Costume Ideas from the Great War

Posted on October 21, 2011 by Allan Janus

An Aeronautical Ballet, 1918. NASM 9A 02153

If you’re still stumped over what your costume will be for next Saturday’s big Air & Scare at the Museum’s Udvar-Hazy Center (October 29 from 2 – 8 pm), the photograph shown above, from the July 1918 issue of Die Luftflotte, might provide some inspiration. The Hamburg Youth Division of the German Airfleet Association (the Deutscher Luftflotten-Verein) performs their “great and patriotic” aeronautical ballet Through Battle to Victory at a rally of the association to benefit injured pilots and their families. The dancers outfitted as monoplanes are a superb touch – the fellow on the right with the hammer must be Thor, but there’s no explanation in the original caption as to what the other characters portray. Maybe the chap with the umbrella is portraying a Morane Parasol fighter?

If you picked an aircraft-themed costume for Halloween, what would you choose? I’d like to go trick-or-treating as a sleek SPAD XIII or an Albatros D.Va. But sadly, I’d be more realistic as a blimp… Add your choice to the comments.

Allan Janus is a museum specialist in the Museum’s Archives Division.

Mountain of Arabia

Posted on October 9, 2011 by Allan Janus

Joseph D. Mountain. Al Jubayl, Saudi Arabia, May, 1935.Photograph by Max Steineke. SI 92-16169

Blogs across the Smithsonian will give an inside look at the Institution’s archival collections and practices during a month long blogathon in celebration of October’s American Archives Month . See additional posts from our other participating blogs, as well as related events and resources, on the Smithsonian’s Archives Month website.

In 1934, Joseph Dunlap Mountain, a thirty-two year old former Army Air Service pilot, signed on with the California-Arabian Standard Oil Company (CASOC, now Saudi Aramco) to serve as a pilot, aerial photographer and mechanic on the company’s 1934-’35 survey expedition to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.

Water vendor. Al Hofuf, Saudi Arabia, March 19, 1935. Photograph by Joseph D. Mountain. SI 92-16126.

The expedition was, of course, looking for oil. In addition to the aerial photographs he took from the expedition’s Fairchild 71 monoplane, Mountain also snapped hundreds of other photographs, making a fascinating document of the desert kingdom at the very edge of the tremendous changes that the petroleum era brought to the Gulf. The images are a fascinating record of traditional Saudi Arabian life, crafts and architecture. Mountain photographed portraits of dancers at Eid al-Fitr celebrations, market scenes in Hofuf and the Old Town of Al Jubayl, camel caravans, Saudi hunters with their hawks, and pearl fishermen and their dhows. Mountain also extensively photographed members of the CASOC expedition – Art Brown, Hugh Burchiel, J. W. (Soak) Hoover, Russell Gerow, Dick Kerr, Schuyler (Krug) Henry and Max Steineke – at work and relaxing with their Saudi co-workers and acquaintances.

Looking down on the well, Fort Dammam. January 5, 1935.Photograph by Joseph D. Mountain. SI 92-15966.

Later, Joseph Mountain flew as a pilot for Trans World Airlines. During World War II, he returned to active duty with the U.S. Army Air Corps. He was awarded the Bronze Star while serving in the China-Burma-India Theater and supervising supply missions over “The Hump” – the dangerous air route over the Himalaya Range. After the war, Mountain worked in the nascent computer industry and founded a computer manufacturing company and a data processing firm. Joseph Mountain died on November 25, 1970 at the age of 68, and his family donated his photographs, diaries and flight log books, reports, and maps to the National Air and Space Museum. His Saudi photographs can be viewed online – portraits of an exotic, but not so distant past.

Allan Janus is a museum specialist in the National Air and Space Museum’s Archives Division.

Where are the Voyagers now?

Posted on October 6, 2011 by The National Air and Space Museum

The remarkable twin Voyager spacecraft continue to explore the outer reaches of the solar system decades after they completed their surveys of the Outer Planets. Launched in 1977 (September 5 for Voyager 1 (V1) and August 20 for Voyager 2 (V2), whose trajectory took it past Jupiter after Voyager 1), the spacecraft pair made many fundamental discoveries as they flew past Jupiter (March 1979 for V1, July 1979 for V2) and Saturn (November 1980 for V1, August 1981 for V2). The path of Voyager 2 past Saturn was targeted so that it continued within the plane of the solar system, allowing it to become the first spacecraft to visit Uranus (January 1986) and Neptune (August 1989). Following the Neptune encounter, both spacecraft started a new phase of exploration under the intriguing title of the Voyager Interstellar Mission.

Voyager Spacecraft

Five instruments continue to collect important measurements of magnetic fields, plasmas, and charged particles as both spacecraft explore different portions of the solar system beyond the orbits of the planets. Voyager 1 is now more than 118 astronomical units (one AU is equal to the average orbital distance of Earth from the Sun) distant from the sun, traveling at a speed (relative to the sun) of 17.1 kilometers per second (10.6 miles per second). Voyager 2 is now more than 96 AU from the sun, traveling at a speed of 15.5 kilometers per second (9.6 miles per second). Both spacecraft are moving considerably faster than Pioneers 10 and 11, two earlier spacecraft that became the first robotic visitors to fly past Jupiter and Saturn in the mid-70s.

This processed color image of Jupiter was produced in 1990 by the U.S. Geological Survey from a Voyager image captured in 1979.

As seen in the night sky at Earth, Voyager 1 is within the confines of the constellation Ophiuchus, only slightly above the celestial equator; no telescope can see it, but radio contact is expected to be maintained for at least the next ten years. Voyager 2 is within the bounds of the constellation Telescopium (which somehow sounds quite appropriate) in the far southern night sky.

Diagram of the Voyager and Pioneer spacecrafts leaving the solar system.

Both spacecraft have already passed something called the Termination Shock^† (December 2004 for V1, August 2007 for V2), where the solar wind slows as it starts to interact with the particles and fields present between the stars. It is expected that both spacecraft will encounter the Heliopause, where the solar wind ceases as true interstellar space begins, from 10 to 20 years after crossing the Termination Shock. Theories exist for what should be present in interstellar space, but the Voyagers will become the first man-made objects to go beyond the influences of the Sun, hopefully returning the first measurements of what it is like out there. Each spacecraft is carrying a metal record with encoded sounds and sights from Earth, along with the needle needed to read the recordings, and simplified instructions for where the spacecraft came from, in case they are eventually discovered by intelligent extra-terrestrials.

The Voyager "Sounds of Earth" Record, placed on board the Voyager spacecraft contains sounds and images selected to portray the diversity of life and culture on Earth.

Keep track of the Voyager spacecraft on the official Voyager Interstellar Mission website or follow @NASAVoyager2 on Twitter.

Jim Zimbelman is a geologist in the Center for Earth and Planetary Studies at the National Air and Space Museum.

^†The sun ejects a continuous stream of charged particles (electrons, protons, etc) that is collectively termed the solar wind. The particles are traveling extremely fast and are dense enough to form a very tenuous atmosphere; the heliosphere represents the volume of space where the effects of the solar wind dominate over those of particles in interstellar space. The solar wind particles are moving very much faster than the local speed of sound represented by their low volume density. When the particles begin to interact with interstellar particles and fields (the interaction can be either physically running into other particles or experiencing an electromagnetic force resulting from a charged particle moving within a magnetic field), then they start to slow down. The point at which they become subsonic (rather than their normal hypersonic speed) is the Termination Shock.

Flying the “Spirit of Tuskegee” Part III

Posted on October 5, 2011 by The National Air and Space Museum

This piece is a follow up to the posts below, in which I describe my experience flying a PT-13 Stearman that was used to train Tuskegee Airmen during WWII, from Moton Field, Alabama to Andrews AFB. This aircraft has been accessioned into the collection of the National Museum of African American History and Culture. Please see:

Tuskegee Bird Flies North
Spirit of Tuskegee Arrives at Andrews AFB
“Spirit of Tuskegee” arrives at the Mary Baker Engen Restoration Hangar – Part II

Capt. Matt Quy instructs modern military curator Dik Daso in the proper use of safety belts in the cockpit

“Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away…” I was a USAF pilot. But I had not flown an aircraft since I retired in 2001. I was both excited and a bit nervous as Matt provided my orientation to the Stearman front cockpit. It is a simple plane and the front seat offers tremendous vistas, very few cockpit instruments to check, a basic throttle and mixture control on the left side and a control stick that when seated is centered between the knees.

Sitting in the sun at Moton Field was HOT. I mean totally-sweaty-in-five-minutes hot. After I was safely strapped into the seat, Matt hopped into the rear cockpit, fastened his safety belt and shouted the traditional engine start warning, “Clear Prop!” He had pulled the propeller through the arc about six times before we got in and the engine putted and popped to life. The propwash immediately lowered the temperature 20 degrees and things became very comfortable.

After a quick wave to the ground staff, Matt taxied the Stearman to the active runway. Since his forward vision is limited, he steered from left to right making a continuous “S” pattern to maintain a partial view of the way ahead. As we approached the hammerhead (the end of the taxiway where engine run-up’s are done prior to takeoff) Matt transmitted out departure direction over the radio so that any aircraft nearby would be alerted to our initial route of flight. After holding the brakes and running the 300 horse power Lycoming engine to full while checking the engine instruments, Matt taxied onto the active runway, gradually pushed up the throttle and we began the takeoff roll. We were airborne in about 121 meters (400 feet).

On the departure leg at Moton Field, Matt asked me if I was ready to fly the aircraft. It took me a moment to stow my iPad as I was attempting to send a “tweet” from the air (It didn’t work). I had to tuck it under my leg because there was no map storage case in the front cockpit. That task accomplished, I reported that I was ready and he passed me control in the way that all Air Force pilots do—“OK, You have the aircraft,” to which I replied, “I have the aircraft!” including a little shake of the control stick that signaled a definite transfer of aircraft control.

I was flying a Stearman that had been flown by Tuskegee Airmen during WW II…to myself I thought, “Are you KIDDING…this isn’t really happening.” But it was.

During the first leg of the journey, I worked on polishing my rusty pilot skills so that Matt wouldn’t need to worry much while I was at the controls. He gave me a few pointers on maintaining speed and altitude, adjusted the power for efficiency, and navigated via land features and towns. We swapped control a few times during the hop, and we both enjoyed the scenery and the camaraderie that Air Force pilots seem to always generate. By the end of the near two-hour flight I had narrowed my margins from plus or minus 91 meters (300 feet) in altitude to plus or minus 15 meters (50 feet) and my course control had improved as well. Matt joked with me about being a “mostly-jet” pilot as I hadn’t touched the rudder once during the flight. For a propeller-driven airplane, yaw is created by the rotation of the prop, and for a real “stick and rudder man,” being just a little off coordinated flight is easy to pick up. Next leg, I started touching a little right rudder to coax the Stearman into flying a perfectly straight path through the sky. I think I had figured it out by the last day. Only Matt can confirm that fact.

In my last blog entry I recounted our flight over Appomattox Courthouse (“Spirit of Tuskegee” arrives at the Mary Baker Engen Restoration Hangar – Part II). As far as linking history to the plane, that was by far the most amazing moment. But there were other significant and extremely fun times during our 11 hours in the air. Here are a few of those.

On the way to Toccoa, Georgia, Tina had asked Matt to fly past Currahee Mountain. The rough translation from the native language is, “stands alone.” Appropriate as the 242 meter (800 foot) mountain can be seen from many miles away when the air is crisp and clear. During WW II, several paratrooper units trained for combat at the foot of Currahee.

Currahee Mountain, Georgia, through the Stearman wing

When we landed at Toccoa, the weather looked a bit threatening. As Matt pulled up the fuel pump (that’s right, you just taxi right up to the pump like you do in your car), a young man who worked at the airfield approached Matt and offered to shelter the Stearman in a nearby maintenance hangar to protect it from looming thunderstorms. So Matt graciously accepted and we all breathed just a bit easier knowing that the aircraft was safe and sound. And while it did not rain or thunder while we were at Toccoa, the generosity and thoughtfulness demonstrated by this young fellow was just wonderful.

The PT-13D in the MX hangar at Toccoa

On the next leg to Shelby, NC, Matt and I enjoyed some spectacular cloud formations and wonderful, very spiritual images of the sun piercing through them—breathtaking and humbling.

Looking back, much of the flight was stunning and spiritual

Perhaps the most fun we had on the trip was at Orange, VA, where we quite accidentally met up with a great friend and fellow pilot, Matt Jolley. Jolley keeps his L-2 at Orange and happened to be there to move his plane around and secure another family member’s flyable Chipmunk before the arrival of a sizeable storm. But instead, in another simple act of kindness, Jolley gave Quy the keys to his hangar so that we could get the Stearman under cover, and, as it turned out, it was a very good thing. Although Matt and I had planned to make an additional hop that afternoon, the weather turned out to be too extensive so Matt decided to stay put in Orange. We all helped moving and tying down the three vintage planes and finished securing them just before a gulley-washer of a rain storm struck the field. The storm provided another tremendous image to add to the trip log.

Man, did it ever rain. Even though Matt Jolley gave up his hangar for the Stearman, he was rewarded with this remarkable shot of his L-2 surrounded by a colorful rainbow.

Matt Jolley happens also to be the host of the only 24/7 radio program devoted entirely to warbirds—WarbirdRadio.com. So to pass some time while waiting for the storm to pass, Jolley interviewed Quy for the radio program.

Matt Quy (left) and Matt Jolley

The following day, the three of us had a rare opportunity to do a little bit of formation flying—us in the Stearman and Jolley in the Chipmunk. We took off just after dawn and the rising sun was simply unearthly.

The Chipmunk and the Stearman on the ground at Orange, VA

Jolley returned to the field and landed while Matt demonstrated some simply acrobatic maneuvers for me in the Stearman. In reality, this is a very maneuverable warbird and can turn on a dime. We returned to Orange for some fuel, said our “thank yous” and farewells to Matt Jolley and the airfield staff, and took to the skies for the trip to Manassas, VA. We had an appointment with inspectors from the TSA and we didn’t want to be late. I took a short video at Manassas of what the landing looks like from the front cockpit. Matt is actually much smoother on landing than the clip shows as I “fumbled the football at touchdown” for just a second.

When a civil airplane is going to land inside the controlled airspace that surrounds the greater Washington DC area, the pilot, plane, and passengers must meet with inspectors from the TSA prior to entering the controlled area. While Matt is an active duty USAF officer, the plane is technically a civilian. We were to meet the team at Manassas for clearance before the short hop to Andrews AFB that afternoon. We arrived at the terminal building and waiting for us there was TSA—not one or two, but four TSA inspectors! After a search and baggage inspection, the TSA folks examined the Stearman inside and out and were finally satisfied that Matt, me, and the Stearman were cleared to proceed to Andrews AFB. They had a sense of humor after all was done and even posed with our luggage at the plane. They were all great young Americans.

The TSA team with Matt at Manassas

Then it was time to fly over to Andrews AFB, my last leg in the PT-13D. The flight went by far too quickly as both Matt and I were busy map reading to remain outside of the controlled airspace until it became necessary to enter for the approach to the airfield. After another perfect landing, Matt taxied the Stearman to Hangar #3 where it would remain until Friday—the day of its final flight to the Hazy Center.

After engine shutdown, Matt graciously fielded interview question and posed for pictures. He is a tremendous ambassador for the Tuskegee Airmen and the Air Force.

Capt. Quy fields a few questions upon arrival at Andrews AFB

In the final installment of this series I will fill you in on the interim plans for the PT-13D at the Udvar-Hazy Center near Dulles International Airport and also how the cooperative spirit at the Smithsonian helped to bring the Spirit of Tuskegee to Washington.

If you check our flight itinerary below, you will see some pretty rural locations. When flying under see and avoid rules in visual flight rules weather it is best to keep well away from large towns—and airports. At each stop the people we met were absolutely fabulous. They shared protective hangar space, helped to refuel the aircraft, lent us a car, drove us to a hotel, picked us up from a hotel, admired Matt’s plane, and took photographs. What great Americans—kind, thoughtful, interested, and aviation fanatics.

Flight Log:

Sunday, 31 July
Moton Field to Covington Muni, GA	1:47
Covington, GA to Toccoa, GA Via Currahee Mountain	1:00
Toccoa, GA to Shelby, NC	1:45
Monday, 1 August
Shelby, NC to Blue Ridge Airport, Martinsville, VA	1:43
Martinsville, VA to Orange, VA Via Appomattox Courthouse	2:00
Tuesday, 2 August
Orange, VA (Local Hop)	:55
Orange, VA to Manassas, VA	1:00
Manassas, VA to Andrews AFB, MD	:50

Dik Daso is a curator in the Aeronautics Division of the National Air and Space Museum.

Telstar and the “Global Village”

Posted on September 27, 2011 by The National Air and Space Museum

Since October 1997, the Space History Division has been celebrating a number of fiftieth anniversaries: Sputnik, Vanguard, Yuri Gagarin’s flight, Alan Shepard’s Mercury Flight. Next July we hope to celebrate another. On July 10^th, 1962 at 11:47 GMT, the world’s first transmission of a television image by satellite took place, using the Telstar satellite. Prior to Telstar’s launch that summer, NASA experimented with a passive reflector—“Echo” to transmit signals over the horizon, but engineers soon realized that the most practical way to transmit television, with its high bandwidth requirements, was by an “active satellite”: one that would receive a signal and then retransmit it to a ground station on another continent. (Most people know the name “Telstar,” if not for the satellite, then for the hit instrumental song by the Tornados, with its “space age” synthesizer sound.)

An engineering back-up of the Telstar satellite, in the collections of the National Air and Space Museum.

The antenna was located in a remote area of Brittany, the westernmost part of France. It was protected by a flexible Dacron dome, which was transparent to microwave radio frequencies. Photo: Musée des Télécoms, Pleumeur-Bodou, France.

Last week I had the great fortune to visit the French village of Pleumeur-Bodou, on the Brittany coast, where that first transmission was received. The microwave antenna in the US, at Andover, Maine, was dismantled years ago, but the one in Brittany has been preserved and is in excellent condition (although it is no longer used). Because Telstar flew in a low-Earth orbit, it was only visible to the ground stations for a few minutes at a time, unlike today’s geostationary satellites, whose 24-hour orbits position them in the same place in the sky at all times. So the antenna had to track the satellite carefully as it passed overhead. Unlike modern dish-shaped antennas, this one was shaped like a giant horn, based on the design of microwave repeaters built by AT&T for long-distance telephone in the U.S. Entering the 64-meter (210 foot) diameter protective Dacron dome, and climbing onto the giant horn was an experience I will never forget.

The antenna was not a dish but a horn, mounted on bearings to track the satellite as it passed overhead. The design was adopted by AT&T, which built it, based on existing microwave telephone relay antennas. Photo: Musée des Télécoms, Pleumeur-Bodou, France

It worked. The initial test on July 10 was followed by images of the U.S. flag waving, Mt. Rushmore, and a “live” portion of a press conference held by President Kennedy. The French, in turn, transmitted a tape of Yves Montand singing “La Chansonnette.” After a string of Soviet firsts in space, this was one the U.S. could claim as a first, finally. A modest beginning, but look at what Telstar has brought us. We take it for granted that whenever there is a major event happening anywhere in the world: a Royal wedding, a benefit rock concert, an earthquake—anything—we expect to see it “live.” Marshall McLuhan prophesized that the “cool” medium of television would make us all inhabitants of a “global village.” That did not happen right away, which led people to dismiss his predictions as mere fancy. But with the combination of satellite telecommunications, the Internet, and Facebook (the last two appearing after McLuhan’s death), who would say that he was wrong? And it all began with Telstar.

Paul Ceruzzi is Chair of the Space History Division of the National Air and Space Museum.

AirSpace

Category Archives: History

Costume Ideas from the Great War

Mountain of Arabia

Where are the Voyagers now?

Flying the “Spirit of Tuskegee” Part III

Telstar and the “Global Village”