Archive for the 'Stories' Category

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New Plants Blast off in the Landscape

Space Age Mums

“Space Age Mums” advertisement in Flower Grower, 1961. Smithsonian Institution Libraries, Botany and Horticulture Branch.

Moonbeams, rockets, and Blue Angels are not just showcased in the National Air and Space Museum — they are in the garden too!  The extensive terraced garden that surrounds the Museum is now home to many plants with extraordinary cultivar names that reflect the Air and Space theme, like Skyrocket Juniper (Juniperus scopulorum ‘Skyrocket’) and Globemaster ornamental onion (Allium giganteum ‘Globemaster’).

Cultivars are plants with unique characteristics that maintain these traits through breeding.  These plants are typically bestowed a distinctive name which may reflect a particular attribute. Skyrocket Juniper, for example, received its name because it grows quickly to a 6 meter (20 foot) tall spire, but only reaches .5 meters (2 feet) wide, thus resembling a tall green rocket. The range of plant names that can be assigned is practically limitless.  Memorable historical events can also inspire the naming — or renaming — of plants. The launch of Sputnik I in 1957, for instance, opened new frontiers of plant names befitting the Space Age; common marigolds and petunias were reintroduced to gardeners as blazing comets or flying saucers in outer space.

Since January, Smithsonian Gardens staff has been hard at work enhancing the terrace garden surrounding the National Air and Space Museum.  A work plan was launched with a brainstorming session that focused on how best to bring the Air and Space theme to the garden area, essentially reflecting the inside outdoors, and beginning the visitors’ Museum experience as soon as they stepped onto the grounds.  Preliminary planning resulted in an extensive list of plants with air- and space-inspired cultivar names.

 

Smithsonian Gardens

Smithsonian Gardens staffers Jeff Smith and Thomas Hattaway planting Minuteman, Blue Cadet, and August Moon hostas at the Museum

Over the coming months, the garden areas at the Museum will be enhanced with nearly 300 perennials and 13,000 bulbs.  Just a few of the exciting new plants going into the garden include Minuteman and Blue Angel Hosta, orange Tang tulips, giant purple Globemaster ornamental onion, tiny Moonbeam coreopsis, and Eremurus bungei which are commonly called desert candles but very much look like the fiery exhaust that follows the space shuttle into space.

 

Hostas

'Minuteman' Hostas

Despite being earth-bound, the garden at the National Air and Space Museum incorporates a variety of plants, shrubs and trees that pay homage to the skies above us. Now, visitors will not only see Cold War relics, rockets’ red glare, and jet engines inside, but also jetfire daffodils and Minuteman Hostas outside!

 

Brett McNish is a supervisory horticulturist for Smithsonian Gardens

 

 

35 Years at the National Air and Space Museum

When I began to work at the National Air and Space Museum in March 1975, I was the Museum’s sole reference librarian, having graduated from Catholic University of America with an M.S. in Library Science the previous year. I had only been working for a few weeks, when I was told that we’d be moving from our Arts and Industries Building location to a brand new facility down the street. My boss, a professional of some standing in the librarian community, knew her job well, but she didn’t know much about moving a library, so it was up to me and one of my stalwart colleagues, a guy named Bill Jackson, whom some old-timers will remember fondly, to figure out how to box everything up and move it less than a city block away.

 

Arts and Industries

Rocket Row along the west side of the Arts and Industries Building before the National Air and Space Museum was built.

We wouldn’t open the new Museum to the public until the next year—July 1976, but the goal was to get everything into the newly-constructed building by end of summer 1975 so we could be fully operational for the official opening. That meant a lot of preparation—trying to figure out, in our case, how to pack books and other library materials, and label the containers so that we knew what we had at the other end. Another consideration was conservation. We were told that we had to attend a briefing given by Dr. Robert M. Organ, chief of the Conservation Analytical Laboratory, a predecessor of what is now the Museum Conservation Institute. I don’t remember much about the lecture, except the upshot, which was that we were to place in every box that was to be moved, a square of cotton gauze into which would be put a scoop of moth crystals (I’m not sure exactly how much); the gauze would then be tied with string. (It looked like a bizarre moth crystal wedding favor.) The moth crystals would prevent any live insects from being transported in the boxes that traveled from one place to the other. So before anything could actually be moved we had to prepare what seem liked hundreds—maybe even thousands—of these little containers of moth crystals.

 

The day was set in May 1975 for the production of the moth crystal packets. We had everybody involved, staff, interns, and whomever else we could corral into doing the odious—and odoriferous—task. We formed an assembly line; some people cut the gauze, some people put the crystals into the gauze squares, and some people collected the packets and placed them into large cardboard containers. The Arts and Industries Building wasn’t air conditioned, so we opened all the doors and windows and turned on two giant fans, but to no avail. The smell of moth crystals hung heavily in the air for what seemed like forever. It took us a couple of weeks, but we produced what we thought were enough of the packets so that one could be placed in every box to be moved. (Some of this process was done in a less-than-scientific way, so we may have missed some boxes.) We went home every evening reeking of moth crystals and were unable to get that smell out of our nostrils. I began to wonder why in the world I ever took the job.

 

An evening in July was chosen for the move. The movers were mostly college students hired by a local moving company who had little or no idea of what they were doing. We spent an entire summer’s night loading the boxes into the moving van, removing them at the other end, and hauling them up to the space in the west end of the building where the library would be. Around 10:00 pm, the moving boys decided they needed a beer break and dispersed to who knows where. At 10:30 or so, some of them hadn’t returned, but we couldn’t wait. We just went on without them. Somehow we managed to get everything transferred. By the time we opened the last of the boxes, sometime at the end of summer, we discovered that the moth crystals had evaporated!

 

National Air and Space Museum

The National Air and Space Museum being constructed ca. 1974. Opening its doors on July 1, 1976, the National Air and Space Museum quickly became the most popular museum in the world.

 

By October the library was up and running, and even though the Museum was still under construction and you couldn’t go anywhere outside the third floor without a hard hat, we were answering mail and telephone calls—no visitors yet, of course. The day of the opening came on July 1, 1976, and we had no idea of the horde of visitors who wanted to use the library (no appointments were necessary in those days). We were literally overrun, but it was a good feeling because after so much work, the place was a success. To this day, I can’t go near a moth crystal without thinking of my earliest days at the National Air and Space Museum.

 

dom

The author (second from left) shortly after he became a curator at the National Air and Space Muesum, at the September 1982 opening of the exhibition Black Wings: The American Black in Aviation. Other staff and volunteers who worked on the exhibition are from left to right Louis R. Purnell, Lou Lomax, Edna Owens, Von Hardesty, and Ted Robinson (Federal Aviation Administration).

 

 

 

 

Dominick A. Pisano is a curator in the Aeronautics Division of the National Air and Space Museum.

 

Mr. Lincoln’s Air Force: Top 10 Reasons to visit the Museum on June 11th

How do the National Air and Space Museum and the Civil War intersect?  Come find out as we tell the story of the Union Balloon Corps  founded in June 1861 by President Abraham Lincoln. 150 years ago next month Thaddeus Lowe demonstrated ballooning to President Lincoln on a spot just north from where the Museum now stands on the National Mall.

The Civil War themed family day for all ages, called Mr. Lincoln’s Air Force, will take place Saturday June 11th, 2011 from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m.

There are possibly 101 reasons to come to the family day, but here are the top ten:

10. Learn about the Union Balloon Corps because it would be a great conversation starter at your next summer picnic.

Thaddeus Lowe

Lowe's balloon the Intrepid being inflated at Fair Oaks, Virginia, May 1862

9. Experience what D.C. was like in 1861 through amazing photographs and walking tours with National Park Service Rangers.

8. Learn how Civil War ballooning impacted the future of espionage techniques.

 

Thaddeus Lowe

Thaddeus Lowe goes aloft aboard the balloon Intrepid to observe Confederate activity during the Battle of Fair Oaks, May 31-June 1, 1862.

7. Build your own balloon replica from strawberry baskets, pipe cleaners, and paper plates.

6. Indulge your inner-Civil War buff, pull out the Union soldier costume that you’ve never been able to wear, until now.

5. Design and construct your own binoculars and see a pair actually used by Thaddeus Lowe.

4. Meet “Abraham Lincoln” and ask him all those questions you’ve been meaning to ask since you read Team of Rivals.

3. Meet author Gail Jarrow who will be signing her book, Lincoln’s Flying Spies: Thaddeus Lowe and the Civil War Balloon Corps.

2. Talk with “Thaddeus Lowe” and members of his Balloon Corps and find out how balloons managed to stay aloft during battles.

 

Thaddeus Lowe

Aeronaut Thaddeus S.C. Lowe

1. See a massive balloon inflated on the National Mall. It probably won’t happen again for another 150 years so make sure you see it on June 11th!

More about this historic event.

Emily Kotecki is the family day programs intern at the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, and a graduate student at The George Washington University studying museum education.

Bill Chases the Hindenburg

Bill Eaton

Bill Eaton, Museum volunteer

May 6th marks the anniversary of the tragic end of the airship Hindenburg, destroyed by fire as it came in for a landing at the Lakehurst Naval Air Station, New Jersey, in 1937. Last year, to commemorate the anniversary, we posted the story of Anne “Cookie” Chotzinoff Grossman, who, on October 9th, 1936, spotted the Hindenburg in flight from her Connecticut schoolyard. She took off in hot pursuit along with her brother Blair, but the giant airship got away from them; Cookie and Blair trudged back to school, and Cookie was made to write “I will not follow the Hindenburg” on the blackboard a hundred times.

Last week I mentioned this story to my colleagues at the Museum’s Archives Division reading room at the Paul E. Garber Facility, and Bill Eaton, one of our volunteers, told us proudly that he too had chased after the Hindenburg as a child. We begged him to tell us the story; here it is:

The scene opens in the schoolyard of Blessed Sacrament School, Providence, Rhode Island. It’s the early afternoon of May 6th, 1937 and recess has just started. A bunch of the kids, including young Bill Eaton, seven years old and in the third grade, have just chosen sides for a round of Alevio, the hot game of the season. Suddenly, another group of kids starts shouting and pointing upwards. Bill looks up and spots the Hindenburg, sailing over Providence…

“… I really took a step back — Holy Smoke, it was big, really big! [It was] pointed right at us — just then, it began a slow turn to the left, showing us its complete side and tail. We could hear the motors — a vibrant hum — not too loud, but strong…”

Huge uproar among the Blessed Sacrament students ensues — ”What is it?” “Where’s it going?” And even “Is it dangerous?” Bill recalls that a number of the children were terrified of the huge, looming shape — one of the younger kids even had an unfortunate accident (Bill refuses to name the victim, even at this late date). One of the more air-minded kids tells the others that they’ve spotted the Hindenburg; Bill, his pal Bobby Aldritch, and a bunch of the other boys jump the schoolyard fence and take off after the dirigible, out to Regent and down Academy Avenue.

map

Bill Eaton's Chase of the Hindenburg, via Google Maps.

The Hindenburg soon pulls out ahead of its pursuers, and as the kids watch, the airship begins a slow climb, levels off, and it’s gone, on its way to Lakehurst. Recess was still going on as Bill and his friends returned to the schoolyard. One of the teachers turns on the radio and they hear all about the great airship’s journey from Germany.

Later on at home, Bill’s mother also turned the radio on, and they heard the news from Lakehurst — at 7:25 PM, the Hindenburg caught fire as it was coming in to land — 13 passengers, 22 crew members, and one member of the ground crew died. On Saturday, Bill and his buddies went to the movies and saw the famous newsreel footage of the disaster.

Bill didn’t have to write at the blackboard, as Cookie did, because of his escapade, but he didn’t get off entirely scot-free, either. The eagle-eyed principal of Blessed Sacrament had spotted Bill legging it from the playground, and she called Bill’s father and turned him in. As his father listened to the principal’s testimony, Bill waited in trepidation — his father was not shy about handing out punishment. Imagine Bill’s relief when he heard his father reply, “Sister, Bill saw a piece of history today!” It was decided that, as a witness to history, young Bill could be excused just this once. And after his father hung up the phone, he said to Bill, “Son, you won’t forget this for the rest of your life.” Today, Bill Eaton is 81 years old, retired from the Air Force as an Electronic Warfare Officer on B-52s and B-66s. He lives in Vienna, Virgina, and kindly volunteers his time helping us catalogue and rehouse photographs from our Wright/ McCook Field Still Photograph Collection. And he still hasn’t forgotten the day he and his pals chased the Hindenburg down Academy Avenue.

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

Musings on Black History Month-Women’s History Month and the History of Aviation

For a number of years now, the United States has set aside February and March to celebrate Black History Month and National Women’s History Month, respectively. While these commemorations are praiseworthy, they should not disguise the fact that they have been rather contentious culturally. Some would argue that it is insulting to African Americans to celebrate their history for only one month every year. In the case of women, National Women’s History Month has become a call to arms in an ongoing struggle for women’s rights, to ensure educational and economic opportunities for all women, and for ending violence against them. Moreover, these celebrations give the impression of being restitution for past historical wrongs and injustices.

Unfortunately, the use of these tributes in the history of aviation has its own sense of tokenism. Celebrations of the aviation accomplishments of African Americans and women should not ignore the fact that often these groups had to struggle against deeply-ingrained racial and gender prejudice. Laudably, the interwar years saw attempts to democratize aviation, with such programs as “An Airplane for Everyman,” a New Deal attempt to design and build an affordable aircraft for Americans, and the Civilian Pilot Training Program, another New Deal program created to stimulate the private flying business and train thousands of pilots in preparation for wartime. Ironically, while attempts were being made to make flying all inclusive, blacks and women were routinely disenfranchised from aviation because of prejudice.

Eugene Bullard

Eugene Bullard is the acknowledged first African American military pilot, although he flew for the French flying service not the US Air Service. An American expatriate to France, Bullard was a hero of the Battle of Verdun before he began to fly for the French.

Eugene Bullard, the acknowledged first American black military pilot was initially accepted into the Aéronautique Militaire, trained as a pilot, and flew in combat, but was refused entry into the U.S. Air Service largely because of racial prejudice. There is some reason to believe that Bullard was subsequently booted out of the French air service because of American influence and American racial prejudice. Bessie Coleman, the acknowledged first black woman aviator in United States, was so determined to learn to fly that she had to travel to France to do so. Her successors in Chicago were forced to create a “shadow” activity, flying in segregated circumstances, because they were barred from the white flying community. William J. Powell, who established black flying activity and trade education programs in California, saw aviation as a way for blacks to be accepted into the mainstream. As enlightened as Powell’s ideas were, they came to naught in a climate of racial prejudice.

Bessie Coleman Aero Club and William Powell

Founded by William J. Powell (standing, extreme right) in California 1931, the Bessie Coleman Aero Club took the name of the first acknowledged African-American woman pilot. The club promoted flying activities and trade education in the belief that aviation would break down racial barriers. Powell insisted that the club be open to all races and to women.

Military flying was especially an area where blacks were excluded because they were deemed intellectually unfit. In October 1925 a report prepared for the U.S. Army chief of staff, titled “The Use of Negro Manpower in War,” was reportedly the result of several years of study by War College students and faculty. The report concluded that Negro men considered themselves to be inferior to white men, subservient by nature, and lacked initiative and resourcefulness. Blacks were only “fair” laborers and thought to be substandard as technicians and fighters. Blacks were also very low on the scale of human evolution, with a smaller cranial cavity than that of whites. Blacks were thought to be profoundly superstitious by nature, and to possess numerous character and moral weaknesses, among them petty lying, promiscuity, and a tendency to commit atrocities in regard to white women. But the most injurious accusation was that blacks were cowardly. This study would be the basis for the exclusion of black Americans from the Army Air Corps, but it could also have served as a blueprint for keeping them out of flying altogether. Even when the U.S. Army Air Corps was finally forced by law to admit blacks into its flying program on January 16, 1941, it was on a segregated basis until well after WWII.

The War College report, however, had a larger context. Reinforcement for racism was provided by nineteenth-century scientific theory. For example, Samuel G. Morton, a professor of anatomy at the University of Pennsylvania, wrote numerous works, among which Crania Americana; or, A Comparative View of the Skulls of Various Aboriginal Nations of North and South America (1839), An Inquiry into the Distinctive Characteristics of the Aboriginal Race of America (1842), and Crania Aegyptiaca; or, Observations on Egyptian Ethnography, Derived from Anatomy, History, and the Monuments (1844), are considered to be the foundation of a theory of scientific racism. Crania Americana, for example, sought to divide peoples into four hierarchical racial classifications, based on measurable physical differences, especially as regards the capacity of the brain, with Europeans at the high end of the scale, and Asians, Native Americans and Africans at the low end.

In the twentieth century, the idea of the separation of the races and the superiority of one race over another was further reinforced by psychology. Anthropologist Audrey Smedley [Race in North America: Origins and Evolution of a Worldview (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 2007)] points out that the development of intelligence tests was one avenue of reinforcing the idea of race and racial superiority and inferiority established scientifically in the nineteenth century. These tests claimed that intelligence was measurable and based on hereditary differences rather than environmental factors. “The IQ tests,” Smedley writes, “became the favorite technique of pro-heredity advocates, and their success reflects the fact that their findings and interpretations have been highly compatible with the racial worldview to which Americans in general have subscribed.” (293)

In the case of women, Blanche Stuart Scott, Matilde Moissant, Harriet Quimby, Ruth Law, and Katherine Stinson overcame numerous barriers in the years before WWI to fly and set flying records. One of the largest obstacles was the overwhelming impression that piloting an airplane was a masculine endeavor, an idea that had been promulgated in the early years of flying. It was the Great War, however, that definitely put a masculine stamp on flying, especially with the creation of the “ace,” a fighter pilot who gained prominence by the number of victories (aircraft shot down) scored against the enemy. Businessmen like Andre Michelin, the French tire mogul established a million-franc fund for aviators who had distinguished themselves in battle. By 1916, governments began to recognize aviators and exploit their nationalistic and propagandistic value. Courage in aerial combat was seen as a distinctly male trait.

American cultural taboos against women taking part in combat affirmed that women would not be allowed to fly in combat; thus, there was no possibility that women could achieve distinction as military pilots. Nor were women admitted into other areas of aviation, except in a token manner, despite the fact that there were notable headliners during the 1920s and 1930s, particularly Amelia Earhart, Louise Thaden, and Jacqueline Cochran. As Susan Ware [Still Missing: Amelia Earhart and the Search for Modern Feminism (New York; W.W. Norton)] points out, “The late 1920s represented a golden age for the woman pilot. But at the end of the decade women pilots had been excluded from the next stage of development—that of commercial aviation—and their marginalization was cemented by World War II. The postwar world of aviation was very much a man’s world, although strong-minded and talented individual women continued to play a role.” (61-62)

Amelia Earhart

The most famous woman pilot of her era, Amelia Earhart was a promoter of women’s careers in aviation and one of the founders of the Ninety-Nines, the first professional organization of women pilots. Her disappearance in 1937 during an around-the-world flight attempt sent shockwaves through the aviation community. Speculation about what happened to her is widespread nearly three quarters of a century later.

Louise Thaden

Another renowned woman pilot who came to prominence in the interwar years, Thaden was winner of the 1929 transcontinental Women’s Air Derby (the so-called “Powder Puff Derby”), one of the founders of the Ninety-Nines, and the first woman (with Blanche Noyes) to win the Bendix Trophy Race in 1936, flying from New York to Los Angeles in slightly less than fifteen hours.

Jaqueline Cochrane

Cochran was a celebrated woman pilot whose career spanned four decades from the 1930s to the 1960s. In 1937, she won the prestigious long-distance Bendix Trophy Race, flying from Los Angeles to Cleveland in a little more than eight hours. She later founded the WASP (Women Airforce Service Pilots), a group of civilian women who flew military aircraft in non-combat situations during World War II. In 1953 she became the first woman to break the sound barrier.

Ware’s statement is borne out by the fate of the WASP (Women Airforce Service Pilots) program of WWII. The WASP were civilian women who worked for the U.S. Army Air Forces as service pilots, ferrying aircraft from factories to ports and military training bases, towing targets, and flying cargo. Despite the success of the program, and the fact that women proved they were capable of flying many different kinds of military aircraft in difficult circumstances and over long distances, the program came to an abrupt end because of politics, and the fears of male service pilots that their jobs would be taken by women after the war.

WASP

Members of the WASP (Women Airforce Service Pilots) are pictured at Lockbourne Army Air Field in World War II. From left to right are Frances Green, Margaret (Peg) Kirchner, Ann Waldner and Blanche Osborn. The WASP were civilian women pilots who flew in non-combat situations for the U.S. Army Air Forces during the war. The program came to an abrupt end in 1944 because of gender politics.

While the situation for blacks and women in aviation has changed somewhat, racial and gender stereotypes still exist. Also, despite the breaking of barriers, blacks and women are decidedly underrepresented in military aviation, commercial aviation, aeronautical engineering, and the aviation business in general. One can only hope that commemorations like Black History Month and National Women’s History Month will at least make people aware that historically blacks and women have proved they were capable of making significant contributions, and that they deserve to be treated with dignity and respect, and be accorded equal status.

Dominick A. Pisano is a curator in the Aeronautics Division of the National Air and Space Museum.

Asking the Experts

How did you get an airplane inside the building?  Is there life on other planets?  What EXACTLY is GPS and how does it work?  Why in the world is that in this museum?

We hear these questions every day.  There’s so much that goes on in museums that people just don’t understand.  And there are a lot of interesting artifacts tucked into smaller galleries that visitors simply don’t notice.  Then there are the GREAT stories behind every artifact – stories that just don’t fit on a label.  For instance, have you ever wondered how we acquired Gene Kranz’s famous “Failure is NOT an option” white vest?  Did you know that Wilbur Wright, while playing with a cardboard box, figured out an essential component for controlling an aircraft?  How about what really happened at Roswell, NM?  Or about the time Howard Hughes….

Gene Kranz

Photo: Gene Kranz in his white vest. Photo courtesy NASA. The photo links to the full "Ask an Expert" lecture, given by curator Margaret Weitekamp, which tells the story behind Gene Kranz's vests and how the Museum acquired this white vest that he wore during the Apollo 13 mission.

Before I started working at the National Air and Space Museum I hadn’t heard these stories either. There are so many of them, and since I work in the Museum I get to hear them from our curators, conservators, scientists, and archivists all the time.  What’s that?  You’d like to hear them as well?  Guess what?  You can.  Every Wednesday at noon we dust off one of the curators, conservators, scientists, or archivists and send one onto the museum floor during lunch to tell these stories.  Each Ask an Expert talk runs about 15 minutes and then they take time to answer your questions.  If you can’t make it, we record many of the talks and post them on our website.  However, if you’ve got time during lunch and you’d like to join us, check out our calendar for a list of upcoming talks.  I learn something new at every lecture, and I’ve been listening to our experts for years!

Beth Wilson is the Discovery Station Program Coordinator for the Mall Building.


Try Out our New Online Activities

If you’re looking for some online fun, try out several Web activities from our newest exhibition, The Barron Hilton Pioneers of Flight Gallery.

The exhibition introduces some of the colorful aviation personalities from the 1920s and 1930s.

Tingmissartoq Interactive

"Tingmissartoq" Interactive

  • Help Charles and Anne Lindbergh pack for a trip across several continents in their airplane the Tingmissartoq.  The plane can only carry 6,105 pounds, so you must choose supplies carefully.  You need to anticipate possible emergency scenarios like landing on the icecap of Greenland or landing in the middle of the ocean.  You will be going from cold, icy climates to tropical climates and will be visiting remote Eskimo villages and fancy diplomatic receptions.  You can compare your decisions with what the Lindberghs really packed.
douglas world cruiser interactive

Douglas "World Cruiser" Interactive

  • Plan a flight around the world for the U.S. Army – it’s 1924 and no one has flown around the world before.  First, you must figure out the logistics – which countries will welcome you and where will you be able to refuel?  Your planes can only fly so many miles before needing to refuel. Next you must adapt the airplane for the trip. Your Douglas DT-2 torpedo bomber needs to meet the demands of your journey.  Finally, while you may have tried to plan for the unexpected, you encounter the unexpected anyway.  Face six crises that the real World Cruiser crews encountered – will you make the same decisions they made?
design an air racer interactive

Design an Air Racer Interactive

  • Design an air racer.  You are entering the air races and want to win!  Design a racer that will be the fastest sea plane and will help you win the prestigious Schneider trophy.  Or, design a land plane and win the Pulitzer trophy. Will you make risky decisions and try some of the latest technology or will you play it safe?
Tuskegee Airmen Interactive

Tuskegee Airmen Interactive

  • Fly a bomber escort mission as flight leader of the 332nd Fighter Group in Italy.  World War II is raging and the Tuskegee Airmen are gaining a reputation as top-notch aviators.  As an all African-American group, they must constantly prove their skills.  The American military is segregated and the group’s reputation lies on the decisions of each of its members.  Wrong decisions could cost lives and equipment, and damage the reputation.  Will you make the right decisions and prove that you have the skills required to fly with the best?

A lot of effort and careful research went into each one of these activities.  We first generated a list of possible ideas. We narrowed the list by asking which ideas make the best use of the technology to teach specific content.  We hired a Web developer to help us.   The interactives need to be thoughtfully integrated into the surrounding exhibition content.  After we decided on the scenarios, we did some additional research.  We had to track down photos of the World Cruiser flight and film footage of the Lindberghs.  Our photographer took photos of objects in the collections – we wanted to display some of the interesting items that the Lindberghs packed on their trip.  These objects had not been on display before.  In some cases we also consulted with outside experts, including some of the Tuskegee Airmen themselves! What were the main decisions made by flight leaders on escort missions?  What happened when things didn’t go well?

Once our designer had a prototype activity, we took it onto the floor and asked our visitors to test it.  Some of the interactives, the Lindbergh one for example, went through major design changes.  We wanted to ensure that people find them engaging and easy to complete.  Do they take the right amount of time or are they too complicated?  Will they attract the right age groups?  We also tested the activities with some of our toughest critics, our National Air and Space Museum colleagues.  They all had an opportunity to weigh in on the activities.  When we completed usability testing and made sure visitors were getting the messages we wanted to convey, we went into final production.

So give them a try and let us know what you think.  Which did you like the best?  Did you learn anything new? And, if you have a chance to visit the Museum, please be sure to view the Barron Hilton Pioneers of Flight Gallery.

Tim Grove is Chief of Education at the National Air and Space Museum’s Mall building.

The Groundhog and the Nurse

Edna Newcomer with Groundhog Tailwind

Photograph by Rudy Arnold

I have a hunch that there aren’t a lot of aerospace museums that could come up with an appropriate image for Groundhog Day, but it’s at moments like this that the National Air and Space Museum’s Archives Division really shows the range and depth of its holdings. The photograph shown above – the only aviation/groundhog picture that I’m aware of – shows Edna Newcomer and her groundhog Tailwind waving from the cockpit of the Bellanca Skyrocket The American Nurse, at Floyd Bennett Field, New York in September 1932. Dr. Leon Pisculli, also seen in the window, organized the non-stop New York to Rome flight to study the effects of long-distance flight on humans, and presumably, on groundhogs. Newcomer, a nurse and a licensed pilot, planned to bail out over Florence and descend by parachute — it’s not known if she intended to jump with Tailwind. Dressed in white riding clothes, Newcomer also brought along a dress in case she was presented to King Victor Emmanuel III.

But it’s very sad to report that there was no parachute descent on Florence, and no royal audience – American Nurse was last seen by the S.S. France 400 miles from its European landfall. Edna Newcomer, Leon Pisculli, pilot William Ulbrich, and poor Tailwind the groundhog were never seen again.

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

Santa’s Balloons and Arctic Airships

Christmas Greetings

X-Mas Greetings - Success, Prosperity, Good Will. Chromolithograph postcard, c. 1910.

Although the reindeer-powered sleigh is the form of transportation most usually associated with Santa Claus, the right jolly old elf displays an unexpected interest in lighter than air flight by launching festive fire balloons over the North Pole while a polar bear watches admiringly.

Santa wasn’t the last to attempt an LTA mission to the Pole, though – on May 11, 1926, the airship Norge took off from Spitsbergen, Norway. The crew included Arctic explorer Roald Amundsen and Lincoln Ellsworth, and the airship was commanded by its designer, Umberto Nobile (and accompanied by his terrier Titina). The Norge flew over the North Pole on May 12, and the crew dropped Norwegian, American and Italian flags over the Pole. The Norge landed near Nome in Teller, Alaska on the 15th.

But a later North Pole airship expedition, the Italia flight of 1928, ended tragically. Commanded once again by Umberto Nobile, Italia overflew the Pole on May 23 but crashed on the ice the following day. Roald Amundsen took part in the international rescue effort to save Nobile and his crew. Amundsen’s plane went missing on June 18 in the Barents Sea; he and his crew of five were never found.

Umberto Nobile

Umberto Nobile and Titina following the flight of the Norge, 1926.

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

Chuck Yeager

On October 14, 1947, Charles E. “Chuck” Yeager became the first person to fly faster than the speed of sound in his Bell X-1, which he named Glamorous Glennis, in tribute to his wife. He reached a speed of 1,127 kilometers (700 miles) per hour, or Mach 1.06, at an altitude of 13,000 meters (43,000 feet).

Chuck Yeager

Charles "Chuck" Yeager with Bell X-1.

Air-launched at an altitude of 7,000 meters (23,000 feet) from the bomb bay of a Boeing B-29, the X-1 used its rocket engine to climb to its test altitude. It flew a total of 78 times, and on March 26, 1948, with Yeager at the controls, it attained a speed of 1,540 kilometers (957 miles) per hour, Mach 1.45, at an altitude of 21,900 meters (71,900 feet). This was the highest velocity and altitude reached by a manned airplane up to that time.

Bell X-1 Cockpit

Cockpit of the Bell X-1

The Glamorous Glennis was donated to the Museum in 1950, and has been suspended from the ceiling in the Milestones of Flight gallery since the building on the National Mall opened in 1976.