Nearly every time that a big money race comes along a lot of new planes
put in an appearance. Some of them haven't been properly tested (you can
get a special license for racing), and none of them are the type you
would want to give your grandmother a ride in. But they are all fast,
and when you are flying in a race for money you want speed, a lot of it.
I pulled up in front of the hangar late one summer afternoon and saw a
brand-new, speedy type cantilever monoplane standing on the line. The
wing had large L-shaped gashes in it. The plane belonged to Red
Devereaux, who was going to fly it in the National Air Race Derby. As I
sat there Red came over. He told me that on the way in from the factory
in Wichita a terrific wing flutter set in every time he passed through
rough air. The oscillations were so bad that the stick would tear itself
from Red's hands. He asked me to try it out and see if it were possible
to race the plane.
I put on my parachute and climbed in. As I warmed the motor up I decided
to have the door taken off the ship. Easier to get out that way. I put
the ship in a shallow climb and held it to six thousand feet. Feeling it
out, I dived, banked, rolled, looped, and spun it. It seemed to be fine.
I landed and told Red that everything was okay.
The next day diving over the Boston airport, in the lead, the wing broke
off. The plane plunged into the marsh, killing Red and his bride of a
few months.
"DEATH TAKES A HOLIDAY"
A friend of mine knew a doctor who had an old skeleton. The skeleton
wasn't of any use to the doctor. It had been hanging in a closet for
almost a year. I decided to have some fun with it. I wired the head and
jaws with fine wire. I attached two strings to the wire in such a way
that by pulling one I could make the skeleton's head turn left or right.
When I pulled the other the jaws clacked up and down. I tied the
skeleton in one of the dual-control seats of a cabin Travelair. I flew
the ship from the other seat. By bending way down nobody from the
outside could see me. It looked as though the skeleton were doing the
flying. Jim Drummond, flying mechanic, lay on the floor of the plane and
took charge of the skeleton's behavior.
I knew that Eric Wood and Pete Brooks were flying formation over Floyd
Bennett Field that day. They had just joined the army reserve corps and
were all steamed up trying to make a success out of it. I decided they
would be my first victims of the day. We had no trouble finding the
formation. There was Pete just behind the leader, looking very
conscientious and pleased with himself. He was doing everything just
right. I eased up beside him. He didn't notice me for a second. When he
glanced around I gave Jim the signal. The skeleton looked right in his
face and jabbered. Horror and amazement flooded Pete's face. He turned
back to the formation--he had to unless he wanted to bump into the other
planes. But he couldn't stand it for long. He had to look again. Jabber,
jabber, went the skeleton. This went on a third and a fourth time, till
I finally felt sorry for Pete. He was getting walleyed, one eye on the
formation, the other on the skeleton. I gave him one final superb
jabber, dipped my wings, and went in search of other game.