enrolled as subscribers in the proposed flying-machine company. A
number of them were prominent in the field of transportation. The
list included Cornelius Vanderbilt, August Belmont, Howard Gould,
Theodore P. Shonts, Allan A. Ryan, Mortimer F. Plant, Andrew Freedman,
and E. J. Berwind. Shonts was president of the New York Interborough
subway. Ryan, a son of Thomas F. Ryan, was a director of the Bethlehem
Steel Corporation. Plant was chairman of the Board of Directors of
the Southern Express Company, and Vice President of the Chicago,
Indianapolis & Louisville Railroad. Berwind, as President of the
Berwind-White Coal Mining Company, had accumulated a great fortune
from coal contracts with big steamship lines. Freedman had made his
money originally as a sports promoter and then in various financial
operations. (He later provided funds for founding the Andrew Freedman
Home in New York.)
The Wrights wanted to have in the company their friends Robert J.
Collier, publisher of _Collier’s Weekly_, and the two Alger brothers of
Detroit. Those names were promptly added.
But the names of J. P. Morgan and E. H. Gary were not in the final list
of stockholders. The truth was that some of the others in the proposed
company did not want Morgan with them because they believed--probably
correctly--that he would dominate the company; that where he sat
would be the head of the table. One of them phoned to Morgan that
the stock was oversubscribed. When he thus got strong hints that his
participation was not too eagerly desired, Morgan promptly withdrew
his offer to take stock for himself and Gary.
On November 22, 1909, only about a month after Peterkin’s first talk
with Wilbur, The Wright Co. was incorporated. The capital stock
represented a paid-in value of $200,000. In payment for all rights
to their patents in the United States, the Wright brothers received
stock and cash, besides a provision for ten per cent royalty on all
planes sold; and The Wright Co. would thenceforth bear the expense of
prosecuting all suits against patent infringers.
From the Wright brothers’ point of view, the one fly in the ointment
was that they now found themselves more involved than ever before
in business affairs. It had been their dream to be entirely out of
business and able to give their whole time to scientific research.
The company opened impressive offices in the Night and Day Bank
Building, 527 Fifth Avenue, New York, but the factory would be in
Dayton. In January, 1910, Frank Russell, a cousin of the Algers, who
had been appointed factory manager, arrived in Dayton and went to
see the Wrights at their office over the old bicycle shop. As the
brothers had no desk space to offer him, they suggested a room at the
rear of a plumbing shop down the street where he might make temporary
headquarters. According to Russell, Wilbur Wright came there a day or
two later carrying a basket filled with letters, directed to The Wright
Co., that had been accumulating.
“I don’t know what you’ll want to do about these,” Russell has reported
Wilbur as jokingly saying; “maybe they should be opened. But of course
if you open a letter, there’s always the danger that you may decide
to answer it, and then you’re apt to find yourself involved in a long
correspondence.”
At first The Wright Co. rented floor space in a factory building, but
almost immediately the company started to build a modern factory of
its own, and it was ready for use by November, 1910. Within a short
time after the company started operations in its rented space it had a
force of employees at mechanical work and was able to produce about two
airplanes a month.
The Wrights well knew that the time was not yet for the company to
operate profitably by selling planes for private use. Their main
opportunity to show a good return on the capital invested would be from
public exhibitions. Relatively few people in the United States had yet
seen an airplane in flight and crowds would flock to behold this new
miracle--still, in 1910, almost incredible.
As soon as they decided to give public exhibitions, the Wrights got in
touch with another pioneer of the air, Roy Knabenshue, a young man from
Toledo, who had been making balloon flights since his early teens, and
was the first in the United States to have piloted a steerable balloon.
They had previously become acquainted with Knabenshue. Because of his
curiosity over anything pertaining to aerial navigation, he had once
subscribed to a press-clipping bureau which sent him anything found
in the papers about aeronautics; and in this way he had been able to
read an occasional news item about the two Dayton men said to have
flown. With a fairly irresistible impish grin, Knabenshue never had
much trouble making new acquaintances, and he decided to call upon the
Wrights.
That was before the Wright flights at Fort Myer and in France, and the
brothers were not then interested when Knabenshue suggested that they
sell him planes for exhibitions.
“Well,” he said, “I have been making airship flights at the big state
fairs, besides promoting public exhibitions, and I know how to make
the proper contacts. You may have heard about my flights in a small
dirigible at the St. Louis World’s Fair. If you ever decide to give
exhibitions, just let me know.”
Though exhibitions had been farthest from the Wrights’ thoughts at
the time of that first meeting with Knabenshue, now the situation was
different. Roy Knabenshue would probably be the very man they needed.
They sent a telegram to him and he received it at Los Angeles. He wired
back that he would see them as soon as he returned to Ohio. This he
did soon afterward. The result of their conversation was that Roy took
charge of the work of arranging for public flights. He had need of a
competent secretary and an intelligent young woman, Miss Mabel Beck,
came to take the job. This was her first employment and she seemed a
bit ill at ease, lest her work might not be satisfactory; but almost
immediately she became an extraordinarily good assistant--so good, in
fact, that Wilbur Wright afterward selected her to work with him in
connection with suits against patent infringers, and after his death
she became secretary to Orville Wright, in which position, at this
writing, she still is.
By the time Knabenshue had started planning for public exhibitions,
Orville Wright had begun the training of pilots to handle the
exhibition planes being built. The weather was still too wintry for
flying at Huffman field, now leased by The Wright Co., and it was
necessary to find a suitable place in a warmer climate. The field
selected was at Montgomery, Alabama. (Today known as Maxwell Field, it
is used by the United States Government.)
Shortly after his arrival at Montgomery, early in 1910, Orville Wright
had a new experience in the air. While at an altitude of about 1,500
feet he found himself unable to descend, even though the machine was
pointed downward as much as seemed safe. Brought up to have faith in
the force of gravity, he didn’t know at first what to make of this.
For nearly five minutes he stayed there, in a puzzled state of mind
bordering on alarm. Later it occurred to him that the machine must have
been in a whirlwind of rising air current of unusual diameter, and
that doubtless he could have returned quickly to earth if he had first
steered horizontally to get away from the rising current.
The first pilot Orville trained was Walter Brookins of Dayton.
“Brookie” was a logical candidate for that distinction, for since the
age of four he had been a kind of “pet” of Orville’s. After Orville
had left Montgomery and returned to Dayton on May 8, Brookins himself
became an instructor. He began, at Montgomery, the training of Arch
Hoxsey, noted for his personal charm and his gay, immaculate clothes;
and also that of Spencer C. Crane.
On his return to Dayton, Orville opened a flying school at the same
Huffman field[14] the Wright brothers had used for their experiments in
1904–5. Here he trained A. L. Welsh and Duval LaChapelle. When Brookins
arrived there from Montgomery, near the end of May, he took on the
training of Ralph Johnstone and Frank T. Coffyn, besides completing the
training of Hoxsey. Two others trained at the same field later in the
year were Phil O. Parmalee and C. O. Turpin.
Orville Wright continued to make frequent flights until 1915,
personally testing every new device used on a Wright plane. (He did not
make his final flight as a pilot until 1918.) More than one person who
witnessed flights at the Huffman field (or at Simms station, as the
place was better known) has made comment that it was never difficult to
pick Orville Wright from the other flyers, whether he was on the ground
or in a plane. Students, and instructors too, would be dressed to the
teeth for flying, with special suits, goggles, helmets, gauntlets, and
so on; but Orville always wore an ordinary business suit. He might put
on a pair of automobile goggles and shift his cap backward, and on cold
days he would turn up his coat collar; but otherwise he was dressed as
for the street. When he was in the air anyone could recognize who it
was--from the smoothness of his flying. And when he wished to test the
control and stability of a plane, he would sometimes come down and make
figure eights at steep angles with the wing tip maybe not more than a
few feet from the grass.
The public was no longer unaware of the significance of the flights at
Huffman field. Sightseers began to use every possible pretext to come
as close to the planes as possible. One evening as Orville Wright was
standing near the hangar, a bystander edged up to him.
“I flew with Orville Wright down at Montgomery,” he declared, “and he
told me to make myself at home here.”
Never before having seen Orville, he had mistaken him for an employee.
[Illustration: TWO ACES AND KING. Orville Wright, Wilbur Wright, and
Edward VII of England at Pau, France, March 17, 1909.]
Three flights at Huffman field in May, 1910, were especially
noteworthy. A short one by Wilbur--one minute twenty-nine seconds--on
May 21, was the first he had made alone since his sensational feats
starting from Governors Island. And it was the last flight as a pilot
Wilbur ever made. But on May 25 he and Orville flew for a short time
together--with Orville piloting--the only occasion when the Wright
brothers were both in the air at the same time. Later that same day,
Orville took his father, Bishop Milton Wright, then eighty-two years
old,[15] for his first trip in a flying-machine. They flew for six
minutes fifty-five seconds, most of the time at about 350 feet. The
only thing that Bishop Wright said while in the air was a request to go
“higher, higher.”
The average charge by The Wright Co. for a series of exhibition flights
at a county fair or elsewhere was about $5,000 for each plane used. At
Indianapolis, the scene of the first exhibition, five planes were used.
The weather was not ideal for the Indianapolis event, but the crowd was
much impressed. Another early exhibition was at Atlantic City, where,
for the first time, wheels were publicly used on a Wright machine for
starting and landing.
[Illustration: THE WRIGHT HOME AND SHOP. The original Wright homestead
and Wright bicycle shop, brought from Dayton and restored at Greenfield
Village, Dearborn, Michigan.]
Roy Knabenshue knew from his experience in making public airship
exhibitions, that it was not enough to go where a fair or carnival was
to be held and suggest airplane flights as a feature. To get all the
business possible for his company he must promote exhibition flights
in places where no such big outdoor events were yet contemplated.
He particularly desired to have flights made in large cities where
newspaper reports of the event would attract attention over a large
area and aid him in making further bookings. With this in mind he went
to Chicago and started inquiries to learn whether public-spirited
citizens there would be willing to underwrite a big public
demonstration of aviation along the lake front. Several people told
him the man he should see was Harold McCormick, one of the controlling
stockholders in the wealthy International Harvester Company. He went
at once to McCormick’s offices in the Harvester Building. But when he
reached the outer office, he discovered that it was not easy to get any
farther.
“What was it you wished to see Mr. McCormick about?” asked a secretary.
“I don’t wish to sell him anything,” Roy explained, smiling in a manner
that should have won confidence, but didn’t. “Please just say to him
that there’s a man here who has an important suggestion for him.”
“But if you’ll tell me what the suggestion is,” the secretary proposed,
“then he can let you know if he is interested.”
“No, I’ll tell you what you do,” countered Roy. “Please hand my card to
him and let him decide if he wishes to see me.”
The secretary reluctantly took Roy’s card which indicated that he
represented The Wright Co. of Dayton, Ohio. A moment later the
secretary returned to say that Mr. McCormick was too busy to see anyone.
Roy walked out of the building into Michigan Avenue, discouraged.
“No matter how good an idea you’ve got,” he reflected, “and no matter
how much some of these big executives might be interested, you don’t
get a chance to tell them about it.”
As he strolled along, his eye chanced to fall on a big sign that read:
“Think Of It. The _Record-Herald_ Now One Cent.” Then he remembered
that the Chicago _Record-Herald_, rival of the _Tribune_ in the morning
field, had recently reduced its price and was making a big bid for
increased circulation. He also recalled that H. H. Kohlsaat, owner of
the _Record-Herald_, had known his father. Using his father’s name
for an introduction, he had little difficulty, a half hour later, in
gaining access to Kohlsaat’s private office to tell him what was on
his mind. The publisher grew interested. Yes, it might be a good idea
to have some airplane flights along the lake front and invite the
public to see them as guests of the _Record-Herald_. Before he left the
office, Roy had the preliminary arrangements all made.
On the opening day of the big event, when Walter Brookins, as pilot,
was about to take off on the first flight, Knabenshue remarked to him:
“That corner window on the fourth floor of the Harvester Building is in
the office of a man I hope will see what’s going on.”
The next day Knabenshue appeared once again at Harold McCormick’s
office in the Harvester Building and presented his business card to the
same secretary he had met on his previous visit.
After looking at the card, the secretary, without waiting to consult
anyone, said: “Oh, yes, you’re with The Wright Company. I’m sure Mr.
McCormick will wish to see you. Just step this way.”
Roy had made this call partly as a kind of practical joke--for the
satisfaction of entering an office where he had once been denied. But
as a result of the talk he then had with McCormick, it was arranged
that a committee of Chicago citizens should sponsor, the next year,
another aviation meeting there, to be the biggest thing of the kind
ever held.
Meanwhile, on the final day of the 1910 exhibitions at Chicago,
Brookins made the first long cross-country flight, 185 miles, to
Springfield, Illinois. It was not, however, a non-stop flight. He made
one landing in a cornfield, and it was necessary to obtain permission
from the farm owner to cut a wide strip across the field to provide
space for the plane to take off.
In that same year, 1910, Dayton people saw the first flight over the
city itself. Thousands had now seen flights at the Huffman field, Simms
station, but no flight had ever been made nearer than eight miles to
the home town where successful flying was conceived. The Greater Dayton
Association was holding, in September, an industrial exhibit, but
it was operating at a loss. Those in charge of the exhibit saw that
something would have to be done to arouse interest. Orville Wright was
asked if he would start at Simms station, fly to Dayton and circle
over the city. He agreed and the newspapers announced the flight for
the next day. It was stirring news--even to Katharine Wright. She
had started to Oberlin to attend a college meeting, but, when on her
arrival there she happened to see a newspaper item about Orville’s
flight scheduled for the next day, she hastened home at once.
Another premier event in 1910 was when an airplane for the first
time in the world was used for commercial express service. The
Morehouse-Martin Co., a department store in Columbus, Ohio, arranged to
have a bolt of silk brought from Huffman field to a driving park beyond
Columbus. The distance of more than sixty miles was covered at better
than a mile a minute, then considered fast airplane speed; and the
“express fee” was $5,000, or about $71.42 a pound. But within a day or
two the store had a good profit on the transaction, for it sold small
pieces of the silk for souvenirs, and the gross returns were more than
$6,000.
Then, at Belmont Park, New York, in late October, 1910, Wright planes
participated in a great International Aviation Tournament. All other
planes taking part were licensed by The Wright Co.
Orville Wright now devoted his time mainly to supervision of
engineering at the factory of The Wright Co. Wilbur was kept busy
looking after the prosecution of suits against patent infringers and
in March, 1911, he went to Europe in connection with suits brought by
the Wright company of France. From France he went to Germany and while
there called at the home of the widow of Otto Lilienthal to offer his
homage to the memory of that pioneer in aviation whose work had been an
inspiration to the Wrights.
After Wilbur’s return to America, Orville spent several weeks in
October, 1911, at Kitty Hawk, where he went to do some experimenting
with an automatic control device and to make soaring flights with a
glider. In camp with him were Alec Ogilvie of England, who flew a
Wright plane, Orville’s brother Lorin, and Lorin’s ten-year-old boy,
“Buster.” On account of the presence of a group of newspapermen who
appeared and were at the camp each day during his entire stay at Kitty
Hawk, Orville never tested the new automatic device; but before his
soaring experiments were over he had made, on October 24, a new record,
soaring for nine minutes forty-five seconds. (This was to remain the
world’s record until ten years later when it was exceeded in Germany.)
That same year, 1911, The Wright Co. benefited from another aviation
record. Cal P. Rodgers, who had received some of his flying training
at the Wright School, made--between September 11 and November 5--the
first transcontinental airplane trip, from New York to California.
New as their line of business was, The Wright Co. was profitable from
the start--especially so during the first year or two when the sight
of a flying-machine was still a novelty and contracts for exhibition
flights were numerous. (It might have been more profitable if the
Wrights had not insisted that no contracts be made to include flights
on Sunday.) But inevitably the exhibition part of the business began
to taper off--and such profits as might still have come from it were
reduced by the persistent illegal competition of patent infringers.
More and more, the company’s dealings were with the United States Army
and Navy and with private buyers of planes. The first private plane
sold had gone to Robert J. Collier, and others seeking the excitement
or prestige of owning a plane had been making inquiries. The retail
price of a plane was $5,000.
With aviation thus becoming more practical, the Wrights were receiving
from their invention a form of reward they had never expected. They
would now have wealth, not vast, but enough to enable them to look
forward to the time when they might retire and work happily together
on scientific research. They were making plans, too, for their new
home on a seventeen-acre wooded tract they had named Hawthorn Hill,
in the Dayton suburb of Oakwood. But tragic days were ahead. Early
in May, shortly after visiting the new home site with other members
of the family, Wilbur was taken ill. What at first was assumed to
be a minor indisposition proved to be typhoid fever. Worn out from
worries over protecting in patent litigation the rights he knew were
his and his brother’s, he was not in condition to combat the disease.
After an illness of three weeks, despite the best efforts of eminent
specialists, early in the morning of Thursday, May 30, 1912, Wilbur
Wright died. He was aged only forty-five years and forty-four days.
Messages of condolence and expressions of the world’s loss poured in
from two hemispheres, among them those from heads of governments.
Orville Wright succeeded his brother as president of The Wright Co.
In June, 1913, Grover Loening, a young man who had become acquainted
with Wilbur at the time of the Hudson-Fulton exhibition flights, came
to The Wright Co. as engineer, and then became factory manager. Loening
had the distinction of being the first person in the United States to
study aeronautical science in a university.
Business affairs had been complicated earlier that year by the fact
that Dayton had the worst flood in its history. The Wright factory
was not under water but not many of the employees could reach the
building. Among the hundreds of houses under water was the Wright home
on Hawthorne Street. To Orville a serious part of the loss there was
the damage to photographic negatives showing his and Wilbur’s progress
toward flight. But the negative of the famous picture of the first
power flight was not much harmed.
Accompanied by his sister, Orville made his last trip to Europe in
1913, on business relating to a patent suit in Germany. At about the
same time he sanctioned the forming of a Wright company in England.
Before Wilbur’s death, there had been opportunities for a company
in England, but the brothers had held back because all the offers
appeared to be purely stock promotions in which the names of members
of the English nobility would appear as sponsors. The British company
as finally organized did not make planes itself, but issued licenses
for use of the patents. Within a year after it was formed the English
company accepted from the British Government a flat payment for all
claims against the government, for use of the Wright patents up to
that time and during the remainder of the life of the basic patents.
Though the amount paid was no trifling sum, the settlement was widely
applauded by prominent Englishmen, among them Lord Northcliffe, as
showing a generous attitude on the part of the patent owner--about
as little as could have been compatible with full recognition of the
priority of the Wrights’ invention.
By this time, The Wright Co. had more applications to train student
pilots than they could handle. Even a few young women wished to become
pilots.
Two capable students, of a somewhat earlier period, destined to go
far in aviation, were Thomas D. Milling, later General Milling, of
the United States Army Air Corps; and Henry H. Arnold, who during the
Second World War was Lieutenant General Arnold, Commanding General of
the Army Air Forces and Deputy Chief of Staff for Air.
One unfortunate student pilot, who had begun his training at the Wright
School in 1912, later got himself into much trouble. This man became
one of the best flyers in the United States. As he had plenty of money
he bought a plane of his own, and he used to give free exhibitions at
his estate near Philadelphia. In one way or another he did much for
aviation. But in 1917, when the United States entered the First World
War, that young pilot refused to register in the draft and became
notorious as a draft evader. His name? Grover Cleveland Bergdoll. The
early Wright plane he had bought is today on exhibition at the Franklin
Institute in Philadelphia. It is believed to be the only authentic
Model B--the first model built by The Wright Co.--in existence.