time many versions were being produced and marketed for other companies, from tractor/implement manufacturers to oil companies, NASCAR teams, soft drink companies, museums, etc. In fact, as of 2001, per Aero Drome Airplane Banks (more on that publication later), some 79 different Mystery Ship banks had been produced in runs from a few hundred to 20,000 per individual order.

Though not positive, I believe Scale Models introduced their only airplane bank, the Spirit of St Louis, in this same time period (1991-1992). Again per Aero Drome Airplane Banks in 2001, at that time 14 variations of this bank had been produced for various customers, with total numbers unknown.

At some point during those early days of Spec Cast’s foray into producing airplane banks, Air Power Museum (APM)?President Mike Gretz (deceased) and I were contacted about helping with the design of their next bank... a Lockheed Vega! That led to more consulting with them, in turn becoming not only avid collectors, but also able to lobby for authentic versions when possible.

Included and produced in that vein were Vegas in Y1C-12, Stanavo Eagle, Varney Airlines, two versions of Amelia Earhart’s, and at least three different schemes of the Winne Mae.

Spec Cast went on to develop several other aircraft banks including Lockheed Orion, a Stearman model 75, DC-3, Ford Tri-Motor, Beechcraft Staggerwing, Twin Beech, P-51, P-38, P-40, Corsair, F-86, F-16, a blimp and a hot air balloon. Not all were as scale in appearance as others, with the DC-3 and Stearman on the low end, and the P-40, P-38 and Corsair at high end... at least in my opinion.

With Spec Cast’s success, across town Ertl was taking note, and in 1993 introduced their first airplane bank in a very successful series. That would be the annual “Wings of Texaco” releases, the first being the Lockheed Air Express (Texaco 5).

For the next 25 years a new airplane accurately marked as one operated by Texaco throughout the 1920s, 1930s, and 1940s were produced. For the first four years, only one version of each aircraft was offered. Those four included the Lockheed Air Express, Northrop Gamma, Stearman 4E and the Grumman Goose.

Beginning in the fifth year, a regular plus a special edition (usually carrying some type of finish like chrome, gold, brushed metal, etc.) were offered for a total over the 25-year span of 19 different makes/models of aircraft in the regular edition, and 20 special editions.

Aircraft included in the "Wings of Texaco" series besides the aforementioned original four include.the Travel Air Mystery Ship, Curtiss Robin, Ford Tri-Motor, Keystone-Loening Commuter, Buhl Air Sedan, Franklin Eaglet Glider, DC-3, Beechcraft Staggerwing, Waco ASO, Spartan Executive, Howard DGA-15, Lockheed 12, Lockheed Sirius, Stinson SR-9, and Twin Beech.

It should be noted that six different makes and models of aircraft were produced more than once, as Texaco had more than one of any particular make and model. Included, the Grumman Goose, DC-3, Spartan 7W, Stearman 4E, Travel Air . . .

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To quote the April 1931 issue of U.S. Air Services, the monthly magazine of the Army and Navy Air Service Association:

Capt. Frank M. Hawks, recently chosen as America’s outstanding pilot for 1930 by the Ligue Internationale des Aviateurs, will spend the next three months on a flying tour of Europe. The object is business. He will consult with foreign airplane and petroleum technicians, inspect airport and transport lines, and attend the International Aircraft Show in Stockholm in May. He will use his beloved and unmatched Texaco 13. His headquarters will be the offices of The Texas Company, S. A. B., in Brussels.[2]

Captain Hawks and that Texaco 13

Frank Monroe Hawks was born in Marshalltown, Iowa, northeast of Des Moines, on March 28, 1897. His parents moved a few times over the following years before settling down in California, in Long Beach to be more precise, around September 1915.

As was the case with many young men of his generation, Hawks was fascinated by aviation. Some fine day in 1916, he approached one of the owners of a small local outfit, Christofferson Air Craft Company. Stating that he was a reporter, which was not true, Hawks asked one of the Christofferson brothers, Simon or, perhaps, Harry, if he could get a brief flight, free of charge, in exchange for an article that would undoubtedly improve business. The latter did not object. Hawks was thrilled by the experience and yet troubled by the fact that he had flown under false pretenses. He soon confessed to one of the Christofferson brothers who agreed to let him pay for his ride by working alongside them. Hawks even got to fly on several occasions.

Hawks’ flying career really took off in the spring or summer of 1917. Indeed, he put aside his plans to begin a course (in engineering?) at the University of California in the fall, to enlist in the U.S. Army, following the American declaration of war in April. He very much wanted to become an aviator.

Having sailed through ground school, Hawks went to Texas for training in the Aviation Section of the U.S. Army Signal Corps. He soloed after only a few hours of flight with an instructor. The budding aviator’s dreams of flight and aerial combat in France were soon dashed, however, when his obvious talent led his superiors to make him an instructor. Hawks spent the final months of the Great War teaching young men who were no older than he was.

The recently married Hawks left what was by then the U.S. Army Air Service in March 1919. He tried his hand at farming and teaching, in part to please his spouse, Newell Hensley Hawks, born Lane. But the flying bug was still in his veins. Like many other former military pilots, Hawks turned to barnstorming to make ends meet. Among his passengers, a young social worker on her first flight - Amelia Erhart. He was, for example, one of the pilots involved in the world’s first inflight refueling demonstration, made over Long Beach, on November 12, 1921. Hawks also flew in Mexico for many months, before turning to various occupations in the oil industry of this country. As exciting as this life as a flying gipsy was for him, Hawks realized that it was not a long-term solution to his need to earn a living. Wondering if flying for a large company might be the way to go and eager to make himself known, Hawks seriously investigated the possibility of crossing the Atlantic Ocean. When Charles Lindbergh did precisely that, in May 1927, Hawks put his project aside and decided that setting records might be another option.

Hawks got his chance as a result of the friendship he had struck with Burton Elias “Burt” Hull, the president of Texas Pipe Line Company, as he flew him to and from various oil fields in Mexico. This friendship led to an employment offer with the Aviation Division of The Texas Company. Hawks joined the staff of this major oil producing firm in December 1927, as a corporate pilot and superintendent of its aviation division. He flew company executives, but was soon off to the races.

In the spring of 1930, eager as he was to become the fastest man alive and set a new transcontinental speed record, Hawks kept a close watch as employees of Travel Air Manufacturing Company, Incorporated . . .

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The article in the Spring 2025 AAHS Journal (Vol.70, No.1), dedicated to one of America’s unsung aeronautical heroes, George A. Page, Jr., was both a pleasant surprise and, in a manner that could not possibly have been predicted, timely.

Several weeks ago, I had the sad duty of attending the memorial service for a former colleague at The National Air and Space Museum, Ed Mautner, Jr., who had been one of the invaluable stalwarts of the internationally renowned NASM Restoration Team.

But before describing Ed’s role in this brief account, it is necessary to go back to around 2001 when, as a staff member at NASM, your scribe paid a visit to the first Curator of the (former) National Air Museum, the late Louis (Lou) S. Casey and his lovely wife in beautiful Charlottesville, Virginia.

The visit was in connection with the large Curtiss Corporate Archive that had been accessioned by NAM under Lou’s care some considerable years before.

During our wide-ranging chat regarding the collection and things Curtiss, Lou took me to his garage and pointed to some very high shelves, where a rank of old banker’s files were arranged, and rather casually commented, "Those are George Page’s personal papers." I have since learned that, thank God, they, along with his life-long collection of Curtiss materials, went to the Curtiss Museum in Hammondsport, although their St. Louis Division connection is rather tenuous.

Being a student of, especially, the Curtiss-Wright St. Louis Airplane Division, George Page was more than familiar to me, as I had only recently completed Aircraft of the Chaco War (Schiffer, 1997, ISBN 0-7643-0146-2) with my great Paraguayan friend and aviation historian, Lic. Antonio L. Sapienza – the front cover of which had been graced with a wonderful, full-color painting of a Bolivian Air Force Curtiss-Wright A14R Osprey, an uncelebrated warrior if there ever was one.

To my surprise, Lou said he was familiar with our book and said, "I have something for you that I really think ought to have a home with you." He excused himself, went back in the house, and shortly reappeared with a cardboard box of some considerable vintage.

Inside, to my astonishment, was a rather battered but recognizable model of an A14R with an 18.5 inch wingspan.

To my further amazement, she had clearly been built, of a combination of metal and wood, and painted in what were clearly Bolivian roundels and rudder stripes (although they were oriented the wrong way – vertical instead of horizontal) and the most bizarre color scheme I could ever imagine, as evidenced by the accompanying images. As if this were not enough, he then said that the story went that the A14R was the first project at C-W St. Louis that Page had ever been part of, and that the little-known, purely export, armed, multipurpose two-seater had held a special place in his heart – and that Casey had been told that this model had been resident for some years in Pages’ office in St. Louis and elsewhere.

To say the least, I was flabbergasted and said that the model really ought to be in the NASM Curtiss Collection – but Casey insisted that it had been given to him "personally," and that it was his personal property. When I returned to NASM, I reviewed the voluminous, extant documents relating to the Curtiss donation and, indeed, not only was there no mention of the Osprey in the detailed inventory, but no models of any type had been included.

The model was seriously distressed, dirty, and a number of parts were barely hanging on. Others, including most of a gun ring (and, it is assumed, a free rear gun) were missing altogether. She had seen better days.

When I retired from NASM in February 2008 after 20 years and moved to The Museum of Flight in Seattle, the model – carefully wrapped and riding in the cab of the truck with me – made the wintry, cross-country trek as well – a story of its own.

Once settled, I became an adjunct member of the fabulous Northwest Scale Modelers, who had the freedom of The Northwest Aero Club Room in the legendary Red Barn (as Curator, my largest single artifact) for their monthly meetings. There, I met and was gifted with friendship by the legendary Jim Schubert, a master modeler, and asked him if he would be interested in at least stabilizing the model and perhaps repair some of her more serious fractures. He agreed but, in the midst of that work, he suddenly made his final flight. We attended his wake, and his widow made sure to place the somewhat improved but still sad model in my hands once again.

Casting about, I located another master modeler who agreed to complete the work, but although he also made some improvements, medical issues prevented him from advancing on the project and, after we retired from The Museum of Flight in May 2016, he constructed a purpose-built crate and gently sent the model to me in our new (and final) home in Virginia.

The poor Osprey then sat, rather forlorn, with my Statement of Work Required beneath it (Curatorial habits die hard), just above my desk, awaiting succor.

I then affiliated with the Northern Virginia IPMS chapter, and once again, a master modeler stepped up to minister to the poor creature. He also made improvements but was called to Peru in connection with his professional obligations and could not continue.

That master modeler had been recommended to me by none other than Ed Mautner who, to my considerable surprise, I learned was a master modeler himself, amongst his many other lifetime accomplishments.

To say the very least, Ed accomplished a virtual resurrection, as can be seen in the photos and, aside from the . . .

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Winter 2025, Vol. 70, No. 4 - The Caterpillar Club

The Caterpillar Club story was good - but thin. Many years ago I read Jump, Tales of the Caterpillar Club and was mesmerized by the stories the author told. It would have been good for you to include a few of those in your piece. Particularly memorable for me was the WWII Lancaster crew member who found himself falling through a moonless night sky without a parachute after his aircraft was hit in the bomb bay by anti-aircraft fire. During the fall, he bumped into something and immediately grabbed it - only to discover it was another crew member who was just pulling the D-ring on his parachute. The two descended together and both lived to tell the tale.

Anyway, the illustrations were quite good. I had not seen the Garnerin parachute drawing before, that I can recall.

Jay Miller

Regarding the list of the First 100 Caterpillar Club Members appearing on pages 260-261 Winter 2025 AAHS Journal.

I believe I can help with some of the names and later circumstances:

#11 - Alden R. Crawford - Air Corps 2nd Lt.
#21 - Clarence Henry (Dutch) Schildhauer - Lt USN
#49 - Earl Brander (Shrimp) Wilkins, USN - In JAN ‘42 Commanding NAS MAUI
#70 - Adlai H. Gilkeson - USMA ‘15 - later Brigadier General
#73 - James Douglas Cleveland - US Air Mail lost 05/24/1931
#74 - Elwell A. Sanborn - Killed 06/31/1932 dropping a bomb

As a two-time member, I was glad to see this article. Don’t tell anyone (Ancient and Secret) 33 of the first 100 were Quiet Birdmen.

Michael McKendry

Winter 2025, Vol. 70. No. 4 - Watson’s Whizzers and Operation PAPERCLIP

There is a lot I could tell you about Isolde Baur’s "Watson’s Whizzers" story, which was actually much more about her husband Karl than about the "Whizzers." Many years ago, maybe 30 or so years after Karl had died, Isolde called me out of the blue and asked if I could meet with her to discuss her husband’s memorabilia collection from his years with Messerschmitt during WWII. At the time, both Isolde and I lived in Arlington, Tex.,so we were within minutes of each other.

Never having heard of Isolde and being the somewhat cynical person I am, I remember thinking "this is going to be a waste of my time." But nothing ventured, nothing gained. So a day or two later I was pushing the door bell ringer at Isolde’s front door. Next thing I knew, I was standing in the middle of a small museum. As she recounted Karl’s life story and the stunning fact he was Messerschmitt’s chief pilot during WWII, I began to wrap my arms around the fact I was standing in the middle of a truly stunning treasure trove of extremely rare WWII German aviation memorabilia unlike anything I had ever seen before.

Not only was the living room full of memorabilia that included Karl’s flight suit, flight boots, cloth flight helmet, gloves, and goggles, but also his log books, countless pages of tech notes (in German), and photos. We then moved into the various bedrooms which were full of awards (many signed by Herman Goering, Adolf Hitler, and Willy Messerschmitt), more photos, and in at least one case, a chromed steel model of a Me 110. All items were neatly laid out on beds and other pieces of furniture. It was simply astounding.

Isolde had been quick to tell me she wanted to sell the collection, preferably to an institution that would properly care-take it and make it available to historians. I knew in a heartbeat who she needed to meet and discuss her desires with. When I got home after the visit, I immediately called my good friend Dr. Larry Sall at the University of Texas at Dallas. Larry was the head of all libraries on the UT Dallas campus and, not inconsequentially, also the person under whose purview the UT History of Aviation Collection fell.

Two days after my contacting Larry, we met at my house and then drove to Isolde’s. Within an hour, Larry and Isolde had reached an agreement on a price and plan of action. A week later the Karl Baur collection was moved to UT Dallas. It resides there as these words are written. Few researchers know it exists, but believe me when I say it is a truly extraordinary collection of Nazi-era aviation memorabilia.

I do not recall seeing any mention of the fact that Isolde wrote and had published a biography of her husband Karl. Though grammatically rough, it’s still a good read if one has any interest in Messerschmitt aircraft and the WWII Luftwaffe. The book is entitled A Pilot’s Pilot, Karl Baur, Chief Test Pilot for Messerschmitt, published in 2000. Copies are currently available on ABE Books.com and Amazaon.

Jay Miller

[Editor’s Note: We inadvertently left out the reference to Isolde Baur’s book. Online prices range from around $16.00 to $37.00, plus shipping, depending on condition.] . . .

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This issue of the Forum features photos from two member collections, Job Conger and Joseph G. Handleman. Both long time active members of the Society. Joseph has been a regular contributor over the years as has Job. Unfortunately, Job passed away last Fall and his collection has come to the AAHS for safe keeping.

The Society has thousands of images in need of cataloging. You can help by volunteering to assist in cataloging from your on 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.

Articles are in PDF format