American Military Aviation in the Interwar Years and After: Some Historical Reappraisals


In 1987, the historian Michael S. Sherry published a groundbreaking and controversial book titled The Rise of American Air Power: The Creation of Armageddon (Yale UP, 1987). Sherry in effect reinterpreted the history of American air power in a way that was more contextually based and fiercely critical. The result was not to every military historian’s liking because it deviated so dramatically from what was considered the master narrative of American air power, which traditionally had focused on combat tactics and weaponry, and which had neglected the broader implications of air power and its employment. Moreover, Sherry upset the “Good War” narrative (mistakenly from Studs Terkel’s ironically titled The Good War: An Oral History of WWII) that emphasizes the heroic side of war and downplays its destructiveness, death, and tragedy.

Thus, The Rise of American Air Power could be seen as representative of what has been termed the “New Military History,” an attempt to bring military history into line with other academic historical endeavor. In a larger context, historian Peter Paret has written in Parameters: The Journal of the Army War College, “the New Military History refers to a partial turning away from the great captains, and from weapons, tactics, and operations as the main concerns of the historical study of war. Instead we are asked to pay greater attention to the interaction of war with society, economics, politics, and culture.” (Autumn 1991,10)

The recent publication by military historian Mark Clodfelter of Beneficial Bombing: The Progressive Foundations of American Air Power, 1917-1945 (U of Nebraska P, 2010) is a fitting occasion to reconsider some of the ideas put forth by Sherry a quarter century ago. In his book Clodfelter argues that consciously or unconsciously the developers of American air power theory and strategy were a reaction to a Progressive (as in Progressive Era) way of thinking. Clodfelter argues that the advocates of progressive air power, looking back on the slaughter brought about in WWI, believed that air power could put an end to an enemy’s ability to wage war by destroying its industrial, communication, and transportation centers. Clodfelter also points out that the airmen wanted a reformation of the U.S. defense structure and they believed that a separate autonomous air force was a necessity if the country was to carry out such precise aerial warfare. In addition, the airmen believed that an independent air force would be capable of winning future wars entirely on its own, without the assistance of armies or navies.

While Clodfelter should be lauded for his attempt to place the study of American air power in a wider context, his view of it in regard to American Progressivism is somewhat narrow. Progressivism is a multifaceted and often contradictory movement typically characterized by activism for social justice, political reform, and efficiency. It may be difficult to tie American air power to a single motivation.

Nevertheless, I would like to follow up on Clodfelter’s (and Sherry’s) ideas in light of recent historiography, and in particular to focus on what might be termed the unintended consequences of early American air power theory.
(Technology’s accidental aspects have been examined most notably by historian Edward Tenner in Why Things Bite Back: Technology and the Revenge of Unintended Consequences [Vintage, 1997]). Two psychological facets of un-intention are

“cognitive dissonance,” and “groupthink” (terms developed later by the social psychologist Leon Festinger (When Prophecy Fails, 1956) and the research psychologist Irving L. Janis (Victims of Groupthink: Psychological Studies of Policy Decisions and Fiascoes, 1972); these describe various states of single-mindedness and collective rationalization in group behavior.

Festinger had studied under Kurt Lewin at the University of Iowa and during WWII he had worked for the National Research Council Committee on the Selection and Training of Aircraft Pilots at the University of Rochester. Janis had worked on problems of military morale during WWII for the U.S. Army. In 1951 when he was a professor at Yale University he published Air War and Emotional Stress: Psychological Studies of Bombing and Civilian Defense under the auspices of the RAND (Research and Development) Corporation). Both men made revolutionary contributions to the way that social scientists comprehend and explain complex patterns of human motivation and behavior, particularly as they apply to organizations.

In her book Rhetoric and Reality in Air Warfare: The Evolution of British and American Ideas about Strategic Bombing, 1914-1945 (Princeton UP, 2002), Tami Davis Biddle explains how cognitive theory relates to military decision making.
Biddle believes that “All decision makers use cognitive processes to make sense of their complicated and stressful environments. … rather than revisit the original choice, decision makers discount, misinterpret, or ignore new information … in addition to seeing what [they] want to expect to see, and not seeing what [they] find too stressful to absorb, [they] often see what it is in [their] interest to see. Decision makers with powerful organizational goals or self-interests may discount or minimize incoming information that conflicts with those interests, and highlight information that supports them.” (4-5) In a very broad sense, the work of Festinger, Janis and others on cognitive processes in organizational thinking so aptly summarized by Biddle go a long way toward explaining what happened to air power theory during the interwar years and throughout WWII.

General William “Billy” Mitchell

Contributing to the “cognitive dissonance” and “groupthink” mentality of the strategic bombing theorists was their feeling of superiority, a kind of “cult of the airmen” mentality. This mindset was characterized by their feelings of elitism—their “us versus them” position— in regard to the regular Army establishment, which wanted them to concentrate on tactical air power or battlefield support. Another quality was their belief in superior knowledge in being able to pilot an aircraft; that only airmen really understood the potential of air power and that those outside their select group, even if they were military men, did not have the requisite experience require to wage aerial warfare. Add to this the aura of “prophet” that surrounded General William “Billy” Mitchell, their erstwhile leader during the 1920s, and you begin to understand the cultish dimensions of the air power theorists.

If one accepts Biddle’s line of reasoning, the so-called American air prophets of the interwar years were so convinced of the rightness of their cause that they ignored or dismissed any evidence to the contrary that did not conform to prescribed views. More than that, they refused to test their ideas empirically in more than a superficial fashion, and trusted that the military aviation technology that supported their ideas would more than make up for any mistakes in their thinking. Moreover, American air power theorists were unable or unwilling to admit that enemy technologies might be developed to counteract their theoretical plans, even while the testing of such technologies were going on underneath their noses. Another, perhaps more significant factor was the desire of the airmen to form an independent air service, free of interference from the army, and able to carry out its own independent mission.

Whatever the reasons, the theorists failed on a number of fronts. For example, the apparent truth of the received wisdom that “the bomber will always get through,” initially espoused by British Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin in a 1932 speech to Parliament, was accepted without question by the bomber advocates. In fact, a year later, assistant chief of the Air Corps Brigadier General Oscar Westover reiterated Baldwin’s claim: “No known agency can frustrate the accomplishment of a bombardment mission.” Subsequent events proved these undisputed assumptions questionable at best.

With their eyes securely fixed on precision bombardment, the airmen ignored the role of fighter aircraft in combat. A lone voice for the role of fighter aircraft was that of Claire Lee Chennault, an Air Corps officer assigned to instruct at the Air Corps Tactical School at Maxwell Field, Alabama. Chennault believed in fighters and their role in a coordinated ground-air aerial defense system. In his memoir, Way of a Fighter (G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1949), Chennault recalled that in 1933 bomber versus fighter test, “fighters intercepted and ‘attacked’ the bombers by day and by night, using high, intermediate, and low altitudes on every attempt that was made.” While one should perhaps take what Chennault says with a grain of salt, it is apparent (in light of later developments) that the airmen did not place much emphasis on fighter aircraft either as effective countermeasures to bombers or as protective bomber escorts. (23-24)

Likewise, the bomber advocates never envisioned or easily dismissed defensive countermeasures like RADAR (Radio Direction and Ranging, which was being developed primarily in Great Britain during the 1930s, and FLAK (Fliegerabwehrkanone, or antiaircraft artillery). RADAR was used effectively in the Battle of Britain to track German aircraft and direct Fighter Command to scramble and attack them. FLAK became a significant part of German air defenses during WWII and was used to direct lethal artillery fire from the ground to the air against attacking Allied.

Flak Bait

Although not as iconic as the Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress, the Martin B-26 Marauder Flak Bait, a medium bomber, survived 207 operational missions over Europe, more than any other American aircraft during World War II.

Moreover, the lessons of the Spanish Civil War, which might be considered a major laboratory for aerial warfare in the interwar years, were largely ignored by American strategic bombing theorists. In “The Spanish Civil War: Lessons Learned and Not Learned by the Great Powers,” military historian James S. Corum (The Journal of Military History, April 1998) writes that “the interest shown by the Air Corps as a whole in the major air war of the period can be described as minimal.” (318)

Giulio Douhet

Corum goes on to say that “Several of the Army officers offered the conclusion—clearly unwelcome in the Air Corps—that the strategic bombing of enemy cities and industries had had no decisive effect in Spain and that civilian populations had quickly learned to adapt to bombardment from the air, a judgment that contradicted the theory of the popular air power prophet Douhet.” (Douhet’s il dominio dell’ariaThe Command of the Air—published in 1921 and made available in English translation in 1923 advocated the bombing of population centers as well as industrial targets and the use of incendiaries and poison gas.) Other army commentators noted the lack of bombing accuracy—the inability to hit specific targets. “This completely accurate analysis”, Corum says, struck right at the heart of the Air Corps’ doctrine which emphasized the destruction of small, specific industrial targets such as power and transformer stations in order to paralyze an opponent and shut down his industries.” (322)

The Air Corps Tactical School’s insistence on a strategy of high-altitude precision bombing of strategic targets, or what became known as the “industrial web theory,” in which the destruction of one critical industry—power plants, oil refineries, ball bearing factories, etc.—would create a choke-point that would severely limit or curtail the enemy’s war-making capacity and eliminate the need to take out the enemy’s entire industrial output or harm civilians. This idea was fine in theory, but it suffered from a number of deficiencies. As Stephen L. McFarland points out in America’s Pursuit of Precision Bombing, 1910-1945 (Smithsonian Institution Press, 1995) the theorists at ACTS did not have access to accurate intelligence about potential foreign enemies; they based their ideas on data from American cities. Moreover, the theorists pinned their hopes on the Norden bombsight, as yet unproven in combat and tested only under the most optimal conditions. (See McFarland, 89-104)

Norden Bombsight

Norden Bombsight prototype, 1923.

Finally, and ironically, the theorists believed that by targeting critical industries, the death of civilians by what was euphemistically termed “morale bombing”; i.e., the idea that the enemy population’s will to fight would be severely compromised by attacks on civilian centers, could be avoided. (In a largely Isolationist country like the United States in the interwar years, the idea of using air power as anything other than a defensive weapon was repugnant.) There were attempts to limit the bomber—the Hague Rules of Aerial Warfare drafted in 1923, for example, made it illegal to employ aerial bombardment to terrorize civilians or damage private property. The use of bombardment would only be legitimate if it were directed at military objectives. Moreover, the bombing of towns, villages and dwellings or building adjacent to military forces was prohibited. The Hague Rules were never ratified, largely because of the objections of the military. Nevertheless, the theorists walked a fine line in their advocacy of precision bombing. Evidently, they did not consider (or chose to ignore) the fact that the “industrial web” might be in the midst of population centers or that factories, power plants, oil refineries, etc. might employ thousands of civilian workers.

Nevertheless, President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s belief in strategic air power gave the theorists the green light to proceed. The culmination of Air Service-Air Corps-USAAF air warfare planning—AWPD-1—came from the Air War Plans Division, made up of former officers from the Air Corps Tactical School. AWPD-1 (Air War Plans Division Plan 1) put great emphasis on pinpoint strategic bombing at high altitude. Stephen McFarland notes that “the American air war in World War II was the fruit of six staff officers working with adding machines … largely without intelligence information, divorced from the exploding bombs, burning fuel, smoke, and torn flesh of war. They based their calculations on practice bombings flown in clear weather and at low altitudes. Practice bombings were only one bomb at a time, making multiple passes to achieve higher accuracy. In wartime, enemy defenses would make such practices impossible.” (103)

The shortsightedness of the theorists in these matters was to play a significant role when the United States entered WWII. After fitful attempts at high-altitude precision bombing, the USAAF was forced by the very circumstances that the theorists had ignored during the interwar years to resort to what became known as “area bombing,” or the bombing of population centers in which strategic targets were located. Despite the fact that there were strategic targets in these areas, the result usually was a high civilian casualty rate.

Regardless of the type of bombing employed, the air attacks were wrought at a terrible cost. In Masters of the Air: America’s Bomber Boys Who Fought the Air War against Nazi Germany (Simon & Schuster, 2006) historian Donald L. Miller points out that “There were two sets of victims in the European bomber war: those who were bombed and the men who bombed them.” (21) The U.S. Strategic Bombing Survey estimated that 305,000 Germans were killed and 780,000 wounded. In addition, 485,000 residential buildings were completely destroyed by air attack and 415,000 heavily damaged. Accurate American bomber and bomber crew loss statistics are very hard to come by, but estimates for the USAAF 8th Air Force put bomber and fighter crew member losses at 44,000 and heavy bomber losses at more than 4,000.

In Japan, the idea of high-altitude precision bombing was abandoned completely in favor of the low-altitude incendiary bombing of Tokyo in March 1945 and other Japanese cities. The civilian death toll was steep: estimates place the number at 330,000 to 400,000. Bomber crew casualties were not as high in the Japanese bombing campaign as in the European Theater of Operations. Estimates run at more than 2,600.

In some respects, the genie had been let out of the bottle when writers like H.G. Wells wrote apocalyptic works about aerial warfare. His novel The War in the Air (1908) imagined the German bombardment of New York City by airship. (Historically, one could cite the Austrians’ haphazard attempt to bomb Venice by balloon in 1849 as a significant step in initiating aerial warfare.) From there it was only a matter of time and improved technology until fiction became reality.

London

In London (December 1940) St. Paul’s Cathedral survived Nazi Germany’s sustained bombing campaign on British cities, aka “The Blitz.”

In World War I, for example, Germany bombed Britain with Zeppelins (1915-16) and Gotha aircraft (1917). The German bombardment of Guernica in the Basque region of Spain in April 1937 during the Spanish Civil War was another pivotal event, as were the Japanese bombing of Chunking (now Chongqing) during the Second Sino-Japanese War (1937-1945), and the German bombing campaign against British cities (“The Blitz” and later the V-Weapons attacks) during World War II.

In the actual warfare of WWII, the precise, clean warfare envisioned by the interwar year strategic bombing theorists ran up against the contingencies of wartime. These unforeseen events created situations in which the effectiveness of strategic bombing both in Europe and Japan have become hotly contested issues because of the high cost both in military and civilian casualties and the precedents set in regard to making civilians targets of warfare.

In the post-World War II era, there have been numerous attempts to restrict the bombing of civilians (see Adam Roberts and Richard Guelff, Documents on the Laws of War, eds. 2d ed. (Oxford UP, 1989), either directly or as a result of “collateral damage” (unintentional damage to civil property and civilian casualties) and also to control or prohibit nuclear warfare. The United States has devised precision-guided munitions (PGM) to minimize “collateral damage, intentional or otherwise,” and an ambiguous position on internationally-recognized restrictions on aerial warfare in regard to civilian casualties. Likewise, the U.S. has developed UAVs (Unmanned Aerial Vehicles) for a variety of reasons (initially for surveillance) but when it was realized that these vehicles could keep pilots and crew members out of harm’s way, they began to be employed as offensive weapons.As a result, they have become controversial because of their involvement in situations that have caused “collateral damage” in the attempt to targeted individuals suspected of being terrorists. In the effort to avoid the hazards of bombing like those experienced in WWII, other, more subtle problems have arisen, not the least of which is an ambiguous position on internationally-recognized restrictions on aerial warfare in regard to civilian casualties.

As Sahr Conway-Lanz points out in Collateral Damage: Americans, Noncombatant Immunity, and Atrocity after World War II (Routledge, 2006), “forsaking the norm of noncombatant immunity promised international condemnation and distrust. It also threatened Americans’ perceptions of themselves as a humane people. Giving up massively destructive war threatened to heighten Americans’ sense of vulnerability and insecurity. Instead, Americans kept their devastating weapons and adapted the international tradition of noncombatant immunity to their circumstances and purposes.”(211)

Dominick A. Pisano is a curator in the Aeronautics Department at the National Air and Space Museum.

Dominick Pisano will explore this subject and others in his upcoming book, “To Slip the Surly Bonds of Earth: Significant Features of the Cultural History of Aviation in the United States, 1910-1939.

Solar Impulse

Solar Impulse

What flies using power from the Sun, at the speed of an ultralight, on wings longer than a Boeing 777 airliner? Answer: Solar Impulse! A team of Swiss entrepreneurs, engineers, pilots, and enthusiasts began to design the Solar Impulse in 2003 with the goal to demonstrate flying day-and-night powered only by the electricity that more than 11,000 individual solar cells generate. The electricity is stored in batteries when not used, and spin the propellers on four 10-horsepower electric motors when in flight.  On July 7, 2010, pilot Markus Scherdel flew Solar Impulse 26 hours 10 minutes 19 seconds nonstop. Several more record-setting flights followed and now, psychiatrist, explorer, and pilot Bertrand Piccard, and the co-founder of the project, André Borschberg, are flying Solar Impulse across the United States. In 1999, Piccard and Brian Jones made the first non-stop around-the-world balloon flight aboard the Breitling Orbiter 3 now on display in the National Air and Space Museum in Washington DC.

If weather conditions are favorable across the central United States, Solar Impulse will land early next week at Dulles Airport. The team will then move the airplane to a spot outside the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center for public display during this year’s Become a Pilot Family Day and Aviation Display on Saturday, June 15, and the following day, Sunday June 16 (please, check the Museum’s website and social media platforms for updates and weather delays).

The Solar Impulse team has already started building a second Solar Impulse that will incorporate the lessons learned from the first. An attempt in the second Solar Impulse to circumnavigate Planet Earth nonstop is planned for 2015.

I will discuss how the Solar Impulse compares to some of the ultralight, and ultra-heavy aircraft on display at the Udvar-Hazy Center during the Become a Pilot Day social. Join the conversation on Twitter by following #PilotDay2013.

Find out more about Solar Impulse’s flight across the United States.

Find out more about the Solar Impulse project.

Russ Lee is a curator in the Aeronautics Department of the National Air and Space Museum.

Sea-Air Operations Gallery

When Secretary of the Navy William J. Middendorf II commissioned the USS Smithsonian, CVM-76, on June 28, 1976, he announced in authentic navy parlance that “the floors are now decks, walls are bulkheads and stairs are ladders. Welcome Aboard!” Visitors to the gallery may not realize that exhibits artisans built the gallery using the decks, bulkheads, ladders and other parts removed from five famous American aircraft carriers. Senior curator Paul E. Garber visited the USS Essex (CVS-9), USS Intrepid (CV-11), USS Randolph (CV-15), USS Hancock (CV-19), and USS Shangri-La (CVS-38) and personally selected components for the gallery as navy personnel decommissioned the warships in 1975.

Entrance

Entrance to the Sea-Air Operations gallery.

Gallery

All four museum aircraft displayed in the Sea-Air Operations gallery are seen from the second floor of the gallery. Left to right, Boeing F4B-4, Douglas A-4C Skyhawk, Douglas SBD-6 Dauntless, and Grumman F4F- (General Motors FM-1) Wildcat.

Four significant airplanes flown by U. S. Navy pilots are displayed inside the simulated hangar deck that fills much of the Sea-Air Operations Gallery. The father of Museum director and retired Marine Corps General Jack Dailey flew the Boeing F4B-4 biplane suspended from the gallery ceiling. General Dailey told me a few years ago that his dad

“flew [the F4B-4 in the Sea-Air Gallery] in 1934, and maybe other flights after that, which was the year I was born. He was on the Marine Corps flight demonstration team that toured the country with a 16-plane show to publicize Marine Aviation. They didn’t have a set routine they just followed the leader in a 16-plane tail chase which got pretty hairy. On one occasion the leader inadvertently stalled and spun back down through the formation so they all kicked it into a spin and followed him. I think the airplane we have was a spare because almost everyone in the squadron flew it.”

F4B04 Fighter

Museum director Jack Dailey’s father (then Lt. Frank G. Dailey) flew this Boeing F4B-4 fighter during the mid-1930s.

A Douglas SBD-6 Dauntless dive bomber is suspended from the ceiling next to the Boeing fighter. Dauntless pilots opened the large dive flaps perforated with holes at the trailing edge of the wing to slow the aircraft to about 443 kph (275 mph) during steep dives above a target. Pilots and gunners who crewed the SBDs (often called Slow-But-Deadly) did well in every engagement and suffered fewer losses than crews flying any other U. S. Navy carrier aircraft during World War II.

Gallery

In the Douglas SBD-6 Dauntless dive bomber, nicknamed Slow-But-Deadly, a gunner sitting behind the pilot wielded a pair of machine guns.

America entered World War II in December 1941 and by 1942, Grumman F4F Wildcats such as the one seen on the floor of the Sea-Air Operations Gallery equipped all U.S. Navy and Marine Corps fighter squadrons. New pilots making their first take off could often be spotted wobbling their Wildcats as they spun a crank 30 turns to retract the landing gear. U. S. Navy escort aircraft carriers operating in the Atlantic Ocean also carried Wildcats and the tough little fighter served from Pearl Harbor to the end of the war.

A-4C Skyhawk

The Museum’s A-4C Skyhawk displayed in the Sea-Air Operations gallery carries a typical combat mission load of external stores consisting of two 1,135 liter (300 gal.) fuel tanks and six 227 kg (500 lb.) bombs.

In his own words, “simplicate and add lightness” guided Douglas chief designer Ed Heinemann when he designed the Douglas A-4 Skyhawk that dominates the floor of the Sea-Air Operations Gallery. Key elements in the design are a strong and simple delta wing, a single engine and single pilot, which saved weight and complexity. The Skyhawk first flew in 1954 and by 1968, Skyhawks equipped 30 U. S. Navy and U. S. Marine Corps attack squadrons.

Navy pilots assigned to VA-76 aboard the aircraft carrier USS Enterprise, CVA (N)-65, flew the Museum’s Skyhawk during Iron Hand missions to suppress Surface-to-Air Missile radars from October 1965 to June 1966. Navy pilots also flew this Skyhawk from the USS Bon Homme Richard, CVA-31, operating off the Vietnam coast from March-June 1967, and USS Independence during the carrier’s cruise in the Mediterranean in May 1968.

Russ Lee is a curator in the Aeronautics Department of the National Air and Space Museum.

The Flight Claims of Gustave Whitehead

Gustave Whitehead is back in the news. Whitehead (1874-1927), a native of Leutershausen, Bavaria, who immigrated to the United States, probably in 1894, claimed to have made a sustained powered flight in a heavier-than-air machine on August  14, 1901, two years before the Wright brothers. He further claimed that he had made additional flights of two and seven miles in January 1902. The standard arguments in favor of Whitehead’s flight claims were first put forward in a book published in 1937, and have been restated many times, most recently in a controversial website that persuaded the editor of aviation reference annual, Jane’s All the World’s Aircraft to support the claims.

The evidence in the Whitehead case includes questionable news articles, much testimony both for and against the claims, and a supposed photograph of Whitehead’s Number 22 machine in the air, which, if it ever existed, has not been seen since 1906. Supporters of the claims have been arguing in favor of Whitehead for many years, while the critics, like me, have been vigorously refuting their evidence. I believe that the time has come to move beyond the confusing mass of contradictory detail, rising out of the trees to gain a view of the forest and reach a rational conclusion.

Why do I reject the Whitehead claims? Consider this sequence of events.

  • Fall 1897: In October 1897 a reporter for the New York Herald interviewed Whitehead at his boarding house at 130 Prince Street, where he saw two flying machines. The first was a triplane hang glider clearly based on a similar craft designed the year  before by Chicago engineer Octave Chanute and his assistant, Augustus Moore Herring, and flown by Herring in the dunes ringing the southern shore of Lake Michigan in the summer of 1896, and again in 1897.
    Glider

    1897 Whitehead triplane hang glider

    The fact that Whitehead was flying a copy of the Chanute-Herring original indicates that he was working with the most advanced aircraft structure of the era. But Whitehead showed the reporter a second machine that was under construction. This craft was very different, with bird or bat-like wings that would have been much more frail than the sturdy, braced triplane wings.

Triplane

Chanute Herring triplane, 1896-1897

  • 1901-1902: Whitehead, now living in Bridgeport, Connecticut, claimed that on August 14, 1901 he had flown a machine that he identified as Number 21 for a distance of one-half mile. He later claimed to have flown Number 22, a heavier version of his basic design with a metal structure, for flights of two and seven miles over Long Island Sound.With their birdlike wings, Numbers 21 and 22 had obviously evolved from the original craft shown to the reporter in 1897. They represent a step backwards from the trussed beam structure of his Chanute-Herring glider.

    Whitehead

    Whitehead with his Number 21 machine.

Scientific American

September 19, 1903 issue of Scientific American page 204.

  • September 1903: In the fall of 1903, a reporter for the Scientific American visited Whitehead in Bridgeport.Twenty months after he claimed to have made a seven mile flight in the bird-like Number 22, Whitehead is once again experimenting with a new version of the Chanute-Herring triplane hang glider. The questions are apparent.

 

Why was Whitehead no longer flying Numbers 21, 22, or a more developed version of the configuration in which he claimed to have enjoyed such success?

 

Why did Whitehead abandon a configuration that he claimed had enabled him to make flights of up to seven miles, in favor of returning to a design that was now eight years old and obsolete?

 

Why did Whitehead not call the attention of the readers of the Scientific American to his claim to have flown a very different powered machine over considerable distances less than two years before?

 

Over the next decade, as aviators in American and Europe took to the sky following the pattern established by the Wright brothers, Whitehead would continue to build aircraft for other enthusiasts. Not one of those powered machines ever left the ground.

 

My conclusion–either Whitehead had somehow forgotten the secrets of flight, or he had never flown a powered machine at all.

Helicopter

A Whitehead “helicopter” design of 1908

In its issue of December 26, 1903, just three months after Scientific American had reported Whitehead’s experiments with an obsolete hang glider, the journal noted that the brothers Wilbur and Orville Wright had made some “successful experiments” with a powered flying machine operating under the complete control of a pilot.  Unlike Whitehead, who had kept virtually no record his experiments, the Wrights had documented their work in detailed, notebooks, letters, and photographs, including what is arguably the most famous photograph ever taken.

I rest my case.

Wright Flyer

With Orville Wright at the controls and Wilbur Wright mid-stride, right, the 1903 Wright Flyer makes its first flight at Kitty Hawk, NC, December 17, 1903.

Tom Crouch is a senior curator in the Aeronautics Department at the National Air and Space Museum.

One Story, Two Museums: A Century of Alaska Aviation

In early 2010, I received an e-mail out of the blue from Julie Decker, the chief curator of the Anchorage Museum, asking if I would be interested in co-curating an exhibition on flight and Alaska. Her idea was to bring together artifacts and archival materials from different museums into a gallery that told the story of Alaska and aviation during the state’s centennial of aviation in 2013. The idea was great and I jumped at the chance, which quickly developed into one of the best experiences of my career at the National Air and Space Museum. Our three-year collaboration resulted in the exhibition Arctic Flight: A Century of Alaska Aviation, which opened in Anchorage on February 9 and closes August 11, and the accompanying book, Alaska and the Airplane: A Century of Flight.

Arctic Flight

Arctic Flight includes artifacts, archival images, and films from the National Air and Space Museum, Anchorage Museum, Alaska Aviation Museum, the Alaska Heritage Museum, the Carrie M. McClain Memorial Museum, the National Park Service, the Pioneer Museum, and the Pioneer Air Museum. Photo by Don Mohr.

The history of Alaska during the twentieth and twenty-first centuries is intertwined with the airplane. James V. Martin made the first airplane flight in the territory in his Tractor Aeroplane on July 4, 1913. Aerial Alaska emerged in two important ways during the 1920s and 1930s. The pioneers of flight used the territory as a byway as they flew around the world, over the North Pole, and expressed their visions of the airplane as a global technology. Air-minded Alaskans, embracing their own pioneer spirit, took to the air as bush pilots and started the airplane’s ascendance as the main form of transportation. During World War II and the Cold War, world powers fought over the Aleutians, built an aerial bridge to Siberia, and faced each other during decades of nuclear stalemate. The bush pilots created aviation empires that connected the rest of the world to an industrialized frontier that served villages, resource developers, and outsiders seeking adventure. Along the way, both women and Native pilots found opportunity in the air. One thing remained a constant throughout the century of Alaskan flying, the unpredictable weather and rugged terrain remained the great equalizer.

 

Wiley Post

Collaboration with researchers in Alaska revealed the circumstances behind this color tinted photograph held by our Museum and what it said about how dangerous it was to fly in Alaska. During the summer of 1935, Wiley Post and the famous American humorist, Will Rogers, ventured north to the territory. From left to right, Rogers, famous Alaskan musher Leonhard Seppala, Post, and famous bush pilot Joe Crosson stand near Post’s Lockheed monoplane on a floatplane dock on the Chena River near Fairbanks. Against Crosson’s advice, Post and Rogers pushed on from there and died in an airplane crash near Barrow. National Air and Space Museum (NASM A-44131), Smithsonian Institution.

Besides me, the Museum was involved in other ways. Our Archives provided many historical images like the one above. Photographer Eric Long documented the artifacts selected for Arctic Flight, which became the basis for the photo essays in Alaska and the Airplane.

Survival Equipment

Eric’s photograph of survival gear used by bush pilot Sam White during his long and successful flying career from 1928 to 1964 and now in the collection of the Pioneer Museum in Fairbanks is one of my favorites. Photo by Eric Long. National Air and Space Museum (NASM2012-01294), Smithsonian Institution.

The Collections Department assisted with Eric’s photography and prepared the artifacts that traveled on loan to the Anchorage Museum.

Emil Buehler Conservation Laboratory

In the Emil Buehler Conservation Laboratory at the Udvar-Hazy Center, Lauren Horelick, Lisa Young, and Stephanie Spence (left to right) clean a fuel tank from the airship Norge, which made the first crossing of the Arctic Ocean in 1926. Photo by Eric Long. National Air and Space Museum (NASM2013-09437), Smithsonian Institution.

Anthony Wallace

Anthony Wallace from the Collections Processing Unit traveled to Anchorage to assist with the move of the exhibition’s central aircraft artifact, a 1929 Stearman C2B, from the Alaska Aviation Museum to the Anchorage Museum. Ted Gardeline, on lift, and Anthonyare working to lift the C2B fuselage to the third floor gallery. Photo by Don Mohr.

Jeremy Kinney and Julie Decker

Jeremy Kinney and Julie Decker with the Stearman C2B at the opening of Arctic Flight. Photo by Don Mohr.

Co-curating an exhibition and co-authoring a book is a challenging process in itself. You would think trying to do that from over 4,000 miles away, with a few memorable research trips thrown in for good measure, would be nearly impossible, but the collaboration between the National Air and Space Museum and the Anchorage Museum was a grand partnership. We hope that the people of Alaska and anyone enthusiastic for the airplane will find the final product as exciting and worthwhile as we did putting it together.

Jeremy Kinney is a curator in the Aeronautics Department of the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum.